| Maximo Park Diary Entries |
| These are diary entries by Maximo Park members from the Official Maximo Park Website. |
Raining in Tokyo |
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| 05 Oct, 2005 |
The Tokyo drizzle turned into a torrent as I distanced myself from the hotel. I just kept going as it became heavy, trying to duck into shop doorways now and then for a spell of respite. Underneath trees, I could escape the even blanket of droplets but had to endure the inevitable heavy drips that had gathered on the leaves before forcing their way through onto my head. My eyeline was dominated by the everpresent bead of water hanging from the sodden brim of my blue cap, which was pulled down tight, protecting my brow.
I had slept for as long as I could, but there is something that compells me to progress each day, and now I was amongst commuters and empty shops awaiting their staff and customers. Without a guide, this place can be bewildering and the ocean of possibilities it offers is swallowed up into a gulf of impossible choices. There is an incessant blare from the many video screens that illuminate the streets from the walls of the Shibuya district.
Main roads run through the city, but pedestrians are protected by big, spidery walkways over the traffic. Railings are coloured turquoise, but where the train tracks come into view, you can see a greener hue, as the metal has been coated at a later date and nobody took the time to find the exact colour of paint. There are helpful, rubbery grips on the stairs that look like black fridge magnets. The steps lead up to what amounts to a giant slab of concrete directly above the flowing vehicles, where a children's playground is embedded into the cement. Trees protect the walker from the carbon monoxide and the whole avenue is flanked by an efficient class of homeless people who have constructed shacks from blue plastic sheeting and vertically placed sheets of wood. As I walked past, I felt more like an observer than an invader, perhaps because it was early and virtually deserted. Two men were crouched, bundling a collection of cans into a ballooned, transparent bag and inside the makeshift shanties I could see cups on tiny tables. Outside the constructions were bicycles and shabby computer chairs, and I thought about what sort of scavenging life these people must lead.
Wherever we are, I find that you can't escape from memories, and that certain objects or words can just trigger things off in your head... I guess that's why the album title remains significant.
I think it's time to stop, now.
Paul And The Park |
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