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A Resolution for the Year #45
Feb 16th
by Chad Fujihara
My New Year’s Resolution: I will write something every single day and post it for everyone to see.
#45: Unnaturally depressed
Spending as much time as I do driving around Wai‘anae these days, I can’t help but notice a rather disturbing trend: there’s a lot of roadkill out here. Seriously, driving around all the other parts of this island, the Wai‘anae coast is by and large the most lethal to those of the furred or feathered species.
I’ve seen birds, mongooses, cats and dogs numerous times on the highway and even on residential roads. If a bird is run over in a suburban neighborhood, exactly how fast is someone driving that it can’t fly out of the way? I mean, is that really the root of the problem: people drive way too fast out here?
For a lot of folks, I can understand that most of the Wai‘anae coast is pretty far from everywhere. Some folks like the “seclusion” and I’m guessing most of them live in Makaha. Everyone else apparently considers their car a space shuttle that needs to go fast enough to hit escape velocity just to leave the coast.
As an animal lover, it’s really sad seeing all these animals killed, but even more so seeing these animals disregarded.
It comes in stages as far as I can see.
First, when the incident happens one of two things happens: either the driver feels a pang of remorse having ended the life of another living being or they’re annoyed that they now have to make a point to clean a part of their car “extra.”
Next, other drivers, if not following immediately behind the first driver, will attempt to avoid the fresh corpse either out of respect or because they too don’t want to have to clean a part of their car “extra.”
Finally, someone at some point, assuming no one has taken steps to clear the road or whatever mystical ninja cleanup crew hasn’t done its strange job, will actually run over the body. This is where the disregard comes into play, because once the animal becomes remotely disfigured it is not considered something that was once living and breathing. It may as well be a piece of carpet laying atop a paint spill, since that’s how most drivers regard it from then on.
Maybe I shouldn’t feel too sad about the whole thing. A lot of the creatures that end up part of the pavement are feral to begin with, by-products of poor pet population control or simply wild animals. Some of them might be pets that were either forgotten or neglected, both depressing situations. Maybe that means that for some of these animals a speeding car was like some sort of release from suffering a worse fate. I don’t think I have the mental ability to process this accordingly.
People, please drive sensibly and cautiously. Leave early so you don’t have to rush. Make your drive-time more enjoyable with your favorite music or other audio recordings, so that you’ll want to take your time driving just to hear the last few minutes of something. Just be aware that you are driving and that there’s a whole world that isn’t moving all that fast around you.
View #5 of a multifaceted look at: First Friday
Feb 12th
A “Thai-ku” by David Meyer
กาโบเออี์ระ
ดนตรีเราคือแสง
และการเต้นรำคือความร้อน
เฮ!เราคือเพลิงกัน
Capoeira
Our music is light
And our dance is heat,
oh, together we are fire.
Editor’s Note: Most modern web browsers already come with Thai language encoding. If you can’t see the original Thai language text, follow these steps: 1) Go to the View menu and there should be an Encoding option. 2) There should be an option for Thai language encoding, so simply select it. 3) If you still can’t see the original Thai text, well, then enjoy the picture version.
A Resolution for the Year #6
Jan 6th
My New Year’s Resolution: I will write something every single day and post it for everyone to see.
#6: I am you, as you are me, as we are they, as they are us
A longstanding belief goes that our friends reflect different aspects of ourselves. Each one is a facet in the gem that makes us who we are, and in turn the friends that they keep are facets of another connected gem. The metaphor kind of goes haywire at this point, so I’ll just continue on.
Social networking sites are fairly popular and nigh unto ubiquitous at this point in time. The idea behind them is great: let people assemble the groups of people they know all the while meeting new people typically by mutual association. Friends of friends and all that.
I enjoy diving into my overinflated friend list and seeing who I can find. I’ll often find connections that I didn’t know existed among some friends. When where you grew up in was only a tiny island in the middle of the ocean, circles of friends are bound to interlock. Sometimes I’ll stumble upon a friend that I had somehow forgotten in shuffle from one point in my life to the next. These friends, the forgotten ones, are special to me because each of them carries history with them either consciously or not.
For many people, the company you keep is constantly in flux whether the changes come fast or slow. More often than not I have trouble keeping track of where I’ve been and how different my life is even when it is only over the course of a year. For example, last year I changed addresses and workplaces. I went from having four roommates constantly around me to having five family members within arm’s reach. I went through three bosses at work before ending up with the one I work under now. It’s a lot to consider when it’s laid out like this.
