The Collected Writings of Steve Murakishi

the BIG sell, a day of reckoning

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 23 Sep 2019 00:17:00 +0000

the BIG sell

a day of reckoning

Steve Murakishi

September 2019

prelude

Uncertainty breeds anxiety, then fear, then panic, if unchecked it leads to chaos and then utter collapse Greed is a quickest way to turmoil. On September 15, 2008; Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy; hurtling the world toward financial oblivion.

“What the Israelites saw, from high on the ridge, was an intimidating giant. In reality, the very thing that gave the giant his size was also the source of his greatest weakness. There is an important lesson in that for battles with all kinds of giants. The powerful and the strong are not always what they seem.”

Malcolm Gladwell, David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants

"I have a feeling, in a few years people are going to be doing what they always do when the economy tanks. They will be blaming immigrants and poor people."

Michael Lewis “The Big Short” 2015

scene 1

a colossal miscalculation

We took the early AMTRAK down to Penn Station in NYC. I like the train because you can walk around and they’ve got decent WIFI. You can get some work done or read a book. The food is lousy, but what do you expect - it’s a train ! New York is about about 3.5 + hours on the Northeast Regional.

In the fall of 2008 we were New York City; walking down 7th Avenue to a clothing show called "Atelier." It was a bright, sunny September 15 morning. I guess some people call this “crisp”. As we approached the turmoil and chaos of Times Square, we stopped dead. Something was seriously not right, dozens of people were tumbling out of the Lehman Bothers' offices carrying cardboard boxes with a myriad of different personal items; but all were looking dumbstruck, dazed and bewildered. Above their heads; a green LED ticker with stock exchange alpha numerics chased around the Lehman Brothers building. We had no idea what lay in front of us all.

“The problem wasn’t that Lehman Brothers had been allowed to fail. The problem was that Lehman Brothers had been allowed to succeed.”

-Michael Lewis, The Big Short: Inside the Doomsday Machine

Content “Investopedia” 2019

photo credit “Quartz” 2008

Fire Opal is our small independent family business. We’re a Boston boutique, specializing in new “American handmade crafts”. Truly said, we are a real mom + pop shop, my wife and I work at each of our 2 Boston locations. (June 30, 2019 we downsized to one store) We’ve been so fortunate and super lucky, surviving the stormy economic seas and skating on the edge of the future. What does American handmade crafts really mean ?

Content Fundera 2019

Made in America…..? Incredibly naive and not cost effective ? That’s a business plan so archaic and out of touch that it cannot possibly work. It’s a express line to failure ? Something the cynics can ponder - our talented artists, craftsmen and designers are refreshed each season with bright new younger makers joining the ranks. New ideas, with new generations, and new visions to make real.

“Handmade” is a condition that will never satisfy our "requirement" for immediacy? We're an "on demand" culture. Too outmoded to be relevant? My feeling is people yearn for things that were made one at time, by another real person. Makes you feel more human ? Handmade is a vision to express what it’s like to live in the time we live in.

“Crafts” is a term some people are suspicious of. A craft product can be elegant, sophisticated, unique and stunning. For Fire Opal it’s jewelry, women’s clothing and home goods. The crafts community, surprised me; it’s a matriarchy with a very equal and a lateral community structure.

Emily Johnson EC Design www.ecdesignstudios.com

By my count; Boston has seen 11 craft galleries all go down, since 9/11. During the 2018 season we saw small business retail unsteady and uncertain. In 2018 we were down about 12%; but the real eye opener was 800 fewer transactions. I can see how our numbers mirror other small businesses nationally.

We had planned on closing the Jamaica Plain (a Boston neighborhood) store in 2019, downsizing; making way for my retirement. I could not walk away until I discovered what went so wrong ? Owners were closing up shop due to business losses and retirements. I called one of our artists, as a courtesy to tell them that I was retiring and we were closing the JP store. I was shocked, when told we were the 7^th store closing in just 2 weeks into 2019.

My first question was who makes up customer base ? Retail's current market is primarily composed of 3 American generations: Baby Boomer 1946-1964 (73.47 million) the Generation X 1965-1980 (65.71 million) and the Millennials 1981-1996 (71.86 million). On the horizon is a significant population bump - Generation Z, born 1997 and later will number 86.43 million.

Content Pew Research Fact Tank 2018

the dominos are falling 1

the Hanukkah story

It was a snowy afternoon but it was almost dark at 4pm. The store was cozy and packed. When people are really focused, it seems like there’s a buy-vibe - you can actually feel it. There is a caveat, when Sheryl Crowe, is singing “All I Wanna Do”, women of a certain age will sing along. Loudly. Many of our customers were in, so I walked around catching up, checking for any questions and general chit-chat.

Long before I got into retail, I was doing my grad work at the University of Michigan. My wife Sue and I met in an art class. Then something unbelievable happened. I was 1 week out of grad school when I was hired to be acting head of a graduate program at Cranbrook Academy of Art, in Bloomfield Hills, MI. I ended up staying for 20+ years. Grad students would range in age from about 22 to late 30’s. I began to understand why they were at Cranbrook. I recognized graduate students are complex people, in a complicated time of life. They were there for an MFA, but in reality, they’ve just rolled the dice on themselves, their own creativity, their ability to grow, in unknown ways, as an artist and as a human being. At Cranbrook, you not only ran the show - you were the show. As artist-in-residence, you headed the department, ran the program, were responsible for your budget and recruitment. If a light bulb needed to be changed or a floor needed to be mopped, you took care of it. At that time, I was a young guy myself and was trying to get a fix on this academic terrain and landscape. We would be called PrintMedia and we would become “outlaws” and we would be very dangerous. I bring up this personal experience; because I learned to treat our customers like grad students…very dangerous grad students.

All the while, I noticed a young women bundled up in a dark coat and a couple of dark brooding scarves - art school style; but what I really noticed was her bountiful long wavy hair, that was trying to break free and rejoice. When she was ready to check out she brought maybe 8 or 9 very carefully selected items. She had a winsome look anticipating how her gifts would bring joy and love. We got everything gift wrapped and put everything into 2 large Fire Opal shopping bags. Then she disappeared into the snowflakes.

Maybe 45 minutes later, she returned, but she could hardly speak. In between massive sobs she said she put her shopping bags into her forest green Subaru. There were errands to do and if she got ahead of them; she’d clear out her weekend. When she went back to her car the bags were gone. She had done all her Hanukkah shopping with us. I felt terrible about what had happened to her. I paused for a second, to gather my thoughts; then I said Fire Opal would like her to go back and find the item or something similar and it would be on us. Just knowing we had plan in place, she sighed deeply, in between gentler sobs. Then she left for a cup of coffee.

I thought who could do such an awful thing? Why? Boston can be funny like that. A woman burst into the store and lifted up two shopping bags high above her head. From the threshold she shouted out, someone had put these Fire Opal bags in her car and someone must be looking for them?

I turned to our employees and we could not believe where this story was heading. When our emotionally drained shopper returned; she turned to us and in between sobs, said, .."this shit never happens." That’s kinda’ true. I guess there’s a logical explanation; but we preferred to believe it was divine intervention.

scene 2

the deathblow

Twilight lives in those tiny moments when the daylight bids sweet dreams to a curtain of darkening skies. This light is the softest and most soothing; but disappears in a whisper. America snuggles up in its tragedy quilt and tries shut it’s eyes. We are no longer a nation of security, peace and trust. Might our truth be lost forever?

