Saturday, March 29, 2014

The case of the convenient store cowgirl

Lest you think we're all about bare-knuckled vigilantism here, here's a lady showing us how to fight crime Jesus-style.

P.S. - God bless Texas.


As a follow-up, this child's close-call with an abductor highlights the power of God in the delivering the weak, the poor, the small, the captive.

When I was scared at night, my mom taught me Psalm 56:3, "What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee..."

"The name of the Lord is a strong tower. The righteous run into it and are saved."

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Some good news in the struggle against sex-trafficking

Some news we can all feel good about sharing.  I know it's just rehashing links and info dumping, but I'll polish it up later...   If it helps get the word out there... “The Locust Effect” and "Ending Sex Trafficking in Canada."

Monday, March 24, 2014

Link on Bullying - what to do, what to do...

I was gonna post up a rad poster of Captain America on a motorcycle smacking some bad dudes up-cross the head, but Sherly sent me this link on bullying, so Cap will have to wait (just two weeks 'til the movie comes out!).

I know I've posted on bullying before, but this is one of the big issues we want to see changed, so it's always a good time to raise awareness. I just wish I could address each and every student and teacher in Japan about this since they are, by their own admission, clueless about how to go about handling these kind of confrontational situations.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

Oldcastle’s Journal, Mar. 22nd.


11:05PM.  Wound on my foot looks unpleasant, swollen.  Insect bite, or whatever it is, kept me from hitting the street last night.  Could kick myself.  Tonight, the plan is to check out S&D, a local bar that Zach used to work at.  Mingle, make contact.  Try to be of help to people who don’t realize they need help.  At the station, meet up with Zach and a couple short-termers he brought along.

Once hand-stamped and through the doors, the cacophony engulfs us.  We waft through the miasma of smoke, making out shapes of tables in the back.  There are a couple guys in plaid shirts idling their time and we hit it off.  One of them, Ken, seems interested in our blonde friend, but doesn’t seem to know his chances are tenuous.

At the front, where the soundtrack is stuck on “tribal caterwauling”, the hunting grounds are whatever space is to be had between tables for gyrations, set up according to the local ordinance.  The guys mostly gawk awkwardly around at the edge of the herd, or, steaming with desire, find some girl in loincloth to rub up against.  Between the strobing lights, you can see the hollowness in the girl’s eyes.  Their bodies want to crash, but caught up in the surge, they push on, convincing themselves they enjoy this routine.

1:10AM.  Talk with two or three other folks as the night wears on.  It’s dicey.  Two girls at the next table seem worn out and I saddle over to try things out.  They’re slow to warm up.  Figure I’m there on the prowl like everyone else.  Offer to get them some energy drinks and come back with two Red Bulls.  It’s an exercise in practice.  One of the girls tells me I have a nice smile, so of course I’m unable to smile for the rest of the time.  Ken spends most of the time slumped over in the corner.

2:30AM.  Find Zach and his friends talking with a group hanging out outside the club.  They’re an assorted bunch.  Look promising.  But I got stuff in the morning and have to be heading on.  I walk with Ken as he looks for a taxi.  We cross the footbridge over the street and meet a super-sized Aussie with a prominent midsection and rat-scraggle of a beard.  Steve, as he’s called, greets us in friendly, but edgy way of drunkards, holding out a bottle for us.  I pass until he turns to Ken, who has a sip.  He’s told to drink it all, but Ken demures.  “Drink it down or I’ll throw you off this **** bridge,” he breathes, reaching to grab Ken’s jacket.  I move in and tell Steve hands off.  Then he shrugs and laughs, says he was only joking.  Good.  I was about make a joke of my own involving the Zima bottle and the bridge of his nose.  I make a friendly “see you around” (sunovagun) and walk Ken across the street, apologizing for fat-heads like that.  Ken nervously laughs it off.  Guess he’ll remember this night.

Monday, March 17, 2014

Meanwhile in Tokyo…

I already posted about the Korean baby box the day this happened, and I don't like to overwhelm with posts, so I held back on it, but yeah! Isn't it sweet!? So unexpected. Is there a sea change happening in Japan? Would love to see some of that kinda of anti-racist love here in Osaka too.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

On the Least of These

I'm not much for the whole arguing and debating thrust for dealing with these critical issues since usually people discredit their stance by their unloving tone and overly logically-driven response, but I haven't posted any articles yet regarding the infanticide epidemic we face, so here's a choice, if somewhat polemic piece. . We are not brains in isolation - it is hurtful to speak megalothymically to each other as if that were so.

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Regarding the last post about infanticide, I wanted to give an example of love in action. This is precisely the kind of roll-up-your-sleeves venture that society needs. I don't know why every church doesn't have this. Reminds me much of the early church in caring for abandoned babies in the Roman empire.  For more on this, see the film The Drop Box.  It's not just Korean, but China also has the baby hatch.  In the US, one can leave a baby with any police or medical personnel.  See the National Safe Haven Alliance.

“And I sought for a man among them who should build up the wall and stand in the breach before me for the land, that I should not destroy it, but I found none.” - Ezekiel 22:30

Monday, March 10, 2014

Oldcastle’s Journal, March 9th


11PM.  Can hear the street calling.  Feeling a little nauseous and try to get in some more sleep.  Should watch the crap I eat.

2:38AM.  Eventually get out of bed and heed the call.

See some of the regulars, but for whatever reason don’t engage much.  The line is the same even if I don’t know some of the languages.  Maybe Chinese?

