This weekend saw the final unveiling of the the See No Evil project in Bristol; Europe’s largest street art exhibition. It is, to say the very least, an extraordinary, breathtaking achievement. Graffiti artists not just from Bristol but around the globe descended on Nelson Street, transforming the whole area from drab, urban decay into what feels like a new – almost virtual – space. It is truly something that needs to be experienced, but hopefully some of the photos I grabbed (along with the many on the official Flickr page) will give you some idea of its scale and raw beauty.

My own interest in graffiti art dates back to my first introduction to hip-hop culture in the mid 1980s, when the first images of New York subway art started to make their way over the pond. Apart from their raw visceral energy, both art-forms struck me as intensely science-fictional. Both are about the appropriation of technology to create something new – hip-hop taking samplers and turntables to generate new sounds they weren’t designed to make, and graf taking car repair paint and the very architecture of cities to create new visual spaces and canvases. They are, perhaps, the most literal expression of William Gibson’s famous cyberpunk-defining phrase ‘the street finds it own use for things’.

Even before cyberpunk, the city has long been one of the defining settings of science fiction for those that dare to look beyond the standard tropes of spaceships and alien worlds. Science fiction frequently views the city as a machine, with those of us that live within it variably as components, parasites or even unwilling prisoners. Graffiti becomes one of the most visceral, immediate statements of rebellion for us urban inmates; a bold, organic riot of colour against our drab, sterile prison.

The science fictional aspect of See No Evil becomes even more heightened when you consider the history of Nelson Street. It is yet another example, amongst the hundreds that dot the urban landscape of Britain, of 1950/60s post war planning and architecture that aimed to herald a new, futuristic, technology-driven utopia. But of course the future’s greatest strength is that it can never be predicted and tamed, let alone designed or planned. The town planners and architects failed, and as the decades passed they watched their dreams descend into decay, shunned by popular taste and left to become associated with poverty, depravation and failure. And to add the ultimate insult to their injuries, they saw their utopian designs become the defining science fiction image of a dystopian future.

“The group of architects who put (the plan) forward combined super highways with dreaming notions of pedestrian decks to create squares of Venetian splendour where Bristolians would gather in their thousands on election nights six metres above the smoothly uninterrupted flow of traffic.

“The major central area civic contribution of the sixties was the complex of pedestrian decks that survive in truncated form above the street at Lewins Mead and beyond and which virtually nobody uses. This was to be the essential link between the Centre – or even Forum’s great piazza above it – and the Broadmead shopping centre and beyond.”

The Fight for Bristol (ed. by Gordon Priest and Pamela Cobb; Redcliffe Press, 1980)

It’s this idea that was the driving force behind the story that leads my collection Paintwork; the use of graffiti to reclaim the space in which we live from corporate control. The technology that is subverted in Paintwork may be far more exotic – augmented reality, nanotechnology and QR Codes – but walking around Nelson Street made me feel that somehow I had actually managed to catch a little taste of Bristol’s zeitgeist with that story. That part of town usually feels dead and deserted, but on Saturday it was rammed with bodies – Bristol residents that had come out to be enthralled and entertained; to reclaim this urban decay for their own expression and enjoyment. And the fact that this was an officially organised event, done with the guidance and support of the same city that once made the mistake of trying to guess and plan the future is not only exciting in itself, but perhaps shows us a fleeting glimpse of a real, achievable urban utopia.

Paintwork is out now – you can get Kindle versions from Amazon US and Amazon UK, and versions for all other popular e-readers (including iPad and Nook) at Smashwords.

Print versions are now available from Createspace or Amazon US and Amazon UK.

So I’m back from Thailand – two weeks of Buddhist temples, amazing food, beach paradises, raving and cyberpunk culture-clash urban environments (more on that to follow). If you’ve got time to kill then hit-up my Flickr photoset for the now standard image overload.

