Note: Rene Magritte did a
painting titled The Great War, where a bride's face was obscured by flowers.
Basically, the title of this fiction is a painting, not the title of the
painting.
The cape of storms… echoes the way I feel inside
X-ray.
Recently, because
of the accident I'd had some time ago, I had to go for some check up.
It came suddenly.
The pain, that is. It was so painful that I could hardly walk straight,
and the next thing I had to do was sit down, rubbing my spine and cursing
whatever deity it is a semi-agnostic believes/doesn't believe, delete whichever
is inapplicable, in.
At that point of
time, I actually contemplated going Christian, but it was just a thought.
A year ago there
hadn't been quite as many Christian evangelists in Tokyo. I'd tuned in
to a Christian radio station, and tuned out, feeling nothing. Numb, perhaps,
if that is a feeling.
We did some X-ray;
I stood on the front, side, and another side facing the radiator. Hooked
up, line, sinker, and me. I had been slightly younger when I did X-ray,
except I was in too much pain back then because of the accident to notice
anything. Then the pain wasn't quite so bad, so I made it a point to psycho
them into making one of my skull and another of my hand.
"Wouldn't the ring
deflect off some of the rays?" I ask, actually genuinely interested.
"It will, which is
why you could see it." The westerner said matter-of-factly, as if I was
a kid.
After that I did
some research. The Internet is quite amazing, since I was in England at
that point in time, and my lack of English was too skewed to grasp even
the irony of my ring. I was trying to absorb as much as I could; Lynn talked
to me in broken Japanese and I to her in broken English, which was fine
for me. I figured that if she couldn't speak Japanese as well as I could
speak English, then it had to be okay.
I knew I had to name
my album something, but I couldn't figure what.
Sometimes, taking
a stroll in Britain's tame wildlife releases stress. I'd read Dracula,
well, the kid version. It was a feat for me to be able to understand that.
Lynn was a professor of comparative literature and had travelled around
the world; she knew French and German as well. I wished I could measure
up to her by half.
You know when you're
of a certain intelligence and when somebody's of a higher intelligence
than you are. Lynn was of that sort, and her intelligence was definitely
higher than mine. Amazingly, of course, since my intelligence is generally
higher than many people's, which explains why people think I act like I
have something stuck up mine half the time. Which, I don't mind saying,
I agree; I am arrogant.
Arrogant as a cat.
Cats think they're
superhuman. It's the kittens that are cute.
Tetchan, I will not
lose to him. He is a kitten, and he is cute. But he says, he has lost his
way. Good for him.
Especially since
I can't find mine.
When Lynn first stared
into my eyes, both of us gave each other the look. Dang, you're gay. It
takes one to know another without cringing and yelling and going on a witchhunt;
the kind of stuff people do when they see Dracula. Or Frankie. Or Hyde.
Pick one. (Heh, I like the last one.)
We managed to discuss,
god knows how we did it if he exists, the idea of doppelgangers. I could
probably seem less stupid if I was able to be fully understood in Japanese,
but then again, we needed somebody whose English was better than their
Japanese to do the English translations. Lynn thought on similar wavelengths
as I did. I probably would have had a crush on her if she was straight
and not, physically, wider than I was. I like slender things. She spoke
to me about Cabbalah, paganism… And to think I was only caught up with
Christianity.
But I couldn't help
it. Christianity was the rage. You could tell by just the number of converts
in Tokyo alone.
And Christians, I
heard, were usually hypocrites who liked to see homosexuality as some sort
of demons possession. They were able to find excuses of all sorts, and
attribute it to the Devil. Almost as bad as the stuff with monks, really.
I wasn't sure of
what denomination the Brits usually were, but then again, I didn't quite
care. I didn't get stared at quite as much, although I was mistaken for
a girl once, and the poor lady seemed slightly unnerved.
