Musashi Mix Inq


Posted on February 28, 2011

Fall-Out, ©MMXI


The white flash of mercy. Pompeii from the belly of a bomber. Chernobyl at the push of a button.

We are all survivors of the Nuclear-Age, although we are still playing out the Diesel-Punk opera of WWII.

For now, we are Don Quixote chasing windmills and solar-cells as Sancho Panza floods Atlantis with crude.

I don't want Utopia. I just need tomorrow.


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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...


The Long Way Home

Posted on October 25, 2010

The Long Way Home, ©MMX

On the cross-roads of

Life, hope is made of dust clouds.

Take the long way home.


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Posted on September 14, 2010

[Nagasaki mon Amore]

Hibakusha, ©MMX

Hibakusha are, by definition, a dying breed. For 65 years the world has waited, and with each passing year it becomes harder to hold that bated breath. In a way, we are all hibakusha. The Nuclear Age is one of hyperbole and forgetfulness; paranoia and separation… It's good to see that some things haven't changed.

In August of 1945, my great-grandparents were still locked away in the Arizona desert while my grandparents continued to scrape out new lives here in Chicago; surviving.

At the same time, my great-uncle in the MIS continued to interrogate Japanese POWs in PNG, hoping that each secret he extracted from the prisoners would help prevent the American invasion of Japanese soil that each US soldier feared since the first "Banzai!" was cried… Homeland: faces of the children he'd yet to bear charging at him with bamboo spears by the thousand.

8.6.1945: two of my grandparents' nieces died on their way to school; midwives to the apocalypse. Their aunt died soon after of leukemia. Those left behind would be known as hibakusha; atomic survivors. No one escapes the fallout…

Across the demon-proof bridge stands the Guardian of the Fallout. I can't look at Japan without seeing him. Karma doesn't have a half-life.


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Posted on September 4, 2010

Kaiju (giant-monster) Battle!!!

Action!, ©MMX

The newest piece in the "Occupied" series pits two of my favorite wandering gods of chaos: Yojimbo and Gojira, in a fight to see who gets to keep the rubble.

The price of modernity are the monsters that we birth into existence.

The stronger we narcissistically hold onto the past, we forget those whom we trod on in our pursuit of greatness.

The golden age is the myth of modernity. Modernity is the myth of progress.

Shikata ga nai and pass the ammunition.