Ignorant of the world that lay there at my feet, I took to the Silk Road and sought the end of it. The College grew students by the ton to fight the Golden Delicious on the beach; their parents had them toy with graduation farms. Shivering and forlorn Africans, homage paid at overseas rates, hastened back a strange taste in their mouths—English food, no doubt. I left it all behind, destination Narita, and arrived head spinning, reeling out a handful of kanjis, bento-katakanas. I deciphered the subway through headaches and moved into a house to cohabit with five. Ignorant that I was I thought I'd come prepared but Hiroshi's parties were the worst: they exposed me to the torture of well-meaning questions from salaried asses loaded with business cards I swept up the next day and fed into the bin. At parties Hiroshi fed me beans, to decorate the bowl of rice a day I was on. (1987)
Copyright ©2002 Olivier Serrat |