Lynn laughed when
she heard about why I chose the name Hyde. I liked her, you can tell. It's
not often that I get to talk to people more intelligent than I am. More
often than not, even if they were of the same wavelength, they were slightly
dumber, like dogs. Maybe my affection is like a cat, the master of the
house, scoffing away at the human's sub-intelligence.
But, sub-intelligent
as these people are, and arcane as my ability is, I suppose… I would like
to express myself.
Not because they
are worthy. Usually I try not to be as confused as a normal sod; I keep
a clear mind. So I reckon I can actually be as truthful as I want to, naa?
That is, if you could call it the truth, since I am not sure if my Truth
can be called an ultimate truth. But it's true, nonetheless; it's my truth.
Because, you see,
that is what I've been doing all along. I don't know if I liked it. Nobody
likes breathing, or being able to feel. It's just that it's the lesser
evil compared to being suffocated.
So… I was watching
the British H'Arlequinade at one point of time.
Poor sod, the Pierrot.
Often depicted as
a clown in white, that is the Pierrot. He longs and wants, and loves the
Columbine unsuccessfully. Whenever Harlequin performs a trick, he is the
only one who gets caught for it.
Many an anti-hero
would definitely relate.
Outside, it snowed,
a thousand flakes flittering in the air.
If it was Tetchan,
I wonder…?
The next day, when
I awoke from my lodging, I saw a whole world of white waiting for me. It
had grown colder at night, but I was fast asleep. I'd even had a bad dream.
Pierrot is a clown
in white, while the Columbine is a Juene Fille. If I'm not wrong, the poor
sods that were the British Romantics couldn't get a girl if they wanted
to. At least, according to William Blake, Cupid is a lady… Can't remember
it. Not really. Something about the female shooting arrows with their sparkly
eyes, pardon me for the flippant tone. The male longs and pines, his heart
pierced, his time spent on picking out the darts.
White makes me nostalgic,
sometimes. Nostalgic about the times when love didn't quite hurt.
When I dress myself
in white, I become one with the surroundings. I thought coloured contacts
were flashy; most of them belong to the genre of been-there-done-that.
As for why I chose grey? Because you see, it's not a colour. I asked for
grey; I got grey. If I asked for blue I'd probably have gotten some near-shade
of grey. Red hadn't been a problem; I could see red. But it was done and
over with.
Which explains why
I saw Tetchan.
In a world of grey.
A long story, actually.
Sakura joined L'Arc,
in a blitz. I joined Tetchan, in a blitz, except that the blitz came about
after several months of bugging.
It takes one to know
one, like I said. Before that I'd never engaged in any homosexual activities.
Sure, I'd thought of it, but I freaked out when any guy tried to touch
me. It was almost a natural reaction, and that wasn't because of the caffeine.
I don't know who was
left the Pierrot. I suppose all of us poor little ants on anthills are,
in a way. But, why is the Pierrot white?
I did some research
on the Pierrot; as far as my mind goes it is a white-faced clown, slightly
more serious than your regular Bozo. Clowning about is actually a serious
business, heh.
I saw green pretty
well. Green and red, complimentary colours, over-used by Gauguin and a
great many idiots who got broke halfway. I attempted to paint when I went
to England. I say attempted, because I was only trained with graphic art,
not fine art. I was supposed to come out doing design, not Davinci.
But, at that time,
it was a world of white. White inside and out, the world echoing with a
Pierrot's heart. Can anybody see the despair in the way the sunlight reflects
off everything, so that it's almost impossible not to blink (aside from
the wintry wind, that is)?
Can anybody see it
the way I do?
I wandered off with
my bodyguard. When we were a few streets away from my residence, the pain
struck.
I tried to grasp
something with my left hand, but it faltered. On my right side, my bodyguard
held me up, and Lynn, as a friend, brought me to the hospital. I was rather
pissed when they decided to call my agent when I was taking the X-ray,
but at least I was able to bullshit about using X-ray as an album concept.
