A moral dilemma of minor proportions

Once or twice per year, I find myself in an unexpected situation where I'm forced to rethink my reasons for giving up meat. The situation usually goes something like this: I'm at a restaurant by myself, and I ordered what I thought was a meat-free dish, but when it arrives — lo and behold — 'tis not what I expected. Sometimes it's my fault, like when I neglected to fully read the menu, and I casually assumed there would be no meat in the "vegetable soup". Sometimes the restaurant staff simply goofs up the order. But whatever the cause, I am now faced with a minor moral dilemma: sending back the dish might actually be worse than just eating it.

Book review: Trying Not to Try, by Edward Slingerland

The thing about ancient Chinese philosophy is, it's ancient. As relevant as the core teachings might still be, the metaphors and original context sometimes suffer from antiquity so severe that many modern-day folks (myself included) simply can't relate, and therefore miss the message. These days one typically isn't faced with dilemmas such as how to most elegantly butcher an ox for ceremonial offering, or what to do with a crop of comically oversized gourds.

And from a Western point of view, the other thing about ancient Chinese philosophy is, it's Chinese. That is to say, it's incredibly foreign. Many Westerners (myself included) sometimes struggle to understand even modern Chinese culture, simply because Western and Chinese cultures differ so greatly. The two take radically different approaches even to something as fundamental as language: non-tonal pronunciation versus tonal, a phonetic alphabet versus a complex logography, etc.

A secular commentary on Ayahuasca

Discussions about Ayahuasca often come saturated with mystical or spiritual overtones. This is particularly true of discussions that involve the discovery of Ayahuasca, the "intelligence" of Ayahuasca, and the concept of Mother Ayahuasca. In this post I'll go against the grain and take a very down-to-earth, nonspiritual approach to discussing these three aspects of Ayahuasca. (The video version of this post can be found here.)

My only goal here is to offer some different perspectives on these topics. I am no expert, and I'm not trying to prove anyone wrong, so take this for what it's worth.

Preparing for an Ayahuasca Retreat, Part 4: the Psychological Effects of Ayahuasca

I spent twelve days in the Amazon rainforest attending an Ayahuasca retreat where we drank the brew on seven nights. It was both the most difficult and the most therapeutic experience of my life. In part 1 of this blog series I discussed some preliminary considerations regarding Ayahuasca. In part 2 I discussed the preparatory diet. In part 3 I discussed dosages and the physical effects of Ayahuasca.

Here in part 4 I'll be discussing the psychological effects, broken up into four phases: the come-up, the plateau, the comedown, and the residual after-effects. (The video version of this post can be found here.)

Preparing for an Ayahuasca Retreat, Part 3: Dosages, and the Physical Effects of Ayahuasca

I spent twelve days in the Amazon rainforest attending an Ayahuasca retreat where we drank the brew on seven nights. It was both the most difficult and the most therapeutic experience of my life. In part 1 of this blog series I discussed some preliminary considerations regarding Ayahuasca, and in part 2 I discussed the preparatory diet. Here in part 3 I'll be discussing dosages, and the physical effects of Ayahuasca intoxication. (The video version of this post can be found here.)

Preparing for an Ayahuasca Retreat, Part 2: The Diet

I spent twelve days in the Amazon rainforest attending an Ayahuasca retreat where we drank the brew on seven nights. It was both the most difficult and the most therapeutic experience of my life. In part 1 of this blog series I discussed some preliminary considerations. Here in part 2 I'll be discussing the preparatory diet, which helps minimize the chance of adverse reactions, and which helps prepare your innards for the potentially grueling task of drinking Ayahuasca. (The video version of this post can be found here.)

Preparing for an Ayahuasca Retreat, Part 1: Preliminary Considerations

I spent twelve days in the Amazon rainforest attending an Ayahuasca retreat where we drank the brew on seven nights. It was both the most difficult and the most therapeutic experience of my life. If you're thinking of trying Ayahuasca, here are some things to consider before taking the plunge. (The video version of this post can be found here.)

