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japan no. 22
Osaka, Japan, Namba red-light district
10 million people
"Do you ever write down your dreams?"
asked a blond-haired freak
on the bridge connecting Namba & Shinsaibashi.
There was acid involved.
"Yes", I echoed.
"Write down your dreams," he said,
pulling out a notebook.
"These are mine."
He was smiling.
He was a guide of sorts.
He felt like a guide.
The girls were sort of hanging on him and I.
Shanghai bar and a Thai demon woman who bought me a beer.
She would have buried me.
Yakuza sentries on the cold corners with knowing grins.
"Gaijin," I hear them whisper.
The air is cold, but snugly so.
I am snug and freaking on two drops of liquid acid.
A restaurant and coffee at 3 a.m.
The two office girls are buying now.
They have plenty of yen, but are bored.
"Information is not necessarily not truth," I say.
This seemed like the right answer.
The girls are giggling.
They think I look like Tom Cruise.
"Cwooze," one of them giggles
I shake off the euphoria.
It is shaking me.
"Zazen," the freakish hippy-guide says
"Just sitting."
I nod and make funny gestures.
The girls giggle some more.
She would have buried me.
I do know what is going on.
There is a world and then there is a WORLD;
beautiful and crazy like her eyes.
My friend Dave meets us.
Tromping through wild-night-neon-lit streets
with steam rising through man-hole covers.
Another curious corner.
Prostitutes.
Leggy.
They follow us for a block, teasing us.
I’m dancing and wrestling with Dave.
Another bar.
I feel so thin.
A big New Zealander has cornered us.
"Business here is good," he drools, wanting more adjectives.
My hands are melting into my pockets.
I can’t shake his hands.
"I’m, uh, hello..." I stumble
I am laughing.
The music is with me.
The moment is with me.
Vivid.
My guide departs with no farewell.
A love-hotel rendevous to be sure.
"Dreams..." he had said.
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