An Index of Metals

 

An Index of Metals by Tosh Berman

Room 32

 

Room 32

Narratophilia

 

Narratophilia

Emmanuelle, Hotel for Spells

 

Emmanuelle, Hotel for Spells

Prelude to the Afternoon of a Fawn by Tosh Berman

 

Prelude to the Afternoon of a Fawn by Tosh Berman

The Agents of Destruction by Tosh Berman

 

The Agents of Destruction by Tosh Berman

Raymond Roussel Tribute by Tosh Berman

 

I think of Raymond Roussel's work whenever I'm on an island. Inspired by Roussel, the actual location Izu Ōshima is two and a half hours away from Tokyo. When Lun*na and I stayed there for an arts festival, we had only cold water and intense heat with the addition of strange biting insects and an island full of abandoned cats. You could have cut the air with a knife. Under all this, I wrote "The Impressions of Izu Ōshima" in a feverish (the only way) manner. Read Part 2 here:

https://tosh.substack.com/.../impressions-of-izu-oshima...

Amore is More by Tosh Berman

 

Amore is More by Tosh Berman

The World of Tosh Berman, Friday, June 11, 2021 (Emmanuelle 8, part four)

 

Emmanuelle 8 (part four) by Tosh Berman. 

Read Emmanuelle 8 (part four) here!

The World of Tosh Berman, Friday June 4, 2021 (Emmanuelle 8, Part Two)

 

Read Emmanuelle 8 (part two) here  

"Emmanuelle 8 (part two) by Tosh Berman.

The World of Tosh Berman, Tuesday, June 1, 2021 (Emmanuelle 8, Part 1)

 

https://tosh.substack.com/p/emmanuelle-8-part-one

"Emmanuelle 8" by Tosh Berman. Read it here.

Tosh Berman's short story "Structure Equals Eros" in the current Pure Lust issue of BLACK SCAT REVIEW

I have a short nine page story in the current issue of Black Scat Review #14.  It is their "Pure Lust" theme book, and I have to say i'm a master of eros.  In fact, the story is called "Structure Equals Eros."  With an illustration by Elizabeth Yoo.  

Down below is the info:  

The first day of Spring is Sunday, March 20th, so get a jump-start on Spring Fever with the “Pure Lust” issue of Black Scat Review.

Over 100 pages of lusty art & fiction by an international roster of artists & writers—featuring Tosh Berman, Tom Bussmann, Theodore Carter, Elna Holst, Monika Mori, Derek Pell, Eugene Schacht, Sybil Shwarzenberg, Mercie Pedro e Silva, Yuriy Tarnawsky, Mylene Viger, Tom Whalen, and Elizabeth Yoo.

Cover art by Giada Cattaneo

One can purchase a copy of the journal/book here: 

http://www.amazon.com/Black-Scat-Review-14-Issue/dp/0692633871/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1457595124&sr=1-1&keywords=Black+Scat+Review+%2314

The Sunday Series: Sunday No. 2 (January 18, 2015)

Photo from https://www.etsy.com/shop/VintageMadeByDucky/about?ref=l2-more-about

Sunday No. 2

It took me awhile, but I think I arranged a chance to fuck “her.” It seemed like it took forever to get her to my point of view, that I was desperately trying to convey to her.   Her beauty has been a consistent heartache as well as a pleasure of sorts.  To want something, and being so close to “it, ” is like walking across two skyscrapers on a thin rubber-band in the wind.  She is standing perfectly still in front of me, but the wind is pulling me back, sideways, and this time, I hope forward.   She would often drop hints of sensual adventure, but once I try to act upon them, it is like it never happened.   Either by design, desire, or just a cruel version of torture, she would wear this piece of jewelry on her body that is like waving a red cape in front of a horny bull.  It was a thin chain that is connected to her waist and goes up to the back, and then around her beautiful neck.  If she was wearing a blouse it would appear to be a thin necklace around her throat.  But when she is wearing her backless black dress, you can see the full design, except the part that is connected to her, what I imagined, is her perfect waist.  When I was with her, especially in public, I could barely stand it.  

