Tokyo. What a foreign city. I’ve travelled all over the world, and Asia in particular, and need have I been anywhere else that seems, so, different. I just arrived last night for my third trip to this place, and I’m still really just leaning how to get the hang of it. The first time I came was in 2013 with Amon Tobin who was headlining a big rave type of festival in an airplane hanger on the outskirts of town. He had invited me to come along and told me that the promoter who looked after him would dial up all sorts of fun things for us to do while we were here. Sounded great to me, so I booked my flight and hotel and off I went. I didn’t bother doing any research, or even buying a city guide book because I figured that we wouldn’t need it. Big mistake. Whoops.

We arrived at night and had a quick dinner at the hotel and then went to sleep and headed to the venue the next morning for setup and sound check. The show was amazing, there were about 10,000 kids going nuts and after the show the promoter camas backstage and started talking to us and at one point Amon asked what the plan was for the week… what sort of things did they have cooked up for us? He got a funny look on his face and let us know that not only would he not be looking after us, but that his whole staff wouldn’t be able to help either. Turned out this festival cal was a traveling event and for some reason they only booked Anon for the Tokyo gig, so the entire company would be on the road dealing with it. So just like that, we were on our own.

Now Tokyo is a strange place, especially for Westerns, and it can begin to feel lonely, fast, which was so stunningly portrayed in Lost In Translation. There are a few things that make it that way, the list notable being the language barrier, and the alphabet.  Try few people speak English here, and of course the alphabet doesn’t help either. The second lost striking thing is that it is a vertical city, sure, New York has tons of tall buildings as well. But the difference is that so much of the retail and restaurants are located up on higher floors, and when you can’t read anything, it’s very hard to get a grasp of where anything might be. In most cities you can just wander around and look inside of windows and it’s very obvious very quickly what sort of establishment you’re looking at. But in Tokyo you have no idea of what is where. So it turned into just a lot of walking around and stumbling into different places. Up staircases and around corners and just opening doors. Sushi maybe? Nope this is a lingerie shop! Whoops. Try again, Gaijin!

To add to the frustration of finding things, for some reason neither mine nor Amon’s phones would connect to the local networks. We both had AT&T at the time and I guess maybe they had been in a fight with the Japanese carriers? No idea, really. But we were phone less, and although I can’t remember why now, there must have been a good reason why we didn’t just get local sim cards. Ah the cruel and sweet irony of being lost without technology in the most technologically advanced city in the world.

We were staying smack dab in the middle of Shibuya Crossing, the worlds busiest intersection, in a Tokyo’s version of Times Square. But on steroids. The electrical kind that GodZilla was hopped up on. So each trip outside of the hotel was an exercise in widening concentric circles. Each time I left I wandered just a bit further. I was deathly afraid of getting lost. I had taken a business card from the hotel, and one night when I was further away that I thought was smart, I didn’t worry too much because I had that card. And I finally hopped into a cab and showed him the card. He was flummoxed. And I was tucked. He had no idea where he was going and we ended up riding around for more than an hour until I finally saw something that looked familiar. And made it home. The next day I was understandably gun shy… but still left the hotel and this time I navigated the subway system and made it to the fashion district of Harujuku. Where I discovered an amazing scene of Japanese youth who were all seemingly anime characters come to life! I finally knew what Gwen Stefani was talking about. THIS SHIT WAS BANANAS!!! B-A-N-A-N-A-S! I ended up buying an enamel pink of a couple of banana that I still keep on my deni jacket to this day. 

Now this trip is different. 5 years later and Tokyo seems to be more welcoming to westerners. I’m not sure if it’s the 5 years, or if it’s that I’m actually building up a appreciation for how things work here, but I’m getting around OK and meeting a lot of folks.

