Posted:Jun 16, 2007

Tokyo Life: L’eau à la bouche

She had said: “11am. Odakyu line. End of the platform. Last car.” Then I was there waiting in the bright sun of autumn, a song in my head when the train arrived.

Je te veux confiante je te sens captive
Je te veux docile je te sens craintive
Je t’en prie ne sois pas farouche
Quand me viens l’eau à la bouche

Her lips for the second time, fresh and smiling. Her hair bonding with my fingers. I have no resistance to the senses. I bend to sensuality. We were riding a train to Edo. Alleys, gardens, local urban life… Tokyo is a village.

In Edo, we had to cross a bridge. “ええじゃないか“. I could already feel her skin, my “Schiele” hand on her “Salome” waist. I’m high… high on desires. There is the life of Tokyo around us, a swirl of black and white photographs by Araki. Laughs, tears, abandons, memories and joys, yes, spring of pleasures, strings of tenderness, raw moments of emotions. He’s a poet. Sharp eye, rough view, just the rhythm of Tokyo beats.

We entered a red room with giant photos of women. Damn. I can smell her body. She’s touching me. Room emptied, watched by silent women, my hands on her hips, wandering fingers, camera hanging off my shoulders, she pushes her tongue deep in my mouth. Noise… too quick, two persons entered the room. We had to move on. Trembling.

Some video on a screen, some last photos somewhere else, by surprise, walking through the giant hall… but we were not here anymore. Then through Tokyo alleys – the secret passages of Shinsen and Komabatodaimae – we touched and remembered Araki’s poetry. There was a storm on the horizon, a need for thunder sleeping deep in their bodies. As soon we arrived, on the tatami, knots now untied, we were floating in our world. Aboriginal, primal sex.

Life is a daydream of poetry. Araki is one of its authors.

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.”