I’m consistently on the telephone with her, and she slipped in the information that she was planning to wear the “necklace,” in case I was planning to come over her house - which it seems she will be alone.  My reaction is like the wolf in a Looney Tunes 1940s cartoon, where my eyes are jumping out of my sockets, and my tongue is rolling over my thick lips.  I told her for sure I will be there, and since it’s Sunday, I’ll bring some things over.  Neither one of us works in the sense of “work,”… like Monday you have to go to work type of thing.  Personally I was daydreaming that I would be spending a week in her bed, while I trace my fingers against her jewelry.   In fact, I wanted to remove her jewelry piece, and with a felt pen, draw another version on her skin.   For the whole week beforehand, whenever I saw a felt pen on a table, or in a stationary shop, I would get an erection.  While we were talking and arranging a meeting just now, that is exactly what I was thinking.   Before I left the house I took at least three pens with me and put it in my bag.  

I knew she had a turntable in her apartment, so I stopped at Amoeba to locate Brian Eno and Robert Fripp’s “Evening Star” on vinyl.   Some years back, I remember having sex with this music in the background.  Side two is “An Index of Metals, ” which lasts for the whole side.  I think 28 minutes.   Perfect time length for intercourse, as well as climaxing at the end of the track.  Knowing this piece so well, I can use it as a guide of sorts, while actually fucking her.   I did find the album, although used, and looking at its surface, I did see scratches on the vinyl.  In theory, I thought this will be OK, and may even add creative tension in the sex act, with this in the background.  

As I was heading out towards the line to purchase the Eno/Fripp album, I saw a 45 single by Timi Yuro called “Interlude.” I stopped.  I turned around and picked the single up. This was a song, that I wanted like forever.  Timi was a favorite singer of mine, and often I felt, mine alone.  She was an American, died young, and had a big voice for a little girl.  This song, for me, is the ultimate doomed love song.  I often cried when listening to it, and that was embarrassing because a friend of mine had the single.  I tried to buy it off him, but he refused. He told me that once I find it, the song will bring new meaning to you.   I looked at the grooves of the vinyl, and it looked like it never has been played.  The store wanted $12.99 for it, and who am I to argue if the price is too high.  What I’m buying is not only art, but something that is essential to one’s life, or even identity.  With that in my hand, I started to walk towards the cashier, when all of sudden something caught my eye.

It was the front cover of an album by an artist or band called Perfume Genius.   I was struck by the beauty of the young man on the cover, and I immediately went to the record like an abandoned cat in a rain storm approaching a neighbor’s cat food plate.  The song titles were intriguing to me, especially the one called “Queen.” With my I-Phone, I found the track on YouTube, and watched and listened to it at that spot.  It was the glam rock song of my desires.  I gave up hope of ever hearing a new glam song, and this one with its pansy sexuality, was superb.  I played found another video of his, called “Body, ” and that too was magnificent.  When one discovers a new record or a new sound, it is like falling in love.  One wants to go around and shake people from their shoulders and tell them to listen to this.   Common sense told me that this was not a good idea.  So I took that album and put it under my arm with the Fripp/Eno album as well as the Timi single.  While standing in line to purchase the goods, she called me and told me if it is ok to come later over her house.  I said sure, and she said that she is really looking forward to seeing my face.  I felt good hearing that.  Also it gave me a chance to get back home and listen to the records.

Every time I play a record on my turntable, it takes me five minutes or so to clean the needle.  I’m obsessed with getting the best sound possible on my set-up, and I actually enjoy the procedure in preparing a record listening session.   I quickly checked the Eno/Fripp record to see if it’s in a good condition, and for a used album, it looked like it wasn’t played a lot.  There was a crackle here and there, but overall it sounded good, and therefore perfect for tonight’s planned love-making.    I then put on Perfume Genius “Too Bright” album.  

“I Decline” is the first song on side one.  At this moment, I ‘m taken to another place in my world.  I don’t even recognize where it is, but I know I like it.   Then comes the song “Queen.” It is like someone put a knife on my chest and cut it open, and released all the tension within me.  “No family is safe when I sashay.” I keep lifting the needle after the song is finished and replaying it.  I remember in Jean Cocteau’s “Orpheus” when the main character, a poet, would sit in his car parked in his garage listening to messages on the car radio from the underworld.  I feel the same way when I hear this song.  “Queen” is communicating with me directly.  Slowly, as I meditate on the song, it becomes clear to me that life is so multi-dimensional.  

