When was the last time I read Souseki Natsume's "The Three-Cornered World"? Thinking about the beginning of this novel, I googled a little and found that Souseki writes "Just like, our world is hard to live", and after that, "The time we notice that it's hard to live even though we go anywhere, we create poems and also pictures". In other words, it must be hard that kind of hardship living in this world. But noticing that hardship produces poems and pictures. That's the conclusion. Me, I am also certainly feeling that kind of hardship to live anywhere in our society. But that difficulty might work in me as the source of this diary, even though I can't see if that is a gift for me.
Today I worked early, and after today's work, I started reading Shinji Aoyama's second volume of his diary. Thinking of the fact that this diary is his last work as a heritage, I have to read it quietly with praying. I read it with The Durutti Column's "2001-2009". I felt his energy from enjoying his life with various movies and music, and also I was impressed by the power of his thoughts which spread almost infinitely. How was the possibility of his imagination? It seems almost infinite... but I think that was not only his talent but the possibility or potential power of our unconscious imagination basically.
Remembering Shinji Aoyama's death, I also think of the masterpiece "Candle Chant". This is a collaboration of BOSS THE MC from the Japanese legendary hip-hop group Tha Blue Herb and DJ Krush (although it is not available on Spotify and Apple Music, I can enjoy it from my memory). I am just a snob idiot, but this song reminds me of destiny that tells me that I should be alive, and survive a serious problem. "The balloon of life is limited. We can make it bigger again even though it becomes smaller", BOSS THE MC says so. Now I can enjoy this lyric's greatness. Yes, I have struggled with my life's balloon to make it fill.
And after that... I enjoyed Kenji Ozawa's "The Dogs Bark, But The Caravan Moves On" again. TBH I thought that I wanted to remember 2022 by re-reading my diary, but I couldn't. Indeed, I was the person who had written that, but my mind denied reading it because of its nonsense. After five years this diary would get the meaning of a document or life story, but now (although it must sound too silly) I feel that is just like crap from myself which has a strong bad smell. I even feel guilty that I had shown this without any deep reflection... I am really an idiot, but I can't stop showing this diary. I don't know why but it might be my nature.