Tokyo Damage Report

sex, depression, and email RANTS


Another not rad thing: email. I’ve been here for over one year. 13 months and 4 days to be precise. And yet I am still closer to my computer than I am to my ‘real life’ friends. I rely on it more, I am more comfortable dealing with it for extended periods of time, and it is more reliable than them too. I am aware that this sucks. I am pretty far from an otaku. I always go out for rock music purposes or go out and take risks in the real world, travel to new places, try to make new friends, etc. But at the end of the day, I’m living an otaku life which I am not really cut out for.

The fact is, the baseline of my whole existence, my default state is this: me in a room by myself checking email obsessively. No matter what good or bad thing happens, at the end of the day, I’m in a room by myself checking email.

It’s like, I can’t even get it together to waste my time with videogames or chatrooms or virtual poker or the other ‘interactive real time’ internet bullshit that people are SUPPOSED to get addicted to. I just click on my accounts one after the other waiting for mail that never comes. And then when it DOES come, 90% of the time I don’t even want to write back. It’s just a chore at that point; I only care about getting it. (having established i’m a jerk, i should also say that i am much more conciencious about responding than 99% of the people. i just don’t LIKE it but i do it because my mama taught me the golden rule). (i wish she’d taught me how to spell ‘consciencious’ though)

The bad things pile up around me and I don’t deal with them, because I’m checking email. The good things just vanish as soon as they are over, leaving not a trace of happiness behind. It’s all about sitting by myself alone in a dark room checking email, and I do it for at least an hour everyday. What kind of bullshit is this, for me, mr. World traveler, mr. Drunk and crazy on Saturday night?

I don’t know but it’s been like this for years. Let me break it down for you further: if, tomorrow, I had the BEST DAY EVER (for instance, Indian food for breakfast, then I win the lottery, then I find a barber who can give a decent high-and-tight, then I rescue a vacationing Janane Garafolo from a traffic accident and have magnificent ‘gratitude sex’ with her on a futon stuffed with the severed limbs of my enemies). . .the SECOND she’s out the door, I’ll be back at my fucking computer by myself checking email, and feeling just as empty as if I had done nothing at all that day. And that’s partly why I do this website, it’s my struggle to hold on to pleasant memories, in the form of words and pictures. And if I can’t hold onto them, I post them on the internet so maybe other people can hold them for me.



MAN, I’m sick of sex. I’m sick of how it influences everything I do, from brushing my teeth in the morning (gotta keep my breath fresh in case i meet Janaene Garafolo on the subway) to which concert I go to at night (if there’s going to be cute women there i can’t wear anything interesting because they don’t have a sense of humor).it’s like, "what are you doing in my toothpaste tube, sex thoughts? get out of there!!"

It wouldn’t be so bad if I was actually thinking about sex ITSELF all day, which would at least leaven the frustration with some eroticism. But in fact my sex-thoughts are much more boring and banal. I’m Not like, ‘i’d like to just ooze up in that woman.’ Or even ‘if I had a date then i could get her, and then i could ooze up inside her..’ More like, ‘if I give her these pictures she’ll maybe talk to me which could lead to a date which could lead to (insert 5 or 6 more ‘if’s here….) sex sometime around next year.’

So; printing pictures for one woman. Sending email to another woman, hanging out with some guy because he KNOWS a woman… just, all this 5-levels-removed-from-actual-sex type shit, and man it takes hours out of every day when you add it up. And yet ? no results. And no let-up either. Damn. Can’t I just deal with people for people and not in some grim tactical way? Can’t I just say what I really think? Fuck.

One helpful thing I’ve discovered (but not because anyone actually TOLD me, thanks a lot you bitches!) is this: never invite a woman to your house. Either she’ll think you’re a perv and refuse, or if she DOES accept, that means she’s got you so firmly in the ‘just friends’ category that she can’t even see the implications. I think every single woman I’ve had over on a date has never come over again. I don’t know what it is. If I don’t try to kiss her she never comes again. If I do, she still never comes again. I feel like fucking Peppermint Patty after failing a multiple choice test : “I falsed when I should have trued”!!!


