O.G. Ghostwriter

So, the situation is that I am a prisoner of the yakuza. Standing before me is a very angry-looking lady , whom I shall henceforth refer to as the Boss, as she leads the pack of rats that ghostnapped me while I was innocently spending time in the park. They threw me into a car trunk, and delivered me to this miserable shack; and I must say, I intend to leave a blistering letter of complaint about all of this to the Tokyo embassy. I wouldn't recommend this experience to friends or acquaintances – possibly would recommend it to some relatives… Boss: What are you muttering, gaijin ? Know that you are in great trouble, and you won't get away with this by acting crazy. O.G. Ghostwriter: Usually, feigning madness helps in these situations. Boss: You have insulted the honor of my niece and our family! In Nippon, that kind of behaviour is not looked upon kindly. It is time for a battle! O.G. Ghostwriter: No, no battles, no thank you, not again. Couldn't I just atone for my crim...

My  Memories of Floorboards creaking Wild dust bunnies staring My face pressed against a tatami Problems washing over me like a tsunami   An old woman before me, leader of the yakuza A group of misfits behind me, stray dogs of the katana I am told that the only honorable way to survive this strife Is to win a grand battle of words, the defeated forfeits their life  You’d need to be alive to settle the debt? All I have to offer is less Tell me, hasn’t there been enough payment trouble in this lifelessness?     ... Next Chapter: Battle Royale: Haiku War Previous Chapter: Yakuza Noir 

This city never sleeps. It pulses with the eternal rhythm of ambition, greed, and indecency. In this city, the age of innocence is short, with every alley offering temptations – street food and karaoke stalls – and I realized that to survive with my sanity intact, I would have to tread lightly.  It was early evening in Kurume, Japan, the air was heavy with the promise of rain, and I, enjoying the last touch of sunlight, lay on park grass studying my map, intending to get from this sinful city to the even more sinful capital, quickly and cheaply.  I had met a fatal woman , a true femme fatale , who suggested in no uncertain terms that my way of doing things left much room for improvement. If I knew anything about fatal women, it was that they were insincere, indiscreet, and incorrigible, and this inconceivably fatal woman, in all her instability, was a bona fide femme folle . Throughout my lifelessness, I have been searching for something. I am not quite sure what, but I have a...

Ha! I finally got my hands on my very own map of Japan! I got it from a vending machine near the park entrance. Now I no longer have to hunt for metro stations just to check a map; I can keep this in my own pocket because it’s mine, mine, mine! Strange things, those vending machines, which seem to offer practically anything. Hot food, cold and hot drinks, trading cards, clothes… I’ll make a note for myself: once you eventually return to your manor, get a vending machine that provides whatever your heart desires. One must have goals in one’s lifelessness! I’ll settle myself comfortably here on this park slope to read the map. Usually, I avoid maps like the plague, as I cannot stand traveling. It’s enough for me to know roughly what lies in the vicinity of my home manor. I’d rather just stroll in my own garden, looking at my roses and dahlias, pondering ways to fight the squirrels that steal my strawberries. Everything except gardening is pointless, and if one can afford a gardener, then...

Great news! I’ve finally landed an assignment in my own field. While I was a patient at the hospital , I got to know a nurse who kindly arranged a meeting for me with a potential new client. Apparently, she’s a friend of a friend of a friend, with an interesting profession. This lady wants to write her memoirs with a professional ghostwriter, and naturally, I am available. We agreed to meet in a local park, and it really is quite pleasant here – warm, with flowers everywhere. The cherry trees are already past their peak, yet people are still eagerly snapping photos of them. That’s just how it is: you have to enjoy life, for it turns into lifelessness before you can even say... Geisha: Konnichiwa! O.G. Ghostwriter: Huh? Geisha: Good day! We had a meeting scheduled? O.G. Ghostwriter: Oh, of course, please, have a seat. I was just startled by your appearance... your dress and your whitened face. Is this how the youth of today dresses? Geisha: I am a geisha. A professional ar...

Does this spark joy? I asked myself, reflecting on the meaning of lifelessness. I was lying in a ward at Kurume University Hospital, recovering from an extremely improbable accident that the sensationalist Japanese tabloids reported as follows: SUMO SCENE: Entitled Wannabe-Travel Writer Crushed by Sumo Champion – Shocking Photos! So, I was a convalescent, wrapped in bandages from head to toe like a mummy. Bored, I waited for the moment I could continue my journey toward the promised land of Tokyo and its lucrative job opportunities. I feared the wait would be long, so I was determined to use the time productively. I reached out my trembling hand toward the table beside my hospital bed, where someone had thoughtfully left a book titled “Kurashi at Home: How to Organize Your Space and Achieve Your Ideal Life” by Marie Kondō, a self-proclaimed tidying expert. To pass the time, I read the book, and before long, I felt the teachings of tidying and sparkling joy flow through my veins, lifele...