don't tell anyone
but my tree died
it was small
bonsai, in fact
and it was green
i trimmed as a bimbo at the beach
(oh einstein)
i wept a silent tear
my hair resembled a picture of my own
i told you about it
i think
Showing posts with label rei. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rei. Show all posts
Friday, June 19, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
feminist
i am not a feminist.
some bra burners on tavi's blog say i am
a feminist
i am not
i am a journalist
with my pad and pen
presenting the news
i have ten potatoes
and one plate
and ten gongs
feminists offend me
i prefer polka dots
hug a polka dot today
adopt one,
too
feminists do not have gongs
and my bra is in tact
they're expensive
models wear none
(are models feminists?)
some bra burners on tavi's blog say i am
a feminist
i am not
i am a journalist
with my pad and pen
presenting the news
i have ten potatoes
and one plate
and ten gongs
feminists offend me
i prefer polka dots
hug a polka dot today
adopt one,
too
feminists do not have gongs
and my bra is in tact
they're expensive
models wear none
(are models feminists?)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Back from the Ashes
I really do wonder if many of you can read. I write in English most of the time, and I gather most of you speak English- so one would hope that you can all read the entries on this blog. Yet, a few of you apperently cannot read English, as evidenced by delightful comments such as "this doesn't sound like you" in reference to Bob Dylan's post. Of course Bob Dylan does not sound like me, because I am not Bob Dylan. Obviously someone cannot read bylines.
Yet another "reader" said that I wrote a poem about Rei Kawakubo a long time ago. Again, there is this wonderful thing called "bylines", which if you had bothered to read you'd realize the poem was by Rei Kawakubo. Golly goose. Are you all morons? How do you even breath, hmm?
Thank you to You Know Who I Am for her comment. I love you too, dear. Even if you're also creepy (and have tourettes). And thank you to Ronald and R- is there something about the R's today? Your comments entertained me.
So! Where have I been? I've been busy with a swan, to be honest. I'm sure you've all read my quote about how a swan captured me- I think one of those British newspapers published it, I don't really pay attention to their names. I pay attention to how they smell.
Anyway, after I talked about the evil swan who captured me as a child, I decided to go find that swan. I went back to Germany and went to the pond where that swan lived, and there it was- white and mean looking. It must've been 80 years old by then, yet it was still alive. It glared at me. I glared back. It glared harder. I glared even harder, until I realized that he probably couldn't see my glare very well since I was wearing my dark sunglasses. I took off my sunglasses.
"It's young Karl!" the swan exclaimed.
"It's you," I said.
"Where are your lederhosen, Karlie?" the swan said, in that silver-white voice of his.
"I do not wear lederhosen! I wear suits!" said I.
The swan leered at me.
"What business do you have here, young boy?" said the swan.
"First of all, I am not a young boy anymore. I am certainly not old, yet I'm not this young boy you are talking out. I don't even like children. They're obnoxious. I have a daughter, you know. What sort of young boy has a daughter? Apart from those in the British tabloids, of course. She's chic like me. And she's not a swan."
"I would hope not", says the swan haughtily; his head held high above the water.
"How have you been?"
"Not bad- but it's such a horror- every time a swan dies, they play a swan song. It is always the same one. The one by Saint-Saëns- on cello. All weepy and so on."
"I know the one."
"It simply gets repetitive- frankly, I loath the fact that Saint-Saëns wrote the piece in the first place! Before that swans just died like normal creatures- no music or anything. Then that dreadful man wrote that dreadful piece of music."
"I'm not a big Saint-Saëns fan myself."
"Oh, if you were I, you'd want to hunt the man down and throttle him with your beak."
"He was very clever though, no?"
"Oh yes- virtuoso kind of music. Violin concerto, organ symphony, and so on. But so emotionless. I mean, that's the only music swans play- Saint-Saëns. I do wish for...something else."
"Mozart?"
"Sounds the same."
"Schubert?"
"Non, non!"
"You're meant to be a German swan."
"Ja"
"Why not Schubert?"
"Too many fat German ladies sing him."
"Paganini?"
"Show off."
"Ysaye?"
"Belgian."
"Beethoven?"
"Oh dear...I actually rather like Beethoven. Drat."
