Kanzen Uta 『Everlasting Dream』

Juka's vocal skill is quite impressive.

Not as good as the aesthetic Satsuki or the godly Kyo though, if one is to compare him to among the best vocalists, but still.

Everlasting Dream is such a beautiful piece. It makes me feeling a bit nostalgic.

I mean, it has quality rarely found in many songs. Dreamy musical arrangement augmented with beautiful lyrics performed by a lovely troupe.

When I listen to it I can't help but to recall past times involuntarily.

The live recorded version is also great. I like that he taunted the audience to sing along.

The live version has been on repeat for quite a while now.

Undergoing Musical Catharsis II

I am sorry for the previous post.

It is just that many things happened simultaneosly and I am unable to restrain myself.

Perhaps that song had triggered everything.


You, do you remember...?

You had appeared before me when I was deep in grief and neck-deep in shame.
You shined the most among others.
You had broke the barrier I had built around me.





You, do you remember...?

The moment you presented a beautiful blue rose?
I hold close to my heart the picture that has inspired me so many times.
I was awestruck by the image.





You, do you remember...?

The moment you went down to an illness.
The others had stopped all activities just to allow you recuperate.
In that time you had received so many questions asking of your well-being.
Do you know that we had planned to present the physical manifestion of our collected affection to you?
You had replied to a friend
"Do not worry"
"I am fine"
"I am sorry I have troubled you"
"Next time, we will meet up again"





You, do you remember...?

The day you went to a path I cannot follow.
I cried so much.
I cried so much.
I cried so much.

I cried so much.
I cried so much.
I cried so much.
I cried so much.
I cried so much.
I cried so much.
I don't think there was another moment in which my tears had spilled that much.
Poignantly, our symbols of affection, one we wanted to present to you, one we wrote wishes for you to get well soon,
They were laid on your grave.





I will never forget you.
I promise.

Undergoing Musical Catharsis

I want to embody you.

That is why I keep many pictures depicting the beautiful, elegant you.

Although it hurts many times, I still hold you dearest.

While I keep on trying to move forward, wanting to forget everything


I will find myself being dragged back to the moment in which you disappear.

I can still smell your presence here next to me. A fragrance so sweet and nectary.

I am sorry, but I still can't forget you.

I clawed at my own weakness, so much that I cannot even feel the pain anymore.

If only I can bleed this overwhelming emotion out...

Even if anyone come and replace you, I will still see you being there next to the others.

If loving you has damned me, I won't regret shouting out my true feelings up to the sky so everyone will hear them.

If I do that, will you be able to listen?








With that day creeping closer, my heart feels weaker.

I fear that I cannot last until the day I am supposed to go.

At this time, I am listening to your legacy.





You can purge misery out of me
Rest easy
None will ever take over your place
In my heart

Limpid Mind

To posses a mind as clear as the limpid water

sounds pretty cool don't you think? (^ - ^)

With a clear mind, thoughts properly sorted

one can see every details of anything that happen to be in his line of vision.

Since I lack the reflexes necessary to become a proper swordsman,

maybe if I can anticipate the opponents' attacks just by observing the movements I can be victorious.

With a limpid mind I think that will be possible.



But how can we achieve that state of mind?

Maybe... By chanting it non-stop?

LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND LIMPID MIND

*thuds*

*snores*

DEADLY AQUAMARINE

I realise that I haven't changed much (= _ =)

Truth is, I really thought I did but it all shattered when I stumbled upon an old acquaintance a while ago.

We exchanged a few words and hung out for a moment.

Then he said, "Aki, you are still the same. Haven't changed much are you?"

I fell silent.

Well of course he meant it in a good way, but still...

Those are the days I call 'The Chaos' era.

I don't really want to remember every details, because what I did was very shameful.

He is one person from that era.

And then he said that I am still the same.

It hurts.

It is wonderful how short phrases said pleasently can wound you deeper than harshly-shouted curses.

Fallen From The Pure White Sky

This is my idol.

Isn't he beautiful?

THE TRUTH IS A LIE. CONCEALMENT IS TRUE.

Why do great bands disappear lately?

Rentrer en Soi, Siva, hime ichigo, chariots...

