Throw Away Your Books, Rally in the Streets

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Don't cry. Let's go.

Can you walk?

Is it OK?

Let's put on your shoes.

Slowly. Is it OK?

Ken, I love you.

Sitting in the darkness

of the local flea-pit...

Stinking, and sucking a sweet...

I love watching you do all your killing.

Just the memory of it...

Sends shivers up my spine.

I've never killed anyone.

I've never used a kitchen knife.

I'm so scared of people.

I'm so gutless.

What a sniveling wretch I am!

A salary of 20,000 yen.

I have no friend.

No courage.

No home.

Always sleeping...

...in the all-night cinema.

Oh, that shakes me up!

Ken, I love you!

I was born in Korea

and brought up in Japan.

In order to speak without stuttering...

...I choose only words which

I can say without stuttering...

...and string those words together.

So I often end up saying things...

...which I didn't really mean to say.

When I was at primary school...

In our primary school textbook

there was a piece called:

"Carry the sun in the core of your heart"

But I couldn't say "core."

I kept saying "co-co-core" -

so they nicknamed me "chicken."

On another occasion I was

rushed to the doctor...

...after doing too much deep breathing.

They say that if you keep

singing continuously...

...you'll stop stuttering.

I've tried it 100 times.

Stuttering is an ideology.

The sun stutters...

...as it rises between buildings

Beethoven's Fifth Symphony...

...it stutters.

The peace in Vietnam...

...it stutters across fire-swept land.

The clouds are stuttering tramps.

The Korean Strait...

...is a stuttering frontier.

Have you noticed?

Order and obedience are smooth.

But the sun stutters.

The heart stutters.

Resistance movements stutter.

Stutter.

Stutter and shout.

Me...

I'm a shamefaced stutterer.

But it's because I stutter...

...that I can chew over words properly.

In my own mouth.

My own words.

As I was saying, then, it's not good

for old people to stay at home.

It might seem a bit cruel,

but they should move out.

- Did you ask this man to come here?

- Not exactly.

You mean he's come in here uninvited,

on his own? He's an intruder!

A thief!

But don't you want to have

someone to talk to?

At our Old People's Society, we've

learned a lot from the American system.

- In America...

- I don't like America.

Even people who don't like America

like running hot water...

...their own cars, Hollywood movies -

a high standard of living.

- Where are you off to?

- To buy cigarettes.

The minute we have a serious

discussion, you disappear.

You want that man to take me away.

But old people's homes aren't

some kind of hell, you know.

There are several different kinds.

Some with private bathrooms and toilets.

A home? But who for?

I'll drive you over.

Stop joking. I don't want to go there!

You made me nervous right from the start.

A Japanese smoking a foreign cigarette,

dropping ash everywhere!

Go away!

But your son asked me to come here.

Masaharu? That's impossible.

I raised him from a child,

all on my own.

He couldn't survive without me.

Wait a second.

Who wrote this letter?

Was it you, Masaharu?

It was really you.

Yes, I took a lot of trouble over it.

I'm not as beautiful as that.

I'm not young any more.

It's a mother who's crossed the water.

Come on, come on, everyone.

It's not a tale from this world.

It's a tale from the swamps of hell

Rather than despair as you

plait your white hair...

Rather than live counting

your wrinkles...

...it's better to ring bells,

like the ravens.

Ghosts and the living dead.

The wrinkled old man and woman

go into the swamp...

...and come out of it stripped

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