I’ve chosen 4 events that range over 2001 - 2019, roughly a generation’s time. If you grew up in this era, these events shaped you; 9/11, Bernie Madoff scandal, the Great Recession of 2008 and in 2019 the retail apocalypse. This generation is shaped by loss. The loss of trust, loss of our values, loss of dreams. America is a little bit broken.

“In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king.”

-Michael Lewis “Liar’s Poker”

9/11

-cause -

on September 11, 2001; American Airlines flight 11 departing BOS Boston’s Logan Airport crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade building at 8:46 am. This was the first of 4 attacks, killing 2977 people.

-effect -

in this horrific loss of life, al-Qaeda and Osama bin Laden; cruelly mocked America by weaponizing American planes, crashing into WTC destroying American symbol of global power and doing it on 9/11; America’s emergency call number.

America is no longer an unassailable world power. We are a vulnerable terrorist target. Our American spirit has been brutally shaken.

Bernie Madoff’s Ponzi Scheme

-cause -

11 December 2008, Bernie Madoff was arrested for defrauding thousands of investors out of tens of billions of dollars and money laundering. “Everyone was greedy, everybody wanted to go on and I just went along with it.” Madoff’s Ponzi scheme worked like a pyramid scam; new investors created “profits and payouts” going to his earlier investors. He was only caught because of a stock market downturn took a 39% downturn and he could not make up the investor’s redemption demands.

-effect -

In 2009, Madoff was sentenced to 150 years and lost his ill begotten $170 billion. It was greed that kept Madoff’s investors for asking why their returns were 10 - 20% ? Bernie Madoff has petitioned Donald Trump to commute his sentence. Our country’s sense of truth, honor and values was forfeited …for lies, complicity and inhumanity.

Content from Investopedia 2019

The Great Recession of 2008

-cause - deregulation of the financial sector, subprime mortgages and the housing market bubble

-effect - greed again. Only one American was convicted, for conspiracy to falsify books and records; for his role in the. Our moral compass is lost.

Kareem Serageldin of Credit Suisse

retail apocalypse 2019

-cause -

Residual effects of the 2008 Great Recession, large chain stores filing Chapter 11, the over expansion of malls and the closing of 12,000 bricks-and-mortar stores since 2010.

-effect-

We are seeing a slow motion car crash of other bricks-and mortar business, so vulnerable to online merchandizing and technology. The “Netflix effect” will be swallowing up America’s movie theaters. In 1995 we had 7744 movie theaters, diminished to 5803 in 2018. Small rural town movie theaters, will most likely face extinction.

“The Atlantic” The Great Retail Apocalypse of 2017

New York Times 2019

MoneyWise 2019

desperation island

Generation X

Gen X’ers were born between 1965-1980. They are a smaller population sandwiched between the baby boomers and Millennial's. The GenX'ers have true feelings of disconnectedness and upheaval; which is understandable, as a result of their parents, the baby boomer's divorce rates near 50%.

“Life After God” Douglas Coupland 1994

“I was by the fridge in the kitchen when it happened.

The phone on the wall next to the fridge rang, and so I went to pick it up when suddenly the ice maker began spontaneously chugging out cubes and I thought that was odd. Then a cupboard door opened by itself, revealing the dishes inside and then the power in the overhead light surged. The game show playing on the countertop TV then suddenly stopped and the screen displayed color bars with a piercing tone and then, for maybe a second, there was a TV news anchorman with a map of Iceland on the screen behind him. I said "hello" into the phone, but it went silent and then the flash hit. A plastic Simpsons cup from Burger King melted sideways on the counter; the black plastic frame of the TV softened its edges and began dissolving. I looked at my hand and saw that the telephone was turning to mud in my palm, and I saw a bit of skin rip off like strips of chicken fajita. And then the pulse occurred. The kitchen window blew inward, all bright and sparkling, like tinsel on a Christmas tree, and the blender crashed into the wall and the Post-it notes on the fridge ignited and then I was dead.“

chapter 2 The Dead Speak “Life After God” 1994 Douglas Coupland

scene 3

dead malls

Dead or ghost malls are creepy reminders of the economic decline and changing retail trends. Starting in 1956 shopping malls proliferated until the late ’90’s bulging to about 1500. Naming malls with a sense of modernism and inclusivity, like Shopper’s World, Summit Place, Shopping Town Mall, and The Great Mall of Great Plains; give you a sense belonging, you're part of a greater whole, even of greater good. As online shopping eroded the mall megaliths, the loss of anchor stores and the move to outdoor shopping plazas are turning fixed location malls into dinosaurs.

There’s some interesting retail shifts going on. The old school axiom “shop to buy and shop to eat” assumes shoppers have the time and are not inconvenienced by mall trekking. Newer concept outdoor malls are surrounded by parking options to target your stores and get you in and out faster.

New outdoor plazas are better “curated”. Another shift, popular digitally native retailers have found and attracted customers who want a face to face, to get a better feel for these products, that were first exclusively started online.

Content Forbes Pamela N Danziger October 2018

BuzzFeed 2009 Randall Park Mall North Randall, OH opened 1976

a parable

the dominoes are falling 2

the ring story

Our store, Fire Opal is in the heart of Jamaica Plain. You can’t ask for better placement. As you know, Boston is home to so many students, from all over the world. An extremely joyful couple bounced into the store. The man was tall about 6’4”or 6'5", with blond hair, very strong, solidly built and with a German accent. He wore a blue oxford button-down shirt, with the long sleeves rolled up. He was clad in with khaki shorts and sandals, If you said he was dressed like a PhD candidate; I'd have to agree. She was dressed head to toe in black cotton 3/4 sleeve top and baggy cropped pants. She also wore sandals and she was Asian.

It was a sizzling July day. It seems he proposed about a block away at JP Licks; our local ice cream emporium. I sized them both. She turned out be a teeny tiny size 3. Our ring sizer goes down to a 1, but that's diameter of a straw. He was a big guy and I sized him to a 14.5 on his left and 15 on the right. Your dominant hand is usually about a half to a full size bigger. We did both hands because he noted in German culture, the wedding ring goes on the right hand. I guess she working on her command of English, because the man did all the talking.

They peered into the jewelry case and found two yellow 18K gold rings. The couple liked their choices and that they were made by the same jeweler. He smiled, she nodded. Usually we take a 50% deposit, but he insisted on paying it in full. I asked when they were getting married ? He said whenever we get the rings in. I gave them a 4 week turn around time. These two were overflowing with happiness. They were bouncing off the ceiling. When the rings came in it was 11:00am, and remembered if they got the rings in time they could do a civil ceremony the same day. I left him a message

He walked in about 5pm. I figured they would have a ceremony sometime soon; but just not today. I got the two rings out for him and he tried on his ring and it was a good fit. I asked him if he wanted take his fiancé’s ring for her to try on. He looked down at his sandals and said no, please just put it in a ring box. They looked stunning together. I asked him when they thought they might be getting married ? Still looking down at his feet, he said she went back to China. I wanted believe the wedding would be in China. I stole a look at him. His face sagged emotionally beaten up. There would be no wedding.

I thought how sad this was for both of them. Special orders are not refundable; especially size 3's, but this is where it’s the good thing about being self-employed. I extended my hand out to take back the rings. I said I’ll refund you the full total. But this big bear of man looked at me and said he wanted both rings. I didn’t want to make this harder, then it already was. We said our good byes and he shuffled off.

Every once in a while, something would pop into my head and I’ll remember the ring story. How heartbreaking it must still be ? I wondered if would he keep the rings as a symbol of their love. Part of me wonders if he’s looking for another size 3.