"What were we talking about anyway?"
"Don't worry about it, you're only a guest star."
In other news, I've been recording vocals- sounds like I'm a singer- for the "Totally Spies!" movie. I play the villain. I thought to myself "Now Karl, if I were a 12 year old French girl, would I like this movie?" The answer was "no", because I'm better than everybody else, but maybe if I was normal. Actually, maybe not, but I did it anyway. I like villains, who doesn't? They get better outfits.
Yet another "reader" said that I wrote a poem about Rei Kawakubo a long time ago. Again, there is this wonderful thing called "bylines", which if you had bothered to read you'd realize the poem was by Rei Kawakubo. Golly goose. Are you all morons? How do you even breath, hmm?
Thank you to You Know Who I Am for her comment. I love you too, dear. Even if you're also creepy (and have tourettes). And thank you to Ronald and R- is there something about the R's today? Your comments entertained me.
So! Where have I been? I've been busy with a swan, to be honest. I'm sure you've all read my quote about how a swan captured me- I think one of those British newspapers published it, I don't really pay attention to their names. I pay attention to how they smell.
Anyway, after I talked about the evil swan who captured me as a child, I decided to go find that swan. I went back to Germany and went to the pond where that swan lived, and there it was- white and mean looking. It must've been 80 years old by then, yet it was still alive. It glared at me. I glared back. It glared harder. I glared even harder, until I realized that he probably couldn't see my glare very well since I was wearing my dark sunglasses. I took off my sunglasses.
"It's young Karl!" the swan exclaimed.
"It's you," I said.
"Where are your lederhosen, Karlie?" the swan said, in that silver-white voice of his.
"I do not wear lederhosen! I wear suits!" said I.
The swan leered at me.
"What business do you have here, young boy?" said the swan.
"First of all, I am not a young boy anymore. I am certainly not old, yet I'm not this young boy you are talking out. I don't even like children. They're obnoxious. I have a daughter, you know. What sort of young boy has a daughter? Apart from those in the British tabloids, of course. She's chic like me. And she's not a swan."
"I would hope not", says the swan haughtily; his head held high above the water.
"How have you been?"
"Not bad- but it's such a horror- every time a swan dies, they play a swan song. It is always the same one. The one by Saint-Saëns- on cello. All weepy and so on."
"I know the one."
"It simply gets repetitive- frankly, I loath the fact that Saint-Saëns wrote the piece in the first place! Before that swans just died like normal creatures- no music or anything. Then that dreadful man wrote that dreadful piece of music."
"I'm not a big Saint-Saëns fan myself."
"Oh, if you were I, you'd want to hunt the man down and throttle him with your beak."
"He was very clever though, no?"
"Oh yes- virtuoso kind of music. Violin concerto, organ symphony, and so on. But so emotionless. I mean, that's the only music swans play- Saint-Saëns. I do wish for...something else."
"Mozart?"
"Sounds the same."
"Schubert?"
"Non, non!"
"You're meant to be a German swan."
"Ja"
"Why not Schubert?"
"Too many fat German ladies sing him."
"Paganini?"
"Show off."
"Ysaye?"
"Belgian."
"Beethoven?"
"Oh dear...I actually rather like Beethoven. Drat."
"What were we talking about anyway?"
"Don't worry about it, you're only a guest star."
In other news, I've been recording vocals- sounds like I'm a singer- for the "Totally Spies!" movie. I play the villain. I thought to myself "Now Karl, if I were a 12 year old French girl, would I like this movie?" The answer was "no", because I'm better than everybody else, but maybe if I was normal. Actually, maybe not, but I did it anyway. I like villains, who doesn't? They get better outfits.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
rei poem
i carry you softly
(within my triangle)
i carry you softly
(within my shoe)
i
carry a folded piece of cotton
to bend
and
fold
(within my ark)
i hold my gong
i bang
it
i bang it
and i bang it on the fritz
such as einsten & philip
eating bread
i love you even though i can only bang on my gong
(more than shoes)
i am a lizard
it is not in order to escape
in making simple things
utility is the concept
(i love you most of all)
(within my triangle)
i carry you softly
(within my shoe)
i
carry a folded piece of cotton
to bend
and
fold
(within my ark)
i hold my gong
i bang
it
i bang it
and i bang it on the fritz
such as einsten & philip
eating bread
i love you even though i can only bang on my gong
(more than shoes)
i am a lizard
it is not in order to escape
in making simple things
utility is the concept
(i love you most of all)
Thursday, April 9, 2009
vegetables
i love you most of all vegetables
i'm going to chow down my vegetables
vacuum cleaners in the sun are delicious also
i hope you'll toss me a carrot
i love you most of all
watering the plants in spring is informing
tell me the name of your favourite vegetable?
