
For beings who are so similar on the inside, we would seem, to the outside observer, to be very different on the out. Clustered together in the urban sprawl, even mashed together - almost to a pulp - while within the coarse veins that are the city's trains, we see each other, pass each other, confront each other's existence, without cause, comment, or concern for our fellow travellers. For this we should all be embarrased, regretive, ashamed even.
Where has the spirit of the 5-year-old boy within us gone? Why have we taken such pains to supress the urge to wave innocently at someone who's eyes we meet and say, softly, lightly "hello." On what have we become so transfixed as to lose our inspiration in the everyday mundane occurances of our lives to the extent that we don't ever smile...alone...in public.

I recently had an experience where a man, a kindred spirit, a living breathing person actually acknowleged me, smiled and waved at another gaijin taking another photo of passengers in the station. For some reason, I was so shocked by this weird behavior, that as he went down the stairs I reached over the railing and patted him on his shoulder like an old friend. The good news is he didn't turn around and punch me in the face - so my act of social bravery paid off, as did his. Of course there is always the chance that he is part of the gang of thugs who abducted the "gimp" in Pulp Fiction, but I didn't end up in a box, in a leather body suit with a gag ball in my mouth, which is nice.

On most occasions, we are content with the distant sneak peek; perhaps from within a train looking out. Perhaps looking at the strange man taking photos of such quickly discarded inanity that is beyond the imagination as to how someone could find the time to acknowlege it let alone find inspiration in it - as art - as a record of life in our time.

On others, people just seem startled by the act of a man taking notice of them. Such is the life of the photographer, doomed to find fascination in just about everything.

I don't blame Tokyoites for their withdrawn, somewhat taciturn public selves. Any people forced basically to live within each others crotches for much of the day will easily be repulsed by the superflously social. The mission of the moment while on the train, on the bus, in the station, in the line at the ticket office, in virtually any public space, is to refrain from pretending anything beyond you exists. Sanity requires this just as the five year old dies from it.

An island refuge can be found in some of the city's bigger cafes. But for most, this is just another opportunity to avoind humanity. To sink deeper into reading about life - while eschewing it.

For me, I'll be the dumb bunny. I'll cling to that five-year-old spirit with every fiber of my being. It is in that where I find my inspiration. Me and the kebab guy. Because we both have seen grimmer days - harder times - and we know how lucky we are to be we where we are. A place, where if we choose to, we can look up from the pavement, see another person, smile and think, "yeah, I see you too bro." And not get shot for it.