Millennial Nation

Millennials are almost exclusively online shoppers. Mobile devices will deliver user content, compare product reviews and even make purchases on their mobile platforms. No malls for Millennials.

The power of the "Amazon effect", has already shaken up the bricks-and-mortar retail forever. For Millennials, the strongest purchasing factors are convenience, peer reviews, and influencers; to help shape their spending. Millennials do online orders from 25% mobile, 32% laptop, 24% tablet. Only 11% through actual bricks-and-mortar retail. 11% is a huge problem!!!

The Millennials are the best college educated generation at 34.9%. Generation X is at 34.6% and the Boomers 31.1%. In 2017, Pew Research set “household adjusted” income for these 3 generations was Millennial’s $69,000, Generation X’s $85,800 and the Boomer’s $77,600.

An ideal Millennial setting starts with urban “lifestyle villages”, clusters of specialty stores, coffee shops, bakeries, small independent shops; all places to meet friends and share experiences together.

big blue wave

Another way to look at this is through the ballot box. In the 2018 Mid-Term elections, GenX, the Millennials and Generation Z tallied 62.2 million votes to the Boomers 60.1 million votes. Together, these 4 generations had the highest voter turnout in 4 decades and the most diverse voting body ever.

Pew Research Center 2019

content US Census Bureau 2019

Old man

One of our youngest entrepreneur’s down the block paid me a visit. I thought, here’s a nice gesture asking for some sage advice. He said,

“Steve, I have two questions for you. What’s your online plan and what’s your exit strategy?” "exit what???" I was stumped, So I went with our retail standard, “think it might rain?”

race to the bottom

Bricks-and-mortar going head to head with online retailers, is a no-win situation. “retail apocalypse” sounds like a movie sequel? A record setting +8000 stores closed in 2017. The numbers are staggering. In 2019 store closings are projected to 7500. By 2026 UBS Investment Bank predicts 75,000 stores will close.

A case that parallels small independent business downturn are the failing of small New England liberal arts colleges. Our returning WW II GI's and later the baby boomer's continuing a flood of new students and tuitions to college campuses; it seemed endless.

The model for the 50's and 6o’s is not working. Tuition, room + board and fees for Boston University, academic year expenses for 2018/2019 $72,052.

For the 8th straight year, college enrollments have decreased. In 2017 there was a 300,000 decline in student college enrollment.

Content from Boston University 2019

Content from “Inside Higher Ed” 2019

Study abroad programs have served as college’s and university’s as enrollment enticements. From 2016 to 2017; 332,727 students studied abroad. These are incentivizing faculty perks, sabbaticals and plum teaching assignments. Online higher learning are taking a similar marketing approach which can really benefit these campus-less colleges. Some deep pocketed schools have even been buying up properties for their global study programs.

Content from USA Study Abroad 2018

By the end of this next decade you may see as many as 50% fewer colleges and universities. Both colleges and small business retail might be absorbed only to become big box and franchised brands. Monster stores and mega universities.

“We cannot change anything until we accept it. Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses.” Carl Jung

UNIQLO, is a Japanese less expensive “fast fashion” global clothing giant. Their business model is very cohesive from design to production to retail and season to season; yet they don’t own a single factory. UNIQLO has begun closing it’s suburban retail locations and focusing on urban showplaces. They were just competing against themselves, the suburbs can buy it online.

Not a small business model, but they’re very agile. They think big, but they roll multigenerational. Hello bricks-and-mortar!!! Keep an eye on UNIQLO; they seem to be able to turn on a dime.

Final thoughts

the c - word

Convenience - True story. We have an online store with 2 bricks and mortar stores; only 3 miles apart. We’ll have customers, who make online purchases; but want it shipped to them, even though we’re in the same zip code and they pay for shipping. Quality is no longer king. It’s convenience!

Online returns average abut 30% for merchandise; with clothing closer to 40%. Americans will return $550 billion of merchandise. Compare those numbers to bricks-and-mortar of only 8 - 10%. Businesses are taking a huge hit to their net. With free and expedited shipping, the volumes are enormous. This effecting is our economy, but what about our environment?

Convenience is not one size fits all. The subscription pay per item model is based on selling a service or item per month or year. Netflix is a good example. This custom tailoring is often called the “subscription economy”. In 2011 ecommerce subscription was $57 million and by 2016 it ballooned to $2.6 billion. Simple? Well, they do have your card #.

“Shopify” 2019

In the business of convenience, let’s take a look at bottled water. Americans drink 1500 bottles of water per second. There’s a mass of floating trash and plastic in the Pacific, the size of Texas. The world’s biggest bottled water companies are #1 Aquafina (PepsiCo) and #2 Dasani (Coca-Cola). Both companies get their water from Canadian municipal sources - tap water! Pepsi and Coke make double the revenue from water, then their own signature carbonated beverages. From a consumer perspective, you should be aware bottled water is marked up 280,000%,

The dominoes are falling 3

the crier –

We do about 30% of our entire year in three weeks in December. All the chips are on the table. Super stressful time. We just got in some opulent handblown glass balls. Glassblowing is punishing hard work and physically exhausting. It takes its toll.

We just heard from one of our blacksmiths, who made these beautiful cooking implements, herb choppers, cheese cutters and spreaders. These were like little sculptures, the aesthetic forms were masterful. Hung on wall rack, the shadows became hauntingly beautiful. You could imagine hearing the hammer strikes. All those years of repetitive movements, caught up with him. He wasn’t able to lift his arms to his shoulders. He had to hang it up. What would this husband and wife team do after he was forced to relinquish his livelihood and dreams.

He probably had endured an incredible amount of physical pain; but had to keep pushing through it. There were no other financial options or safety net. No "go fund me".

This was a tiny order, especially as we were gearing up for the Holidays. We didn’t really sell the glass balls anymore. We had plenty of inventory; but this is what we call a “mercy order”. That doesn’t need any explanation - right? I was checking in this order, making sure nothing was broken and matching it against the invoice. I was a little puzzled and thought something didn’t seem to add up? Their wholesale prices seemed really low. Glassblower’s have a lot of upfront costs and big overhead expenses, like fuel, glass and chemistry - that’s what makes those beautiful colors. I got out their file out and looked back over their prices. I thought it was odd that their wholesale numbers stayed the same. Everything’s goes up especially glass. I looked back 10 years and their prices hadn’t changed.

They were trying to hold onto their wholesale accounts. They could be operating at a loss? Another mom + pop operation. I knew she was just recovering from a heart attack. I looked back at the numbers and realized, they might not have enough to get by? They suffered in silence. I cried.

The next year, I heard our glassblower had another rotator cuff injury, plus the painful arthritis he suffered through. Now he couldn’t even work. That means no income. If you’re an artist you make their living with your hands, creativity and eyes. That made me cry again.

WTF

dude, this is all Zucked up!

Here in Boston, the Cambridge Analytica scandal was big news. It’s hard to miss symmetry of Facebook’s Harvard beginnings. Zuckerberg + Facebook have a familiar pattern of poaching your personal data and profiting by indirectly selling (exchanging) user data with Netflix, Amazon, Microsoft, Spotify and 150 companies. Zuckerberg is sharing this info data with telecom giant Huawei and Russia’s media outfit – Yandek. Facebook’s pattern of improper data harvesting, shielding detection, (follow the money), recently, paying fines ($5 billion) and a phony Zuckerberg apology and another empty promise to do better.

Changing your pass words is not an answer.