i'm going to chow down my vegetables
vacuum cleaners in the sun are delicious also
i hope you'll toss me a carrot
i love you most of all
watering the plants in spring is informing
tell me the name of your favourite vegetable?
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Paris
Today I showed a new collection. I don't know what all the fuss was about. Afterwards, people came backstage and wanted to talk to me. Aren't people strange? I don't even have tea with these people, they just came backstage.
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:
Paris
White lily thrown over sunset river
Shoehorn lightly 'cross glades of blue
Metronome modem tabletop glue
And then I wrote this:
Aliens Approach
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 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:
Paris
White lily thrown over sunset river
Shoehorn lightly 'cross glades of blue
Metronome modem tabletop glue
And then I wrote this:
Aliens Approach
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.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Transcript
Karl: Hmm
Anna: What?
Karl: What'll I dictate in the blog today, hmm?
Yohji: Ooh! Write about me passing out!
Karl: But you always pass out.
Yohji: But the girls love me.
Karl: Rei sure did..
Rei: [coughs]
Karl: Rei! Didn't notice you were here, hm?
Rei: I am always here. Lurking in the background. I am behind all you fashion boys and girls, making sure you're buying my clothes.
Yohji: That probably explains..
Rei: Enough! [bangs on gong]
Anna: I don't know Karl. It's New York Fashion week again. Such a boor.
Yohji: "Ooh hello I'm Jason Wu! Pretty party dresses! Pretty pretty pretty!"
Rei: [glares]
Yohji: [glares back]
Karl: I don't know why they bother, honestly.
Anna: Who?
Karl: The fashion week people. Don't they know that they're simply going to be outmoded by Paris?
Anna: It's all so commercial.
Karl: Like that stupid magazine where all those people jump in it. Up and down, up and down!
Anna: Haven't heard of it.
Karl: What's it called? Models Jumping Behind a Bland Background Monthly?
Yohji: I heard it was: "Oh Look! We've got the First Lady on the Cover! Maybe we're Slightly Better Than Models Jumping Behind a Bland Background Now?"
Anna: Sounds like a very demode magazine.
Yohji: You have a magazine, don't you, Anna?
Anna: Oh, I think I do...commercial
Karl: "Vogue".
Anna: God, so that's what the office is for!
Anna: What?
Karl: What'll I dictate in the blog today, hmm?
Yohji: Ooh! Write about me passing out!
Karl: But you always pass out.
Yohji: But the girls love me.
Karl: Rei sure did..
Rei: [coughs]
Karl: Rei! Didn't notice you were here, hm?
Rei: I am always here. Lurking in the background. I am behind all you fashion boys and girls, making sure you're buying my clothes.
Yohji: That probably explains..
Rei: Enough! [bangs on gong]
Anna: I don't know Karl. It's New York Fashion week again. Such a boor.
Yohji: "Ooh hello I'm Jason Wu! Pretty party dresses! Pretty pretty pretty!"
Rei: [glares]
Yohji: [glares back]
Karl: I don't know why they bother, honestly.
Anna: Who?
Karl: The fashion week people. Don't they know that they're simply going to be outmoded by Paris?
Anna: It's all so commercial.
Karl: Like that stupid magazine where all those people jump in it. Up and down, up and down!
Anna: Haven't heard of it.
Karl: What's it called? Models Jumping Behind a Bland Background Monthly?
Yohji: I heard it was: "Oh Look! We've got the First Lady on the Cover! Maybe we're Slightly Better Than Models Jumping Behind a Bland Background Now?"
Anna: Sounds like a very demode magazine.
Yohji: You have a magazine, don't you, Anna?