Friday I’ll be attending Wrestlekingdom 13 at the Tokyo Dome – the Japanese equivalent of Wrestlemania. I just decided to do this a few days ago and found a cheap flight and I’m so stoked. The last two times I was in Tokyo i went to Korakeun Hall. The Mecca of Wrestling in Japan. It holds 3,000 people and they do wrestling there 7 nights a week. The first time I went was death match night with barbed wire and light tubes. Me and Amon were totally blown away. It’s right next door to the Tokyo Dome and I always thought – man how cool would it be to come back Wrestlekingdom, and now here I am. Living my dash. Every day is an adventure. and I couldn’t be more stoked. I wish Rodney was here.

Lost In Translation – For Reals

I just landed in Tokyo. It’s my third time here, and it doesn’t get any less weird. I’ve been all over the world, and all over Asia, and this is the most foreign place I’ve ever visited. Nothing makes sense here. Everywhere else I’ve been there’s some sort of standard of figuring things out. In Japan, and especially Tokyo, that’s all out the window.

So it’s fitting that I ended up here on New Year’s Day. A new day, a new year, a new adventure. And a new milestone. 1,000 words a day. Every day. In 2019.

Writing For Rodney.

It’s been almost 3 years since I lost any best friend. Rodney Speed. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was in Holland and got a call in the middle of the night. A text, really. From Erin Ricigliano. As soon as I saw it I knew something was wrong. Very wrong. The man I had come to known as my best friend for the past 18 years was gone.

Rodney Speed was my best friend. My little brother and my big brother last the same time.He was 8 years older than me, black, and autistic, we think. It’s hard to say, really. He was a genius, that’s for sure, A Rock N Roll Warrior. Ive never met anybody who knew more about the history of rock n roll music than Rodney did. And that goes for everybody I know. He was a god damn encyclopedia. You could ask him anything and he works know it. But you never actually needed to ask. If he heard you mention a band he would interject with a dissertation of music history. 

Rodney knew it all, but never came cross as a know it all. If you mentioned a Beatles song, for example, he would tell you what album it appeared on, and what position of the track listing it was. And he could tell you the difference in track order between the US and UK releases. And what the temperature was fin the room when they tracked the song. He literally knew it ALL. But never made you feel like you didn’t. His passion and energy was infectious. Rodney lived and breathed Rock N Roll, and anyone who was lucky enough to be in his orbit would get pulled in. He could lecture you on the most obscure trivia about songs, players, and minutia. And do it in a way that would draw you in and make you invested.

If it was Rock-related, then Rodney knew it. He could sit and talk for DAYS, literally, about rock n roll. Everything you could hope to know, he knew. And he could sign. it, and play it. It’s not at all overstatement to say he lived and breathe rock n roll music. He was a Savant, but certainly no idiot. He was never diagnosed with anything, but anyone who knew him knew that he was m most certainly, “on the spectrum”. He didn’t really know how to interact with people, unless it was to talk about music, but once he established a common bond with you, then you were in the high speed lane on the information superhighway of rock n roll, and there was no exit. Rodney would suck you in, and you wouldn’t want to get out.

He seemingly knew every band, but the Beatles were his rock. Though garage bands were his roll. Nuggets? Check! HE knew every single garage rock song, and knew who wrote it and sang it and played on it. Every instrument. When we first started to get to know one another, I commented on how good the solo was on Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock N Roll” and he let me know that was Ricky Byrd. And then we listened to “Maybe Im Amazed” by Paul McCartney and he let me know that the iconic guitar parts were played by Denny Lane. A name I had never even heard before, even though I fancied myself as a rock afficionado. Rodney taught me that I had a lot left to learn. And he became my Dean.

He probably read more magazines than anyone I had ever met. He DEVOURED THEM. Every guitar mag, and every music mag.He would spend entire paychecks at the news stand and  would carry them around in his backpack. He would memorize every word, and be able to recall it at any time. Rodney housed the most complete set of knowledge abut music and loved to share it with us. Everyone who ever met him was amazed and intrigued by his insights. He could sit and talk for hours about one particular song or album, and then the next day you might run into him and he would wouldn’t even remember you. He didn’t so much speak WITH you, but AT you… He was a treasure trove of info, but the savant in him made it damn near impossible for him to connect with people, outside of just talking at them about rock. But that was Rodney, and that was part of his magic. He was almost like a cat. In that he would sidle up to you when it fit him, and then be completely indifferent when it didn’t But you never took it personally. It was just Rodney being Rodney, And that was his magic.