Though now chariots is Riku's solo project

but I think it won't be able

to shine as brightly as before.

Siva broke my heart when they announced their disbanding. The word "Sayounara Siva" kept on repeating in my mind like a never-ending curse that cause me misery.

I tried to find out where the members are right now but it seems like they have disappear.

Unless for Iori-san who joined Cocklobin way before their disbanding.

They took quite a long time to recover from the lost of that one talented guitarist.

hime ichigo...

I had not have time to get into them deeply

but I know they were good.

A pity when such band died.

Finally Rentrer en Soi.

Their first song I listened to is PROTOPLASM.

Since then I realise I have fallen in love with The Vocalist.

Sadly only a week after that love at first listening, they announced their dis bandment.

I was in distraught. I didn't know what to say

and then Satsuki sang STAY GOLD which ceased my suffering.

He made a promise, to meet the fans when they get reborn once again.

Then the members went their separate ways.

Satsuki embarked to a perilous wonderful path of performing solo.

Mika also followed suit, forming Forbidden Days Rhapsody, inviting Shun to join his troupe during [CANTICUM].

Ryo joined Amber Griss, which I am not familiar with.

As of Takumi...

For two years he didn't announce anything.

Some fear he might retire

but I just read news that he is back to the music scene.

He is involved in one of 12012's project, but as it is still unclear to what extend he helped them...

He is still inactive for now.



Asagi-sama-tachi has sang, "God knows" so I will keep on watching.

In a Lucid Dream

I appeared to be in a mental state called [Writer's Block] （ 》 A 《 ）

Hate thiiiiiisssss

But that aside, I am researching about dreams.

I find out that some people can remain conscious in their dreams.

In other words, they are the weaver of their own dreams.

I am not one of them （＞ A ＜）

To be able to take control of dreams is my uh, dream ( - , - )

Anyways the title's one of Satsuki's song from AWAKE.

His new look is very verrrrrry *bleeped*

R.E.M.

Counting the sounds of footsteps outside the wounding cloister
Hoping only to be released while the gentle lie is repeated

Please Sir can't you see it?
I, bound to these chains, withered
Tainted, impurified, sinning
A distorted scream should reach you softly

When the shame and the loneliness endure
I will rise to the crimson sky bearing your name

Unable to spread my wings in the wounding cloister
My tattered feathers lay ruined before my feet
Remnants of lascivious dignity are dissolving, but the chains won't even disappear

My prayers left unanswered, a stigmatic body carrying the fallen grace painfully moves

Though the glimmering silver beam reach my eyes it cannot rouse me from this sleep
My limbs have long being petrified with the continuous gentle lies
And the shame to be endured is just...

I want be free
Please Sir can't you grant it
My last wish is said with the last of my breaths
It should have reached you pleasently

In the wounding cloister my love's pair of wings lay still
When this heart ceases its beating
I want to carry the scent of life towards you

Just the two of us, dearest dead wings
We will exchange our vows in the next carnation

The Calm Before the Storm

It is quite obvious, and it is getting annoying.

The way you look at me. The way your eyes shine when you speak to me. The way you move when I return your gaze with a small wave.

Please do not misinterpret that as an indication of an affection.

I am just being polite, not wanting to leave your smiles unanswered.

But it is getting worse.

I want to break your heart but I cannot bring myself to it.

Because that will also hurt me if I know I have draw tears from a woman.

Though I want to end all your happy fantasies, I also want you to end it yourself.

If you see me as having a beautiful personality, I will show you my ugliest one.

If you think I am a soft-spoken person, I will shout words that are considered impolite out loud.

If you think I am someone who can tolerate constant nagging, I will leave you if you start talking.

But I cannot do any one of these.

There are rules within my subconsciousness that I have to obey.

I am trapped by the rules I have written myself.

I can only watch as it goes on and on.

I feel so helpless.

Jardin de Roses 「THIRD ACT: MALIGNANCE OF CHARM」

Cynthia found herself inside a theater, with Old Marlowe sitting next to her, watching a performance of a group of traveling minstrels.

She kept on fidgeting in her seat, as she did not enjoy the performance very much. Though it was quite interesting she could not forget her actual purpose, and hurry to the place.