Once the whole album was over, I immediately went into my work-space and got my head-phones and played the whole record again.  One of the things I admire about the record is its sonic textures.  The melodies are all strong, but there was something ‘ugly’ about the sound as well, which brings out the beauty of the lyrics and melody.  Due to the cord attached to the mixer, I couldn’t sit on the couch, so I got a big pillow, and lay on the wooden floor.  As the sound overcame me, I fell asleep and I had this odd dream of me being in bed and someone entering the bedroom.  It was a ‘she’ and I presumed it was my desirable obsession with the jewelry.  As soon as she got in bed in total darkness, I reached out and said her name.  She then told me that it wasn’t her, but someone named Sue. I didn’t recognize the voice, and I didn’t do anything. I just pretended that I fell asleep.  When I woke up, I hear the needle going back and forth at the end of the record. 

I then put on the 45 rpm single of Timi Yuro’s “Interlude,” and time truly became a dream.   I slowly realize that my desires are a dream.   There is my life as a living being, but beyond that, and through music, I realize that I am something more.   Not necessary a  better person, but I’m not the same guy that morning, then I am now this evening.   Time is like a dream, and my lust for her, has changed into a beautiful melody. 

October 26, 2014

October 26, 2014

“A goal is a dream with a deadline.” I knew if I waited, I’ll lose the opportunity.   The one thing I can’t afford right now is to lose that opportunity.  I see there was a beautiful girl on the street, and she’s wearing a short skirt, where you can see the top of her stockings and the bare thigh before the dress trim.  Some think that the most erotic woman is a naked one, but for me that one part of the leg being shown is truly the essence of eros.  The sweet science is not a boxing match, but the sight of such desire as one roams the streets of Shinjuku looking for an inexpensive meal.  And I can’t find the right restaurant, mostly due to my lack of Japanese, but clearly I can find my desire, because I will it to be done.   I just have to keep in mind that “every adversity, every failure, every heartbreak, carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit.” So I went up to her to strike up a conversation.

When I approached her, she was reading her cell phone.  I said “excuse me, I’m not from here, and I am looking for a place to have dinner.”  I said this in English, because one, I wanted to let her know that I’m of course a foreigner and was desperately looking for a place to eat, and two, not knowing if she speaks English or not, I would know right away by my direct question.  She answered me directly “what kind of food do you like.” I told her anything Japanese, but also it was the one type of food I know nothing about.   I suffer extreme shyness, but when I approach someone from another part of the world, or culture, I feel brave.  “Hold a picture of yourself long and steadily enough in your mind’s eye, and you will be drawn toward it.” With that helpful quote in mind, I continued: “If you have the time, can you lead me to a place and help me with the menu.” She said yes.  That was a surprise, and even though I first saw her as an object of my sexual needs, she suddenly became someone else.  A nice person.  A nice smiling person.  One of the things I like about Japanese people is that they don’t smile, unless they feel like smiling.  In the United States, especially Los Angeles, people smile at you all the time, even if they hate you.  But here in Japan, they don’t smile automatically, so once you do get the smile on their faces, you know it's genuine.

She started walking and I followed.  The streets were so crowded, and the neon was so bright, that the combination could make me lose her in the crowd. Nevertheless, being behind her, I focused my eyes on her thighs so not to lose her.  I think of the Jean Cocteau film “Orpheus” where the poet follows death through a maze.  It seemed that everyone was moving in slow motion, but she and I were moving in a regular fashion almost against the slow moving crowd.  For a moment, I was scared.  I didn’t know her, and she doesn’t know me. Yet here I’m following her to a destination knowing nothing of.  “We refuse to believe that which we don’t understand. ”

“When you are able to maintain your own highest standards of integrity - regardless of what others may do - you are destined for greatness.” I just had to trust her, and think of her as a nice person, who by chance, also has lovely thighs.   But yes, when I walk through this sleepy city, I need to be open to new things, new possibilities, and in the night, everything looks so pretty.  I’m so tired to walk alone, and Shinjuku looks so pretty when you’re with someone.   She turns left to an alley, and I follow her up to a small staircase…