Content Maya Kosoff Vanity Fair December 2018

Photo credit Andrew Harrer Bloomberg/Getty images

photo credit Toney Yin 2013

As a small business co-owner it’s so crucial to support your community. One of our all time joys was to sponsor a Regan League girls baseball team. We loved it so much! It took us 12 years, but we won it all in 2016.

I’ll really miss it.

Let’s close it out with a Bob Dylan lyric “There must be some way outta here? “

We find ourselves in the most complex and unsteady business era of our lifetime. How did this happen? There would always have been an Amazon, so don’t blame them. There was always going to be a Millennial generation, it’s not them, its us. Retail is still all about products, customer service and marketing. But it’s still about communication. Let’s not forget our words should still mean something.

“What’s dangerous is not to evolve.” Jeff Bezos Amazon

My observations-

Change or hybridize your new business model

Online shopping will only become even more immersive

Social media is the new temple of retail. Say a prayer

Redefine your customer service - online is customer friendly with the ease of returns and free shipping

Online retail has so many more variations, colors, sizes and inventory for customers to choose from. Bricks and mortar must learn how to order more strategically

An imperative - in store prices must match online $$$

Your new market is a young generation of customers + getting even younger

Time to change the retail mindset from survival to evolution

If your business can be multi-generational I’d really get behind that

The most important thing, I learned from the store is kindness. I only wish I would have learned it sooner.

Quite simply, Business is Darwinian. It always has been.

*All along the Watchtower” Bob Dylan 1967

bob dylanalong the watchtower

Pumps and the Silver Beech Tree

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Tue, 07 Mar 2017 17:16:00 +0000

The release date for the Zombie slash Apocalypse party had been changed so many times there was reason to believe it might be a fake social event altogether. For absolute certainty, she looked down at her own grubby sneakers, but imagined a pair of Christian Louboutin Marlenalta Platform Pumps for $1,045. She'd seen a pair in this fancy re-sale shop. Were they her size ? Of course not ! Plus, who'd ever invite her to a fancy event, where pumps would be required ?

Her eyes tracked the shadow's 2 dimensional impersonation of the tree's squat and twisted form. She relished looking at the beech's gnarled, silvery, scarified trunk. The massive buttressed base seemed to be formed by oozing lava. Wondering - should a tree's perfect life be to grow in poetry with nature, never to be marked by the hand of a young adolescent experiencing teen angst, puppy love or infatuation or lust ? No - wait - strike lust, that's too much work and the wrong context for lust. That's why they have bathroom stalls she thought. Ah-hhh...contextual perfection.

This silver beech was located at the wooded perimeter of school grounds. Standing a majestic 40 feet tall and least 4 or 5 generations old she guessed. It was quite accessible and located where young ne'er-do-wells would smoke cigarettes and weed. Unknown souls had carved, with the authentic intent of making a lasting declaration. For some, it was just idle moments, incising or desecrating the trunk with names, initials and graduation dates; but not hate. Save hate for those middle school walls. It was too much work to carve hate.

She knew what she must do. Like a mountain climber, she charted her route. Each handhold and foothold would take her to the very spot where she made her own declaration of love. As she approached the tree she saw the aching sadness of hearts "X" out. Of initials that no longer added up to forever. The lowest branches nearly touched ground, so simply stepping up into one of many crotches or "Y" formations of branch to trunk, propelled her skyward. The pumps would never had worked; but she was still thinking about them. Up the tree she went, feeling the texture of the trunk with her hands as she climbed. Her hands were no longer soft, delicate or innocent. She liked the way her gold band harmonized against the silvery grey tree skin.

Only this silver beech tree offered her the perfect qualifications. This tree and this love would prevail. Symbolically their love would rise above the lower echelons of love, adoration or infatuation. She hated hearing couples describing each other as my soul mate, She was too old and too jaded to think true love meant everlasting. Love muffin made her chuckle inside.

After a few minutes of climbing she looked down and thought, I'm pretty high up, one misstep or broken branch or the wrong move would result in catastrophic injury. All of a sudden, she felt the tree move, leaves rustling; insisting it was a living thing too. Looking up to the leaf canopy, it was like a cathedral of green, silver and golden blue sky, breaking through the leaf mosaic.

She was at the juncture where two moves would get her to where she wanted to be. The first move was the trickiest. Standing with both feet on one branch, left hand reaching above for a stabilizing hold; then reaching around the trunk and grabbing a branch with her right hand and swinging herself over to the distant branch. It was dicey move, that would only work unless, she totally committed. She tried to push thoughts of falling out of her head. She swung hard to her right, catching her right foot on the new limb, then swinging her body across - she made it. Going down would be easier. Now, she moved to the branch above, straddling, then scissoring her legs - and - she was there.

Nervously she surveyed the trunk for her own revelation. It had been 4 years. Two really good ones and 2 really bad ones. She had picked this spot for its privacy; you had to be a bit of a dare devil to get up here. The view was not great, but it was really the east facing alignment she desired. As the sun was descending from the sky, she could feel the warmth on her back. The knife she used to carve "l'armour fou" was in her back pocket. Not really sure why it was there ? Maybe she hoped for a reason to add some spontaneous new markings that would break the evil spell ? As she straddled, the branch she looked straight ahead, where she had spent hours carving "crazy love" into the silvery beech.

As she looked at what 4 years had done to her beautiful scribing, she ran her fingers over the dark bumps and nature's flagellation. Against the bright silvery grey bark black knotted sutures rose painfully above the beech's grained skin. Was this the way of nature or had incredibly hideous ravens peck and stitch the tree leather, closing this wound off from the world of the real ?

Four years later, her incised proclamation in beautiful italics, now looked like waves or "rollers" is what her brother called them - big ocean waves that had dissipated as they came closer to shore. Sadly it penned their own romantic story. So, this was the truth, this was reality. The ballots were cast and the votes were in. Nature never lied. She straddled her branch for a long time before she started her descent.

The River of Pain

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Tue, 05 Feb 2013 13:43:00 +0000

The River of Pain

photo credit Mohain

What appeared to be a gentle brushstroke on the landscape was a river that cut into earth, rock and life itself. In this distant painting a mist of uncertainty hung over it. From her vantage point she could see the switch back path into the valley below. The girl thought she could see a tiny figure beside the green water, where the river doubled back on itself, making a line lost in a daydream.

She wondered if the people passing her on the path might mistakenly think she was a day traveller, given the fact she carried only one small cloth satchel. People called it a “furoshiki”, it was actually her only other item of clothing, a shirt someone had given her from a mountain village. Inside the perfectly knotted soft cloth was everything she possessed. A tiny wooden carving of a sea otter, a hairbrush, picture of a woman, who she was told was her mother and two persimmons.

As she descended the mountain, the sounds she heard sounded different. In the higher elevations, the breezes and wind seemed to mix together the way a flute sounds – mixing musical notes, tones and air. In the valley, it was quiet, only the sounds of the rushing waters.

She had followed the path the mountain had made and now she was guided by the squiggly line that became a river. The meandering of the river made a beautiful gesture in the earth. The girl could breathe in the smells that made things green and gave the wind something to rustle against. As she approached what she imagined to be the tiniest splatter of paint, she clearly saw it was an old man, nearly bent over, holding firmly to a gnarly, twisted walking stick.

Silence was her usual manner; but she felt attached to the mystery of the old man, who intently watched the water flow by. If the man looked over his right shoulder he could see the doubling back of the river. They stood together on a finger of river grasses that pointed to where time had been. People from the mountain called this an oxbow. On his back, he could feel the coolness of the shadowed mountain, as he squinted into the smoldering light. The sun was the greatest painter of all she thought, because the sun could make light shimmer and water sparkle.