Anyway, I haven't
been painting for a long time.
I suppose another
reason the Pierrot is white is because he's innocent. The poor sod doesn't
know the world the same way as the Harlequin does, which is why he's always
being caught for everything wrong.
I bought a book on
flowers, because I had decided to paint flowers. Why, do you ask me?
Flowers are delicate.
They are also generally deemed feminine, and ephemeral. They are nature's
colours.
Imagine seeing red
anemone in this white landscape. Could you understand, then, why I have
chosen to paint flowers?
Can nobody understand
me, if I use indirect speech? Even if it is indeed a monologue?
Lynn would. Sakura
would. And I would, if I took the time to pause.
But I cannot pause.
There are too many things to do. Lyrics to write, flowers to paint. These
are beautiful imageries, but only as beautiful as despair would allow.
Because without despair
there cannot be hope.
I remember… Too much.
Remember the accident
I told you about? My left arm was injured, and ever since then, I can't
carry heavy things with it. I thought, even, that I was going to die. I
didn't think about how much I wanted to live, I suppose. Or did I? I don't
know. The next thing I knew was that I was alive, and I was breathing.
I wasn't exactly pleased, but at least I knew where I was.
I remember… Too much.
The smell of blood,
for instance. The colour that is red.
I remember. Too much.
I had been a kid,
really. I didn't know much, but I believed in the power of dreams. Once
I dreamt that I was in class when somebody jumped up, and yelled my name.
When I woke up, I'd immediately forgotten about it, but when it did happen,
it felt as if space had crossed, as did time. Just as I was being beaten
up, I was, in fact, thinking about the split second when the guy'd just
jumped up in class…
A long time before
I met him, I dreamt of a forest, a dark ethereal forest that seemed to
glow with its own life. A girl with short hair stood there; she was a girl,
and I was a girl, too. In that dream, I loved her. I dreamt that I lifted
her skirt and stuck my finger in her, but the sad look on her face never
left my memory even as I woke up. It wasn't quite so much as her face;
it was, rather, the essence of her melancholy.
When I did meet him,
I saw, to my surprise, her from the dream.
I must clarify; I'd
had crushes on girls before, and I thought it was love. But I never knew
what love was, until I met him.
I loved him just
as he was. We were both silly Goths back then, thinking that Goth and Hard
rock meant black makeup and hard music. I loved him because he was a him,
not because he was a guy or a girl.
But I suppose it
is in my nature… The uncanny, that is, of sexuality.
Osaka, small rock
circle, that usual kind of thing. I was living with a friend who lived
near him, and we were playing at the same livehouse.
I never forgot the
world back then. The world was white, and his aura was autumn. I'd never
really felt it, until I saw him; it was then that seasons bore meanings
for me. Seasons used to mean soccer and baseball before that.
He called me. Frankly,
although he was too shy to admit, it seemed like he bugged me to join his
band only because he was interested to know me as a person, except at that
time I hadn't thought about it. I was just talking to him and falling in
love. We walked in the luxuriant park, which would seem stale by England's
standards, and we were, with each moment, falling in love.
It wasn't the kind
of romantic soap opera where two people's eyes meet and zing, they're in
love. Oh no, I am too cynical for that.
How do I explain
it? You almost feel it, when you know an angel has descended. It's in your
blood. Loving is a natural thing, and so is being loved.
It was only much
later, such as now, that I thought about it. Tetchan's a really shy person;
he doesn't have many friends. Sure, he has many fRiEnDs, but he doesn't
have many friends. Talking to him was like trying to push inside delicate
buds with my fingertips. The only excuse he could have used to bug me was
music. Hah. Pathetic thing, Tetchan.
So adorable, too.
At this point in
time I would like to assert that I am not crying.
I mean… He was just
another person. He was a beautiful person, from the inside. I could understand
his words, his ardent belief in God—not that, he clarified, his kind of
God would really discriminate against nonbelievers—I could almost touch
his heart and feel it with my soul.
