Tokio Whip (20 page)

Did Frank O'Hara ever write anything about Cary or Carole? And yes, once again, if not, why not, dammit!?

***

Rich, strange, she wonders. Rich. The cornucopia. Strange. Not like others. My childhood. Kazuko-chan. Ah, at least I see Kyoto twice a year. In its own way, I can say Tokyo too is rich and strange. But does it therefore make me so? No, it enhances my experience, certainly, and I am sure, I am enhanced in some ... in some strange and rich ways, by the capitol. And perhaps, in whatever small way, I can enhance its own rich and strange ways.

***

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To walk across the city, you go around it.

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To walk around the city, you go into it.

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To walk into the city, you go across it.

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You can almost hear your thoughts in these caverns. Or, if you close your eyes, get still, and listen real hard – no, it drives you mad, like some multi-multi-tracked soundtrack of banks, hotels, bureaucrats all spewing … syllables.

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The great roar that drowns out the art of speaking to oneself. Shinjuku is a sort of perverted yin-yang sign, with one half all life and the other anti-life.

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But we're on the way to the sun.

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A black hole here, stillness, a silent roar, high-rises that feel like their first floors are way below groundlevel, and their top floors only reach streetlevel.

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Metropolis, latest version, the underground city.

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The burying ground, killing floor, east meets west here at a standstill, crossroads.

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Imagine one of those cartoons where Martians have landed, post-apocalypse earth, and they find the skyscrapers of Shinjuku. How will they judge us? Not as creatures who had perfected the soliloquy.

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Alphaville.

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Arufamura.

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A whistling wind –

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Dead branches flying past –

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A newspaper –

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A skull –

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A tear.

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I can hear my mother's voice, calling. Saying nothing.

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Moan you moaners, mumble you mumblers.

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Bundle up, gotta keep ourselves busy, keep these lips moving.

***

7. The MIDDLE SECTION of the film takes place at a sidewalk café in Shinjuku – rear projection, obviously – where we see our Woman sitting with a glass of mineral water, the portfolio on the table. She is clearly very nervous, keeps putting her fingers near her mouth, or running a palm on a knee, but she does not allow herself to indulge these tics, never bites the nail, never scratches the knee.

After a short while, in the distance we see Roberta and Marianne walking together, talking.

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And then it came, I came, just flowing, wave after wave. Funny what these funny Japanese vegetables can do.

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Oh, Marianne, you are a creative one! But I like a more direct contact – if necessary – if not, then the tumble. I also like to eat my vegetables.

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Who says I didn't?

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Of course.

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They're multi-purpose – like Godzilla.

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?

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Don't you know, the Godzilla dildo, those scales running down his back.

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You're joking?

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No. There's Ultra-Man, too. Those silver arms, you know.

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And –?

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Of course, Ultra-Kid, for strolling, complete with remote.

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It's truly wonderful in a way. Oh, and I'll bet the girls, you know, Hi-

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Hiromiko?

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Yes, and I'll bet they each have Doraemon dildos. That cute pug nose, plug it right in and squeal.

[They both laugh, continue to walk, and then:]

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But don't you think life in the city is in a way masturbatory? You know, we run in circles, all our own, ever trying to increase the excitement and yet whenever a peak is reached we may be satisfied but oh how we want to speak with someone, share the joy, the dirty secrets, the humor of it all – you know what I mean – but just as immediately we're back on the Tokyo treadmill again, the excitement rises but the peak we're really after never seems to materialize – oh these mini-peaks are alright, sure, but are they enough?, enough to sustain one? – I see you and think of the mill, the conservatory, the relentless nights, even the great successes, but –

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Vegetables?

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Not exactly – but we need to connect with something outside ourselves, outside the narcissism of this city, connect with each other, yes, we are successful there – but connect too with something more, something –

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Roberta.

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Something, oh – “like approaching the divine” – that's how I felt once after Lang and I made love – and not just once. I know you know what I mean.

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Yes.

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Do I make sense?

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To me, certainly. This last bit, yes; but I don't know about the masturbatory Tokyo thesis. Oh, look who's here!

–

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They sit down with the Woman.

–

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So, whadda'ya' think? Does this burg jerk your head and arm right off?

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Uuh–?

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Roberta's got this idea that the city's one huge dildo in which we're all masturbatorially walking around in circles and quietly coming but failing to commune with God –

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Marianne!

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Oh, what's this? [She lifts the portfolio.]

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“My Dildo” – this week. It's certainly got me going round circles in this, what was it, “burg”? Someone left it on a train seat, and I've been looking for him ever since, trying to return it.

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Uh-huh?

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Really.

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“Someday he'll come along, the man I love, and he'll be thick and long …”

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Now, Marianne, cool your lusts. It's true. I've only seen the man from the back, and he –

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– was all in black. So what else is new – in this burg?

[Now we see Hiroko and Hiromi approach, also in conversation.]

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Swinging?

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La, la-la, la-la.

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I thought that was something our parents did – or at least their friends.