A recipe for disaster: Japanese culture + unrestrained capitalism

Headline from USA Today: Japanese are working themselves to death--literally

The article above focuses on the recent death of 24-year-old Matsuri Takahashi, who committed suicide after months of being forced to work ungodly hours at the major Japanese advertising firm Dentsu. This particular tragedy made the headlines perhaps only because the Japanese Department of Labor officially acknowledged that Takahashi's suicide indeed resulted from overwork, but an even greater tragedy is that in Japan, similar deaths routinely occur and then quietly get swept under the rug.

As I wrote in You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.:

It’s difficult to exaggerate the extreme degree to which the Japanese are overworked. In English-speaking cultures, the phrase “worked to death” often occurs in the figurative sense of being extremely busy, but in Japan the equivalent phrase 過労死 (karōshi) only occurs in the literal sense, because it has become a nationwide crisis: every year a considerable number of Japanese employees actually die from overwork. Most instances of karōshi result not from any sort of back-breaking physical labor in hazardous working conditions like those of a coal miner, but from a gradual accumulation of anxiety and psychological stress that eats away at the employee day by day until culminating in death, often from heart attack or stroke, often before the age of forty. The unbearable stress of work also contributes to Japan’s epidemic of suicide, which, as of this writing, is the country’s leading cause of death in young adults.

Several factors contribute to Japan's epidemic of overwork. One major factor is summed up in the Japanese idiom 出る杭は打たれる (deru kui wa utareru), which translates to “the stake [or nail] that sticks out gets hammered down” — a stern reminder to lay low and avoid standing out.

Book Review: The Doors of Perception / Heaven and Hell

When I first read Aldous Huxley's The Doors of Perception / Heaven and Hell, most of it was lost on me, and I assumed this was because at the time I lacked any experience with psychedelics. The second time I read the book — many years and many psychedelics later — I still found myself struggling to follow along. I generally don't write negative reviews, but I think this book offers at least two valuable lessons to writers.

Expanded distribution for You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.

Rejoice! Amazon's reign of exclusivity rights has ended! In addition to the paperback and Kindle versions, You Can't Spell Tokyo Without KO is now available at Apple iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Scribd, and maybe even at your local library (if your local library's curator has fine taste in books).

K.O. Outtake #6: Trying to Get a Grip on Himself

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

Trying to Get a Grip on Himself

Every so often, those struggling to stay awake will attempt to feign consciousness, as perhaps was the case with this gentleman who held his mobile phone in the general vicinity of his ear. If he intended this as a decoy, the calm silence of the early morning train station gave him up, exposing the unmistakable sound emanating from beneath his low-tucked cap: choppy, irregular gasps of snoring that continually unclogged and then reclogged globs of phlegm in his throat.

The curious placement of his right hand raises more questions than it answers. The manner in which his thumb lodged in the fold of his shirt suggests that perhaps his hand simply fell that way, but the remaining four digits curl slightly inward, cupping his genitals and suggesting a wide range of other possibilities.

K.O. Outtake #5: Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep

Did this gentleman, in a droopy-eyed daze of fatigue, stumble up to the vending machine in hopes of refueling himself with caffeine, only to find his wallet empty and the adjacent ATM occupied, at which point frustration and exhaustion overcame him, and he fell to the ground with a final grunt of dissatisfaction? Some sort of grievance certainly must have embittered him, or perhaps he simply slogs through life in a perpetual foul mood, because when roused by the casual chatter of Mother and Son passing by, he barked at them — half in the figurative sense of yelling words, and half in the literal sense of barking like a dog.

Contrary to the shivering salaryman in Akihabara who snuggled up next to a cold pile of garbage, this gentleman reaped the benefits of warm vending machine exhaust, as well as the soothing white noise of soft mechanical humming that could lull him to sleep if not for the chatter of passersby. As far as places to nap on the street during winter, one could certainly do worse.

Though his soiled winter coat and partially outstretched hands gave him the slight appearance of a beggar, it is extremely unlikely that he was homeless, judging from his relatively recent haircut, his clean dress pants and dress shoes, and most of all his location. The homeless generally stay out of public view, congregating in makeshift cardboard communities under bridges, in specific corners of large parks, and so forth, and they almost never resort to begging, perhaps because — like most Japanese people — they strive to avoid creating any sort of conflict, nuisance, or inconvenience.

