Musashi Mix Inq

Manifest Identity

Posted on March 7, 2011

Manifest Identity, ©MMXI

Kaname [Ikemoto] Yamamoto: Great-grandma— 曽祖母

Born 1899, Hiroshima, Japan

Died 1985, Chicago, USA

Enemy Alien

Kaname: a picture bride who arrived in America surprised to find that she was a new mother of two boys— ages 5 and 3. Albert and Steve had recently lost their mother in the Influenza Epidemic. A picture marriage was arranged to take her place. Kaname married my Great-grandfather, Goichi, and the family started anew.

In 1942, the family was stripped of their farm outside of LA and locked-up at the Gila River Concentration Camp in Arizona. The bombing of Hiroshima meant that there was no home to return to. The only direction remaining for Kaname was forward.

The treasured paper-trail of photographs, documents, notebooks and scrap paper chart my family's American story. But this is simply the ash atop a burning stick of incense— Breathe deep…

The thick, rich smell of history: cracked leather, teriyaki, saltpeter, steaming rice, mothballs, cedar and sandalwood.

• ≈ Δ ≈ •

Itadakimasu. Let us begin…

never know best






Posted on February 21, 2011

IkuZo! {Here we Go!}, ©MMXI


Would you fight for the

Flag? Bullets flying past, we

All cry: Go For Broke—


Purchase Print

442 Infantry Regiment
Uncle Sam
Douglas C-47 Skytrain

Palliativity 113: Youth

Posted on January 13, 2011


Youth, the power of a generation sailing at the deceptive speed of night. We awaken to realize ourselves a year older, and yet we haven't even crossed the break-wall; that sheltered cove. Youth—

"We don't inherit the earth from our ancestors,
we borrow it from our children" -David Brower

I don't understand the phrase "family-time". I can't imagine a life disconnected; tuning out and stumbling in on a holiday's eve. It is of primary importance for the young to spend time with the elderly. Their stories are our stories. We are the keepers of our own legacies.

The Greatest Generation is coming to a close. I miss those who are gone and am grateful for those who have shared their stories and lives with me. Their words and smiles are like the sound of a childhood wind-up-doll playing out it's tune; its clock-work soul echoes an eternal loop playing in and out of time, never knowing when or where the last note will fall.

And yet the music plays on in our hearts, forever…


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