To know without a doubt that something you never imagined became like a sacred vow. To know, unknowing, that everyone belongs in a place like this. To feel somehow in distress. (Smell of a world that is burned). And yet such kind people and kind green, music that stings...
Learn to ask the right questions to enact change. Why does Dumaguete rely on Cebu coal for electricity when it has a geothermal plant at Pulambato right up the hill? Fabric provides an answer to that.
Peel back archeological layers, get to the original loam. Make haste where some tarry and make merry.
To play poker where no one knows. To create the ultimate underground Ironman event, that will only start when 6 honorable players decide it will. Rules and regulations only state that it must be held on an island and be for sustainability-focused charity and honor. Queen Ann rules apply.
This is the holy grail. This is ground zero for creation of sustainable fabric. Earth a manuscript rife for revision, an infinite, binding trail. How best to start the story?
If you move into the Honeycomb, converted old wood slat New England house right on the Boulevard for 600 pesos a night, you must be crazy or enchanted. Old Cannery Row Monterey (not quite) come to life. Bogart's, Chin Loong, Blue Monkey, El Amigo. This is a world of loading pier light reflections on smooth, polluted water. Of big freighters off the water. Of sitting by the dock of the bay, nothin' coming my way (pure existential elation).* With a seedy side that Hayao would very much like to observe and figure out.
Now working my way through two contrasting styles, midnight jazz and Bob Marley. Throw in a little Byrds and some earth-shattering Bang-era blues. A lot of mid-60s cusp of Americana Dylan. Some new stuff too, random sounds one simply hears in Philippines (Justin Beiber's "Mama Likes Everyone" and Drake's "Cell Phone Bling" come to mind). Fall back into the Winterland voodoo. The too-loud screams of motorcycles without mufflers, burning up what should be quite lanes. Confronted with a thrust not your own. Pull 'em brakes, you hear dem say. As people do until money comes sniffin'.
With a little fabric in place, this town could be a Santa Cruz-style seaside jogging and blading capital, not aspiring mini-Manila. Both potentialities are there.
Which brings up some of the fundamental subjects of Arisugawa Park... practical payoff for navigating this Japanese geography, comparing it with that with which I was more familiar, growing up in San Francisco Bay Area (awakening Rip Van WInkle-like in the Santa Cruz Mountains). Taking careful measurements for years, aimless, entranced. If I truly am to be Johnny Appleseed, integrating East and West.... I must precisely remember experience. In this synthesis lies hope.
Arisugawa Park is also the genesis of my consciously wandering life. Through travel I realized that, whatever room thoughts turned on, there would be other wider vistas out there. I became enamored of my own freedom, the ability to wear disguises. And to be my true self, free from meetings and workplace. Thomas Pynchon never had it this good... he was discovered.
The rooftop of a fabulist, talking in labyrinths. That never stop but at the next function point. You always knew he was a gambler.
Here, a few notes on EVEN, the book after next. Quips, if you will (and quandaries):
One of EVEN's protagonists' grandfather "confounded computers by making syntactic styles unknown to them on the spot, and staying above the SEO curve just long enough to create separation. He became so important to the computers, they needed to quote his style to stay at the cusp of AI technology––it was written in a unique mix of 1,478 languages. (Quite a task when you are using 1's and 0's to replicate this).
This syntactic endurancewriter "endwriter" jumped to the top of the content author reading list, as the energetic writer of the neo-cusp now. One that academicians spent whole generations parsing and replicating the methods of. This effort was not without practical merit––having others creating linguistic mishmash prose was seen as critical if humans were to stay one step beyond the Bots––they needed to be able to integrate within cloud-perpetuated Bot AI structures (i.e. advanced binary systems replicating real world randomness) and still be coherently one step ahead.** Think of really truly original writing never before analyzed in its combinatory elements as akin to a medicine that stays one step ahead of mutating, infection-causing bacteria.
Endwriting was to envision change as change, as with metamorphosis. One step ahead of the overseers, on the cusp of what it became possible to envision. And what was envisioned was sustainability. A world that heeded a unified global, coherent, and fair set of environmental principles. But was flexible enough to allow sovereignty. Fabric was the capitalist and philosophic construct of this unifying dimension, that seemed on the face of it socialist and ecotopic.*** And post-fabric? that is where the story EVEN begins, 150 years in the future. At the cusp of something completely new.****
**Think Neo in the Matrix, but in a different way.
**Regarding EVEN's construct––fabric was actually created independently from the organization from which my book takes its title. EVEN stands for Environmental Engineering Neutrality Pact - the broad WTO-like agreement with teeth that brought environmental law to focus as an overarching jurisdictional force (sorry for the MIIS-speak).
****There will be antecedents to EVEN in both Arisugawa Park and Cowachunga. Three quite different novels with interrelated characters. Maybe it has been done, not in this way.
Photo: One of the most unique Wailers songs, Feel Alright' really captures what their live harmony call & response shows must have been like during the brief rocksteady era. There are no live recordings of performances of the Wailers until 1973 that I know of. But I hope to plant the seed that recreates the sound that might have existed.