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There are other ways “to swing,” my lovely.

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Well, you can swing a leash – but this city's no place for dogs.

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Yes, it's a cat city. “My Pussy,” like the bar. But no, not a leash – or sort of.

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“The hills are alive …” From the rafters.

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You –?

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Yes, “swinging in the …”

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All, all knotted and bundled like a package from Kyukyodo?

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Like twelve layers of incense. My pussy, indeed.

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Well, uhm … uhm …

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Oh my ankles are still a bit sore, and around my arms. I mean, after all, you are suspended. But you know what I discovered, the body takes care of these things for you, it, what's the word?, it compensates. Take a little pain, get a little pleasure. Your juices flow. Liquid incense. I can't wait to see the photos.

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The photos! Hiromi!

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Well, I'm not going to do it everyday, and I would like to have some proof, something for my scrapbook. And yes, you'll see them.

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Something tells me it wasn't just the two of you.

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Oh no, there was a whole crew. Someone for the knots, someone to test the ceiling, make-up and creams. And he wanted me in a kimono – actually we did it twice because the second time he wanted me in another kimono, something more for Spring.

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Winter and Spring bondage sets?

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Something like that. Actually, it's sweet when you think of it.

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Oh, I couldn't agree more!

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Well it is. You'll see.

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Perhaps. But you, you …

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Yes, I know. I have to try everything once. And sometimes often! Christ on the cross. Christ in kimono. Is there a difference, really?

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You didn't!?

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No, but I thought of it. Anyway, I like our incense better. And we've got thousands of gods! Can you imagine, three gods in one? Isn't there some movie about a woman ...? Oh, forget it. But you know, my Christianity is purely decorative.

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A way to get boys.

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Or men.

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And the difference is …?

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Oh, ask me some other time. Look!

[They too sit with the other three women. Marianne begins.]

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Hiroko, Hiromi. Hi. Sit down, we were just talking about sex.

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Oh. We were talking about Jesus Christ.

[Roberta and Marianne stare speechless at one another. Then Hiromi.]

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His
Passion
, I think it's called.

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Ah, yes. Anyway, take a look at these photos.

[Hiroko takes the portfolio, and studies the photographs closely, seriously.]

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They're like a dream, some strange story where you know everything's connected but you can't figure out how, and you feel your very life depends on it.

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Straight out of the textbook. Ok, yes, but don't you notice anything else about them?

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Let me see. Yes, they're only buildings, only exteriors, and there are no people. But they were all taken in Tokyo, and –

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– right –

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There are no places without people in Tokyo.

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None.

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None.

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None.

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Can't think of one.

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So how did he take them? Or she.

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That's what we can't figure out. That, and how they're connected.

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Well anyway, seeing as you can't figure that out, what were you saying about sex?

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Oh, yes, Hiromi, of course, sorry to distract you. Well, Roberta here thinks that our lives here are spent in some sort of gigantic masturbatory ritual in which we only ever fondle ourselves and never connect with anyone else really, the city doesn't allow for any sort of outward, other amative gesture.

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Ohh, that's sweet. Gee, Roberta.

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It was just an idea I tossed out – speculation, conversation.

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But if everyone's doing it, what sex does that make the city? Is Tokyo bi?

[As the five women begin to discuss the question, we cut to Arlene and Kazuko, walking, talking.]

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Which means the French, the Chinese, and the Turks make the best lovers? Not in my short experience.

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No, let's look at it in reverse. No food culture, no erotic culture.

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The English!

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Everyone's first choice.

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Go on, please.

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Well, the Austrians are all front, all frills. Sweet cakes and wine half water, frills and lingerie. Mere teases, and the main courses mere meat and potatoes. They only thrive thanks to overlayerings of other cultures.

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This is good. And the Americans?

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They can't decide what an authentic American cuisine is, and likewise, they're wholly confused about sex. Sandwiches.

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I always think weak coffee.

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Who do you like?

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The Dutch are curious. So many shapes to the people, pointy noses on the roundest heads, peasant faces on their royalty. Hearty meals, simple meals, tough –

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– but cozy.

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But cozy. And I like them. But this is silly, really.

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Well, of course it is! Now then, you Japanese.

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I was afraid of this. Well, if you can afford it, you can have the most exquisite meal.

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Perfectly trained chefs, perfectly trained women.

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Yes, we have done our studies. But we have our simple meals too, noodles, green tea over rice, miso soup and tofu.

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“Wham bam.”

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Uhm, yes.

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The men don't match the meals.

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No. But we women do, I think.

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Too late to change either?

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Ohh … oh, look!

[Naturally, they join the others.]

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But what were you saying about Jesus?

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Oh, something about seeing him in a kimono or something.

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Weird. But, tell me, Kazuko, does being wrapped up in one of those things give you an erotic charge, or do they turn you into something even more demure?

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Oh, Marianne, you're embarrassing her.

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Oops.

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But it is a real question. And so is ...

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The underwear question? Uhm, not so real.