K.O. Outtake #4: The Subscriber You Have Dialed Is Currently Unavailable

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

The Subscriber You Have Dialed Is Currently Unavailable

As an example of the blatant indifference with which the Japanese sometimes discard their personal effects, this gentleman's neglected mobile phone could have been snatched up so effortlessly that to some pickpockets it may seem too good to be true.

Before passing out, many Japanese people display considerable courtesy toward others by curling into a ball and tucking themselves into a nook somewhere out of the way. Others put forth seemingly little thought or effort toward courtesy and simply spread themselves into the most comfortable position available, flagrant and unapologetic.

Even on less crowded late-night trains, shamelessly sprawling out across five seats — especially with one's shoes on — would generally be considered uncouth, but this particular gentleman exhibited a curious inconsistency: despite his lack of etiquette, he extended the courtesy of setting his mobile phone to silent before banishing it from his sight, and it made not a sound other than the soft hum of occasional vibrations as it slid across the floor, one notification at a time.

K.O. Outtake #3: The Bitter Taste of Defeat

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

The Bitter Taste of Defeat

Capturing raw, fleeting moments of nature often requires a certain degree of fortuitous timing: having the camera aimed and ready precisely when that sea lion leaps from the water, flailing for its life, millimeters away from gruesome laceration by a great white's razor-sharp teeth. A flicker of time that lasts perhaps only a millisecond — gone in the blink of an eye — can be immortalized by a photographer with a lot of luck and lot of patience.

Snapping this particular photo required no such luck or patience, because throughout the entire twenty-minute train ride this gentleman's tongue only protruded farther and farther from his mouth. As if he had accidentally swallowed bathroom cleaner, he continually puckered his face and clenched his closed eyes into a bitter scowl that bore a striking resemblance to the neon-green icky face of Mr. Yuk poison stickers.

K.O. Outtake #2: The Last Supper

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

The Last Supper

Like a dismembered limb twitching on its own, his right hand unconsciously clawed away at the empty basket, in search of the hamburger that was no more. His diagonal and unintuitive alignment with the table, with its pointed corner jabbing into his chest, suggests that his body had urgently shut down post-feast amidst his attempt to stand up and leave. Though he might have eaten his entire meal while seated this way, that seems unlikely because his chair partially blocked the walkway of this narrow restaurant, and the Japanese typically frown upon this sort of obtrusive public nuisance, even such a minor one.

Similar to the tight confines of economy-class airplane seating, most places in Japan afford patrons barely enough room to fit — or in the case of larger patrons, not nearly enough room to fit — with an unspoken understanding of common courtesy that one should avoid spilling over into a neighbor's seat, into the walkway, etc. In Japanese society an unambiguous line usually separates the acceptable (passing out in public) from the unacceptable (sprawling out in public).

K.O. Outtake #1: The Slippery Slope

The following is an outtake from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public. This text was ultimately edited out of the final version for one reason or another (redundant, or didn't fit the book's tone, or distracted from the book's main themes, etc.), but I'm including it here because at least one beta reader mentioned that he or she found it worth reading.

In this context, the term "K.O." (or knockout) refers to losing consciousness in public.

The Slippery Slope

This gentleman's tangled mess of limbs serves as a prime example of the unforeseen sucker punch K.O., where the victim probably had no intention of snoozing but rather ended up sliding down the slippery slope of sleepiness, perhaps beginning with the innocent notion of resting one's eyes or leaning against a handrail.

Because the sucker punch K.O. strikes without warning, it often results in unpredictable, improbable postures as exhibited here: his left hand gently cupping his bosom while with his right hand he appears to be throwing out a limp-fingered attempt at a Bloods gang sign. Perhaps the train car would have echoed with soft, mumbled gang calls of "su-wu" and "wes' side" if not for the victim's shoulder strap partially asphyxiating him. And if not for his arm fortuitously lodging inside the handrail, he likely would have found himself pretzeled up on the floor.

The tiny splotches of red wine on his shirt perhaps offer a clue as to the origin of where it all started to go downhill.

