S■S

Racing along the river in the soundless night. Cigarettes I swore I'd quit. Smoking again. What a fool. Being here like this — a familiar town, a twilight I've seen somewhere before. Far off. A lump of exhaustion dressed in clothes, riding a bicycle. Bathed in wind. Out in the streets, every person but me looked happy.

'Mine has been a life of much shame.'

Since coming to Atami I've read No Longer Human twice. I heard Dazai holed up at Kiunkaku to write it. I went there twice. A night like tonight. Night watch. I pedal and think. Soaked in hot water, feeling slightly better. Night after night wandering, carrying solitude and karma until dawn.

Three months before Dazai died. Kiunkaku. The Japanese room, Taiho. He stayed there, they say. In front of that room. A Japanese garden. A pine tree. Visible from the window. Did Dazai see that same pine? Even imagination wears thin. I went to the sea again and again for no reason. I don't look at the sea. The town beyond it. Unknown. Stars shine even into the dark places. What lies ahead, what has passed — none of it clear. Forward still, without any salvation.

Keep rolling, LIKE A ROLLING STONE.

The noise of the town. Endearing, yet one day it will perish. The lot of man. Burn out, turn to ash — what remains of me? I boiled water and drank down words. Nothing but dry coughs. 3333.

True. False. True. Black and white, then black and white again. Reading the weather, a brief clearing. The sound of water. Swimming beyond black and white. Eventually tired, I close my eyes. Bike. When I ride while screaming, all the words blow away in the wind. Searching for words, pedaling, sinking light, flowing, gently, reflecting the heart, carrying an unerasable burden. Washing the face of no one in particular.

Now I remember. The first time I came to Atami — age three or four. A memory (→ couldn't find the photos). My first trip ever. I think, but I'm not sure. I loved the Shinkansen back then — my father, pachinko, the week after a big win, from Shin-Yokohama to Atami. Day trip. Probably. Decades later, I too became a gambler. I cling on without letting go until I win. A bad-natured, betting madman. I'll give it everything.

No matter how hard I tried, ordinary happiness was always out of reach — I became an asura, threw myself into something, poured in despair, and shook apart shattered every void. Or so I thought. I look back at old photos. What's there is a youth so painful painful painful painful painful it's blue, and I should have taken hold of that hand that was extended (to me), and I should have (exhausted every option) to find a way that Everything's gonna be all right. Infinite.

No longer human. I'm not so exhausted that I can say: I have completely ceased to be human anymore. But. Steam rises. Soaking in hot water. Submerging. Descending a deserted slope at night. That's right, yesterday. Drank soda water. How melancholy.

Look up and the sky is far. A crescent moon and Venus. Neither close nor apart. Rinsing memories that never intersected — memories of what is gone. Bed. Dive in and five seconds later it's morning, troubles dissolved. Back when I taught the meaning of the moon is beautiful. I know no other way to change myself than to read books as if glaring at them.

Why? I'm always hungry. 'The density of restaurants per square meter is the same as Shinjuku,' I heard. Stirring with chopsticks. A mottled pattern. Open the map, two-finger swipe. Linguistic tower of Babel, infinite interface. Dusk. Drunk. Good. I wish I had a life that someone wanted. Is everything just fleeting leisure? If I pour in my entire fortune, can I be happy? I still haven't drunk sake with dried fish, and Atami Ginza — I can't cover it all. I want to drift! I want to make onsen eggs by the roadside! Wikipedia said so.

Will you wave to me from the bottom? Gathering wind, bathed in faint light, right now — I, smiling, pretend. The wheels turn. If only that hand had been waved toward myself. Who am I talking to? Reverb.

Every time the sky rings, a new color lights the night. That much is certain. A night drawing near through parted darkness. Gradually, particles of light in the eyes. Slowly bleeding. Night. A dot becomes a line and stretches ········, I avert my gaze. All of it, vanished — a scene seen seconds, minutes ago. Rumination. This is not about a story. A Day In The Life. I chant an incantation to praise this world, even just a little.

'Atami, city of eternal spring, knowing no deep winter' — I sing. Nightfall Elegy. Where do you go.

Today too was surely a good day! No doubt. Tomorrow and the day after — schedule. White. No plans at all, yet the world turns. The gears just don't mesh. That's all it is, but until coming here, I felt as if my place in the world had been left nowhere. Somewhere → Atami. No matter how far you run, you can't escape yourself.

That's why Dazai — even reading him, sometimes I understand and sometimes I don't, but I understand him well. The things I love have grown. And so have the things I hate. Even now, most of what meets my eyes remains something I dislike. Living desperately, living. Still a lonely horizon. Keep standing. Just one thin layer of skin. Not crossing the line of death. Still alive.

　Month　Day. No longer human. No longer fit for song or poem or title.

All creation. Becoming one with everything. Is there still something left to wager? Even one thing? No joy. No sorrow. For just an instant I thought I had grasped an overflowing happiness with both dirty hands — but in truth I was only dancing alone.

Life is finite. Therefore. To gain something is to lose everything else, and to lose something is to gain all other possibilities — and the state beyond that, which can be called neither life nor death. I dream of it. You're right there, aren't you.

Sweat burst from my forehead. Both hands trembling with tension. Thank you, goodbye. Thank you, goodbye.

The ending was decided. To bring this story to its close. Bicycle and sea... What a clown.