Hunting poetry in back alleys, Tokyo delivers Spring early,
chilling time warped travellers into puppies of dribbling grins.
Tomato rockin’ at the PARCO gallery, covering walls in retrospective
art-scrawl. The gurns & grins of jet-lagged faces, sagged beneath
sleepless weight. The foot drag, the slur & mumble, glazed expression,
dazed drifting in erratic lulls between conversation. I smell fish,
aromas promising noodle…following. Now the world turns psychedelic
as the jet-lag really kicks in, just as we start five hours of
interviews. Sleep is a myth.