3:32AM.  Street corner waiting for light to change.  Guy stumbles up to ask where I am from.  Says he’s Brazilian, or American, or Canadian, then Brazilian again.  Barely coherent.  Blasted out of his mind.  I can get pieces.  Sounds like he came back from a gay bar.  Has no friends here.  Was sight-seeing for the week.  Supposed to fly back in the morning at nine.  Problem though.  Depending on price, airport is two and a half to four hours by bullet train.  Train station is fifteen minutes away by cab, but doesn’t open until six or so.  Don’t know the timetable.  There are other, quicker ways, but I didn’t bring my pocket wi-fi with me.  Nor would he follow the transfers.

Brain hurts.  Numbers not my forte.  Flashbacks to math class.  Must fight to focus, return to reality.  Try to explain the time problem, but he’s headstrong.  I’d let him sleep at my place, but the landlady would throw a conniption fit.  There’s a 24-hr coffee shop I know or a media café where he could spend the night indoors, but he insists on a cab to the station.  And then what?

He doesn’t speak the language, so I interpret for the driver.  Suppose the Good Samaritan or a Boy Scout would have seen him to the station and then waited for the morning train.  Hurm.  All muddled up.  Don’t know what to do.  Give him my contact card.  Don’t see how to help him much more.  Also, have work in the morning.  He has enough cash on him.  I wish him Godspeed and see the cab off.

On way back home, it hits me.  Wonder what hotel was he staying at last week.  And where his luggage was.  Hurm.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Oldcastle’s Journal, March 8th


12:41AM.  Streets are quiet.  Nothing much on the police scanner.  Leaving the train station, get a text from CK.  I tell him to take it easy and rest up since he is still nursing a cold.  I’m not doing much better.  At noon had lunch to make acquaintances with another fellow traveler.  Rest of day is a blur.  It’s after midnight getting home.  I stop by my place just long enough to pour a glass before venturing out into the demimonde.

Near my apartment are two subway stations, ten minutes in either direction.  The one to the west is the central line, but it means going through Togano, running the Samaria gauntlet of pimps and pushers.  Most people avoid it.  It’s a menagerie of midnighters, johns, touts, the syndicate, the cops, the bully pulpiteers, the homeless, and rescue rangers like me.  All of us sharing the same track.

The girls are lined up tonight.  On every corner they’re waiting.  I think I see Aiko near her spot, but I’m not sure.

In front of me a girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen, with a short skirt pinching the top of her thighs.  Knee socks bunched around her ankles.  She’s trying to look much younger.  Might as well be wearing pigtails. Can’t see her face.  On her phone.  She’s about to cross the street, but an oncoming taxi blares its horn.

See a few grizzled fellows here and there huddling in the corners of buildings, but I don’t recognize many faces tonight.  One though, I’ve seen him the past few days.  The first time he almost seemed to follow CK and me, snarling and flailing his arms against some unseen presence.  Yesterday he was on the pavement, lying there wild-eyed.  Tonight I pass him arguing with a garbage can.

Then there’s the syndicate on the sidelines.  Try to avoid.  By their reckoning, I’m no threat unless I slow down their girls with idle chit-chat.  Some of them stand out.  Brute violence carved into their face  I see one now.  Possible Snakehead.  Among their kind, especially creative in the kind of depravity they can think up to inflict.

At the end of the night, around 5 or 6, the girls will be dead on their feet.  Numb and running off fumes.  Some nights, coffee and some grub are too good an offer to turn down.  Other times, they rear back defensively, scoffing in a false bravado.  Like a stray animal taken in, sometimes biting my hand out of reflex.

2:03AM.  To read Orwell, the life of a backcountry tramp hitching the rails and getting tossed in the clink might seem downright romantic.  Suppose it’s because I have a home to return to, a warm bed.  Food in the fridge.  Even a heavy coat a Korean guy in my building gave me.

I gerrymander my way past the slums and tenements and near to where even the dilapidated buildings grow spare and trail off into back lots and old railroad lines.  “And further still at an unearthly height, a luminary clock against the sky…”

The Colorado Kid, he’s got his wife and kids.  Ramone too.  Texas Jack Vermillion got hitched to a nice broad a couple years ago.  Me, I got this view here.

I look out on her.  My city.  Can almost feel like one could find some symmetry to her jagged edges.

I’ve been to Manhattan once.  Queens, Harlem, Brooklyn, and the rest.  Drove by in a hurry.  Seemed to be no end to the skyscrapers and the shadows they cast.  No shortage of colorful characters either.  Luke, Daniel, Colleen, Matt, Frank… Ketch, Marc, Felicia, Jessica… Ty and Tandy, Dwayne and Dakota…

Not to mention the capes.  I’m surprised they don’t trip over each other, all bunched up in the same back alleys, caught up in the same tired dialectic.

Word on the street is the Soldier was sighted not far from my grounds.  Maybe on his way to some G.I. Joe charity event.  Hurm.  Nice to know he is somewhere nearby, watching from the rooftops.  Rogers is different.  He inspires.  Wonder what he’d say if he saw me making the rounds hanging out with some at-risk runaway over some cheap coffee and runny eggs.  I think about it all the way back to my apartment.

Monday, March 3, 2014

A message from our spokesman...


In case you were wondering about the name...

Of course, all our content goes up first at our FB page.  Give us a "Like" and add your voice to fighting the good fight.

Calling in the cavalry

Nice to be able to call the cavalry, in this case Bikers Against Child Abuse.  Another excellent Story Corp. recording.  I wonder though that many times the perpetrator is actually a family member though...