Anna: Oh, I think I do...commercial
Karl: "Vogue".
Anna: God, so that's what the office is for!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Answer
I think I'd care more about eating potatoes if the potatoes had less superficial values in life.
Obviously, I do not eat but it's the "what if" that matters more than the "what does", don't you think? We already know what I do. I do too many interviews as it is.
So the answer above is for if I am ever asked about potatoes. In the summer, I think potatoes have a better run in life. They do seem happier. Why anybody would ever want to eat potatoes is beyond me, I'm afraid.
in the summer
i look at my potatoes
and make soccer dresses
in the winter
i write haiku
which isn't haiku
and listen to leonard cohen
the potatoes are growing again.
Obviously, I do not eat but it's the "what if" that matters more than the "what does", don't you think? We already know what I do. I do too many interviews as it is.
So the answer above is for if I am ever asked about potatoes. In the summer, I think potatoes have a better run in life. They do seem happier. Why anybody would ever want to eat potatoes is beyond me, I'm afraid.
in the summer
i look at my potatoes
and make soccer dresses
in the winter
i write haiku
which isn't haiku
and listen to leonard cohen
the potatoes are growing again.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Rei's haiku which isn't very haiku-ish but i'm rei goddamit
Karl's a rocket, man
He don't have no, wife
He's a rocket, man
And I think it's gonna be a long long time, man
Long time, man
Flying to Moonlight not on a jet, man
Write me one instead, Moonlight, man
Wite it on paper and a pen, man
Like Ginsberg, man
Like Dylan, man
Like those 60's fools with their paper and their pens, man
Is there any real poets on the moon, man?
Man, I need some medicines, man
Do they have medicines in space?
Do they have the ones that keep you awake, man?
'Cause Karl don't sleep
Are there polka dots on the moon, man?
Do they know what it's like to be so avant garde?
(So so avant garde)
Can you get tan on the moon?
You can't be fat in space, man
'Cause you'll just explode,
Into a million little pieces
and be on Oprah
Like James Frey, man
Million littles pieces floating through space,
Like Mr. Tamborine man, man
Smokerings and other spacey stuff,
Does Jimi Hendrix live in space?
Is he a rocket man, man?
Send a letter, man, oh man
Send a letter Moonlight to Karl,
He misses you so,
It's like he don't have no collar
And I'm Rei Kawakubo, man
Karl's a rocket, man
He don't have no, wife
He's a rocket, man
And I think it's gonna be a long long time, man
Long time, man
Flying to Moonlight not on a jet, man
Write me one instead, Moonlight, man
Wite it on paper and a pen, man
Like Ginsberg, man
Like Dylan, man
Like those 60's fools with their paper and their pens, man
Is there any real poets on the moon, man?
Man, I need some medicines, man
Do they have medicines in space?
Do they have the ones that keep you awake, man?
'Cause Karl don't sleep
Are there polka dots on the moon, man?
Do they know what it's like to be so avant garde?
(So so avant garde)
Can you get tan on the moon?
You can't be fat in space, man
'Cause you'll just explode,
Into a million little pieces
and be on Oprah
Like James Frey, man
Million littles pieces floating through space,
Like Mr. Tamborine man, man
Smokerings and other spacey stuff,
Does Jimi Hendrix live in space?
Is he a rocket man, man?
Send a letter, man, oh man
Send a letter Moonlight to Karl,
He misses you so,
It's like he don't have no collar
And I'm Rei Kawakubo, man
Karl's a rocket, man
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Night, II
I sit out here, and I am waiting for something. I can feel it. The wind whips my face, and the newspaper I was carrying is starting to get hit by drops of rain. Yet I still sit here, undaunted. I'm waiting for someone, I believe.
Rei: Oh, silly man. Who are you waiting for?
I have no idea, I tell her. But I know that I have to wait. Desire pangs my heart like the way an old truck feels being left at the junkyard; the junkheap. Left on the junkheap in search of another cup of Coffee.
Rei: Really now.
To be honest, I'm just sitting here because I have nowhere else to go. In this meta-universe, there is no houses, because houses are demode. Instead there's simply I on a bench, and Rei standing over there wi..
Rei: I can hear you, you know.
