Daiba
I may have been dreaming, but actually I’m pretty sure it happened. For designing Daiba, someone let the psycho architects out of the sanatorium and said “hell, if we are living in an earthquake prone zone, Takashi old boy, and the building’s going to come down anyway, we may as well design buildings that are going to look fucking spectacular as they twist towards the ground” and Takashi, the rabid glee-foam expressing from behind his fencing-style security mask, doodles four inverted pyramids on stilts, and another building with a giant ball suspended by next to nothing, maybe the world’s highest Ferris wheel for good measure. Somewhere in between they let Mayumi the interior designer out of her straitjacket, and figuring that postmodern had grown a few extra posts since he last saw the outside world, she trumps them with Venus Fort, a mille-feuille of ironic quotation, something along the lines of a fake ersatz simulacrum, but it’s probably deeper than that, but who has time to concentrate, what with the booth allowing you to customise your mobile phone to a Louis Vuitton canvas-look, and the be-Love-In-Tokyo-ed pooches panting out of their custom-monogrammed Hello Kitty stroller, proving that man is a dog’s best friend and not the other way round, and I’m sure somewhere in there I saw a beagle wearing a diaper, I’m absolutely sure. So anyway, I look right and see the Statue of Liberty and I’m wondering whether chicken nuggets are actually hallucinogenic, so I get on the train to try and escape, and only find that there is a giant hacksaw sticking out of the ground, and you know that wherever the Real is, it sure as hell ain’t here.
