Musashi Mix Inq

Gion Ghosts

Posted on November 8, 2010

Gion Ghosts, ©MMX


The alchemy of silk-lined

Alleys in Gion.


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Palliativity 104: Scar Tissue

Posted on November 4, 2010

scar tissue

Family means everything to me. I'm not just talking about blood, it's the connections we make in life that can never be broken; the unweathered well deep in our hearts.


For a couple of years, death encompased my life. Enough tragedies can blind you and break you down. Lost in the wilderness, I blame the trees for the forest.

Drunk driver

For my partner and I, the beginning of our relationship was steeped in death. The deep cuts healed us together, stitched at the heart. The greater the damage, the stronger the bonds: scar tissue that I know you saw... Looking at one another, we can see the jagged pain as well as the joy. We learned to accept life's contradictions.

The symptoms and proffered cures however are another matter—


‡ Δ ‡

Tragedy can become a chronic condition if we merely tread water. Assess the damage and heal strong. Destiny doesn't pull punches, so why should we?


Filed under: Blog, Pain No Comments


Posted on November 1, 2010

Shadowland, ©MMX

My great uncle, Lt. Col. Steve Shizuma Yamamoto, is one of my heroes. While the rest of the family was locked away at Gila River Internment Camp, Steve was selected to become part of a special unit to fight in the Pacific. The US government shaped his language, culture and ethnicity into a weapon to fight the Japanese. As an officer in the Military Intelligence Service, Steve interrogated thousands of Japanese POWs at the detention camp in Papua New Guinea. The barbed wire fences made him feel right at home.

My family is from Hiroshima. When Steve landed on mainland Japan, he traveled to Hiroshima city to find the family and see the devastation first hand. At the border to the city, an MP told him that no one was allowed to enter. Undeterred, Steve borrowed a bicycle from a local kid and rode into Ground Zero—


After my grandmother passed away in the winter of 2008, I openned a ceder chest that had been locked for decades. I found many photographs and souvenirs that her brother, Steve, had sent her from the Occupation. Among these I found a few unlabeled 4x5 prints. My heart stopped. The desolate, burnt terrain. The branchless-black trees. A trolley smashed into a building. This is Hiroshima. I almost dropped them and ran, but the tears and reverence froze me solid. Steve never told me that he had brought a camera with him...