Colonel: Oh god, just stop it at once man! You're showing personal feelings! This isn't even funny! Who cares if you miss someone! I DO NOT. Now go write another book, there's a good fellow. Do you think anybody will care about your entry if you're all weepy like that? Where's the mention of fatties???
Audience member: Yes! Bring in the fatties! Bring in the fatties!
I tell him I have no idea what he's on about. What does he mean by "entry"? What does he mean by fatties? Japanese Women do not get fat. It's a fact. It's the title of a book. So it's fact.
Audience members: FATTIE RUMBLE! FATTIE RUMBLE! FATTIE RUMBLE!!
I see large, fat people come in. They have fat and grease dripping from their flesh, and in their hands are whole chickens, who have been deep fried.
Karl: STOP THIS AT ONCE!
Rei: Karl?!
Audience members: Karl!!!! [swoon]
Karl: This is getting to be like some vulgar American reality show. It is vulgar! It is vulgar!
Audience member 1: She started it!
Audience member 2: No, SHE started it!
Audience member 3: He started it! Him! Over there! The fellow dressed like a bat!
INTERMISSION WHILST YOHJI RUNS AWAY. PLEASE DANCE LIKE A BAT.
Prince - Batdance
A man dressed all in black, flapping his arms and shouting in Japanese, runs his way past the audience and out into a bat shaped plane. As Prince plays, the audience grooves along to the music.
INTERMISSION OVER. PLEASE FINISH YOUR GROOVE.
Audience member 1: He's gone!
Audience member 2: Is it a bird? Is it a plane?
Audience member 4: It's a plane.
Audience member 2: Oh.
Unspecified Villian: That darn Yohji. If it wasn't for you crazy kids...
Audience member 5: Excuse me, we are fashionistas.
Audience member 6: Excuse me, I am also a brain surgeon/photographer/creative director/designer/bongo player AND a fashion de-zine-er.
Audience member 7: Well excuse me! But I'm an Artiste/ipod nanny/computer designer/composer/coffee maker/song-and-dance man AND a wanker!
Audience member 8: Well I'm a bitch!
[audience gasp]
I sigh, walking off into the sunset. Heart burnin', still yearin'. How am I meant to be melodramatic and emotional when all this is around me?
Rei: You can't. Just, don't worry about it. You're wonderful anyway.
Yeah, I'm wonderful anyway. I'm a wonderful person! I AM A WON-DER-FUL PERSON.
Anna: Thahhst's the spirrrt. Youuu wannt a drinwnkkk??
Rei: Oh, silly man. Who are you waiting for?
I have no idea, I tell her. But I know that I have to wait. Desire pangs my heart like the way an old truck feels being left at the junkyard; the junkheap. Left on the junkheap in search of another cup of Coffee.
Rei: Really now.
To be honest, I'm just sitting here because I have nowhere else to go. In this meta-universe, there is no houses, because houses are demode. Instead there's simply I on a bench, and Rei standing over there wi..
Rei: I can hear you, you know.
Colonel: Oh god, just stop it at once man! You're showing personal feelings! This isn't even funny! Who cares if you miss someone! I DO NOT. Now go write another book, there's a good fellow. Do you think anybody will care about your entry if you're all weepy like that? Where's the mention of fatties???
Audience member: Yes! Bring in the fatties! Bring in the fatties!
I tell him I have no idea what he's on about. What does he mean by "entry"? What does he mean by fatties? Japanese Women do not get fat. It's a fact. It's the title of a book. So it's fact.
Audience members: FATTIE RUMBLE! FATTIE RUMBLE! FATTIE RUMBLE!!
I see large, fat people come in. They have fat and grease dripping from their flesh, and in their hands are whole chickens, who have been deep fried.
Karl: STOP THIS AT ONCE!
Rei: Karl?!
Audience members: Karl!!!! [swoon]
Karl: This is getting to be like some vulgar American reality show. It is vulgar! It is vulgar!
Audience member 1: She started it!
Audience member 2: No, SHE started it!
Audience member 3: He started it! Him! Over there! The fellow dressed like a bat!
INTERMISSION WHILST YOHJI RUNS AWAY. PLEASE DANCE LIKE A BAT.