She stood next to him and looked at his eyes to see what it was he was watching. Leaves and branches drifted languidly in the currents as if they had no idea or concern what their fate might be when the river reached its final destination.

A rubber boot bobbed up and down and the old man’s eyes seemed to glisten. The last orange rays of the sun turned the water reddish making it seem alive with another life. When a straw sheathed hat passed by a smile crept across his face.

Reaching into her furoshiki she extracted the persimmons and held one out to the man. He nodded “thank you”, but did not reach for the orange fruit. She asked the old man what he was waiting for?

He said, “I am waiting for my son.” She wondered if he had a boat? He said, “No, I am waiting for his pain.”

This made the air in the girl’s lungs turn to sand. She asked what did that mean?

The old man kept watching the water, breathing ever so slightly; as if he were afraid he might scare a fish away.

He turned away and looked at the darkening mountain. “Families are a river of pain.

Everything flows downstream.” He turned back, adjusted his walking stick and looked again into the deepening reddish waters.

A cloud called Harry

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 26 Nov 2012 23:41:00 +0000

You would call him a scientist.

When you dedicate your life to search for something you may never find the answer to – that made my father a scientist. Apart from the lab, living a regimented life; a life of exactitude was the order of the day. From this perspective my father was a moderate rebel - he loved baseball.

We went to a Detroit Tigers game when I was 10 years old. I had never seen a big league game and I had never seen so many people in one place before. I had never felt the hope and disappointment of so many people before. It was a doubleheader with the Yankees. The Tigers got swept. My Dad never said anything, but I knew he was happy.

In the summer he wore permanent press short sleeve shirts. His 4 shirts were white, light blue, light green and yellow; then the rotation would replay itself.

I was always surprised he was such a big Yankees’ fan; especially growing up on the west coast. As a boy he put together a crystal radio set. He listened to the Yankees' games on dreamy California summer nights.

Somehow, I found the timing odd when he died. It was just before the All Star game; just when the pennant races started to heat up. The Yankees had won it all the year before. I have a confession to make - I am relieved I wasn't there when he died. I confess, I would not have wanted to be there to see him struggle in the chaos of trying to extend his expiring life. He was going to die that day. Maybe this means I was not a very good son and maintained that legacy as a father. Still I am thankful, I wasn't there.

After the funeral, we returned to my parent's home. I went from room to room, faster and faster. I went to every room in the house. Then I did it again. I thought I could find him. I considered my father to be a fairly thoughtful man; who may have cut himself the deal of a lifetime. He wasn't really dead. We just couldn't find him. He kept moving his existence quickly to another new location. When I would finally catch up to him; he'd look up at me with a wry smile and say, "You found me." When I would ask him why or how he would turn and quietly go back to watching the ballgame.

I never had a conversation with my Dad that lasted more than 5 minutes. Actually, we never spoke for more than 90 seconds. He just wasn't a talker.

To make up for this brevity, everyday I look up into the sky and pick out a cloud thinking that cloud is him. It's like I finally found him in that room he was hiding in. On perfectly cloudless days, I figure he's having a blue skies kind of day. Usually he's the tiniest, fluffiest, wispiest cloud not with a cluster of other clouds; but alone and happy in his singularity. I might change my mind once or twice before I know, it's really him. In keeping with the conciseness of our earthly conversations, I'll simply say, "Hi Dad. I'm thinking about you today."

My Dad's name was Harry.  

The Game Changer

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 06 Aug 2012 20:26:00 +0000

From their seats they had a pretty good view of just about everything. This night there was particular majesty about the disturbing blue sky and clouds that looked like tidal fluctuations. The sky seemed to move in and out, like high and low tides, forming little pools of ocean. People often tried to put names on the shapes of those clouds, but they were simply tiny suspended liquid droplets.

For the most part, the two men sat silently watching the baseball game. In between innings, the first man asked, "What happened to you ? It was like you disappeared ?" The second man traced the graininess of his seat with his fingertip;
and said, he didn't know. He just thought it didn't matter to anyone.

The first man said it did matter. He said, "I was your friend then, I am your friend now and I will always be your friend." Those 17 words changed the second man's life forever.

You'll never see friendship, if you stop looking.

to my friend, Brad Baker

Butterfly Man

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Thu, 12 Jul 2012 17:55:00 +0000

When the sky could get no bluer, the delicate butterfly wings sliced into the air like a scalpel attempting to remove a deadly lesion.

He was a father; but he didn’t always think of himself as father first. His thoughts were about daisy chains of impossibilities. He could see his personal history the way you might replay the horror of a slow motion car crash. It wasn’t that his children hated him; but he often felt the sting of their disdain.

Maybe there were times he should have counseled, but he became silent. When he looked at his own parents he could see how their pain became his flaws and now his imperfections became his children’s inevitability.

Divorces were the corpses of the many mistakes he made with his life. Only when it was too late, did it become clear to him why he had been so wrong, so many times before.

The butterfly paused to tiptoe across the crusty sienna nose of the echinacea. It would be like that all summer and every summer after that. A butterfly’s seeming allegiance to beauty was so wrongly attributed. Butterflies could fly forever on the wings of sorrow.

The fluttering legacy of damage.

Jacktown

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 13:36:00 +0000

In the early 1970's, America was in turmoil.  The Viet Nam war was still raging on. His college deferment had expired and he'd already passed his physical. He applied for and was granted a Conscientious Objector status. He received the CO, because his high school buddy, recently returned from his tour of duty; spoke as his witness. Under the Michigan summer sun, they spoke to each other, the way friends talk when they say goodbye.  He was to shipping out the next day. Standing in driveway, he asked him to come back alive.

His friend was terribly wounded in a deadly ambush with the Viet Cong. His statement was simple and direct, he said, "don't get this guy killed...." That's all it took, the draft board was unanimous in its decision.

A week later he was a new orderly at an inner city hospital. Dee-troit was still reeling from the 1967 riots. He was assigned afternoons, the 3 - 11pm shift. Harper Hospital was the site of the nation's first open heart surgery. The morgue was located in the original 1863 structure, far below grade, embraced by thick red stone walls; keeping it a constant 40 degrees. As a surgical orderly, you wheeled patients up to the 9th floor for surgery and back down to the recovery room. If things didn't go so well, you took the long ride to morgue in the basement.

The orderlies' locker room was on the 8th floor. It smelled like french fries and cologne.  They changed into crisp green scrubs and criss-crossed surgical caps, to create a "turban" look. Personal accessories included gold plated snake bracelets, heavy fake gold neck chains, hi black socks - so sheer you see your leg and white patent leather slip-ons. On his shift, the orderlies included Otha, Andre, Raj, Des, Rod and Dee. He shared a locker with Durrell - sullen, light skinned, sleepy eyes, processed hair, probably in his late 20's. Durrell asked where he was from ? Not listening for an answer he said, "Only white people and you live there ?" The orderly struggled to answer. The best he could do was ask Durrell where he stayed ? Durrell looked at everyone else but the new orderly and said, "I'm from Jacktown, boy." The other orderlies laughed and repeated "Durrell from Jacktown, man !"

Durrell reached up to the shelf inside the locker and pulled down a small brown paper bag. He took out a chromed, pearl handled Berreta .25 caliber hand gun. With one arm Durrell cradled the new orderly's neck, with the other he dug the gun in just below his ear and pushed upward to punctuate each word.  "If anyone wants to know, this is your gun, understand ?" The orderly nodded ever so slightly. After that, the orderly always changed in the bathroom. Durrell was a former resident of the Southern Michigan Correctional Facility, in Jackson, Michigan. He did some time for armed robbery.