Here is a shocker: the vast majority of people I see are interesting enough to fuck but not interesting enough to be friends / lovers with. i guess you probably knew this since high school but i just figured it out like last year. So i’m like, ‘wow, that is amazing and interesting!’ the implications are staggering: because, the more I think about it, the more i have to conclude that this makes casual sex OK. Even people who have boring hobbies / conversations can be surprising in the sack because you JUST DON’T KNOW what they are into. They might look slutty but actually be a real dead fish. Or they might look like a virgin but be really kinky. Or they might make just crazy insane noises or desire you to wear some kind of mask of a cartoon character, or have a tattoo of Stalin that you can only see once you take their pants off. Who knows? This might be the only surprising or interesting thing about them!!

i’m not a playboy. i’d rather be pals with women than lovers. i try to be all sensitive and junk. but ironically, I go through female pals faster than a playboy goes through hoes. I must have become friends with (and then stopped being friends with) 20 womans this year alone. These semi-short term friendships… they last aout the same length of time as an affair but nothing sexual was even attempted. We just got bored of each other quickly I guess. It’s happened so often, even i have to stop and ask myself, wouldn’t we have been better off if we’d smooched? Maybe they would have found that more interesting than doing a bunch of ‘girl talk’ about fashion or whatever. It’s like, ‘how many of those women were looking for sex but I couldn’t see it?’ . . . maybe they were thinking just like me: “he’s boring as a friend but I’d fuck him once just to see what the hell it was like.”

Also, say you are romantic and don’t want casual sex. You take like 3 months to get to really know someone and fall in love with her and then when you finally have sex it turns out she’s awful in bed. Wouldn’t you have liked to learn that a bit sooner?

The problem with casual sex is, it just makes a total liar out of everyone. the less desperate person is always "yeah, i uh really like you and junk. let’s uh be together for like forever or something. take your pants off". Or else the more desperate person is all, ‘yeah, we can see other people, that’s cool, but i am lying my ass off because I feel i’ve run out of options. ‘ And so someone always gets hurt.

my heart is pretty much so battle-scarred that i haven’t fallen in love in years. i’m pretty more stone cold than 99% of the wanna-be pimps and macks in Roppongi. the difference between me and a player is, players are guys who got hurt and now they’re like "well, SHE hurt me (way back when) so now YOU’RE going to pay for it, ho." but me, i’m like "well, she hurt me (way back when) so i know how crappy it feels and i DON’T want to make anyone feel like that."

i’m a kind=hearted motherfucker that way.

also, i am fucking smart enough to see that 15 minutes of sex (oh ok, 47) isn’t going to make me any happier in the morning (see EMAIL rant). so why get all ‘het up’ about it. these guys who are like ‘yeah i had so many one night stands’ are just . . .that shit isn’t a boast, it’s a cry for help. it’s like, dude,if that shit was REALLY fun, you would have stayed with her and not needed to pick up another lady. by boasting , you’re saying ‘LOOK HOW I HAVE TO KEEP DOING THIS OVER AND OVER BECAUSE I AM NEVER SATISFIED BY IT!’ talk about being addicted to a behavior which clearly doesn’t solve your problems and creates lots of problems for bitches dumb enough to go with you.


but on the other hand, players aren’t the one-dimensional predators that they often are seen as. i think they have valuable lessons to teach us. such as, ‘rejection isn’t shit,’ and ‘let the person know early on that you are interested in them as more than just a friend, so you don’t waste months of your dumb life.’ these are lessons both men and women can benefit from.

also, in a way, pick-up artists are saying what feminists have been saying for a long time: that women have a sex drive equal to men, and that the ‘promiscuous girls are sluts / but guys are awesome players’ sexual doulble standard hurts everyone.

obviously it hurts the women. but every guy that has felt teased or manipulated, chances are HE’S a victim too. because women can’t directly come out and say they want sex, but their bodies are pretty much demanding it, THAT’S why women do all this coy bullshit. they’re caught in a soul-crushing lifelong conundrum and they have to finesse it by all sorts of circumlocutions, manipulations, distortions and also the old standby: lying to themselves.

and a lot of the fine ‘pick up girls’ literature has to do with basically convincing the woman that — look, stop lying to yourself AND me. you are as horny as a guy. you can either admit it and have awesome sex, or you can keep being under the repressive thumb of this sexist double standard forever. which is more fun?

but i still can’t get past the ‘YOU BITCHES ARE ALL LIARS AND I’LL SHOW YOU, I’LL SHOW YOU ALL!!!’ sociopathic bitterness though.


but, just after finishing this rant, i found this website. it is SO FUCKING AMAZING. it is supposed to teach you how to pick up ‘HOT BABES’ . . which would be whatever, juvinile and dorky, BUT. . .