Prince - Batdance
A man dressed all in black, flapping his arms and shouting in Japanese, runs his way past the audience and out into a bat shaped plane. As Prince plays, the audience grooves along to the music.
INTERMISSION OVER. PLEASE FINISH YOUR GROOVE.
Audience member 1: He's gone!
Audience member 2: Is it a bird? Is it a plane?
Audience member 4: It's a plane.
Audience member 2: Oh.
Unspecified Villian: That darn Yohji. If it wasn't for you crazy kids...
Audience member 5: Excuse me, we are fashionistas.
Audience member 6: Excuse me, I am also a brain surgeon/photographer/creative director/designer/bongo player AND a fashion de-zine-er.
Audience member 7: Well excuse me! But I'm an Artiste/ipod nanny/computer designer/composer/coffee maker/song-and-dance man AND a wanker!
Audience member 8: Well I'm a bitch!
[audience gasp]
I sigh, walking off into the sunset. Heart burnin', still yearin'. How am I meant to be melodramatic and emotional when all this is around me?
Rei: You can't. Just, don't worry about it. You're wonderful anyway.
Yeah, I'm wonderful anyway. I'm a wonderful person! I AM A WON-DER-FUL PERSON.
Anna: Thahhst's the spirrrt. Youuu wannt a drinwnkkk??
Friday, December 19, 2008
Nighttime
It's nightime in the big city of Tokyo. Rei Kawakubo sits on a polka-dotted park bench, wearing a trenchcoat backwards and not smoking a cigarette.
Rei: "What?"
Nighttime continues, as I, Haruki Murakami, continue to type this. I sip my coffee, as Bob Dylan plays in my walkman. I don't know how long my walkman will continue to run for. I'd buy an ipod but my deal with Sony prevents this. Rei Kawakubo continues to do nothing in particular.
Rei: "Really. Do you have to whisper everything you type in a husky sort of voice?"
I say that I do, and I continue to type. Karl Lagerfeld comes up behind me, and taps me on the back. I say "you're not really Karl Lagerfeld, you just choose to look like him for the purposes of existing in this world. I know my dramatic devices better than you."
Karl: "Actually, I'm just Karl Lagerfeld"
The man claiming to be Karl Lagerfeld continues to hover over me, occasionally taking pictures of his little fingerless gloved hands. He is not Karl Lagerfeld, I say to myself; Johnny Walker was not really Johnny Walker when I wrote "Kafka on the Shore". This is obviously some twist that I've inserted myself into this particular narrative.
Karl: "*coughs* No, really. I really am Karl Lagerfeld"
I tell myself how clever I am, inventing a character who claims to be really Karl Lagerfeld when he is in fact just pretending to be....Karl Lagerfeld
Rei: "Would you stop talking to yourself in monologue? It's like you're writing a novel or something"
I tell her I am writing a novel, as I pat a cat, because I like cats so I'll insert a cat into here.
Rei: "There is not cat there."
Neo: "There is no spoon."
Karl: "No spoon either. But Haruki, I love your work, but this is something we call "reality".
Reality. Another surreal dramatic device. I decide to investigate further...
Rei: "What?"
Nighttime continues, as I, Haruki Murakami, continue to type this. I sip my coffee, as Bob Dylan plays in my walkman. I don't know how long my walkman will continue to run for. I'd buy an ipod but my deal with Sony prevents this. Rei Kawakubo continues to do nothing in particular.
Rei: "Really. Do you have to whisper everything you type in a husky sort of voice?"
I say that I do, and I continue to type. Karl Lagerfeld comes up behind me, and taps me on the back. I say "you're not really Karl Lagerfeld, you just choose to look like him for the purposes of existing in this world. I know my dramatic devices better than you."
Karl: "Actually, I'm just Karl Lagerfeld"
The man claiming to be Karl Lagerfeld continues to hover over me, occasionally taking pictures of his little fingerless gloved hands. He is not Karl Lagerfeld, I say to myself; Johnny Walker was not really Johnny Walker when I wrote "Kafka on the Shore". This is obviously some twist that I've inserted myself into this particular narrative.