"My lady, have you ever heard of the story of blood-drinkers?" Old Marlowe whispered, perhaps for a dramatic effect.

It worked, because she felt a chill down her spine after that. She had heard of the horrible tales of people drained of their blood during her travels. Those stories had her experiencing weeks of uncomfortable sleep.

She decided to feign innocence. By carefully composing her face and remembering to change the tone of her voice, she hoped that he would not detect her lies.

"I beg you pardon?" she replied after a while. Her eyes wavered a little, trying hard not to met his gaze.

"The blood-drinkers, blasphemers of God. The spawns of the Devil." He spoke those words as if they were poison. "Cruel beasts of the night that prey upon the unwary. Have you ever heard of such stories?"

"I do not know. Maybe I have heard of them, but then maybe I have not," she said, curling her lips into what she hoped to be her sincerest smile.

Old Marlowe replied her smile with a small laugh. It was evident that she had captured his heart with that simple act.

"Ah forgetful, are you not! Yet so young!" He marveled at the beautiful sight. "Do tell, my lady, how old are you?"

Remembering what her mother always answered to such question, she could not help but reply slyly.

"When a woman mentions her age..." she stopped, playing with Old Marlowe's curiosity, "...she loses that much youth from herself."

The old man was surprised. It was clear, as the creases on his forehead became more pronounced. Tongue-tied, his brows arched when Cynthia finally met his gaze.

"Well spoken, my lady!" He chuckled. "Truly, this is the first time I am rendered speechless since the day I was appointed as the head of my people."

She did not offer him any slightest gesture of answers. Instead she focused on the performance, distracting herself from the awkward conversation with the old man who did not hide his interest in her.

The many actors wearing robes were surrounding a young girl in the middle of the stage. An expression that could be defined as fear was immediately recognised. The girl cried with a hoarse voice for help, her eyes pleading. Her left hand was apparently mangled, a bloodied cloth was wound around it.

It seemed so real, as if it was no acting. The terror reflected by her face was so heart-achingly painful to watch.

A woman with red robe approached the girl, seizing her right arm harshly and forced her to her feet.

Another of those robed figures began chanting hauntingly. They stepped toward the girl and partially blocked the audience's view as the red-robed woman kissed the girl's neck.

A scream echoed in the teather as the woman sank her teeth into the girl jugular vein. She convulsed, writhing in agony as she was violated by the creature Old Marlowe called 'cruel beast of the night'.

The dark robes obscured the people's view of the gruesome sight, but as Cynthia was seated at different height from the normal seats, she witnessed what she would remember as one of the most terrifying scene in her life.

The young girl went limp after a while. The thump of her body against the floor was the thunder that striked fear at Cynthia's heart.

"Magnificent, is it not? The greatest performance I have even seen, do you agree?" Old Marlowe said, muffled by the sound of claps that followed.

She just nodded weakly, shaken by the play she had just witnessed.

The curtain fell, seperating the crowd with the actors. To her relief, the young girl rose unharmed.

"My lady? You do not look well."

Finally she was able to breathe deeply. She exhaled as quietly as she could but still she could hear wheezing.

"Sir Marlowe -- " she began.

"Please, Francis will do just fine," he tipped his hat a little.

"Sir Marlowe," she insisted. "why do you think I am of a noble family?"

A puzzled look was cast from the old man to her. For the first time she saw a different reaction from him.

"I am afraid that I do not understand your question," he blinked a couple of times. "Such fair complexion, a fine mannerism and a lovely dress..." he said in a low monotone, stopping to sniff at the air, "...and such captivating fragrance. Are those not evidence of aristocracy?"

"I am not of noble blood. I am no aristocrat. Forgive me, but I am just the daughter of a farmer. A mere commoner, just like all of those people," she pointed at the audience.

"My lady--"

"Cynthia," she interrupted. "I am most comfortable being called by the name my mother had given to me," she said with a voice lacking warmth.

A giggle uncomfortably drifted from nowhere...

POUR ETRE SANS VOUS [the lonely voices]

I am repeating your magnificent melodies.

Melodies that were born from the purest maiden's heart.

A symbol for the aesthetic silent parting that you have let me to agonise on.

As the melody flows, I have experienced different emotions at the same time.