Miss Violet was the elevator operator. She must have been in her late 70's, wore nurse's whites, a little pastel sweater, white opaques and white shoes with thick foam soles.  Her voice was raspy from the Parliament cigarettes she liked to smoke. One thing Miss Violet always had with her, was a shopping bag containing her  knitting. The inexpensive bundles of sky blue yarn always seemed to be cascading out of her bag. She must have been a very slow knitter because those bundles of Woolworth's yarn and the big knitting needles never seemed to get together.

On the first floor, Rod, Des, Raj and the new orderly  tumbled onto Miss Violet's elevator. Everyone greeted Miss Violet reverently and she said "Hey baby, it's tea time. We go up to four." This brought out some boyish giggles and slappin' of some skin. The new orderly was mystified as the elevator bypassed floors 2 and 3. Miss V said, "Lemme go cut it off". She switched the "On" key to "Off". The elevator hung suspended between floors, like a submarine; trying to avoid detection. She picked up her knitting bag and pulled out a bottle and a stack of tiny Dixie cups. The glass bottle had a pebbly texture with a clear liquid, tinted of grey and green. It was a pint of Seagram's gin. Miss V passed out the cups and cracked open the new bottle. She gave everyone a pour and said, "To your health boys !" The new orderly never drank gin and it felt like he'd swallowed herbal lava. She quickly put the bottle and knitting away. She gave her boys a stick of Juicyfruit gum and let everyone off on 5 - the psych floor. As the elevator doors closed Miss Violet said, "Be good boys !"

The submarine  descended into silence.

St. Louis Heights

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 17:08:00 +0000

The smell was tropical. Not like sun tan lotion or mango or papaya smoothies, but decomposition. The feeling was like taphonomy - from the Greek  taphos, meaning tomb.  It was like breathing inside the tomb of humidity. He was 4 years old, so he could not imagine something smelling like life and death simultaneously.

The house was located in the St. Louis Heights section of Honolulu - 96822. This was before ZIP codes existed and stamps cost 3 cents. Architecturally, it was a bungalow, porch in front, over a one car garage, on the left - a 38 degree stairway, with one turn, no backyard and a very narrow side yard. Located on extremely steep, hillside terrain; a car had actually run off the twisty road above and crashed into their house.  A real estate agent might point out the ocean views and beautiful sunsets.

The side yard was about 5 feet wide x 40 feet deep, with koa, hilo and rice grasses; punctuated with the abstracted lines of staghorn ferns. The earth was dark reddish brown, a silty clay content, very granular and hard packed. He felt the cool, damp moisture that seeped up from the ground, that made dark spots on his jeans and T-shirt.

There were no dump trucks, action figures or even plastic shovels, to create pretend battle scenarios. He lay on his stomach surveying this fecund red  planet. From this position, it was like taking a cinematographic low angle shot, he slowly panned his location. Exactly on cue, stage right and advancing crazily with a tipsy spidery gait was Scorpionida...an arachnid with a long reddish body with pincers in front and a thin segmented upturned tail tipped with a venomous stinger. Not realizing the consequences of his actions, he reached out with his right hand to corral the scorpion.
Scorpions have three sets of eyes and as the boy reached out, it seemed to do a reverse flip, landing the stinger on the back of his dark skinned hand.

The boy shrieked in surprise and pain. He tried to raise himself off the cold hard dirt, but tumbled crazily into a small tangled pile. He looked up at the blue sky and smelled the reddish clay soil.

Kaleidescope

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Fri, 09 Mar 2012 13:46:00 +0000

He was traveling with the Louis Vuitton of public transportation, 2 doubled up CVS plastic bags. Ample storage for rain pants, a bag of gummy bears, a paperback book - not memorable and some smoked almonds. It was fine for his commute of 20 minutes.

He hated the next stop, because she always got on. She must have been a nurse, because he heard her mention several hospitals she'd be working at for the week. If there was a Filipino cartoon with a character with the highest pitched voice ever, that would be her. His Louis Vuitton was no match for her big Filene's, Bloomingdale's and GAP bags. Inside those bags, were even more bags, containing a partially a eaten banana, a vintage Sony Walkman, some kind of pudding, crackers and a small cosmetic salon. He wondered how she kept track of everything and what was possibly at the bottom of those bags. She was a walking Dollar store.

Then it hit him. What an asshole he was. A complete and total ASSHOLE. Why let this little bag lady annoy him. Plus - does a "nice person" think these awful petty thoughts ? He looked down at his hands for some answers. Dark skinned and very veiny, wrinkly with knuckles that bulged at each joint. They looked like the hands of a chimp. A gnarly old chimp. There was an odd shaped scar on the back of his right hand, between his forefinger and middle finger; and below the webbing of those two fingers. The scar was not from a cut, scrape or puncture. It's origin and shape looked like it came out of a kaleidoscope.

It was from one of his earliest memories.
It was a scorpion's bite.
A scorpion bit him on his hand, leaving the odd shaped scar.

Some things are meant to leave a mark.

The Bus

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 21:39:00 +0000

Rows of azure blue plastic seats and brushed stainless steel grips were secured by tamper resistant fasteners. As usual he rode the MBTA #38 bus, enjoying the predictability of each passengers routine - who got got on and off at what stops. Sometimes he pretended he could look into the future. He knew which drivers were friendly and which drivers would not respond to his tentative greetings.

On the bus people shut life out with earphones, smartphones, cell phone conversations, even books. By nature he was a watcher. Cautiously studying the other passengers or looking out the window, at places he had been and places he would never be. Riding the bus let him discover the many architectural details he would miss by driving, walking or even riding a bike. Among his favorite sightings were mansard and gambrel roofs, eyebrow and bullseye windows, corbels and Queen Anne turrets.

Inbound and outbound routes retraced AM and PM; before and after work. In the morning, there was the sense of rushing anticipation. The evening dialed down a quiet desperation. His thoughts followed a repetitive pattern, always coming back to the same question. What happens when you die ?

As the bus approached his stop, he wondered if death was like stepping off the bus and never getting on again.

That Sound

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 12:47:00 +0000

A man and his wife had just crossed the railroad tracks.

The snow made a temporary journal of their travels.

It had just turned to dusk as they walked to their car.

They were talking about a movie they had just seen.

At first he heard a sound; but could not connect it to anything.

Then he felt something smack him in the side, just above his right hip.

If this was an scene from a comic book, the sound would be graphically registered as a "splattt-tt" or a "tha-wock".

The man looked up and saw a SUV with the passenger side window rolled down. It was too dark and the windows were too tinted to see anyone. Darkness surrounded the vehicle, as it slowly drove away.

The man was dumbfounded.
He looked down at his side and saw a dark stain growing on his jacket.

The only thing he could say to his wife was, "Why ? "She answered his question with a question,

"Would an explanation even help ?"

They went back to talking about the movie.

Seeing is deceiving, hearing is believing.

Before

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 12:28:00 +0000

The night before she had gone to a seafood restaurant. She was seated directly on a floor of clear, glass tiles. The tiles were about 18” square and 1" thick cast glass. It reminded her of the "rustic" glasses with tiny air bubbles frozen in a bluish vitrification. She sat atop an architecturally sized aquarium. The entire floor below appeared to be about 15' deep, painted that awful aqua-toothpaste color community pools are sometimes painted. She pointed to a fish and a guy in a hachimaki opened a trap door and used a net on a very long pole to snare her dinner.

