The absurdity and sadness of random murder, and the inconsolable grief of the beloved of the dead and injured, is the story--and it's not a story, per se, but a reality. As of this writing, seven people are dead, and 10 injured, for no reason other than being in Akihabara, Tokyo's mecca of electronics and pop culture, at midday on Sunday. The man who caused this sadness, Tomohiro Kato, is not a nobody, though he apparently felt that way, at least on Sunday morning. What follows is a translation of Kato's account of the hours and minutes leading up to his acts of violence. It breaks off approximately twenty minutes before his Sunday attack (o:20)--and it reads like a bit of untreated found poetry, a narrative of the mundane and the obscene, with lines that speak of other lines, other sensibilities, not unlike a serious poem. (Thanks to blogger Patrick Macias for the post.) am 5:21 I'm going to kill people in Akihabara. I'll crash into them by car, and when the