Since leaving America August 2006, I have traveled to sixteen countries. A great deal has happened. This site is to share my thoughts, photos, music, writings, travel experiences, and developing political/social commentary with you. I hope you find it interesting and informative.
Why should I be ashamed to let people know about my books? I worked hard on them, am proud of my work, and honestly didn’t write them for glory and money — though I admit I certainly wouldn’t turn away either — but merely put a smile on some sad faces out there or a twinkle in a few eyes dulled by bad TV and too many computers and smart phones.
It’s genuinely hard to wrap my head around this literary excursion. It’s been thirteen years since I got serious about writing full-length books. Yes, it all started in 2008 while I was teaching English right here in Tambasasayama, now my permanent hometown. Little did I know back then I’d marry a lovely Japanese lady and then so enthusiastically embrace the idea of making Japan my permanent place of residence. Petrocelli was my first novel, written in my spare time between teaching classes. Now I have a total of 13 finished, published works, another novel coming out in spring 2022 — Love Connection: Romance in the Land of the Rising Sun. There’s also a completed travel/fantasy/cookbook which may never see the light of day called What Do Mermaids Eat? — I’m still looking for a publisher).
Wow! Fifteen books in 13 years! “I’ve got blisters on my fingers!” (Why does that sound familiar?)
Anyway . . . moving on to the self-promotion, shameless or not. Until January 1st, all of the ebooks pictured at the top of the page are 50-75% off at Smashwords, a premium ebook sales channel. If you want to dive in, the links can be found HERE.
Oh . . . but there’s more! Amazon has a special on The Man Who Loved Too Muchtrilogy Kindle ebooks. Are you ready for this? Only 99 cents each!
Of course I remember the typical New Years holiday celebrations in the U.S.!
The
shots of Buttery Nipples, Afterburners, and White Gummy Bears, the beer
chugging contests, DUIs, the streaking of police patrol cars, mooning
at McDonald's drive-thru, the totaled rental cars, 72-hour hangovers,
the arrest warrants, getting herpes from kissing some stranger at
midnight, the Rose Parade, lying in the den in a puke-soaked Kurt Cobain
sweat shirt through 12 hours of football -- Rose Bowl, Cotton Bowl,
Orange Bowl, Tangerine Bowl, Toilet Bowl, Oxycontin Bowl.
It's impossible to overstate how different New Years is for me here in Japan.
Granted,
there might be some revelry in the big cities like Osaka and Tokyo.
Compared to what typically goes on in America, even these are more like
Thursday afternoon bingo in Butte, Montana or octogenarian shuffleboard
in Sun City, Florida.
Fasten
your seat belts, people, to keep from falling off your chair when you
nod off reading this. A pot of hearty espresso is recommended if you're
serious about making it to the end.
New Years Eve day, Masumi, her daughter Azusa, and I, climbed a mountain I've written abouttwicebefore.
It looks like a mountain but it's really not that high. It has steps
and trails, so we left the GPS, emergency flares, ropes, and rappelling
gear at home. What I like about it, besides offering a decent work out,
a couple hours in nature, and splendid views of the valley which
contains most of my home town,Sasayama, is that by bike it's only about five minutes from my house. It couldn't be more convenient.
This
time, we also brought Azusa's Black Labrador puppy too. We all headed
over -- Azusa on foot, Masumi and I on our bikes -- to the trail head,
which is situated right in front of a small shrine. Of course! Shrines
are as ubiquitous here as fire hydrants are in the States. Anyway,
about 45 minutes later, we were on top the small mountain, had a picnic
lunch, then returned on the same trail.
It
was cool but comfortable, perfect for this relatively easy hike.
However, as we made our way back down, the temperature started quickly
dropping. And continued dropping right into the evening.
Masumi
and I had the option of visiting the grounds of a local temple to "ring
in the New Year". They have a No Theater performance, a bonfire, and
serve free non-alcoholic sake. This is a real family affair for all
ages.
But we decided it was just too damn cold!
