Just some old picture-photograph I came upon just now. Its from 1923 and the girl on the very right whose head is embedded in flowers, is my grandmama *1916, the guy in the seat next to the driver is my great grand father. In 1919 the new democratic republic had abolished noble titles, but strangely the family did very well, then. One day my gg father came home with a gleeful expression and shouted: "Imagine- what I just bought? A charming nice little café near Schönbrunn castle!", my gg mother who held court in her bed that she nearly never left cause of hypochondry and sickness after her father and husband had forbidden her to pursue a career as an opera singer, chided: "Now I'll tell you only once, Anton! You will sell it again tomorrow!"
He also got another sportier car btw and was quite famous for his reckless driving...gotta run now..
Human nature makes us strive for higher things, either for success, honour or superiority in the mundane sphere or the victory over all earthly things. Whichever the case, the inborn function through which man tries to achieve them is (the impetus) “to play”.
(In this process culture, religion, art etc are mere- if important- side-products.)
Should you ever come to Tokyo and look into its art scene then theres one man you need to avoid but who its impossible not to know: Johnnie Walker is a Jew from a Spanish-Italian family with links to L.A., Mandchuria and India.
Johnnie Walker lives in Tokyo. He is a broker for the Deutsche Bank and at night he does in art. He is a homo and took a fancy in an acquaintance of mine who is also an artist. Thats how I met him. Fortunately he didnt take a fancy in me: "You're not my type.", he says. He talks in short, precise sentences, very laconic. He drives a silver Mercedes 500 SL Turbo which would be "quite nice" in Germany but here in Tokyo its the creme de la creme. He drives like a devil and says: "Here in Japan you got to drive careful if you're a foreigner: If you have an accident it'll always be "your fault"".
Johnnie has a dog called Sir Elton who also rides in his car, sitting between the front seats. The dogs a neurotic, hes some chubby bulldog thingy. We're driving on the freeway on rooftop level and the Neon signs reflect in his large Basidow-eyes. Johnnie himself looks a bit like Elton John, too, with the same bulldog face, glasses with a broad, colourful frame and a bald head, he's only a tad taller. He tells us: Once Elton John was touring Asia.When he landed at Narita Airport a delegation came to greet him; seeing him they called out in surprise: "But this guy looks exactly like Johnnie Walker!"
Suddenly Johnnie hits the brakes and Sir Elton is catapulted to the front seat to my acquaintances' lap,I nearly drop the camera with which I'm filming them. "Bakayarou!",he screams and nearly rams the car in front of us.
We stop by the Hyatt Regency. The Sultan of Brunei owns a suite there, I'm told, but we went higher up to the restaurant. Its a monumental hall, the lights are dimned and a piano plays. Some black singer sings. A small cloud drifts by and obscures the city lights for a moment. We are about 20 people around a large table. Theres that Japanese architect, looks like a little rodent. He's famous, cant remember his name, you'd know him I think, also there's the chief exec.of the German Taschen Verlag, they give out artsy photo books and stuff. I'm sitting next to his wife, she's Indonesian and has long straight hair. Now they live in Japan. She smokes very long and thin cigarettes and tells me: "In Indonesia its soo humid but here its much better." She looks unhappy. On my other side is that half Italian half Japanese girl: Her name is Guisy. She has the most unbelievable eyes! I'm completely entranced. I watch her and sip my whiskey soda as if I was in some peep show. I think she likes me too. She reaches out and puts her fingers in my short hair at the back of my head and tugs it. I think she's on cocaine or something, or maybe she's just like that.
Suddenly the music stops and the singer does some Happy Birthday-shit. Four waiters come to our table with a cake and those sparkly candles. They congratulate Dr. XYZ, the publishing guy. He says that it must be a mistake and that he doesnt have birthday today. Johnnie starts to laugh: obviously it was one of his idiotic jokes. Everybody is laughing like hyenas. Accidentally this was the place where some of the bar scenes for Sophia (?) Copolas film "Lost in Translation" were shot, I heard, or maybe not. But that film wasnt made yet, then.