1996/9/18 Noto Ear Anus


(dream) On a day trip to Tokyo and the final means of transportation I use is a is a taxi. The driver shows off his turning technique, switching direction at a major Tokyo intersection. He goes up to the red light, stops, and then backs up, not straight, but at a 90-degree angle. In this way gets away without waiting for a single red light. Nevertheless, both the front and side body of the cab are almost bare, moreover the driver's seat is in the back, and I'm bearing the brunt of it. The risk of an accident is high; it's scarier than a go-cart. I put on my seat belt in haste. My appointment is in Ueno, but I have the taxi let me off one station before, which is almost distance at all. I pay. The driver mumbles something to the affect of, "there are blokes these days that don't know about tipping," and snatches himself a 400 or 500 yen tip from the change in my hand. More than being miffed, I half think I should have been that self-independent. I am not really accustomed to being in Tokyo, but I do know that the next station is unmistakably Ueno and enter the turnstile. I didn't buy a ticket; for some reason two train passes come out (of the ticket vending machine) which I take and go out onto the platform. On the wall is an art exhibition poster set on a river in the countryside somewhere. The sculpture floating on the river is made of linked wood segments, reminiscent of a toy snake, anchored at one point so it changes form with the flow of the river. I am watching this movement ON A POSTER, intrigued, but determine that I haven't time examine it closely. The train arrives. I rush weaving through steel construction posts and finally board the train. Though the platform was crowded, the train is surprisingly empty. I sit and all the tension releases, replaced by a surge of exhaustion.

I am in a small room in a bathhouse. My partner is a slightly out of shape young man, who has the air of TV star Hiromi. Of course, we don't do anything, just talk. We are sitting on a sofa against the wall. He raises the light-proof curtain, hanging in lieu of blinds, behind him. The building next door is about a meter away. A young man gazes out a high window. Our eyes meet, I feel a tinge self-conscious. I wave to him. At long last, the service I've ordered arrives. He is a middle-aged, rough, gangster-type man with tightly kinked, permanent waved hair and beginning to develop a paunch. His speech is effeminate. No mistake, I did order the male massage service, but I hadn't really thought it through. Apparently it consists of homosexual services, and my not knowing such is, on the contrary, perplexing to them. He suggests I give it a try, suddenly pulls down my shorts, and rubs his vibrating hand around. Could anything be more embarrassing than being seen, let alone touched, by a member of the same sex? My body and feelings are cringing. He asks what kind of service I was expecting, and this time I am bewildered. Undoubtedly I was expecting something, but I can't explain myself well nor do I intend to. It's late and I've had enough, I get dressed. In no time, a number of couples have entered the room and are having the establishment's female service. The girls are wearing light blue outfits, patterned after angels' costumes, no, something closer to an obi (kimono sash) tied around their bodies like a tasuki (sash crisscrossed to tie back kimono sleeves). It looks great on all of them. They are all also very pretty. I notice that the curtain was left open, oh well, the hell with it. I am sitting on the sofa. Next to me are TV stars Watanabe and Hisamoto. Hisamoto says to Watanabe, "all the girls at this place have similar ear anuses." Ear anus'? Is that the ear hole? All of their ears are certainly similar, I think, but what the 'f' is an ear anus? (Close of dream.)

If "ear anus" refers to the ear hole, there would be no reason to go to the trouble of changing it to a more difficult word, would there? Other than the ear hole . . . . What?

Noto

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