So
we stayed home, falling asleep before midnight. We missed the tofu
cannons, whale juggling, sky diving ninjas, and laser holograms of
Godzilla eating the Moon. This was prudent. We needed to rest up for
the next wild and dazzling phase of our extended weekend, Land of the
Rising Sun New Years extravaganza, set for next morning.
That would be at べんてん神社
(Benten Shrine), the Shinto shrine which belongs to our village. We
live on the very east end of Sasayama proper, in a village called Noma.
Each village of several in our city of 50,000 or so typically has its
own shrine and community center. Living in Japan is about community life and getting to know your neighbors.
The
motif at the shrine was similar to what we missed at the big temple
downtown the previous evening. There was a small bonfire, free kelp and
squid snacks, and sake. This sake was the real stuff but only
dispensed in thimblefuls, so no one exactly got rowdy.
This
being a shrine and to the rather meager extent that Japanese indulge in
religious services, there was singing. Mind you, this bore no
resemblance to Handel's Hallelujah chorus or a medley of tent revival
spirituals. In fact, what we apparently were singing was the national
anthem, which is why my lovely, principled wife was not singing along.
She is categorically and staunchly opposed to nationalism, even
superficial celebrations of what has not served humankind very well over
its blood-soaked history. Which explains why I had to burn all of my
American flag Hanes boxer shorts right after we got married.
Of
course, anyone who knows me knows that I am joking. All of my American
flag undies were long gone decades ago. I believe they were used as
rags to stuff Molotov cocktails at some street protests in Berkeley back
in the late 60s. I can't say for sure. It's difficult to track where
things end up after you drop them in a Salvation Army collection box.
Let
me add that Masumi thought the idea of singing the national anthem on
this special occasion was very strange, a total anomaly. Somebody
certainly made a very odd choice. Personally, I found it to be a rather
doleful affair, not the stuff of conquest and plunder.
Anyway, here's a very short video clip of my neighbors singing at the shrine.
Okay . . .
Enough
is never enough, especially when it comes to wild abandon and revelry.
Sure, we were exhausted from all the whoopee. But driven by relentless
surges of hedonism and the insatiable urge to party like its 2099, as
soon as we got home we decided to go to Kaibara, the town both near to
where Masumi grew up and where we officially got married.
柏原八幡宮 (Hachiman Shrine) is a beautiful place at the top of a hill. It maybe takes ten minutes to walk up the stairs.
People
step to the front of a shrine, make a contribution, sometimes light
incense, ring a very dissonant, clanking bell to get the attention of
whoever might be listening, then make an appeal for some improvement in
their lives -- new husband, better job, health, long life, happiness,
money -- the usual things. They also write these requests on pieces of
paper and tie them to a tree on the grounds.
Whew! Wild and crazy times here in Japan, eh? We know how to party! Personally, I find this all very calming, informal, charming, especially since I mercilessly was subjected to thetortures of the Catholic Massfor way too many years. What can I say? Buddhism and Shintoism rock!
I'll
end this account on what I find an interesting note. While there is
some god, a spirit entity, associated with each shrine -- our local
shrine described above is in dedicated to Benten, goddess of art, music,
literature, especially appropriate for Masumi and I -- the Japanese,
and most Asian people, especially Buddhists, don't pray to a
specific god, saint, angel, virgin. At least not the way Christians
do. The Catholic Church has a precise org chart for all of its holy
representatives. St. Christopher was assigned assuring safe travel, St.
Anthony unobstructed breathing passages. Then there was the Virgin
Mary, who had what could only be called a cult following of her own,
rivaling that of Jesus, who of course was the Savior, source of
salvation. Asians just send their prayers out, as Masumi tried to patiently explain to me. Buddhists are very much into flooding outer space with prayers.
You may find this interesting. When you visit Buddhist monasteries, you see prayer wheels, hundreds
of them, all different sizes, from ones which could fit in a bowling
bag to ones that are taller than a human. Each prayer wheel contains
hundreds -- sometimes even thousands! -- of sacred inscriptions from
holy Buddhist texts. Again we have appeals for peace, harmony, long
life, etc. Spinning a prayer wheel, it is claimed, sends these good
messages out into the universe, inundating it with the highest spiritual
content and aspirations.
