Ok, since I've hit a wall with my epic new shitrags post, here is a teaser for the fansSince the last post of this saga, I have lost my job and retreated to one room in my house. Shitrags block has been demolished and there is a portaloo on the exact spot the original wheelie bin used to reside. The internet is my only real connection to the outside world, even when I go outside I feel alone. There isn't a large enough crowd to make me feel like there is life outside my body. I never feel safe.
I have sought many solutions to this but each seems to make me worse - my mind is occupied by nothing aside from shitrags and johnny homeless, taunting me in my dreams. I knew I needed to get away from this place, but where to go? It was around this time that a friend who is now living in Tokyo got in touch.
I got my ticket and headed over. We had some great nights out but no amount of shoju could erase what I had become. Something at the back of my mind was telling me that there was more I could discover in this city than there was living nextdoor to shitrags block.
Towards the end of my first week I made a visit to Yoyogi Park, near Harajuku. It was tranquil but there was a certain stench in the air. I initially put it down to my own paranoia but after following the smell for a hundred meters or so I realised why it had struck such a chord with me - there was a shrine in front of me and a public toilet next to it which had been closed for repairs. I knew I was here for a reason.
As I entered the shrine I came across a wishing tree. People from around the world put their wishes for good health and fortune on this tree and the monks would read the wishes to the spirits once a week.
I knew what had to be done, so I paid my money and left my wish, with the guarantee that the monks would read my request to the spirits. I think I might have scared the monk a little bit but he assured me repeatedly that my wish would be read.
I went away from the shrine as the smell was stirring up all sorts of emotions that I was not prepared to deal with. I went back to the hotel and tried again to erase my memories with cheap rice whisky.
A week and a half later I was coming to the end of my trip but I was still none the wiser. I knew that there was more to my journey than to let off steam but I was still unable to join all the dots.
By this time I had changed hotels and was staying in Ueno. I went to Ueno park and chanced upon another shrine. I knew that I had to try one more time - maybe the last monk was lying when he said he'd read it to the spirits. Maybe the last monk was in on the whole thing and was just leading me away from Johnny Homeless. Maybe I'd scared the monk a little bit too much and he took my wish down.
At this point I had only one day left in Tokyo so I went out for Korean Barbecue with my friend. I drank so much that I don't remember getting back to the hotel and barely made my flight back home.
My journey has helped me reboot my brain and now I am chasing this mystery with the same fervour I had when I started out, but it has also left me with more questions than answers.
gronkpan @vomitinglarry.bsky.social,
Fri 12 Jun 2009, 4:09,
archived)
also for those of you who haven't read my sagashitrags.blogspot.com/
start from the post at the bottom and work your way up
(start from the post at the bottom and work your way up
gronkpan @vomitinglarry.bsky.social,
Fri 12 Jun 2009, 4:11,
archived)
Shitrags, more questions than answers --in an unquestioningly unanswerable world.
Tahkcalb ω∞ for sigs,
Fri 12 Jun 2009, 4:22,
archived)
we have all at some time been affected by this saga. It must be very difficult for you to deal with.
For me, shitrags has been a source of humor. Little did I know there was a more serious side.I would call it an obsession, but somehow it seems more like you care about Johnny.
I've got a thing about sounds. I've spent the last fifteen years searching for a place that is silent. Maybe there's something about your nose and my ears that we could learn from.
(I've got a thing about sounds. I've spent the last fifteen years searching for a place that is silent. Maybe there's something about your nose and my ears that we could learn from.
cowcat Bituminous squeegee,
Fri 12 Jun 2009, 4:43,
archived)
Christ on a bike.I've read a lot about how PTS can be triggered by a smell (olfactory
sense being the most acute) but this is out of the park. The prospect
of that being someone's life, or end of it. Not something you can
exactly deal with through "exposure therapy" either.
I just heard about an old lady down the way who was found dead in her
house, she could have been there for months. I go past that house most
days.
When my dad died it was weeks before they found him (he died 2 days
before Christmas). Clearing out his flat was abysmal. There were 20
or so empty cans of Tennent's Super next to his chair and a half
finished crossword on the table in front of him. He had a duodenal
ulcer which burst and he bled to death on the floor. The police must
have treated the mess but it was still harsh. It smelt like sherry.
(sense being the most acute) but this is out of the park. The prospect
of that being someone's life, or end of it. Not something you can
exactly deal with through "exposure therapy" either.
I just heard about an old lady down the way who was found dead in her
house, she could have been there for months. I go past that house most
days.
When my dad died it was weeks before they found him (he died 2 days
before Christmas). Clearing out his flat was abysmal. There were 20
or so empty cans of Tennent's Super next to his chair and a half
finished crossword on the table in front of him. He had a duodenal
ulcer which burst and he bled to death on the floor. The police must
have treated the mess but it was still harsh. It smelt like sherry.
Bela Lugosi's Dad,
Fri 12 Jun 2009, 4:51,
archived)