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.

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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.

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.