When I forget about people and places that were close to me, it’s not that I’m a terrible person — I don’t think, at least — but that I have a terrible memory.
A Resolution for the Year #5
Jan 5th
My New Year’s Resolution: I will write something every single day and post it for everyone to see.
#5: Specific Gravity
I like to describe that epiphany that comes when you realize that someone has been doing something for your benefit as a “moment of gravity.” It’s that moment when you begin to understand just how important someone is to you and how important you are to them. It can come in many different relationships and it is a wonderful thing when it does pop up.
Most often gravity is something that parents have to look forward to in they later years. More so it’s something that they can hope for when their children are no longer little. Adolescence is the point in a person’s life when gravity is the furthest and most foreign thing in the world. For most teenagers humanism and hedonism are the only two lines of thought worth any heeding. Mom and Dad, as well as a select group of other adults, are opposed to anything and everything that could and ever will be fun, so it’s okay to hate them openly and loudly. They are the murderers of love.
Gravity strikes like barbed lightning upon the old melon and can leave quite the mark. A tiny bit of guilt will form around the affected brain, but this is typically over-shadowed by the gross amount of appreciation that flows out from the wound.
When you are the person at the source of the gravity, it can be a wonderful feeling to simply be thanked. There were a couple of times that I found myself being thanked for things that I had no intention of receiving such gratitude for. Once, I stayed behind to help clean up a friend’s house for a party they were going to throw while everyone else went out to the fair. About a month later a friend who had gone to the fair realized what I had done and thanked me for it. Another, more serious instance came when a good friend realized how lucky he was that I didn’t react negatively when he, for all intents and purposes, stabbed me in the back. I have in no way forgotten what he did to me, nor will I ever, but I have forgiven him.
One of the greatest things I ever learned in my years of college is the idea that “forgive and forget” is wrong. When you forget something, your act of forgiveness is worthless because it doesn’t take any effort to forgive someone for something you no longer bother to remember. When it is something that you cannot forget, that is always at your recall, that is when forgiveness is important. Forgiveness isn’t just loving certain aspects of someone and disregarding the rest of them. Forgiveness is loving someone despite everything else, not simply overlooking a few details.
“Warts and all.”
A Resolution for the Year #4
Jan 4th
My New Year’s Resolution: I will write something every single day and post it for everyone to see.
#4: You’re older now than you’ve ever been before and only getting older
As a society we seem to place a lot of value on the amount of time we’ve been on this rock in the middle of pan-galactic nowhere. We shoot from the hip based on the perceived age of those we have to deal with in tertiary manners. And yet, past a point it doesn’t make that big of a difference whether one person is one more step closer to the age of Methuselah than another.
Developmentally we treat children in a way that we feel is conducive to them eventually learning to operate as adults. To one extreme there is coddling which can result in a child becoming so codependent on those who take care of them that the only change between infancy and adulthood is their physical size. The other extreme is to unfairly treat children like adults without any leeway for the fact that they don’t yet have all the necessary references that are acquired over time.
I try to be even when I deal with people, whatever age they happen to appear. At work, my co-workers are given to calling folks “sir” or “ma’am” even if that person may not be more than a year or two removed from their own tally of time. I just talk to people like I would anyone else, with very little pretense.
Actually trying to figure out the age of someone nowadays is made no easier by the effect that our modern diets have had on the growing body. There are grade-schoolers walking around in the bodies of teenagers and teenagers walking around in the bodies of full-grown adults. To paraphrase Chris Rock, “If she looks eighteen, she’ll probably get you in jail.”
I like to think about the alien race that Kurt Vonnegut created and featured in his novel “Slaughter House Five.” Similar to Dr. Manhattan from “The Watchmen” they see all moments in time at once. People to them look like infinite-legged centipedes coiling around themselves and one another. They don’t feel much in the way of remorse when someone dies because they are still living in all the moments prior to that one unfortunate one. The concept might seem daunting, just like omnipotence which I’ve discussed elsewhen, but I figure you could probably not go insane if you just learn to focus on the moments that you need to. Then again, most humans don’t really need help focusing on specific moments; humans need some help learning how to look at everything else around those exact points in time.
