michael john grist

Life in Ashio would never have been easy, and certainly not at the peak of production around 1910 when 39,000 people called it home. Crammed into a narrow river valley, blasted by freezing winter winds, living in uninsulated plywood apartments, the men all day in the 100’s of miles of mines risking their lives to gas pockets and collapse, the women house-bound with no option but to clean, cook, and collect the kids from school, breathing every day the air thick with sulfurous gases from the many smelters dotting the factory zone: life was hard. Many would have turned to the ‘kamisama’ or Gods for spiritual succor- especially as there were no cinemas, malls, or any other way to relieve the stresses of everyday life.

This is the 2nd in a 4-part series on Ashio, 1st: History and Relics,  3rd: Power Hub and Mine, 4th: Train Station and Factory.

Abandoned shrine, overgrown.

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Ashiodozan Mining Town in the mountains of Tochigi Prefecture is infamous in Japanese history as a site of extreme environmental damage- so much so the town was mostly abandoned 40 years ago, the mines and factory shut down, and new standards in environmental care called for at the highest national levels. It had been a copper mining and processing town for over 400 years, at its peak supplying over a third of Japan’s entire copper supply, in the process though poisoning the nearby mountains with sulfurous acid gas from the plant’s smelters. Now it’s a creaking conglomeration of fading facilities- a power station, the factory, numerous barricaded mines, a train station, a temple, a school, and a small town of tumble-down wooden apartments, haunted only by a few aged holdovers with nowhere else to go.

This is the 1st in a 4-part series on Ashio, 2nd: Temple and Apartments, 3rd: Power Hub and Mine, 4th: Train Station and Factory.

The abandoned train yard, with 3 old white sulfuric acid tanks on the hill to the left, and the red-boned skeleton of the main factory in the distance.

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Ginza is the core amygdala in the tightly-twined morass of Tokyo’s brain, a nerve center firing off directional impulses telling people what to wear, how to look, what to buy, and who to be. Amongst the district’s densely packed grid of un-signposted streets some of the grandest global corporations can be found- De Beers, Mikimoto, Hermes and so on, parading their garlanded facades like buxom debutantes at the inaugural ball. Look a little harder though, down a few of the shadier backstreets, off the beaten track, and you’ll find the hidden gems of Ginza, the subtle impulses that cut through the brash vigor of the main street’s axonal storm, the places where the real business of Ginza is conducted.

This is the second in a 2-part series- the first is ‘10 Store-Front Facades’

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Ginza is the bustling beating heart of high class fashion and commerce in Japan, a labyrinthine grid of broad and narrow streets bristling with corporate headquarters, flagship stores, and chic designer boutiques, sprawled over several square kilometers just a few stops from Tokyo station. Amongst its ultra-elite avenues and alleyways are some incredibly bold front-facade designs, ranging from tie-stores built out of solid glass bricks to port-hole crazy office towers.

This is the first in a 2-part series- the second is ‘10 Office-Front Facades‘, coming soon.

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The giant robot stalked the empty world, looking for its lost arm.

It had fought in many wars, from the beginning to the end. In ancient Thrace it had brought down the gates of Thermopylae. In Samarkand it had crushed the Czar’s men underfoot. On the fields of the Somme it had walked the no-man’s land and razed the flags of the Third Reich.

Towards the end had been the lasers. The large bombs; the A-bomb, and the B-bomb that followed it. Artillery that could shred its skin, and tanks that could push it over.

Then there had been the mountains. The icy colds for so long, then the winds, and lightning. Somewhere along the way, its arm had been lost.

It barely thought, but for its simple cog-driven brain ticking and chugging. Many of its tines and transfers had long since rusted or failed. Steam pulsated erratically behind its sagging cracked lens eyes. At night it dreamt fitfully of past glories, and of its lost arm.

(Image from here)

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