Rodney was a magical part of my life. He inspired things in me that I didn’t even know existed. He brought out a paternal aspect in me. And inspired brotherly love. And when he passed away, suddenly, at the tender age of 53, it inspired me to run 3 miles every single day in 2016. And now in 2019 Im going to write 1,000 words a day, every day, as a tribute to my fallen brother. A bunch of it will be about Rodney, but all of it will be inspired by Rodney, because he inspires me every single day. I miss him and love him. #Rodspeed

Sometimes you end up in a place where you realize that you’re not that important. I was humbled today by my ride through Titus Canyon in Death Valley. A 25 mile dirt road that was full of deep ruts, loose gravel and huge rocks… along a winding canyon route full of cliffs where one wrong move would have meant certain death. And the desert would have gladly terminated me, with extreme prejudice. I took this pic at the tail end of that ride… through a valley of giants formed not by God, help me, but by millions or billions of years of geological evolution. Before I embarked I called Silky Sammy aka @salmoneye1 and told him “if you don’t hear from me by 4pm called the ranger station and ask for help…” He asked if I was serious which we both knew was rhetorical. Needless to say, I made it out alive… white knuckled it the whole way. Nature is so…. bitchen! #deathvalley#tituscanyon#whatstheworstthatcouldhappen

I collect near-death experiences like they are trading cards. Maybe I should make my own series of ’em. Anyways, 88 days ago I was in a pretty gnarly motorcycle crash. I was battered, bruised, scratched, scraped, and bloody. But thankfully neither my bones nor my spirit were broken. Although I was back on my feet that day, it wasn’t without a considerable of pain and discomfort. Which lasted for weeks. And weeks. I thought I’d be back to jogging within a few weeks and my acupuncture guru Prince Paul shook his head and laughed and told me to take it easy. Those are words that I don’t understand. But take it easy I did. Relatively easy, for me anyways. A couple of weeks ago I finally persuaded my feet to pound the pavement… and it hasn’t been easy. My hip and knee were still tender and my endurance had been almost completely reset. But I kept putting one foot in front of the other, and today I crushed 5.5 miles around this gorgeous heart-shaped lake in Rio De Janeiro. And before that I spent 3 days on an island called Ilha Grande and hiked a combined 10 hours to and from some amazingly gorgeous and secluded beaches. It feels great to be back at it and serves as a loud and clear reminder to never take your ability to move yourself around the earth for granted. ***** ALSO ***** Paul Kemawikasit Alexander is a wizard of healing, positivity, and sparkling energy. And a ninja with the acupuncture needles…. just sayin’

With customer reviews like this, who needs press? We gotta do it our way, or no way at all!

I’ve been going broke lately, trying to keep myself sane in NYC. It dawned on me recently that we are in a New World. One that I’m not entirely comfortable in. Our world has been rushing headlong into a cashless society. Which is really driving a stake between the haves and the have nots. New York City used to be a place where everybody took care of each other. Where a bum on the street at least got a dollar or some change from a bunch of people who had dollars or change to give.

But lately less and less people carry cash. So that’s less cash that flows into the cups of the less fortunate. And that’s compounded by the fact that more and more people who live in NYC don’t give a fuck about the less fortunate.

So where I used to give someone some change, or a dollar, now I’m giving them five or ten or twenty dollars. And now Im stopping to talk to them. And shaking their hands. And giving them hugs. And trying to do what I can to make them feel human. While more and more folks seems to be OK with letting them feel invisible.

The Great Divide.

It’s weighing heavily on me.