To live in a world meant for other people

In many ways, Japan gets things exactly right. I moved here by accident a long time ago, and the country still surprises me. Before coming here, I accepted a lot of what I thought I knew about the world, only to discover that our man-made borders are tall and strong and act as walls to block the flow of general information. Of course, the internet helps to break down these walls, but so much information is buried in the avalanche we call social media, and the loudest voices seem to determine what we absorb. We simply can't sift through the rest. Time is just not on our side. But we do have a choice. The choice to look twice at things that come our way. Ask ourselves if what is in front of us makes sense or not. Ask ourselves if a different view might not explain things better. No matter where I live, I feel that I live in a world meant for other people. Truth be told, I feel no more foreign in Japan than I did in New York, New Jersey, Philadelphia, Los Angeles. I am always on t...

I discover this book after reading an article about it online a while back. At the time, I am aware of autism but don't really know what to think about it. I have no direct contact with any person with autism, or even with anyone who raises it as a personal topic. But now, after reading this book, I realize that for all the detachment I feel in my life, detachment that serves as a recurring theme in my writing, not once do I consider the idea of physical detachment.  My own detachment, of course, is emotional. But the boy in this book describes a normal 13 year-old boy, one who lives his life inside a captive shell, a shell that does not allow him to convey  even his most basic thoughts . Given all the times I try but fail to express myself in matters of a deeply  personal nature,  with the  concomitant storm of frustration, I wonder how my experience compares to what this boy must go through on a daily basis. Through arduous effort and a spirit I can only ...

A picture taken in December 2015 in Shinjuku Gyoen in Tokyo. The sky is a dull gray. It seems to be made of a soft metal. Underneath, the vibrant colors of winter escape into the day. The park is not unlike F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby. It nearly disappeared in the 1940s, only to be resurrected and reintroduced to the public to newfound acclaim. Click pictures to enlarge My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me   

I first read sections of this book as a child (7 or 8), tricked by its title. At the time I think it is meant for someone like me, pick it from the shelf at a friend's house. I don't understand most of what I read, but I do sense the emotional violence, the extreme tension. It is real. I can feel it. And it comes off the page. A remarkable discovery.  I have since re-read the book many times, seen the movie with Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, and seen the play on Broadway with Bill Irwin and Kathleen Turner. It remains my favorite stage play and one of my favorite books in my library.  But nothing stays with me like that first time I pull it off the shelf as a child, get ripped open, exposed to the raw and emotional possibilities of words on the page. If any book has influenced the depths of my writing, this one has. My books on Amazon   |   Subscribe to this site   |   Contac t me