“When We Fall”
Jan 3rd
original fiction by Mark Brislin
One more round, Will Longman thought as he leaned the back of his head against the ripped cushioned corner post. The corner man who Longman had been assigned for the fight dabbed ointment on the cut above his right eye that was opening every fight and opponents had begun to target. After he was done working on the cut he sponged Longman’s forehead and cheeks. Longman felt the dirty water drip down his swollen face and neck. He took a deep breath of the arena’s dank air and forced himself off the small wooden stool as the bell dinged.
His opponent was a young boxer from New York who boasted an undefeated record in twelve fights against Longman’s thirteen wins and twenty-four losses. He was stronger and faster and quicker than Longman had ever been in his prime, and that was a long time ago. Longman knew there was no way he was going to win this one, but if he went all twelve rounds he would get a bonus on top of the $500 purse he was guaranteed. Three more minutes of beatings and Longman would be able to pay his rent for the first time for two months and avoid eviction. All Longman had to do was dance around and stay the hell out of the guy’s way while he pocketed the extra cash, but Longman had never run from another pair of fists in his life. He was a brawler, a boxing style that never suited his short, stubby arms. The two fighters exchanged a series of blows before Longman was stunned by a stiff jab to his right eye, and his opponent followed it with a hard right cross that sent Longman reeling. Another jab-right cross-left hook combination sent him against the ropes. Longman swung his arms wildly.
It was an uppercut that dropped him to the canvas. “One, two, three…” Longman stared at the arena’s roof while he tried to shake the glittery static that had filled his head. “Four, five, six…” He could feel the blood gushing out of the gash and begin to pool into his eye socket. He wiped at the thick liquid, smearing it against his cheek. “Seven, eight…” He rolled over and heard the shouts of drunken men calling him a pussy and telling him to get up. Longman used his arms to try to pick himself up, and got to one knee as the ref shouted “nine,” but a fresh wave of heaviness filled his head, and he collapsed back down to the canvas, and the last thing he thought about before he blacked out was Sarah singing when he woke up one morning a few months ago.
She played most Saturday nights at a bar called Murphy’s, a piece of shit spot in the center of town that was frequented mostly by men who came for the all-night happy hour rather than the live music. Sarah was safe from most of the heckling the regulars usually unloaded on entertainers, because she had been playing there for so long that most of the patrons knew her songs by heart, and most of the men knew that if she was harassed they would have to deal with Will Longman. Most of the rowdy alcoholics who drank at Murphy’s were familiar with Longman’s fists. Longman was not a very good fighter, always letting off when he had an edge, but if he was getting beat he wouldn’t stay down. He was more of a nuisance than anything. Everyone who knew either of them knew that Longman was absolutely crazy about Sarah, but no one was ever sure how Sarah felt about Longman. It’s hard to tell how a person feels when she is high all the time. They had been seeing each other for over three years with no increasing commitment other than the number of nights Sarah slept at Longman’s place each month. They were both in their mid-thirties and at the tail end of chasing their own youthful dreams. They were drawn to each other when they were most lost, which seemed to be more often as of late.
She was on the small makeshift stage singing one of her songs when Longman stepped into the bar, and he stood by the entrance and listened. Longman loved her voice, soft and melodic, but with a hint of roughness from the cigarettes she smoked. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he felt all right. In his pocket was a bottle of ointment for his cut, and in his head was the voice that always soothed him.
Longman walked to the bar and ordered a beer. He took a long swallow of the thick lager. He felt the cold beer wash through his body. Sarah happened to look over at him as she was playing and they made eye contact. Longman offered a smile, but Sarah quickly turned her head back to the crowd. Sarah finished the song and announced that she was going to take a break. No one said anything and no one clapped as she walked off the stage and out the front door. Longman took a long last gulp of his beer and followed her outside.
She was looking into the dim parking lot of Murphy’s as Longman approached. Longman was surprised that she wasn’t smoking.
“Hey,” Longman said as he walked up beside her.
“You win?” she asked, not looking at him.
Longman shook his head. “I got knocked out in the final round.”
Sarah sighed softly. She looked at Longman, and he felt a warm shiver race through his chest. Throughout the long course of their relationship Sarah had made Longman feel almost every possible emotion, but the one that remained constant was a sparkling, indescribable sensation that had long ago planted its roots deep in Longman’s heart and hadn’t stopped spreading since. It felt like waking up at 2 a.m. on a rainy night after a long, pleasant dream; the warmth of the blanket on your skin; the crackling of rain on the roof; the smell of moisture in the air; realizing you still have a few more hours to sleep. That maybe you can slip back into that dream again. It was a mixture of intense desire, of something soft and warm, and the terror Longman felt as a result. He let out a small sigh of his own as she studied him.