Karl: "*coughs* No, really. I really am Karl Lagerfeld"
I tell myself how clever I am, inventing a character who claims to be really Karl Lagerfeld when he is in fact just pretending to be....Karl Lagerfeld
Rei: "Would you stop talking to yourself in monologue? It's like you're writing a novel or something"
I tell her I am writing a novel, as I pat a cat, because I like cats so I'll insert a cat into here.
Rei: "There is not cat there."
Neo: "There is no spoon."
Karl: "No spoon either. But Haruki, I love your work, but this is something we call "reality".
Reality. Another surreal dramatic device. I decide to investigate further...
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
POLKA DOTS
i can't be bothered typing in haiku today. too bad. anyway; i'm rei! you know this; you've drooled over my designs, etc etc. we won't waste time with that.
i just wanted to talk about the money i'm fleecing from stupid (demode as karl says) people, with this collaboration with H&M. it's hilarious. i actually didn't do any work at all on it. we just got a few basics, slapped polka dots on them, and doubled (or tripled) the price. and the fashion people just say "genius! maverick!" and so on.
really though, it is pretty maverick. because i'm getting people to buy massively overpriced goods. genius. very warhol.
i'm sure some of you are reading this with your mouth open, amazed. don't make aunty rei cry, please.
actually, the designs are pretty good really....go, buy them! go now! go buy the comme goods! polka dots! POLKA DOTS! POLKA POLKA DOTS!
they're genius. They're comme des garcons. GO BUY NOW.
so anyway, next i'm going to do t-shirts with love-hearts on them; and sell them. call it "PLAY" or something...
oh, i've already done that.
i just wanted to talk about the money i'm fleecing from stupid (demode as karl says) people, with this collaboration with H&M. it's hilarious. i actually didn't do any work at all on it. we just got a few basics, slapped polka dots on them, and doubled (or tripled) the price. and the fashion people just say "genius! maverick!" and so on.
really though, it is pretty maverick. because i'm getting people to buy massively overpriced goods. genius. very warhol.
i'm sure some of you are reading this with your mouth open, amazed. don't make aunty rei cry, please.
actually, the designs are pretty good really....go, buy them! go now! go buy the comme goods! polka dots! POLKA DOTS! POLKA POLKA DOTS!
they're genius. They're comme des garcons. GO BUY NOW.
so anyway, next i'm going to do t-shirts with love-hearts on them; and sell them. call it "PLAY" or something...
oh, i've already done that.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
(Fashion) People
Sometimes I go to a fashion district- in whatever city I'm in, and I get Nico from my personal makeup team to make me up as a homeless vagrant.
Yes, you heard right dear readers. A homeless vagrant.
And I sit on one of the seats that are provided wherever you go, and sometimes I comment on the people going past:
"You look chic, hm?"
"Dear, why are you wearing fake Chanel? That is so demode"
"Why are you eating?"
And the reactions are entertaining enough: "Ew, you smelly old man!", "gross!", "I wonder what Karl Lagerfeld would say about you? I know Karl you know!"
No- you do not know me. I've never seen your face in my life. (This is a common thing in the fashion industry: saying you know me. Some people even create photoshop images of them and I, together. )
And I'm saying this all in my normal voice. Yet nobody knows that it's me! Hilarious, hm?
(Apart from Rei. I was once in Japan, and Rei came up to me whilst I was dressed as a homeless vagrant and she said "Karl, why are you dressed like that? I thought you hated John Galliano?"
I said "shhh!" and Rei decided that it would be fun to join me as a homeless vagrant. So we went to the Comme des Garcons store and were kicked out. Rei had a sort of spasm-like laughing fit, and Anna came and fired the staff in that Comme des Garcons store the next day. "YOU DID NOT RECOGNIZE DEAR LEADER! SHAME ON YOU!")
Sometimes I don't say anything at all, and I just watch all the fashion people walk around.
They studiously ignore each other, with their noses upturned. Like they're trying to say: "I'M MORE FASHION THAN YOU".
P.S
The collection will be updated next week. Every week! That's true fast fashion.
(So go buy the collection now, hmm?)
Yes, you heard right dear readers. A homeless vagrant.
And I sit on one of the seats that are provided wherever you go, and sometimes I comment on the people going past:
"You look chic, hm?"
"Dear, why are you wearing fake Chanel? That is so demode"
"Why are you eating?"
