written on the morning of the day he later committed hari-kari on, in a stupid and spectacular fashion, about quarter of an hour after midday ?


his grandmother who raised him kept him completely out of the sun as a child


whenever i read this i cry


it was a bright, quiet, garden without striking features.


like a rosary rubbed between the hands, the shrilling of cicadas held sway


there was no other sound. the garden was empty. he had come, thought honda, to a place that had no memories, nothing.


the noontide sun of summer flowed over the still garden.


imo he was quite schizophrenic and had various worsening health/ageing/autistic issues and the convolutions of his suicide where simply a machination to enable him to leave.