3/25
Today I bought a guitar in Shibuya. The store was named Ishibashi Music. I'm always amazed by how much Tokyo seems to pack into such a small space. On the same block there were multiple convenience stores, a dozen different restaraunts, and a shoe store. I ate at a ramen shop nearby but there wasn't any flavor.
I never understood why she liked Japanese food so much. There was always some bizarre texture or raw ingredients that threw me off. I guess that's a given for someone whose diet consists of pasta and sandwiches. She always told me to expand my palette, I am now.
I wonder what kind of song she'd write if she were here. My Japanese is so broken that I get a laugh out of any poor clerk that has to talk to me. Surely she'd teasingly leave me to my devices even though she's practically fluent. I softly plucked the muted strings of my acoustic guitar, eyelids dropping over my vision.
3/28
"ジギタリス" was her favorite flower. In Japanese they use the Latin name but in English it's "foxglove." In her lyrics she would say that her soul was like a bouquet of foxglove. It was a deathly poisonous biennial, flowering in its second summer before withering away.
The reason I bring it up now is because I went to a place called Aoyama Flower Market today. If I were a normal person, I'd say that it was beautiful. There were towering entanglements of pink and red taller than any person. You'd think that they were covering a wall but in reality the mass of flowers was standing on its own. The market was mostly just a backdrop for a cafe in the same building though. When I sat down, I felt the smallest urge to draw this scenery, but that was quickly dashed after seconds of deliberating how I'd even begin.
Strangely enough, there were a few deep violet foxgloves on display although they were out of season. The cashier tried to explain this to me but I bought them regardless. I wonder if they'll be coming up on their first or second summer.
I placed her entirety in a vase and kept it on my windowsill, waiting for summer.
4/1
There was a band she really loved, one day she even told me that all the music she ever created was just an attempt to match a single song of theirs. I've been listening to them more and I can see why she was so obsessed. In particular one of their songs "青嵐" or "Summer Storm" in English, details the journey of a man named 又三郎 (Matasaburo) who is cursed to forever bring strong winds wherever he goes. Despite this, he falls in love with a woman named 愛里 (Airi) who reciprocates his feelings. They run away to a small town together but a massive tornado soon follows, resulting in a disaster which almost kills Airi. She promises to stay with Matasaburo still but he decides to leave the town and his lover behind.
It feels strange listening to that band now, part of it surely because l've listened to nothing but Alice's songs for a while. She had wanted to see them live for forever. Today I bought tickets to their concert which is coming up in a month. Ah, and the band's name was "カメリア" or "Camellia."
4/5
Asakusa is another place that most normal people would call "beautiful." From the century year old shrines left untouched in the middle of sprawling urban centers to the sakura trees blooming in Sumida Park, it really feels like a different world. I was once tempted to draw again after a strong gust of wind blew a rain of cherry blossoms around me, but I settled for a picture instead. I write this sitting under a young sapling near Sensō-ji. Above becomes a flame-sky and is dyed a deep scarlet hue.
I always thought Alice simply got fed up with this life, fed up with me and that's why she left. But for some reason today I remembered something she said. "I only play music for me. The second a musician writes a piece meant to please someone else, they lose any right to call themselves such." Could it be..?
4/12
I've lied to myself, "overwork" is not something to be taken lightly. I thought I was familiar with it, but it takes on a whole different meaning at my company. I've barely had time to think let alone write in this journal recently. Doubts have sprouted in my mind whether moving here was the right call. I gave up an easily life to chase something so vague that it's become practically translucent. I think I'll sleep in today.
4/13
It looks like rain. It reminded me of her.
4/14
I drew for the first time in a long time today.
When me and her first met it was at the Louvre. We were both alone, looking for inspiration respectively. An Old Man and his Grandson by Domenico Ghirlandio was what caught both our eyes. It's a starkly realistic painting that can't well be described. I remember her gaze darting here and there, seemingly analyzing the whole thing repeatedly. After a few minutes we parted without saying a word to each other.
I tried to draw something similiar at a cafe nearby but gave up after hours of brooding into the night and tossed it.
Alice was watching me the whole time. She picked up that crumpled scrap of paper and followed me through Paris' dark alleyways just to tell me she thought it was beautiful.
Tokyo Skytree is someplace she wanted to visit. She wanted to ride on the clouds and see the world from high up. It was surely a figure of speech but I wonder if she'd be dissapointed to find out that the clouds are much, much higher up.
I traced the horizon in with colored pencil. If an artist draws art to please someone else, do they lose the privilege to call themselves such, Alice? Or is that only for musicians? I ask because I don't know if I can draw for myself anymore. Every building I trace along these transverse lines, every cloud I fill the sky in with, every bridge I string along the Arakawa River, I keep thinking: "How can I draw this in a way that'd make her smile?"
In the end, the drawing was an abomination. I've forgotten all the techniques to make it look presentable and was just focused on getting the content of the landscape down. It was more of an emotional outburst than anything anyone would call "art."
I crumpled up the scrap of paper and tossed it, but this time with no one there to salvage it.
On the way down I stopped by a cafe on the 340th floor. It might've been my imagination but the curry I ate there seemed just a little flavorful.
4/15
It's raining out. I guess I'll stay in today.