Posted:Jul 1, 2007

Bloody Kawaii

I was having dinner in Shibuya. In a cafe, mostly women around, floating laces and floral cloths, spring plucked on string, the waitress, like a friend, was joking with me and I was replying with my broken Frenglish remixed with meager 日本語.

I had a big smile when I left the place and wandered through the lights and shadows. Without noticing, I was at Parco Logos Gallery.

Then you know… women, laces, floral cloths, spring, then… something new. Sounds, voices, waves of comments. It striked me, I was the only man there, floating. In my dreams? maybe. The words were always the same “kawaii”. Hands of women stroking stuffed objects, reincarnation of the drawings on the walls. Maybe I didn’t look carefully, so I had another look on the sketches of Mori Chack. Infinite variations of the same character, pony canyon, left on school notebook sheets with numbers. Hmm… what was I missing?

I left. Still wandering in my dreams memories of women, laces, floral cloths, spring and one question: Bloody Kawaii?

Karl

Hedonist. “Du bonheur qui n'est que de l'anxiété différée. Du bonheur bleuté, d'une insubordination admirable, qui s'elance du plaisir, pulvérise le présent et toutes ses instances.”