Not that things have been completely dead around here while I was away. For a start Colony Drop – the anime blog everyone loves to hate – published my review of the Zone of the Enders OVA while I was gone as part of their video game theme week, and as you’d expect over there the comments are getting as lively as usual. Whatever the fuck you do don’t tell them, but CD is probably my favourite anime blog out there, so it was an honor to be asked to get involved. Go check it out.

And finally – and most importantly – I owe a massive thanks to all my guest post writers that kept the content flowing here while I was away. There was some great posts, a few nice slices of controversy and some great discussion as a result of their work, for which I’m massively grateful. Oh, and I must also give mad props to my old friend Flotsky for holding things down behind the scenes. Good work sir.

Plus there’s some interesting things coming up over the next few weeks and months, including a catch up review of Vertical’s stunning Black Jack series, some new stuff from Viz Media, and a look at what new anime this year has caught my attention. Oh, and there’s some other interesting collaborations and contributions coming up as well, more details when I can give them to you. Stay tuned.

Well, I’m back. I survived Havana – a bat-shit crazy but fantastic and beautiful city, both run-down and elgant at the same time, and where everyone that walks the street is a hustler. Sure, communism and food rationing has made it hard to find a decent meal, but who cares when the rum and cigars are so cheap. Plus the Museo de la Revolución and the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes make it worth the cost of the flight alone. Just don’t try bringing back a load of that cheap rum through Madrid airport security. Long, painful story. Of course, as always, I took a bunch of photos, which you can check out on the Flickr sideshow below – and are certainly worth a look if you have any passing interest in Che Guevara, crumbling but awe inspiring architecture, mojitos and lots (I mean LOTS) of gorgeous 1950s American muscle cars.

• La Habana June 2009 – photos

So due to my adventures things have been pretty quiet on the site – and sadly I’ve come back to a pretty chaotic life here in the UK. Work is hectic, social life is busy, domestic life seems to be drowning in admin jobs and on top of all that I’ve been trying to get some new top-secret projects off the ground. As a result the next week or so might not see much activity either, but stay tuned: normal service will be resumed before you know it. Coming up: reviews of Miyazaki’s Ponyo, Mariko Koike’s novel The Cat in the Coffin and Volume 5 of Tezuka’s Black Jack. Plus I’ll finally get round to looking properly at Eden of the East and Shangri-La. Oh, and I think all the Cuban sun has given me an urge to finish checking out Michiko to Hatchin….

Don’t touch that dial….

Got some time to kill? Then check out this photo set on Flickr – all my photos from my recent trip to Tokyo, in lovely high-res. Or hit the link below to watch them in a slideshow. All 1353 of them. Yeah, it’s a lot. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

• Tokyo 2008 Flickr slideshow

Despite having been boringly safely back in the UK for over a month now, I’m still only just managing to mentally process everything we saw and experienced in Tokyo. A major highlight for us, in fact one of the main reasons for going in the first place, was our trip to the Studio Ghibli Museum in the suburb of Mitaka.

Anyone that’s read this site in any detail before has probably picked up on how much of a Ghibli fanatic I can be at times. My obsession is over a decade old now, first triggered when my then new girlfriend, on finding out I had an NTSC capable VCR, gave me a dusty old pirated VHS video of a film her grandparents had given to her on her last visit to Japan, at the age of eleven. She wanted to watch it again, as the only machine capable of playing it at her parents’ house had failed years ago, but I could sense a slight trepidation in her face as she handed it to me. It was a children’s film, she explained, and it might not be as good as she remembered.

The film was My Neighbour Totoro, and despite the lack of any English subtitles or dub and the poor quality of the recording, for 90 minutes we both sat transfixed and enchanted.