“So what do you want, Will?”
Longman paused. “I need to borrow some money…”
“Fuck, Will.” She did her familiar habit of patting her pockets for her cigarettes, but then Will noticed her hand jerked quickly away and lightly touched her belly before it fell back to her side. “You always need money. Sometimes you make me feel like you’re my whore or something.”
“I’ll pay you back after the next one. I promise.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“I’m gonna train hard for this next one, Sarah. I think I can beat this guy.”
Sarah turned toward him and reached for Will’s wrists. Her hands were only big enough so that her thumb and middle finger touched the small ridges that ran up the bottom of his forearms. He felt his pulse quicken between her fingers. “I really don’t give a fuck whether you win or lose. I don’t even care about the money. I just…”
“What?”
She shook her head. They stood like that, Sarah holding onto Will’s wrists, in silence, for a long time. “Never mind,” Sarah finally said. She released her grip, and Will’s arms fell to his side. She dug into her pockets and pulled out her wallet. She took out three 50s. “Is that enough?”
“No, I only need a hundred,” Will said, and offered her one of the 50s back.
Sarah pushed his hand away. She reached out and touched the cut over his right eye.
“I’ll always pick you up when you fall, Will,” she said softly. Longman hung his head. Sarah’s touched lingered, and she took a step back. “I should get back inside.”
“Sarah,” Longman called as she began to walk to the door. She turned back around. “I’m going to pay you back.”
She smiled, and for the first time in a long time Longman thought she looked genuinely happy.
“I know you will,” she said, and she pushed open the door, and stepped back into the bar.
Mark Brislin is currently a student at the University of Hawai`i Manoa campus and Editor in Chief of the official campus newspaper for UH Manoa, Ka Leo O Hawai`i. He can be contacted at mbrislin@hawaii.edu or you can leave a comment below.
A Resolution for the Year #3
Jan 3rd
My New Year’s Resolution: I will write something every single day and post it for everyone to see.
#3: Turbo Teen was the ultimate life form

Earlier I listened to the beating heart of my girlfriend as she drew in one breath after the next. It was an amazing thing just thinking that we’re all assembled from similar parts that function in more or less the same way, yet there’s still so much variety among us. I can’t help but marvel at the amazing thing that is the human body. It is a miracle first and foremost, truly and without a doubt, but ultimately it is a machine.
Most machines are comprised of refined ores and collected oils, while the human body is made of squishier things and assorted humors. The materials involved do not change the fact that we are all machines comprised of many moving parts.
The more I think about it, the metaphor of the human body being a car is spot-on. Some of us process fuel better and efficiently. Some are created larger while others are designed to be smaller. You can modify or neglect the exterior as much as you like but it doesn’t affect how the engine runs.
Before she went to bed, my girlfriend marveled at an app on the human brain she downloaded to her iPod Touch. She showed me how you could view a 3-D model of the old noodle from any angle, and all the different parts were labeled. She also mentioned how the program included case studies showing how if one or more parts aren’t working properly it can throw the entire body off.
The brain does so much that we aren’t even aware of. Many of the functions, if left up to us consciously, would likely result in death by forgetfulness. Breathing and the beating of our hearts are simply the most obvious ones, but there are so many more. I don’t know how to repair a wound to my finger outside of a bandage, but really that bandage is just an aid to whatever my brain and body need to do. Somehow my brain is able to coordinate all the systems in my body to fix what I broke.
Apparently, and this is simply a rumor I’ve heard, scientists may have accidentally found a way to tap into the true potential healing ability innate to almost all human beings. It supposedly happened while some folks were testing an immune system-inhibiting drug. Now, I don’t know the practical applications or general need for such a drug but we do live in a time where there is a need for a drug to stop one from shaking their legs. The drug was tested on lab mice, as is commonly done, and each mouse that was administered the drug was marked by having a hole punched into one of their ears. After a few hours the researchers returned to check on the mice only to find that the punches had regrown and healed over. Somehow, without the limits of their immune system the mice were able to regrow what normally can’t be — that is cartilage — and also heal at a faster rate. The potential application in humans would mean things like amputees regaining lost limbs or perhaps, given the proper conditions, someone regrowing an organ. The major problem, though, would be the risk of infection while undergoing such a treatment.
