THE CRAFTIVISM taishi nobukuni

NEWLY OPEN FR 11.11.2011

After wandering a bit through the Ginza streets under a light drizzle,

I was suddenly flashed by a parking enforcement officer, a true professional,

and quickly moved on, fueled by the wind,

to a compact building with an Italian restaurant flag on the basement level.

I somehow arrived at the preview of THE CRAFTIVISM taishi nobukuni, held on the fifth floor of this building.

Upon arrival, I first bowed at the reception.



Looking up, I saw him.

He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit,

sharp and striking (at maximum volume).

The usual Nobukuni-kun was there, illuminating the surroundings with an aura of smiles.

“I had it custom-made,” he said, referring to his bespoke audio system. A man’s dream, indeed.



I recall it was over ten years ago, perhaps in Fukuoka, Hakata, Tenjin?

When I first interviewed him in an apartment there, he seemed unchanged.

Unchanged, that is, in his calm aura.

Of course, his appearance and demeanor,

have evolved perfectly with the accumulated experience and growth of mind and body over the years.

In a word,

Nobukuni-kun was there, looking far more dashing than he did back then.



He was already tall and handsome,

but upon that fortunate foundation, the achievements and experiences he had diligently built and lived,

and his unshakeable confidence, had refined his appearance into that of a truly fine man.

Indeed, the tailor training he spoke of in a Dictionary interview about a year ago,

has now blossomed into this tailor salon, a fragment of his dream.

If I may venture an observation,

unshakeable confidence stems from setting clear goals and achieving them.

This orthodox principle is timeless,

but it is precisely this that forms an unwavering aesthetic for a man’s life! Probably.

As I felt a surge of emotion, as if I were a man of the Meiji era,

I also imagined the appeal of a distinguished mustache, like an embodiment of old-world dignity,

and felt a sense of exhilaration,

as if I were wearing secret shoes that added three centimeters to my height (though I’ve never worn them myself).

Perhaps, as I hurried through the backstreets of Ginza, leaving the party behind in the light rain, white steam,

like that rising from the manholes of distant New York City,

was gently rising from both my shoulders.

Wait, wasn't that just because I had a fever and my body was hot?

Perhaps. In other words, I was simply excited about consulting Nobukuni-kun about a thick tweed suit,

to fortify myself for the coming winter, a season far from luxury.

Detour Trio, Overturn Trio, Three Stooges Trio, Trio the Punch...

Today too, the foolish birds sing.



← Diary-T 159–164