It’s pretty fair to say that up until that point, with the exceptions of the works of Oshii and Otomo, I’d pretty much given up on anime. After the success of Akira over here in the UK, we had been flooded with over-priced but poor quality VHS releases of Japanese TV and OVA shows. Largely misjudging what us new-born anime fans wanted, distributors bombarded us with anything that had a hint of sex, violence and a regurgitated cyberpunk vibe. Releases were given rushed, poor quality English dubs, with the scripts edited to include cursing not present in the originals, in order to force a 15 or even 18 classification and give the impression of ‘adult’ material. Rapidly many of us lost interest, seeing works like Akira and Ghost in the Shell as one off artistic triumphs.

But sitting, watching that Totoro tape for the first time, I realised how wrong we were. It was clear just minutes in that I was missing out on something very, very special, and over the next few years, now with the internet as my spiritual guide, I found myself consumed by a new obsession.

Eleven years later the story of that lovingly pirated tape came full circle, when the two of us found ourselves stood just a couple of miles from her grandparents’ house, at Mitaka station. After the first official shuttle bus filled with excitable children and their parents, we were too impatient to wait for a second, so instead decided to walk the kilometre to the museum instead, the charming, regularly spaced signs counting down the distance heightening our already gripping state of nervous anticipation.

If you search for information about the Ghibli Museum online, what you tend to find – even in personal reports from bloggers that have visited – seems to be pretty sparse on details. I’d originally intended to try and break this mold, and to give you a detailed tour of the museum, room-by-room, exhibit-by-exhibit. But it was clear after just a few minutes of being in the building that there are three very good reasons as to way that’s not only a nearly impossible task, but one that I just didn’t want to undertake. Firstly, it’s largely a visual experience, and with the no photography policy strictly enforced by the firm but smiling staff, it’s not one that easily translates to words. Similarly, the sheer scale of some of the material on display defies not only description, but at times also comprehension. And finally, and perhaps most importantly, I don’t want to spoil it for you. If you can, you need to go and see this yourself.

The building itself, partly buried in the grounds of Inokashira Park, feels compact from the exterior but surprisingly spacious once inside; the main atrium decorated to feel exactly like you’ve stepped onto the non-existent set of one of Miyazaki’s beautifully crafted, European feeling films. The highlight on the ground floor is the animation room, where the aim of the museum is the show with light-boxes, models and layered cells how the art and theory of animation work together. From the very start everything is very hands on; there are dials to turn and levers to pull, and images hide behind little doors and shutters that need to be opened.

The centrepiece of the room though is the huge ‘Bouncing Totoro’ zoetrope, where 3D models of characters from the film are brought to life through strobe lights as the huge exhibit rotates. It’s breathtaking to watch, and even if you could take photos, they obviously wouldn’t do it justice. Similarly, the ‘Rising Steam’ exhibit employs optical illusions to project a holographic image of birds flocking around the iconic robot soldier from Laputa: Castle in the Sky. Again, it needs to be seen first hand. Trust me.

Also on the ground floor is the entrance to the Saturn Theatre. As you enter the museum, you’re each given a ticket to one free showing of an exclusive Ghibli short in the Saturn – luckily you get to keep these tickets, as each one is made of a few sequential frames in film cell form from a Ghibli movie.

There are six shorts they show in rotation, none of which have ever been shown outside of the museum. To be honest, we would have been happy to have seen anything, but I can’t express how thrilled we were when we found out Mei and the Kittenbus was showing. The 20-minute short is a sequel of sorts to Totoro, re-uniting some of the original’s characters for the first and only time in nearly 20 years. Even putting aside how lucky we felt to have seen it – I have Japanese friends who have been there multiple times and have never glimpsed it – it’s a magical piece of animation, and without embarrassment I can honestly say that watching it together, sat like wide-eyed children on the steps of the overcrowded theatre, was a touching, emotional experience.