Back to my point, the human body is an amazing machine with an incredible piece of software running it, and is capable of feats that we have yet to fully understand or comprehend. We’d do well to take care of our equipment and maintain it. Not to mention we should be sure to keep our software up to date, too.
A Resolution for the Year #2
Jan 2nd
by Chad Fujihara
My New Year’s Resolution: I will write something every single day and post it for everyone to see.
#2: This is what happens when you lie down
It comes over you with very little in the way of warning. Occasionally you might get yawn or a drooping of the eyelids, but that’s only if you’re lucky. Sometimes all it takes is a blink and suddenly it’s a few hours later or the next day completely.
This process can definitely cause problems both subtle and obvious.
For one thing, if you happen to wear some sort of corrective lenses, there are bound to be some issues after falling asleep with them on. If you wear glasses you’ll either have lenses that are nothing but smudges, or worst-case scenario you’ll have two separate lenses entirely. Granted, if you wear contacts the risks escalate to urban-legend status. Your contacts might become dislodged from your eyes and get stuck in your ocular cavities.
I’ve learned that it’s a pretty good idea to take off your watch before going to sleep, especially if your watch is made mostly of metal or is unnecessarily ostentatious. Not removing your watch can result in either interesting pillow wrinkles or mysterious scratches on your face.
By far the worst possible problems caused by a random act of sleep is the rest of the world you left awake. Dates are missed, papers are unwritten and showers are skipped, among other things.
It takes a lot to force your body to take the sleep it needs from you. If this happens you must’ve been doing something other than sleep for a while. Whatever it is that was so busy or important that you avoided the sleep the first time around, your body will get what it needs eventually, one way or another.
Unless you’re an insomniac … in which case I’ve lost your interest and understanding back at the first sentence.
A Resolution for the Year #1
Jan 1st
by Chad Fujihara
My New Year’s Resolution: I will write something every single day and post it for everyone to see.
#1: “It’s not tomorrow until I close my eyes tonight”
How long have I tried to stretch the waking hours that I’m allowed? Exactly how long have I been trying to stretch those hours is the better question.
I don’t like sleeping before anyone else because I’m afraid I’ll miss something important. It’s a silly line of thought that goes along with a few old patterns I had stuck in my brain when I was younger. These ideas were very silly and for the most part unfounded.
For example, at one point I was convinced that if I couldn’t see two people right in front of me, who were not related but were of corresponding sexual orientations, they had to be “doing it.” Like some sort of lovemaking metaphysics I was utterly convinced this was true from the moment I hit puberty. It may not really be true, but it’s definitely one of those things that is not entirely untrue.
Newer lines of thought that persist these days I can’t really encapsulate in quite the same way as that previous wackiness. Give me 10 years and I’ll tell you what a fool I was now.
Back to the matter at hand, that is the one involving me staying up late and trying my damndest to wake up early. There is so much that I want to do, so much I need to do, and other things that flit from need to want as often as an eyelash bats. As for now, I’ll steal the time where I can and use it just as wastefully as a newborn baby.
I’ll learn my lesson soon I hope, whatever it is.
Chad Fujihara is the Editor in Chief of Ka Lamakua. How he managed to convince anyone to let him run an online arts and culture magazine is a question, if answered, will surely result in either a headache or a visit to a practicing demonologist and as such best left unasked. Any other questions or comments, please send to chadf@hawaii.edu
Honolulu
Jun 23rd
Dylan Little begins his debaucherous career as Ka Lamakua’s new associate editor with his poetic urban ode
by Dylan Little
I have never been your son, Honolulu.
You have a concrete heart
made of skyscrapers and parking structures.
It pumps oil and smog through veins
of overpopulated streets and long highways.
Your liver filters out education and compassion,
while your lungs and kidneys grow weak,
clogged with the remnants of the old and the poor.
Honolulu the conquered:
the greedy, the wasteful, the American.
You sold your coastline and natural beauty
for more concrete, cars, and charisma;
more kitsch and tourist dollars,
and consolation from poisoned crystal brews.
When will you begin leveling your mountains
for more hotels and real estate?
Honolulu, you’re a parasitic paradise.
But Honolulu, I grew inside you.
Your land was my womb;
and when you hurt, Honolulu,
I hurt with you in desperate harmony.
As you trudge along the Pacific,
now more machine than earth,
I cannot help but feel, even as I leave,
Honolulu, I will always be your son.