I am happy. Happy that I have declared myself as your devout follower. Happy that before you go you have achieved what you had wanted to do. Happy that you have left your legacy for me to carry forever in my heart.

I am sad. Sad that I won't be able to bear witness to your next metamorphosis, my dearest, elegant flower. Sad that I won't be able to watch your beautiful grace anymore. Sad that I cannot even summon any tears because I have cried them dry during the last year's ceremony of your ascendation to a lovely butterfly that you will always be now.

I am confused. Confused that I do not know what to do as the melodies have robbed me of my will. Confused that I have not even opted to gather myself to become such a great person like you. Confused that I am unable to cease the stirring feeling in my chest.

I am unable to stop the melodies. They keep on resounding inside of my hollowed self. They fill the deep empty space that you had left.

I knew, it is only temporary. Soon they will shatter away cruelly, leaving behind a trail of melancholy that will taint my subconsiousness for quite some time.

A living memorial has been born while I cast away my guilt and fears. It will reminisce a beautiful person who had changed many with his play.

He unintentionally left behind a whip of roses named SORROW. It binds itself to the people who loved him the most, cutting deep into their flesh with the thorns and mesmerise them with the scent of the heavens.

I await my time to meet you silently in my resting place
I ask my children to place the lid and be silent

Sweet is sleep to me and even more to be of stone,
while the wrong and shame endure,
To be without sight and or sense is a most happy change for me,
Therefore do not rouse me
Hush! Speak low...

Flawless Eternal Pit [Puits éternel parfait]

I find her quite endearing.

Such smile. Such gaze. Such movement. An aesthetic unnatural grace.

I am afraid I will lose control.

She is like my forbidden fruit.

Love is my serpent.

To be banished is the punishment.

While I cannot even touch her hands,

While I cannot even hear her voice,

While I cannot even smell her fragrance,

I dare to say her skin will be warm.

I dare to say her voice will be pleasant.

I dare to say her scent will be unbearable.

Come to me, my dearest. Come closer.

I will stain the pure white dress with red.

I will sink my pride into your sinful neck.

I will draw you into darkness.

Your ugliness will be washed away.

Your weaknesses will be cast away.

Your beauty will trancend even the thrones of heaven.

Until the night come, my love. Sleep in my arms.

You will rise anew from the ashes of your previous life.

You will be reborn in my hands.

Jardin de Roses 「SECOND ACT: FESTIVAL DE LA SOIRÉE」

Cynthia made her way through the mass crowd of unfamiliar faces, carefully avoiding any direct eye contacts with anyone. She feared her own anxiety would grow if she did.

The small town was very lively. Every corner she could see huge groups huddling close to each other, talking and laughing and smiling. The women showed their jeweleries and dresses off while their children cried for attention. Men were drowned in their own world, each was clearly drunk with excitement and tiredness perhaps obtained from preparing for the festival.

A mellow music slowly drifted across the street. It had drawn many commoners into dancing with each other as it was very intoxicating. The sound of their shoes stepping onto the barren soil added a certain flavour to the already perfect blend of melody, making it even harder to resist.

The streets were decorated with sorts of long feathery fabrics that were pleasent to touch. Above their heads were hung the carved lanterns, each glowed with the orange colour of the sunset. Tufts of grasses lining the sides of the streets were crushed, perhaps by the feet of the dancing crowd.

Unevitably Cynthia's anxiety did grow, as she was not used to being in a place with huge crowds. She took in a deep breath but was interrupted by the mixed smells of different spices wafting from somewhere. She had to cover her nose to avoid chains of sneezing.

Far across the main administration builing of the town located at the end of the street was a huge space, occupied with many stalls. They were selling many souvenirs, ranging from masquerade masks, cheap jewelries, expensive umbrellas, to skins from alleged beastly wolves slaughtered by the town's champions. The owners of the stalls shouted with loud voices, trying garner much attention to sell their merchandices.

Located exactly in the middle of the stalls was a huge, white marble-tiled square. At the center of the square was a very magnificent pool of water, surrounded with grasses with the perfect green hue. Rose petals were scattered on the surface, dyeing the clear water slightly red. A huge fountain of water was built in the middle, a marvelous sight for a country woman who had spent most of her childhood at the farms.