While
from what I can tell, it's not working, it's most certainly an
admirable enterprise, and so different from the Western framework of a
person's relationship with God and his heavenly ecclesiastical staff.
Take a moment and picture those televangelists, furrowed brows sweating,
faces bulging with the power of the Lord, yelling: "You want that new
car? You want your bills paid? You want that ugly goiter to
disappear? To be able to sing along with Mariah Carey and slam dunk
like the Shaq? Well, just put your hands on your television screen! I
say, put 'em both right here on my face, and FEEL THE POWER OF THE LORD
FILL YOUR LIFE with money, success, happiness! Ask and ye shall
receive! PRAISE GOD!"
Just something to think about next year during half-time of the Rose Bowl.
[ To see all of the photos, go to author's personal website . . . http://jdrachel.com ]
In this dark comedy, a young fellow who escapes his hopelessly hayseed home town in Missouri is mistakenly labeled a terrorist and must survive a fierce manhunt by government security agencies, while the President of an America in chaos and collapse takes desperate measures, attempting to reclaim control and get himself re-elected.
Blinders Keepers is social-political satire in the tradition of Jonathan Swift, Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller, but revved up and spit-shined to take on the historic new levels of absurdity and dysfunction of the 21st Century. It is one young man's struggle to survive the epic disintegration of the American Dream.
Published June 1 of this year, this semi-frivolous, quasi-serious, mini-epic in a major key is available in every popular format for literature lovers across the English-speaking world.
But let's face it. There are so many books out there!
Overwhelmed? Don't feel alone. You might want to check out the first video trailer . . .
. . . or listen to what the vitamin-deficient author himself has to say in this interview. Okaaaaaay!
The truth is, against all odds, oohs and aahs are pouring in from all corners of the globe. Following are some carefully edited excerpts from unsolicited reader comments posted at Amazon (it is the opinion of the administrators of this website that expletives and death threats serve no constructive role vis-a-vis the literary merits of the novel):
"Blinders Keepers" is an example of how to successfully mix political observations, humor, and creativity . . . This is a great book to unwind with at the end of the day. Just sit back and let the insanity unfold. The prose is well written with a fresh voice and will have you grinning whether you like it or not. – Nicole Disney
"Blinders Keepers" is the latest star of my "show this to the next person who says indie novels suck" list. Here's your novel by an unknown writer, from a press so indie it amounts to "self-publishing by proxy", with an oddball, non directive title and a vague cover. What's to like? Well... THE BOOK! It's WAY cool. – Linton Robinson
This book is interesting, fun, and witty, with a wry, sardonic sense of humor__a Vonnegut meets Christopher Moore drive-it-like-you-stole-it joyride! – T. Rood
Blinders Keepers is a fugitive quest set in the near future in an America none of us would want. In its futurist setting, it aligns with 1984, Brave New World, and The Handmaid's Tale, all cautionary stories about how bad things might get if we don't wake up and smell the decaf. – Gerald Everett Jones
Comparisons to Kotzwinkle, Tom Robbins and Ishmael Reed are not that far off the mark . . . Rachel is very, very good. He has a lively style and is very gifted at original, catchy similes and metaphors. His insights are interesting and he lays them in with finesse. His style and voice don't suffer from comparison to the writers mentioned above. Much more enjoyable than Palahniuk, to single out one. He's a fun writer, but also a solid, focused one who knows what he's doing. – Linton Robinson
I AM ONLY 2% into the book and it has blown away every other good book I've read. . . . Being a fan of John Rachel I know him to give offbeat stories that are almost beyond description. – Grandma Snyder
But don't take their word for it. Make up your own mind!
As the essence of good literature is allegory and allegory is like giving LSD to a toddler raised on a porch in Appalachia, here is the second video trailer for Blinders Keepers.
