DEPAYS1 stack002

Text :

1 Insomnia of the Tokyo dawn. The voices of the message.
bearing crows at every gate begin to dissipate into the
noise of the city. At the terminal stations the colored trains
start rolling -Yamanote green, Tozai blue, Marunuchi
Lacquer-red, color and name forever joined. They will
gradually fill the morning with their bowling-alley din,
dominated by the imperial foghorn of the Shinkansen.
The static of the still-flickering TV is soon to fade behind
the first target card, but at this moment it resembles
nothing so much as one of those square white lanterns
you see on the televised tales of ghosts and samurais, like
a tube within a tube. The Lady of the Morning News appears
on the screen, or the first commercial, or Doraemon the
cat-robot. So, you say, another day has passed. As though
it were only upon waking and looking back that one could
take the true measure of this day lived outside time, in a
zone of silence amid sound, in the taste of eternity that
we’ll call Japan, as Aragon used to say Holland. Here time
is a river that flows only at night.