And the reactions are entertaining enough: "Ew, you smelly old man!", "gross!", "I wonder what Karl Lagerfeld would say about you? I know Karl you know!"
No- you do not know me. I've never seen your face in my life. (This is a common thing in the fashion industry: saying you know me. Some people even create photoshop images of them and I, together. )
And I'm saying this all in my normal voice. Yet nobody knows that it's me! Hilarious, hm?
(Apart from Rei. I was once in Japan, and Rei came up to me whilst I was dressed as a homeless vagrant and she said "Karl, why are you dressed like that? I thought you hated John Galliano?"
I said "shhh!" and Rei decided that it would be fun to join me as a homeless vagrant. So we went to the Comme des Garcons store and were kicked out. Rei had a sort of spasm-like laughing fit, and Anna came and fired the staff in that Comme des Garcons store the next day. "YOU DID NOT RECOGNIZE DEAR LEADER! SHAME ON YOU!")
Sometimes I don't say anything at all, and I just watch all the fashion people walk around.
They studiously ignore each other, with their noses upturned. Like they're trying to say: "I'M MORE FASHION THAN YOU".
P.S
The collection will be updated next week. Every week! That's true fast fashion.
(So go buy the collection now, hmm?)
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Birthday
Birthday tomorrow. And the next day. We're having one for the southern hemisphere and another for the nothern, hm?
Guests are already arriving in the closet....there's Martin Margiela, or it might be. Yohji came back, apologizing profusely. Rei's already drunk and being all zen about it. Raf Simons is drawing on the walls in the corner...trying to keep him away from Anna, they don't get on. Marc's back from his show, and he's serving drinks. I kind of feel sorry for him, hmm? Old Issey Miyake is yelling at a wall. Alexander McQueen's outside banging on a window. Yves is singing.....attempting to.
Tom Ford's even here. He keeps saying "how chic! how chic!". This is only the pre-party closet...
"KARL, WHERE ARE THE UNDERWEAR MODELS?"
That's Anna, of course. Her poor daughter. Actually, I think she's still in the closet. Um. So chic, hmm?
I expect good birthday gifts. Good children.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Passive-Agressive
So as you have noticed, Rei wants to post here.
I originally said no. But then she went all Japanese passive-agressive on me.
"Karl."
"Hmm?"
"Karl."
Then she gets out this gong and starts to bang on it.
(BANNNG)
Then she sits down after crashing the gong with her bare fist.
"Do you want some tea?"
"Diet Coke".
"Tea."
And then it's gong time again.
Eventually I said "Okay Rei, you can post on it." Otherwise, she'd simply have one of her large bodyguards carry around the gong and continue to serenely hit it. This is why Comme Des Garcons is so successful despite nobody wearing the clothes.
"You will buy the clothes".
Oh, and Anna had some man called Nic redesign the blog. He kept waving his hands about and saying "FENG! FENG! SHOOEY! FENG!". I was disappointed that he didn't do some magic tricks.
I think the blog looks very chic now, hmmm?
Brad is at the top of this post too. So chic. So now.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Christian Siriano
Christian Siriano. Your clothes hurt my eyes. Please stop.
Maybe Chanel will have to buy Project Runway, and stop it producing more awful designers....designers that create litter.
The 80s.
The 80s!!!!!!!
It truly is traumatizing.Vampires don't wear those sort of clothes. I know.
Rei's actually here with Anna, and they both just vomited.Waltz like a bat Karl...waltz like a bat. It'll all be alright.
So demode.
I'm going to sketch. I think that Prada women is outside scavenging through my bins....
Maybe Chanel will have to buy Project Runway, and stop it producing more awful designers....designers that create litter.
The 80s.
The 80s!!!!!!!
It truly is traumatizing.Vampires don't wear those sort of clothes. I know.
Rei's actually here with Anna, and they both just vomited.Waltz like a bat Karl...waltz like a bat. It'll all be alright.
So demode.
I'm going to sketch. I think that Prada women is outside scavenging through my bins....
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Rei does like her jokes
Rei (Comme des Garcons for the creatures who don't know) did a bag "with" LV. She thinks it's hilarious. So do I. Can't you just see the stupid people totting around with them!
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