She arrived with a small, independent film crew. Not exactly sure what the director's vision was; she thought a little escape was in order. The young filmmaker went for a walk by herself. She knew nothing about Kyoto. Sighting a mountaintop, she headed down the many winding streets and alleys ways. The tiny vans and pick-up trucks sounded like motor scooters as she navigated to the outskirts of the city.

Now the dense urban collage transitioned into a sparsely populated landscape. Suddenly, the many possible options narrowed to a single pathway that snaked into a green bamboo forest. The trail rose gently, but it was easy to follow. She was young, and felt happy to be alone.

There was an open grassy area after the bamboo forest ended. Ahead, she saw something she never even imagined existed. Glowing, unmistakably in front of her, was a forest of pink pine trees. The trail now became a carpet of pink pine needles. Sunlight filtered through the pine needles; making pink light on the pink forest floor. As the wind blew through the trees, the swirling needles, became pink sparks that jumped into the air, from an imaginary camp fire. She thought she might never leave. Maybe she would just live there forever. For the first time in over an hour she stood still, breathing in the pink moment.

The trail got much steeper. She found herself pausing for a second before pushing forward. At this point, she could rest and hold onto the wooden rail. The cedar wood felt clean and perfect to her touch. A carpenter of great skill had constructed this spectacularly humble structure. She continued to pull herself up using the rail. When she reached the end of the rail, there was a rice ball placed on a simple but beautiful ceramic dish. She thought about picking it up, even tasting it; but she thought it might be the wrong thing to do.

The incline became extreme. If she were to stand erectly, she might lose her balance and topple backwards. The trail changed dramatically, it narrowed to a path about 10" wide. Steps were replaced with embedded stones, whose natural surface was sculpted to fit her hand exactly. One crouching step after another got her to a stage where directly above her 7 or 8 nearly vertical hand holds. For the first time she wondered if she should keep going? What could possibly be at the top of this remote place? She thought about the rice ball and something inside her made her reach up to the next stone.

As she pulled herself up from the final step, she wondered if she had enough strength to climb down the mountain. Standing up straight for the first time in 40 minutes, she took a deep breath. In front of her were a "torii" and the mountain's cliff. A torii is a ceremonial gateway, meaning "where birds reside". This torii was different. About seven feet high, this gateway was constructed from cedar. Hanging from the torii's horizontal member were two amber colored ropes. The ropes were attached to a cedar plank that formed a swing. The torii framed a magnificent view of the highest mountaintop in the distance. The sky was a color it had never been before.

She sat down on the swing, looked over the edge and pushed herself off. In that moment she swung out into a space that was no longer mountain, it belonged only to the sky. Her toes stretched out. She leaned back as far as she could stretch and the mountain disappeared. She looked up and saw sky for the first time.

photo credit: Michael Levin "Torii Gate"

Chinatown

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 18 Jan 2010 16:47:00 +0000

It was frightening, to consider of all the things he did not know. The fact was, he never really had a job before. In college, he studied sculpture. His youthfulness did not realize the world was not going to come to him.

A temp agency had sent him to a grand, old department store, across from Union Square,in San Francisco. He had no experience.

Together with seven Chinese kids, they would do inventory in a stockroom on the top floor.

The view was magnificent. They did not have palm trees in the Midwest. The young sculptor noticed, rich people had a particular fondness for things; he knew he would never need.

By noon they had accomplished very little, but had become very hungry. Everyone put down their pencils and clipboards and took the creaky service elevator to the ground floor. They were a group of kids cutting down alleys, and taking shortcuts through stores.Their happy voices made conversations and they spoke as if they were excited about living.

Not so surprisingly, they arrived at the gates of Chinatown. All the buildings seemed pressed together like the shiny skin of ducks hanging, gleaming and glowing. They entered a building, ran up 4 flights of narrow, twisting stairs, dodging annoyed waiters and cooks gesturing angrily. Reaching the top floor, they walked across rooftops, under lines of laundry and entered another building. Through the noisy chaos, smells of fish and garbage, they descended 3 more flights of stairs, to a table set for eight.

There were no menus and no one spoke English. He only really knew one Chinese dish to order.

Noodles.

It was the best bowl of noodles he would ever eat in his life. Actually, he ordered the same thing for the next 4 days.

Sometimes not knowing is the key to learning.

Heaven

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 01:45:00 +0000

He could tell by the woman's deeply creased, too tanned face and froggy voice;
she would lite up as soon as they landed.
Looking down, big things became smaller.
That reminded him of the only time,
he ever saw the shadow of his plane passing over a vast nubby carpet of clouds.
It was like the first time he peed in the woods.
Something more magnificent and powerful was occurring; he just wasn't sure what it was ?

Now that he was airborne, he looked for markers that would be an absolute indication where he was.
He looked for roads, highways, rivers and lakes.
Bodies of water were particularly fascinating.
From above, the blues, greens and purples seemed to paint an abstract of the water's depths.
Another palette called out to the sandbars that ribbed the coast.
Below him stretched out farmland, cities, baseball diamonds and gravel pits.
The predictability of the suburbs displayed patterns of small geometric dots.
People lived in those dots.
At night, the greenish street lights lit the roadways, and the whiter beams of cars made a slow procession of flickering lights.

In remote regions, he liked to follow trails that might wind around mountain terrains.
It was like tracing spirals in the sand.
Sometimes they might lead to a fabulous resort or a stunning lodge or just an old abandoned cabin.
The pathways he liked the best, were the ones that led nowhere.
They were like a pointless conversation, that just trailed off.

He was particularly interested in seeing golf courses, sports stadiums and nude sunbathing.
Fortunately, there were a lot of golf courses.
The fluffy white clouds could be conjured into an elephants, squirrels or manatees.
Once they were at cloud level he wondered if he actually believed in heaven ?
Making up animals or believing in the afterlife were really very different measurements of certainty.
Something he did learn; was water vapor forms tiny droplets or ice crystals, about 0.01 mm in diameter.
Clouds become visible when billions of icy crystals are suspended in the atmosphere above earth.
Every day he looked up into the sky and listened to the clouds.

He wondered what people thought they meant, when they talked about heaven.
Talking and believing are so different.
He wondered if people knew, that heaven was a place for hydrogen molecules.

The Map Maker's Mother

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 12:43:00 +0000

A cartographer’s mother made cards to send her daughter. The mother saved stamps from different countries. The daughter knew her mother would steam the stamps, releasing them from the letters. She would mount the stamps on colorful paper. The daughter studied maps of places that no longer existed.
As she paused, the cartographer would think about her mother's life.

She hoped her mother was happy with the life she lived.
It made the map maker think about her own life too.

Being there is not a place.

Watson and the Shark

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 19:36:00 +0000

The boy's favorite painting was called "Watson and the Shark".
He would stand for hours and gaze deeply into the painting.
What intrigued the boy so much ?
Maybe it was how menacing the shark looked or the grave peril the boy felt for Watson ?
One day while studying the painting, a group of people crowded around him.
They were listening to a woman in a blue jacket.
She said the man holding the rope and the man in the water were doppelgangers.
The boy wasn't sure what this meant, but he could almost feel the savagery of shark's bite.
Given a choice, he'd rather be the man in the boat.
When he grew up, he would bring his children to see the painting.
They would all stand around the painting and talk about who they would be:
Watson, the Shark or the man with the rope.

