The Old Camera

At the end of the day on Tuesday, I was in the school gym and saw one girl practicing with a basketball, dribbling and shooting hoops. On the other side of the gym, around twelve boys were engaged in fierce basketball practice. The girl's basketball team at the school I work at now is really small and on that day only one team member had come to school.

So I started practicing with her, taking turns shooting hoops. I think it was the first time I'd touched a basketball in thirty years. I was terrible. As I made one shot, my camera jumped out of my pocket and hit the floor. It seemed fine. Yesterday, though, I was on a hike with first year students through Asuka and discovered the focus is stuck.

It can take pictures of things really far away or really close but nothing in the middle. So I guess I need a new camera or I need to fix this one somehow. In the meantime, this is the best I can do:

I thought this fellow was a bit Lynchian:

It seems to be for an artist's studio. The sign says, "Peaceful Space, Light Dream Atelier".

Twitter Sonnet #1491

The flower's mouth expelled a child's hat.
A question flew from boiled eggs to heads.
The burning pan created cakes of fat.
The lonely bird was blue and stripey reds.
A lizard ladled soup to little scales.
Accounting clenched the ink receipt and vowed.
A shiny helmet shook the faith of whales.
The brave and mighty bull was lately cowed.
The talking date replenished days and weeks.
The floating shoulders now suggest a dress.
The sputtered car recalls a set of peaks.
An inky rain creates the runny press.
The basket takes the floor along the way.
A million pieces formed a heavy clay.

The Stone Tomb

Yesterday my friend Shuichi and I visited Ishibutai Kofun, a nearly 1400 year old tomb.

It was the tomb of Soga no Umako who was his period's rough equivalent of Prime Minister. He died in 626.

The stones forming the ceiling weigh around 77 tonnes.

The sarcophagus was destroyed and looted long ago.

Outside the tomb is a reproduction of the sarcophagus.

Twitter Sonnet #1452

The long and turgid tuna dipped to depth.
The tips of waves were painted white and grey.
To speak of whitings nicks the plate to death.
Incautious cuts could carve the brittle clay.
A duck of ham is pink but beaked and squat.
A porpoise posed would ink a squeaky bomb.
And that's the rap that sussed the sprinkler bot.
A billion boots of juice'd stomp the calm.
To splashing heaven noodles dived with cakes.
The dish of fish put crinkled eyes aflame.
On painted hugging apes the goblet bakes.
Your toe reboots a crack'ling tricky game.
Balance pits a peach beside its gut.
Sleepy gods attain the plushy rut.