Now! Time to pull out all the stops. Here's the opening sub-chapter of Blinders Keepers, based on a verifiable historical event but modified at the discretion of the author to align with the instructions given by a voice in his head __ a dreary character who without any irony claims to be the orthopedic surgeon for St. Ignatius of Loyola. It takes all kinds.
CHAPTER ONE State of the Union
It was that time of year again. Last week of January.
The President was making his much anticipated State of the Union Address.
After the usual greetings and initial courtesies — thanking everyone for coming, acknowledging the important players in all branches of the government, and offering gracious regards for a few special invited guests — the President delivered the type of crowd-pleasing line which has been the linchpin of State of the Union addresses for as long as anyone cared to remember. “As I stand before this great body and look out at the faces of those who have dedicated themselves to this great nation, I can say with absolute confidence that America is on strong and certain footing.”
Then abruptly his expression changed, he shook his head and stopped speaking. Hands grasping the edges of the podium, he looked down at his feet and appeared to be lost in thought.
What followed was both unexpected and certainly unprecedented. He looked back up. Gone was the confident smile, the twinkle in his eye, the arched optimistic brow. He appeared somber, a touch sad, apologetic. “Who am I trying to fool here? You, my respected Congressmen? Some of the finest legislators to ever hold public office? The excellent justices of the Supreme Court who preside over the greatest legal institution in history? Myself? No, I’m not here to try to fool anyone. These are times unlike any this nation has ever seen. So I’ll tell you exactly what the state of our union is. It’s a fucking mess!”
A deathly silence filled the entire congressional chamber. If a pin had dropped, it would have been possible to know its exact size and just how many times it bounced. What wasn’t entirely clear was if they had somehow missed what he just said, or if they had heard it, but it hadn’t actually registered. Blank faces and unfocused eyes filled the chamber.
Then, as if being directed by some invisible conductor, or moved by an invisible resonant force field, everyone immediately stood up and began with thunderous applause, cheering, and raucous acclamation, to give him a huge standing ovation. This went on and on, for several minutes at least, never in the least waning in intensity. The President smiled and waved, basking in the adulation. Finally, he had enough and made it clear he had more that he wanted to say. Using a palm’s down gesturing with his hands, he eventually got them to sit back down. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. I want you all to look down at the floor. Now pull your pant legs up over your calves. What do you see? For those senators and congressman from Texas, this will be easy. You won’t have to imagine. The rest of you, just look and see what I’m seeing. See those loops. Those are bootstraps. Yes, bootstraps. Okay. Now look back up at me.”
Dramatically the President held up high in front of him his two index fingers. “See these? What we’re gonna do is take these and insert them right in those bootstraps. Then all together, we’re gonna lift. We’re gonna lift like no one has ever lifted before. And we’re gonna pick ourselves up. We’re gonna pick ourselves up and we’re gonna stay up. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Because this is America. This is the greatest country that ever was or ever will be. And as we have demonstrated time and time again, as we have shown the naysayers and skeptics over and over, this is one country that can do it. We will do it! Yes! By God we will do it! Ladies and gentlemen, thanks to each and every one of you for your unselfish dedication, your unwavering patriotism, your honorable service to this great country. GodblessAmerica!”
Everyone in the chamber, congressman, jurists, ushers, guards, special guests, select members of the press, again leaped to their feet. The response this time was totally over the top. It made the first ovation look like they had been standing graveside at a wake.
Suddenly and without warning, over the explosive din of the hysterical whooping and yelling, could be heard blasting from P.A. speakers hidden behind the long drapes at the rear of the gallery, the U.S. Army band playing Happy Days Are Here Again. This theatrical touch just added to the ongoing chain reaction, notching the hysteria up another two levels.
With climactic flair which rivaled the best Superbowl half-time shows, red, white and blue balloons then dropped from the ceiling. Like crazed, frenetic school children, the congressman start batting them around.
Maybe the country was going to hell in a hand basket. But darn it all, there was no reason to get all down in the mouth about it.
[ This originated at the author's personal web site . . . http://jdrachel.com ]