Identity is in the eye of the beholder.

"Watson and the Shark" John Singleton Copley 1778

The Avatar and Zebras

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 14:23:00 +0000

When an economic crisis came to the ecosystem,
all the animals of the savanna were affected.
Maybe hardest hit were the zebras.
During tough times, nobody really liked black and white stripes.
Historically, belt tightening was a conservative preoccupation.
As hard as the zebras tried to become either all black or all white;
it never seemed to work.
They asked for assistance from a higher power.
Vishnu summoned Parasurama; Rama-of-the-axe to go the savanna
and quiet the crisis.
Although Parasurama was a warrior god; he was revered for his ability as a strategist.
The problem as Parasurama saw it, was one of perception.
Because everyone was concerned about the economy,
the zebras stood out as petulant and uncommitted.
Parasurama decided to make it rain and turn the arid savanna
into a mud bath.
All the animals became cloaked in a dark, muddy suit.
Everyone looked the same.
Now the animals focused on solving the problems; rather
than only assigning blame.
Eventually, peace and prosperity returned to the savanna.

Parasurama took his axe and ascended to the higher spiritual realm.

Perfection is unattainable, but acceptance is another story.

Photo credit : Peter Bland

Avoidance Theory and the Greyhound

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 20:34:00 +0000

This Italian greyhound was rescued from a life of racing and poor treatment.
With the largest heart and percentage of fast twitch muscle of any breed, this greyhound was exceptionally gifted.
He was a solitary dog; preferring only the company of his beautiful mistresses.
They called him Manny.
When time came for a walk and the taking care of business;
Manny was expedient, staying well clear of other butt sniffing dogs.
His belief was a good day meant no contact with anybody,
especially other dogs and people who felt they should pet all dogs.

One day, Manny was curled up and nice and cozy dreaming about running with a pack of other greyhounds.
It was like everything was shiny, in slow motion and he was happy.
Suddenly he awoke, stretching his long body and yawning.
The dream intrigued him because he wondered if he had it all wrong.
Manny was most introspective, even for a greyhound.
He decided to change; he would smile, sniff butts and nuzzle people.
Precisely at that moment, he realized the glory of life was living.
At last, Manny felt the pure joy of simply being Manny.

Three Wishes

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 19:25:00 +0000

Three black crows were perched in a dogwood tree.
The first crow asked "If you could have a wish come true - what would it be ?"
The second crow said, "I'd wish for a winning lottery ticket."
The first crow said, "I'd be the winner of a reality show."
They asked the third crow, "What to you wish for ?"
The third crow, who was slightly depressed said, "I'd be happy to sing show tunes all day long."

Only you can truly know, what makes you happy.

The Line and the Sea

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 18:55:00 +0000

It was a December day in Boston.
A man and woman walked towards each other.
Neither one could see the other because there was a hill between.
They were both dressed in black.
Even as they got closer, they were still unsure.

They met at the top of the hill.
After 30 years the man and woman were together again.
They had been lovers in art school when they were young.
In those days they made prints and paintings together.
One night she had too much to drink, crawled underneath a car and would not come out.

They had no idea how to put back the many years that separated them.
At first they were overjoyed to be back with each other, then overwhelmed by the history they no longer shared.
On this cold wintry day; but they decided to go for a walk on the beach.
They found a stick and drew a long, long line in the sand.
Then the man and the woman marked off each one of the 30 years.
For each mark and each year, they told the other a story of what had happened.

The next day they returned to the beach and the long line in the sand.
Over night the tide had washed the line away; and returned it to the sea.

There are no lines in the sea.

Untitled [Big Sea #1] Vija Celmins

The Mathematician and the Squirrels

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Sun, 08 Feb 2009 14:33:00 +0000

A mathematician lived alone in a little white house, near a tall oak tree.
On Tuesdays he ate tuna casserole.
Each day he spent 6.5 hours working on equations and theories.
On Sunday he went for a long walk and would try to identify every tree he would pass by.
When he went to work at the college, he only walked on streets that began with the letter "B".
One day he saw two gray squirrels chasing each other.
As they raced onto the street, they were both crushed by a large black moving van.
The driver did not seem notice he had taken the lives of these two squirrels.
Ironically, the gilded letters of the truck said, "Death Wish Piano Movers".
The mathematician was stunned.
He thought there must be a connection, but he couldn't be certain.

Sometimes simplicity breeds ambiguity.

Too Short Shorts

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 13:53:00 +0000

Too Short Shorts

There was once a homeless man called "Too short shorts".
He would wear black bicycle shorts that were uncomfortably too small and too tight.
Too short shorts, would stagger and sway from too much drink and would ask people to give him a dollar.
Apparently he felt he needed to be very specific.
The people of the town had generous hearts and many times gave him money or
asked him what he wanted to eat and they would buy it for him.
One day people turned away from Too short shorts.
It may have been the pink furry slippers he wore or possibly the lime green tube top he had on.
No one was really sure.

Always dress for success.

The Woodcutter and the Forest

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 13:50:00 +0000

The woodcutter and the forest

A woodcutter had three sons.
As the boys grew to be men, they left the forest, to live in the city.
The oldest son became an urban planner.
The middle son got into retail.
And the youngest son became a writer.
The woodcutter missed his sons, but knew they must make their own way in the world.
To keep him from being so sad, the woodcutter carved 3 statues of his sons.
One day a fire burned down the forest.
The woodcutter fled the burning trees, barely escaping.
When the fire subsided, he returned only to find his house reduced to smoldering ashes.
The forest was burned down, so he had no way to make a living.
The statues of his three sons survived, remaining miraculously intact.
The woodcutter was torn about what to do.
Should he stay in the burned forest with the statues of his sons ?
Should he cut them down and take them with him ?
In the end he decided to leave the statues in the blackened forest.
The woodcutter hoped one day, the trees would grow back and the forest would return.
He hoped one day a grandson or granddaughter would return to the forest and become a woodcutter.

In life, you always hope to return to the forest.

The Berserk Man and the Donuts

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Fri, 06 Feb 2009 00:15:00 +0000

A young man in a white t-shirt, went berserk in Dunkin' Donuts.
First he opened the refrigerated cases and smashed gallons of whole, 2% and low fat milk on the floor.
Then he went behind the counter and crashed trays of donuts with colored sprinkles, jelly filled, maple sticks,
éclairs, French crullers, Boston Kreme and glazed munchkins; to the floor.
The donuts and the milk mixed crazily on the speckled tiled floor.
Customers ran out, the homeless ran in; but nobody said a word.
It just smelled like milk and donuts.

The pairing of things is sometimes very mysterious.

The Girl Who Loved Giraffes

noreply@blogger.com (Steve Murakishi) — Thu, 05 Feb 2009 13:39:00 +0000

A girl with dark hair loved giraffes.
She drew pictures of giraffes on her bedroom walls.
She took photographs of things on fire.
Her room was on the third floor, above a restaurant that had a good Zagat rating.
A collection of miniature plastic animals filled her wisteria colored room.
The girl with dark hair adopted a humpback whale named "Gary".
When she felt happy she would go on top of her roof and smile at her world.
Sometimes she blew bubbles so they might cascade around people's heads walking below on the sidewalk.
This angered the old lady, who lived across the street.
She called the police to complain.
The police told the girl she was breaking the law.
Boston had an ordinance called disturbing the peace.
The girl didn't think it made sense, but she wanted to be in compliance.
She knew when she left Boston she'd go to her roof, blow bubbles and smile at the world.

Peace and happiness are not the same thing