BUT. . .

the JARGON. oh my god the JARGON. the jargon is better than sex. it’s like a fucking mixture of SCIENTOLOGY and a CASPAR WEINBERGER military science lecture all up in this website.

for example

"pre-AI male AI,. (definition of the term); a semi-passive action or series of actions meant to inducement a chick to initiate an AI.? A means to "pre-condition" a chick to initiate some form of non-verbal IOI before actually approaching her or doing an opener, usually the best IOI response to the structure being an AI. Essentially, it’s a conscious male tactic (applied as if it was unconscious) that reverses the frame of a female unconscious "PU" tactic.

or. . .

Anti Approach Invitation: Unconscious actions by an HB to do everything to avoid your specific attention. Walking away from you, avoiding EC, creating a cockblock scenario, etc. Don’t waste your time on chicks giving anti-AI to you unless you really like a challenge or spending all your time in TA mode.

how fucking awesome is that?



recently i’m just not eating much, and sleeping 12 hours a day and constantly fuming over old highschool/college humiliations, and drinking like all the fucking time. oh, plus failing school and nightmares (nasal speculums. don’t ask). hmmm. . . .think it could be depression?

it’s weird. i broke up with the Mormon last month. that was my longest relationship ever. . normally when i get dumped or rejected it makes me feel bad. i sit and think about the woman a lot, all that stuff. but this time is different. i don’t think about her or miss at all. and yet my life is falling apart worse than all the times i was 100% heartbroken in the past. i’d only have sex with The Mormon like once a week, which was about all i could stand. but somehow since i dumped her i am losing my mind. i never figured there would be such a big difference between ‘once a week’ and ‘not at all.’ weird! zany! wacky! it’s like the depression is a doughnut and she’s the missing center, notable only for her absence.

like, i can INFER that there’s a connection between the two, but i can’t FEEL it or OBSERVE it.

which, i suppose, would make black holes a more apt metaphor, but black holes emit Hawking Radiation, which i for the life of me can’t figure out how to work into my current mental-health conundrum. the scabs? the stuffed animals she returned after the breakup? you see the problem here.


maybe it’s not the lack of sex so much as it is the constant parade of rejection from alternate females. they’re stuck up over here. i’m guilty of being stuck up too though. rejecting this italian woman in my class is a hobby of mine.

see, she’s not interesting enough to date. so either it’s like turn her down and she’s bummed or fuck her and then bail and she’s bummed. everytime i see her smiling and waving at me hopefully i just imagine: us at my place with her head bobbing up and down and me just watching her and wanting to die because i know i’ll never talk to her again after this and the whole shit is so desperate and pathetic. i don’t even WANT to imagine this scene anymore, it just springs like athena full-grown into my head whenever i see her. well, a reverse athena anyway.

but , maybe the depression isn’t sex at all. maybe it’s the fact that next week, my life will be officially halfway over. Maybe that’s why I’ve been drunk every day since Thursday. You think?

Next week, life half over. Happy birthday. Here’s your present, dick: one foot in the grave.

Not happy about this.

Thursday: drank.

Friday: drank and put out cigarettes on my arm.

Saturday: drank but in a happy way and met woman.

Sunday: drank, got punched in jaw, turned down by woman, and did another cigarette.

Today: drank at least a cup of 50 proof right before class, then afterwards my classmate took me shopping for used Kotex complete with autographed polaroids of the seller/bleeder. actually SHE bought the junk, i just watched. there’s nothing like watching a fully barred lawyer giggle like a schoolgirl while holding shrinkwrapped menses to give one perspective. i was like, ‘you know, maybe i’m not so messed up after all.’

see, that’s why i hate therapists. you never get a therapist who says, ‘you know what would make your sad-sak ass feel hecka better? watching your attourney to buy some 10 dollar bloody napkin. Shit’ll cheer you right up.’



My school. Jesus, what can I say? It’s got me so uptight that I no longer want to study in my free time. I can’t tell you how much I studied on ‘semester break’ a month ago. Even though my time was unstructured I studied at least 2 hours a day. I spent whole days in takadanobaba library. I was kicking ass and feeling awesome about myself AND knowledge in general. Now, 3 weeks into school, not only did I flunk out of 5th level, but I have lost all interest in studying outside of class. Not only THAT, but I just can’t be bothered to understand my Japanese friends when they talk. I just am like, ‘what?’ where last month I would have been able to understand at least half. It’s like I hate school so much that it’s destroying my ability to speak or understand Japanese outside of class too, and this is pretty intolerable. I’m actually going BACKWARDS. And needless to say all the shit I studied during semester break has seeped out of my head since I’m not reviewing it, so that time was wasted too. not happy about this.




Then I think this: ‘if you can’t be bothered to walk across the room and pick up a guitar to play your blues away, you deserve to be fucking miserable.’

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