The next floor up is dedicated to temporary and permanent exhibitions – the highlight of the latter being a recreation of what is presumably meant to be Miyazki-san and Takahata-san’s studies, or at least versions of them told in true Ghibli-fantasy style. As you slowly walk around these small rooms, your breath is stolen once again by the treasures on display. Desks are covered with illustrations and notes, concept art and character designs, blueprints and technical drawings. I’m sure they must be printed copies, but the quality of them conspires with the setting to convince you of their hand-drawn authenticity, and many are simply attached to the wall by just a single drawing pin, all so close that you not only can but are encouraged to reach out and touch them. At the end of the display sits a huge wooden bookcase, filled leather bound books just encouraging you to take them down and flick through them, revealing themselves to be sketch pads full of the movies storyboards. Again, they must be fakes, but their quality again fools you into staring at the pencil strokes and dreaming they’re from the masters’ own hands, and wishing you had a few days to sit on the floor like a kid, absorbing them all. The whole exhibit was my personal highlight of the museum, and to any Ghibli or just true anime fan it’s worth the entrance fee on it’s own.

The top floor houses the Catbus room, with a huge plush recreation of the feline transport that sadly only small children are allowed to climb all over. At the other end of the floor is the ‘Mama Aiuto’ museum shop, officially the most chaotic place in Tokyo. Forget Shinjuku JR at 5pm, nothing in Japan is as terrifying and noisy as a shop full of Ghibli loving kids and their parents in full consumer frenzy. I didn’t see any blood spill, but believe me my friends, I saw images of tears being shed and tantrums being thrown that I will carry with me to the grave. We got out alive, but with our wallets considerably lighter, and our bags heavy with books, DVDs, Blu-rays and ornaments, the details of which I will post up here in time.

The roof garden houses the now famous life-size statue of aforementioned robot soldier from Laputa, and is one of the few places where you can take photo. I got some pretty good shots, but again I have to say that the only way to really appreciate the intricacy and craftsmanship is firsthand. Also up here is the small open-air café, that sells some pretty good hotdogs and homemade soup, as well as a Museum branded beer – it was too early for drinking for me, but yet again the kindness of the Japanese revealed itself when a woman on a neighbouring table offered us an empty bottle to take home.

Anyway, I’m going to cut this short before I start gushing even more. The place is simply amazing. It sets out to, and easily achieves, the aim of the best Ghibli movies; to create a world for children that is so intricate, charming and believable that it sucks in adults as well and fills them with youthful fascination again. Go there.

Check this guy’s outfit – I’d have killed for that get-up back in my early 90s techno days.

I took this photo outside our apartment in Shinjuku; apparently this guy was paid to stand there all night waving his lightsabre at the passing, minimal traffic. Another reason Japan has such low unemployment – well, until recently at least.

Actually, it makes you wonder. When Tokyo residents are confronted with this sort of thing on a very normal, daily basis, maybe watching stuff like Akira or Ghost in the Shell doesn’t quite have the impact it does on us in the west….?

Shibuya was the only place in Tokyo that I felt slightly disappointed with. Initially anyway.

After paying our respects to wonder-dog Hachiko at the stations exit (if you don’t know the heart-wrenching story, it really is essential reading), we headed into the much hyped shopping district. Dominated by big brand, global chain stores like Gap, HMV and Tower, the place feels decidedly soulless compared to the style mash-up of Harajuku. Sure there’s the Bathing Ape shop, with it’s funky disco-bling interior and glass steps filled with trainers on conveyor belts, but the prices in there feel like someone is actually taking the piss. Same goes for the G-Star store – nice gear, but how much? Really? Most interestingly, you never see anyone actually buying fuck all in either of them.

Feeling a little deflated by the bland excess of it all, we headed back to the station, only to stumble across what felt like bumping into a good, old friend when you’re feeling down: Mandarake Shibuya.

This used to be the chain’s flagship store before the Akihabara one got moved and expanded, and while it’s not quite so big and only on one (substantial) floor, it’s pretty cavernous. If you can survive the near seizure inducing flight down steps lit only by strobe lights, you’re in a for a treat. It’s a similar deal to Complex, but with much more of an emphasis on manga and artbooks than toys, where I was not only able to pick up some Patlabor books I’d been hunting for but also a copy of the highly elusive Akira Animation Archives for my boy Al T….