Suddenly a gust of wind came, slapping her hard and blowing the light purple velvet scarf off her neck. Instinctively she made ao attempt to grap it off the air but as the wind lacked mercy, it blew the warming cloth to one end of the square where childrens played.

She feared of its safely, as she had grown quite attached to it. She hurried her pace, determined to snatch the scarf off the ground before it would be stepped upon. It had not dawned to her that the long overflowing skirt of her dress was inhibiting her strides, only realising it when she stepped on it.

She managed to soften her landing but still, the impact brought pain to her. She could taste blood, she must had accidentally bitten her lips. The coppery flavor of the constituent of living twisted her stomach.

A pair of hands grabbed her shoulders and helped her stand. It was sudden, she did not even knew who that was. She was too embarrased to look at the person's face.

The hands were quickly withdrawn. It was almost as if they had touched something that hurt them. The person hastily stepped back, something she interpreted correctly as fear, deeply surprising her. She raised her head, now fully aware that everyone were staring at her.

This continued for a couple of moments. The crowds had winded down, the music died and the people stopped moving. They all stared at the beautiful stranger that had tints of blush on both her cheeks, the stranger whose face had been saved from the dirty floor, the stranger that was unable to return all the starings; instead looking down shyly.

An old man dressed in black formal clothes stepped out. A short, thin figure, he appeared taller because of the top hat. The ebony walking stick he clutched tapped slowly to the rhythm of his steps. He slowly approached the stranger that stood before his people.

"I offer my sincerest apology, my lady," he spoke with a voice that reflected years of collective wisdom, "I had not receive the words that you would come to our humble settlement."

Cynthia was flabbergasted. She couldn't find the right words to reply with. Why had the old man spoke to her in such polite tone? She stared hard at the short figure in front of her.

He bowed slightly, tipping his hat a little. "I am the head of this fine town, Francis Marlowe." He gestured at one of the townspeople behind him. "I believe this belongs to you."

The townspeople, a young woman, came closer. In her hands was the light purple velvet scarf. She held it out for Cynthia.

"Thank you," Cynthia said, trying to smile. "I really appreciate it."

"Now, have you any interest in joining us this evening for this annual festival?" He offered his hand. "If so, I shall be your guide."

Jardin de Roses 「FIRST ACT: THE LETTER」

"I will be there."

The letter ended with those simple words, written in black ink with a reddish hue.

She folded the paper back into its envelope, taking care not to mess the edges when she inserted it.

She knew the letter was not meant for her, as she just moved into the village two days ago and just spent the first two hours in her new home when the gentleman delivered it.

The intricately designed envelope had melted her conscience. She couldn't subdue the temptation to read it.

She touched the golden lines adorning the seal of the envelope. The sender must be from a noble family, she thought. No mere peasent can afford to use gold in such wasteful way, as normally the envelope will be discarded away after the letter it carried was read.

Intrigued by its beauty, again she slid the letter out and carefully unfold it.

The handwriting was very neat, unlike her more crude one. It was arranged in the loveliest perfection that it appeared to be written by no man's hand. She even compared it to her educated mother's writing, to which she admitted it completely outshined.

Most of the contents were written in a foreign language she couldn't understand, but the last portion detailed a location in English with such precise accuracy. Although she hadn't been there, she could already imagine how that place would look like.

The crackling of the firewoods broke her concentration. Shivering, she crept closer to the fire, both for the heat and light as it was getting dark in the room.

I must return this to the sender, she finally said to herself after a moment of thinking.

Hastily she made her way to her neatly stacked, folded clothes. She grabbed the warmest, most comfortable dress she could find and quickly put it on. A velvet light purple scarf caught her attention, hung across the bedroom, perhaps being left by its previous owner. She grabbed it as well, wrapping it around her naked neck because she had a feeling the night would be a bitterly cold one.

The freezing wind greeted her, kissing her bare cheeks when she stepped outside.

I would require some assistance from the local people if I am to make it to the place before nightfall, she thought.

The sun was slowly disappearing from the deep azure sky, casting a golden red light on the trees surrounding her new home. It gave her the impression of a burning forest.

With a determined heart to help returning the letter, lady Cynthia made her way to the location scribbled on the letter.