If this is something you would be amenable to, all I would require is a letter of support from you — basically outlining what it is that you do and why (given the little you know about me) I might be an interesting presence to have around.

Sorry for the novel, and thanks for your consideration.

Best,

Jordan

Asai Koichi <[email protected]>Nov 30

to Jordan

Jordan,

Sure.

The piece we are making is called Coma. Working title. We’re actually working on the piece in London with the National.

We have a rental flat here, you can stay in with our intern Gabriel (it’s in North Woolwich, I warn you it can get boring). When do you need the letter by?

P.S. My name is Koichi (given names come second in Japanese)

K

Gabriel met me at Heathrow in a yellow raincoat. He was a young Spaniard with a curly mop of black hair and large almond eyes that lent him a certain cartoonish quality. It occurred to me that perhaps he was the same intern who had first shown Koichi my videos. His English wasn’t very good but he seemed keen, smiling at my faltering attempt to elucidate the poetry of descending through the canopy of storm clouds. I tried a few words in Spanish and he nodded sympathetically. We climbed into a black cab and Gabriel relayed an address to the driver, which I assumed was our shared flat. As we drove, Gabriel took out his phone and started showing me photos of the new androids the theatre was working with. He then either explained how he had begun working with Koichi after going to theatre school in London, or that after working with Koichi he was going to theatre school in London. I mentioned I had dropped out of theatre school and that killed the conversation for a minute or so. Things picked up somewhat when we began talking about Björk’s recent virtual reality show which he’d seen at Somerset House in London. Trust Björk to bridge the gap between two art-fags.

I was half paying attention to Gabriel and half trying to take in the views of London unfolding behind his head out the window. The cab was weaving through a residential neighbourhood of row houses, and I was catching snapshots of family life through the front windows of homes. When I tuned back in and met Gabriel’s gaze, I found it searching in a way that suggested we might be fucking later that night. Either that or he was sizing me up to see who would emerge as the alpha art-fag. Or perhaps both. He was a bit too much like me to be attractive, a mirror of my more insecure and cloying tendencies. Perhaps we would be enemies.