• Click here for more images of Shibuya

While chilling in the gardens around Dembo-in in Asakusa, admiring the beautiful Koi under the bridges, I got chatting to an elderly local called Hideo. I think he just wanted to flex his pretty impressive English skills, but his eyes lit up when we told him we were staying in Shinjuku. Excitedly, he insisted that when we got back there, we head on down to the Hanazono Jinjya Shrine, as there was a one day, once a year Torinoichi Bamboo Rake Festival taking place, and it ended at midnight. He explained it was where these elaborate bamboo charms were sold that would bring good luck for the following year.

So, after getting back to the apartment late that evening, and seeing on a map that it wasn’t that far away, we decided we’d wander down and check it out.

I don’t know what either of us were expecting – if anything – but the scale of the events down near the shrine blew us away. There was, it seemed, a full scale party going on. Dozens of stalls lined the streets – that had been closed to the usual Shinjuku traffic – selling a multitude of different foods, from deep fried octopus tentacles to chocolate covered bananas decorated to represent the Rakes that were being sold and celebrated there. But the smell of the food was only part of the sensory overload; every time a Rake was sold it was accompanied by a ritual of clapping, chanting and woodblock drumming, and hundreds of paper lanterns were mounted on frames around the Shrines.

The Rakes themselves grew more and more beautifully elaborate as you journeyed into the heart of the fair, and people leaving with newly purchased ones held them proudly aloft above their heads. Apparently half of Shinjuku was partying down there – and had been drinking for a few hours too – and again there was the great, exhilarating sense of contrast that I keep feeling in Japanese culture between the ancient and the futuristic, as the city’s young, fashionable, scantily dressed kids descended to celebrate what is obviously an important tradition.

Or maybe they were just looking for a reason to get drunk. Either way, we left feeling we were really lucky to have caught it.

• Click here for more images of the Torinoichi Bamboo Rake Festival

You could be forgiven, on first arriving at Asakusa on the Ginza subway line, that you’ve descended into Japanese tourist-trap hell. And to some extent you’d be right; it certainly seems to be the most touristy place I visited in Tokyo at least – as soon as you pass under the impressive Kaminari-mon (“Thunder Gate”) you’re greeted by a line of literally dozens of stalls selling everything from woodblock prints to Gundam model kits. Further down though, towards the Senso-ji temple, they give way to more traditional craft stalls, with giving you a unique chance to see artists in action. The Temple at Dembo-in, where Japan’s two leading religions Buddism and Shinto meet, and it’s surrounding gardens and pogodas are breathtaking, and a welcome break from the initial chaos.

One thing you must do if you ever make it to Asakusa is make sure you’re at the crossing near the Tourist Information Centre on the hour, as the clock there bursts into an amazing, and typically Japanese, animatronic display every time the minute hand hits 12.

Also, just opposite here on the corner, is a tiny shop that just sells yet more Ghibli stuff. Worth a quick peek round, despite the prices and the moody mama-san that runs it.

• Click here for more images of Asakusa Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3

It was the first time since I was a teenager that I’d taken an organised tour anywhere, having been used to finding my own way when traveling for the last few years, and it was a little bit of a shock to the system at first. Especially as the coach got caught in heavy traffic just outside of Tokyo, leading to us run about an hour behind schedule. As a result we were often given literally only a few minutes at some stops, just enough time to run out into the freezing cold mountain air and fire off a few pictures. But our English speaking guide was quite cool and informative, and the (regrettably brief) boat and cable-car trips were definite highlights. And, of course, Fuji was breathtaking, with the weather luckily perfect for viewing it. Check the link below for some shots.

• Click here for more images of Mt Fuji and Hakone