to Tomek

The smoke coloured clouds were soon to cover the surrounding mountains, stealing their way amidst the sunset rays. The hills of Kamakura disappeared.

Nauseous stench of fish drawing in from the Ocean, dry kelp splay along the shore. Looking for some place in the evening dew.

It is you, sitting beside me. Tokyo, Kameari District, Sakura House. The afternoon shim-mering in our room.

In my dream cats born out of fireballs were falling from the sky. Once awake I found shelter with you.

Colourful bridges soaring over Sumida River. The metallic screech of passing trains overhead. The sun is about to disappear. We came to shore at Rainbow Bridge.

Occassionally, the earth would stir under our feet and you would always warn.

Arriving at the bamboo garden I suddenly stopped. The look of the dog-headed heav-enly general froze me in my tracks. I felt like throwing up the first time I met these eyes

I took to green tee, that is why I cannot sleep at night. For moments I fall asleep but then awake again, listening to the nightly soundscapes.

I asked you to lift up one of the fish, I was so ’crazy’ about them. Hastily, I held the cam-era up high, but could not bring it into focus.

The hot water reaches up to your neck if you sit on the bottom of the tub. That is per-fect. All is quiet and perfumed. We fell in a deepest sleep.

The four of us went on a trip, on the way I was counting mosquito bites. Tomoko had five, me four. You watching the Ocean.

I am watching the playful grid of lines projecting on the ceiling. Dull sounds of toll. You are asleep and your breathing responds to the bell’s rhythm.

This lonesome tree shelters at least two dozens of crows. I am hiding under a pine tree, awaiting you to come.

You are busy with your sound recordings of the birds. I am after a butterfly that always manages to escape. Secretly, I take a shot of you.

In my dream I met my elder brother and other men. In my hand I was holding severed animal heads. I handed the heads to them and they put them on like helmets or crests. I

felt overwhelmed by the sight of raw flesh.

I leaned out of the window pretending not to see that you took a shot of me. Rooftops shimmering around in blue. The night fell.

I have an obsession for shiny black stones. Since my childhood it has been like that. I am levitating in my dream. Wisps are falling from my head, head of a straw-man with frolicking mice about, umbrellas in their hands, mockingly waving to me…

Keep walking to the hilltop. There you will find a flat stone over which the best view opens to the garden. Lie down and listen to the song of the cicadas.

Pull aside the curtain and step in the vestibule. There you will find a shelf full of empty baskets. Take off your clothes and leave them in one of them. In the bath there are four tiny stools along the wall, a mirror and a shower head at the height of your knees. Sit

down and wash yourself thoroughly. Now you may enter the water.

We were impressed by the food models in the window displays. In Chinatown I cap-tured one. Passersby were curious about my vintage camera, and I was equally curious

about these folks.

The calamari was fried by Tomomi. Kuniko brought us chocolate with chili as a gift.

On the way to the Four Buddhas. Sitting on a flat stone you contemplate the cats. Strolling alone in Kameari. It is the second time I stroll alone. I won’t have the third. Alone.

Kawazu is a tiny village on the shore. It seems like nobody lives there. I am lying beside you in the sand, our golden yellow sheet below.

That night flowers turned colour rose.

It was in Chinatown that we tried the honey-sweet dumplings first, that come filled with black sesame. Beside us a sapling in blossom. Around us the finest breeze.

I caressed the hoof of the deers at rest. Then looked at you and felt like a deer at rest.

A sudden rainstorm made us seek refuge under a high rise. In awe I was gazing at the multi-coloured, glistening stones.

Religious festivities. Pilgrims queue up under our window. Pagodas won’t cease their incessant toll.

Watching the dogs illuminated with small lamps in Kitanomaru Park. You were laugh-ing at it like I love it the most.

You are doing another take of the cicadas’ song. And I have a special flair to speak when I shouldn’t.

I wanted another photography of you. Instead, I turned toward the sky and under heavy rays of sun I contemplated the roofs of the Golden Pavilion. Slowly approaching

you.

Long walks, late night firework, waterfront trumpeter around midnight, shiny black wings of crows, Buddha’s Guards, the Lord of Hell, obsessive cicadas and the Ocean.

One night we walked through a cemetery. In the moonlight we observed the swiftly passing clouds overhead and the strange lights appearing from behind them. All was

glimmering menacingly.

Encompassed by trees. In the small grove two foxes guard the entrance of a temple. I took one of them with me.

Wistfully turning after each and every cyclist. In my dream blinkered robots race around me, no matter how I try to escape.

In the evening lights of the railway station I was watching people dispersed. My hair soaking wet, I kept vaporizing. Meanwhile, you were examining the stooping blossom

of the geranium hanging over the platform. It will take hours to get back home.

Dorka Taskovics, Book of Japan, 2007-2008. Special thanks to Tamás Szigeti, Ábel Sza-lontai and Zsolt Czakó.

tdorka@gmail.com