THIS IS AN ODE TO MY KYOTO QUIET HOME LONELY JOYS THE RAIN RAINS OR RAIN THE RAINS FOR THE CLOUDS NEED nobody TO BE LISTENING the TIC-TIC tic-tic OF THE RAINDROPS AGAINST A WINDOW; NOT WAIT FOR nobody TO FIND SHELTER. I WILL BE LISTENING, GETTING WET; UMBRELLA-LESS. A NEIGHBOUR PRACTICES THE FLUTE UNAWARE I AM A SPECTATOR; I AM STILL LISTENING. IN THE AFTERNOON I REMOVE MY CLOTHES, THINK OF THE GRANDMA TAILOR AT THE TAILORS WHEN I UNDRESSED TO GET THE MEASUREMENTS FOR A NEW SUIT & DRESSED AGAIN; I PUT NO CARE ON BOTTONING MY SHIRT, TYING MY TIE, PULLING MY JUMPER ALL THE WAY DOWN THE WAIST; I AM ABOUT TO LEAVE THE STORE IN MY HALF-DRESSED SORT OF WAYS; AFTER PAYING; AND GRANDMA TAILOR WHO SPEAKS NOT MY LANGUAGE WALKS TOWARDS ME, PULLS DOWN MY SHIRT, STRAIGHTENS MY JUMPER, ADJUST THE TIE’S KNOT; JUST LIKE A GOODNIGHT KISS FROM MOTHER IN THE FOREHEAD WHEN I WAS CHILD. RECEIPTS & RECEIPTS FOLDED, OR CREASED, OR MADE INTO A BALL, CROWDING THE FURNITURE, SOMETIMES THE FLOOR. THE DRY-CLEANERS, THE/A WINE, THE/A COFFEE, THE CINEMA, A CAMERA, A PAIR OF SHOES, A BOOK, AN EXHIBITION PASS, A PASS FOR TEMPLE, PENCIL COLOURS, PAPER OR GOUACHE, BUSINESS DINNER, UNDERWEAR FOR MEN – MENSWEARUNDER; REMEMBER THEM PERFECTLY FOLDED AT THE STORE. ALL IN JAPANESE, MOSTLY KATANAKA; UNREADABLE ACCOUNTS OF WHAT ALREADY WAS. A MOVIE KEEPS PLAYING, IT DOES NOT MATTER THAT I STOPPED FOLLOWING THE PLOT. WHEN I FINISH REMOVING WHAT IS LEFT OF MY CLOTHES, I FIND THE WHITE OF MY MENSBOYS UNDERWEAR, THE WHITE OF MY UNDERSHIRT & I GET INTO BED. I DON’T WANT SLEEP, I WANT MY BODY MERGING INTO THE WHITES OF MY CLOTHES, OF THE BEDSHEETS. CREATE A CAPSULE OF MY OWN BODY WARMTH. THEN THE MOVIE IS OVER AND I DON’T KNOW HOW IT ENDS. THE CLASSICAL MUSIC THEN PLAYS. THERE’S THE BACH, THE MOZART, THE WRITTEN, THE FALLA, THE HAYDN, THE VIVALDI, THE SAINT-SAENS, EVEN THE ADAMS OR THE SAKAMOTO; PREDICTABLE, IN THAT SORT OF WAY. IF I CLOSE THEM EYES, I SEE THE FINGERS PRESSING THE PIANO KEYS; THE FINGERS, HOLDING THE STRINGS, THE CHEEKS, ROUNDED INTO TWO BALLS ABOUT TO BLOW THE TROMBONES, THE MOUTH IN THE SOPRANO OPENING, EYES CLOSING, THE TWO HANDS IN THE MAESTRO DANCING WITH THE BATON. [...]