I had Lolita to re-read backstage during the show for Karl And Julia's book club. So I did not get bored. I feel like Paris is a place for lovers to watch movies in bed.
Whilst I was in bed I wrote this poem:
White lily thrown over sunset river
Shoehorn lightly 'cross glades of blue
Metronome modem tabletop glue
And then I wrote this:
Because I'm Rei
Finally I approached my subject in a way that would not scare it:
Paris. By Rei Kawakubo
Paris I have not particularly given you much
Paris multi-thousand dollar dress
I can't stand my own hairdo
Paris when will you end the fat people?
Go fuck yourself with your berets that aren't from secondhand stores
I don't feel good don't bother me
I won't write my poem til I've banged my gong
Paris when will you be delicious?
When will you take of your Lanvin clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the Chanel Boutique?
When will you be worthy of me?
Paris why are your cafes full of tears?
Paris when will you send your clothes to India?
When can I go into The Louvre and buy what I need with my gong?
Paris after all it is you and I who are perfect. Well-
Your king is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this refrigerator.
Margiela is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's demode.
Are you being demode or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the house.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
Paris stop relaxing I know what I'm doing.
Paris the chic are falling
I haven't read a singer's lips for months, everyday Cathy Horyn stalks me and tries to make me eat pie.
Paris I feel lamentable about that Yves guy
Paris I used to be a jet plane fighter when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke his eyelids every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the floor and bang my gong.
When I go to Tokyo I get bored and never get food poisoning.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me designing PLAY
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm his mother.
I won't say anything to Journalists.
I have mystical visions and an H&M line.
Paris I still haven't told you what you did to Junya after he came over
from the toilets.
I'm staring at you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Vogue?
I'm obsessed by Vogue.
I read it every month.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the Yohji store.
I read it in the closet.
It's always telling me about fashion. Models are fashion. Fashion designers are fashion. Everybody's fashion but me.
It occurs to me that I am Paris.
I see dead people.
America is rising against me.
I haven't got a Yank's chance.
I'd better consider my little black book.
My little black book consist of instructions on how to operate my gong and how to not scare people it isn't working.
I say nothing about my shows nor the millions of Comme des Garcons slaves who live in their blogs under the light of LCDs.
I have eaten the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to build a pear with my own two hands despite the fact that I'm god.