Sinking into Oblivion

[The following is an excerpt from You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public.]

Sinking into Oblivion

During the mid-twentieth century, scientist John B. Calhoun conducted a series of experiments to determine the effects of overpopulation on mice and rats. In the 1960s he conducted his most famous experiment, known as “mouse universe” or “mouse utopia”, which provided optimal living conditions for the mice: limitless food and water, ample opportunities for socializing and mating, plenty of nesting material, lack of predators, lack of disease, and so forth. His experiment presented the mice with only one challenge: overpopulation.

My fellow authors: looking for an editor or cover designer?

If you're looking to hire a professional editor, I highly recommend Michelle Demers, who edited my first two books. Aside from editing, she also offers other publishing services such as ebook formatting, print layout, and self-publishing consultation. You can view her testimonials here.

For professional cover design, I highly recommend Jenny Q over at historicaleditorial.com. (Testimonials can be found on the same page.) She specializes in historical fiction, but as you can see from the two covers below, she is highly adept at other genres as well.

You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public

My second book is now available on Amazon, in paperback and for Kindle: You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public.

If you were frightened away by the graphic nature of my first book, Seven Nights with Ayahuasca, I can assure you that this one is rated PG, and it doesn't involve any psychedelics or detailed descriptions of vomiting and diarrhea. (See book description below.)

洋書が好きな方が居らっしゃったら、私の2冊目の本のキンドル版を発売しました。文庫版もそろそろ発売されるはずです。 You Can't Spell Tokyo Without K.O.: A photo-essay dissecting the Japanese epidemic of passing out in public

去年に出した本 Seven Nights with Ayahuasca とは全く違うテーマで、「何で日本の公共の場所でぐうぐう寝ちゃったり気を失っちゃったりする日本人が多いのか」についての写真集です。英語の内容紹介は以下です。

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Every day, all across the city of Tokyo, a curious phenomenon unfolds: scores of blue- and white-collar citizens end up passed out — sometimes in spectacular fashion and mind-boggling positions — on the streets, on trains, in restaurants, in bushes, or anywhere else imaginable. Come nightfall, one might stumble upon a well-to-do Japanese salaryman lying crumpled and snoozing facedown on the sidewalk, apparently walloped by a haymaker of fatigue that sent him crashing down for the count. These brutal knockout punches sometimes involve intoxication, but alcohol alone fails to explain this widespread yet unintuitive phenomenon: making a public spectacle of oneself in a society like Japan’s, where conformity and shame heavily regulate behavior.

Rife with fascinating insights into Japanese culture, You Can’t Spell Tokyo Without K.O. embarks on an eye-opening journey where social commentary and candid street photography explore the various societal factors — some enviable, some alarming — that contribute to this epidemic of passing out in public.

Keeping Myself in Check

One of the key components to successfully lying to myself is that I must be invested in the lie. If during my twenties I had observed a stranger who mirrored my exact behavior of the time, I might have casually thought to myself, "Jeez, that guy should take it easy on the booze." Not being invested in his personal matters, I would have had no incentive to deny the obvious about this stranger's detrimental behavior. Yet that very same behavior, when I did it, struck me as "no big deal" because I was invested in the lie: it absolved me from the burden of answering questions like "What sort of pain or unhappiness am I attempting to soothe with booze?" My ego also stood in the way, with arms folded and chest puffed out, always insisting that I didn't need to change, always eager to fill my head with delusions of grandeur.

In my everyday life it can be exceedingly difficult if not impossible to both bypass my ego and truly detach from myself mentally, such that I can evaluate my own behavior as objectively as I would that of a stranger. But these exact abilities are two of the profoundly beneficial effects of psychedelics such as LSD, psilocybin mushrooms, Ayahuasca, etc. Later in life, specifically thanks to psychedelics I was able to look at myself from the outside perspective of someone not invested in my lie, and I saw my self-deception for what it really was. I clearly saw the pain and unhappiness that I had been trying to soothe, and I acknowledged that attempting to drown my problems in booze was not a solution but in fact another problem — one that I quickly resolved.