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danieru in tokyo
Sunday, November 28, 2004
 
Philippe Starck
I need to make this clear - I did have a good evening. Really. And here are the things that made it different.
SR's flat is sparse. Sparse in the fashion that I always dreamed my own living quarters to be. And yet devoid of soul. Philippe Starck is not for me, I know that now, and am glad to see the dream disappear. Back home, RV's flat has an unfinished kitchen, half painted walls, and mess everywhere. Born with the gift of clumsiness, mortal hazards are a real and present danger, even today after a big clean. But it feels like home. Whether it be the Catalan rugs, Moroccan lampshades or just the scabby paintbucket in the corner, I cannot be sure. But they all make me feel at ease. Starck does not.

I'm in my twenties. I wear T-Shirts with pictures of turntables. I never comb my hair. I am a British Asian. They were all the there early thirties. Wearing designer evening clothes. Sipping liquers I had never heard of before. White, urban and mainstream. I drunk 5 Hoegaarden's, and then all was well. I didn't identify with their pleasures and pains in life, but I didn't need to. And knowing that felt good.

RV split with A. The explanation was intriguing. "He wants to escape, out of the small world he knows, but is scared. I've escaped, he's using me to feel it without the risk." And the world makes a little more sense today.

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