If you are gagging in disgust at the thought of Fuzzy Logic from now on contaminating your Sunday with lurid tales of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll . . . fear not.

This marks the turning of a new leaf for your erstwhile rock 'n' roll correspondent, and that's why the column's been moved to the day of rest. It may disappoint hard-core Fuzzy Logic fans, but this writer has ditched arrogance for humility, sex for meditation, dope for Tao and rock 'n' roll for a genre of music I shall christen "organic."

From now on I will be writing, without exception, about organic music, while offering practical advice on Taoism, which should help you achieve a balanced and positive lifestyle.

Fans of the pre-organic, pre-Tao Fuzzy Logic probably deserve a brief explanation as to how this all came about.

It was another one of those crazy nights in Kabukicho that I've regaled you with time and time again. So often, in fact, that it's become as boring as sex with someone who pretends to enjoy it. It was the usual snorting of CIA-manufactured Ecstasy off the naked buttocks of a couple of cheap Bulgarian wenches while doing nastily perverted things involving vacuum cleaners and gerbils. That kind of thing.

But, by dawn, I started to feel very sick. I was freezing cold, but sweating profusely. No matter what I did to keep warm, I kept feeling colder. I thought I was going to die. Believe me, it was terrifying. Somehow I survived, but the whole experience sent shock waves through me. I began to feel old, and being on the wrong side of 30, I realized I was old. It was obvious the time had come to ditch my debauched life of 24-seven sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.

Now -- armed with carrot juice rather than sake -- I can't believe I didn't heed the warning signs earlier. Like when Japan Times sports guru Fred Varcoe swamped me with champagne at his wedding bash and I ended up being dropped on my head by a basketball player and fracturing my skull in three places. Like when I was hospitalized after the second Fuji Rock festival through exhaustion and dehydration. Like when I woke up in bed with a beached whale of a masseuse doing terrible things to me with a vibrator. The list goes on and I'm surprised I survived this long. But at least I've finally seen the light. And this time I don't have to dim it due to a hangover the size of a Fuzzy Logic metaphor.

After my overdose it took a good few days to get warm again, but when I did, I realized I had not listened to anything resembling rock 'n' roll for almost a week. Instead, I had listened to reality. My music was the muted hum of life from the street below my Ebisu penthouse pad. The drone of a lone motorcyclist at dawn, the mating cries of genki pigeons, the distant call of my landlady demanding my late rent. It all felt so normal. And that felt good. It was, basically, music to my ears.

When I emerged from my apartment I found myself pausing to sniff flowers at the local florist's -- my nose, at last, not clogged by the debris of last night's debauchery. I realized that my rock 'n' roll lifestyle was a fallacy. I was thinking I was being free-spirited, when in reality I was chained to a daily diet of fags, booze, premature ejaculations and hangovers packed with depression and paranoia.

I spent a weekend in the mountains, sitting naked beneath waterfalls, and as the icy water crashed over my body I felt a new, raw power, something that Iggy Pop had never given me. No more was I undead. I was reborn. Alive at last.

Trickling mountain streams, chirping birds and the crunch of leaves beneath my feet sounded so much more edifying than the groans of 54 Nude Honeys as I covered their bodies in hot chocolate.

Back in Tokyo I realized nature's sounds were scarce, so I sought out organic music for urban life.

Nature might be an integral part of organic music, of course, but it's not all about dolphins singing. Organic music is about getting in tune with your environment. Some of the best organic music, like Pole, comes from the industrial heartland of Germany.

Pole is deconstructed drum and bass and, basically, it sounds like a guy banging two poles together, or like bad plumbing. You might think bad plumbing could never sound beautiful, but you are wrong.

Also, there's the new Autechre album. Nothing happens on this album, and the fact that nothing happens apart from numbingly slow repetitive beats is very meditative.

Talking about bad plumbing, there's a Taoist lesson to be learned here: Organic music can be harnessed to combat constipation.

Basically, all animals defecate by squatting. So if you are thinking of buying a Western-style toilet because it's the cool thing to do and you feel it's more comfortable, forget it. If you sit down to defecate, the lower end of the colon is bent and therefore it requires a major muscular effort to evacuate the bowels. This can cause untold damage to your internal organs.

As Daniel Reid puts it in his excellent book "The Tao of Health, Sex and Longevity": "You will pass much more feces in a single squatting than you could possibly pass in a single sitting. Owing to the full spread of the cheeks, squatting also leaves less of a mess than sitting, so you'll save money on toilet paper as well."

If you suffer from constipation, then squat while listening to organic music. The music will help you relax, and if you are relaxed, your muscles are relaxed, which is so important when taking a dump.

Some people might accuse me of selling out, but that's bulls**t. I've had the guts to peer deep inside myself, and I've discovered a black hole that I promptly filled with the light of a more meaningful existence.

I'll be back next month with more ideas on how to live a Taoist life to an organic soundtrack. Also, I need suggestions for a new title for the column as, with my clear and focused mind, Fuzzy Logic seems rather inappropriate and could be misleading.

Anyway, this is the new me and I really hope you like it.