This is the kind
of beauty, I mean. Not those commercial beauties that girls mostly are,
and not that kind of handsome that usually buy these commercial beauties.
He was unique. Almost
like a flower in winter.
It didn't take long
for us to admit our feelings. We were impulsive people. He was, as much
as I am cynical, a romantic. And I knew myself too well to be able to lie.
A perfect combination, but a deadly one.
I heard from Tetchan
that Yukki said that J said that Kohta said that Aiji…
There was a legend
about Aiji and Kirito, quite accurately. About their (ahem) gaiety. And
a couple of people with identity crisis, hide for one. Not that that many
of them are gay or bisexual, but it's just about as many as you can get.
Saturated, in fact, compared to the rest of Japan's conservative semi homophobic
population.
I suppose you'd be
disappointed to hear that nothing much happened to me. No incest, no nothing.
Well, I was almost raped, but the poor sod touched me in the wrong place
when I was in the wrong mood. He knew Judo, but he was the sort who, seemed
to me, had the green belt and apparently thought he was the greatest in
all of Japan. Not a very smart dude, if you asked me. (By the way, sorry
to say, me, weak? Surely you jest.)
Overall I didn't
like guys much. Girls were sweet and demure, in their own way.
And then there were
the sort whom, if they got drunk or high enough, wouldn't care about the
closet. Closet? What closet? Never heard of the damn thing.
Sakura was one of
them.
Thankfully, Ken wasn't.
Tetchan's ass wouldn't
have been able to take it, nope, I don't think. Unlike many people's fantasies,
too, I don't use my ass much for these purposes (poor Tetchan, always taking
the brunt, literally, of it all).
But Ken was crazy
enough to join in the fun. He liked it because he thought it was cool.
Isn't this sexy, huh, Hide-kun, huh, huh, huh? Look, this makeup, it's
excellent! It's exactly the sort of thing to go for, I'm sick of the hierarchy
thing, see, guys wear make-up in Kabuki, so why can't we wear this sort
of make-up anywhere else?
Sakura, on the other
hand, wasn't really suited for makeup.
And Tetchan, at one
point of time, would have refused to go anywhere without makeup and at
least a girlish top. He was that sort of person.
And, I was in love
with Tetchan.
But Sakura was there.
He didn't dress himself up petals after petals. He'd gone through real
shit, although his family was rather good and his parents loved him to
death, almost like mine. He said he hated his elder sister, although he
seemed pretty fond of her when she wasn't bullying him. Compared to what
Tetsu had been through, though, his shit was cushy.
I suppose mine as
well.
But Tetchan was strong.
The only way he could be strong was to be like Yoshiki. There were plenty
of rumours about X Japan, and we were trying to go their route, except
we weren't quite as rich as Yoshiki was. Tetchan's strength was, in a way,
dressing himself up in petals, as if they were armour.
Do you understand
why flowers?
Because Sakura was
white, and I was white. But Tetchan, he was a brilliant rainbow blazed
across the sky, dozens of flowers blooming in winter.
I remember too much.
In fact, enough to render tears.
But those tears weren't
mine, and anyway, I no longer have the time to cry.
Probably I would
pause to cry, and moan only if I don't have to paint that stuff later.
Later, I'm going
to paint a lily, and barbed wire.
The whole angel and
demon thing, I suppose, could be explained in a blitz.
Suppose I was the
devil. Suppose my beloved was an angel.
Which explains, really,
why the recipient of the songs always has to be innocent and pure.
Because he is, despite
all that he's been through.
Not that Tetchan
was the Harlequin or the Columbine, mind you. And I wasn't as stupid as
the Pierrot, which is why I ended up hurting Tetsu.
Sakura, perhaps,
but he was… defiant. He wasn't strong; he was just defiant. He was like
a cockroach, or water-lily, if you really must. Oh, so this is
murky waters, huh? Well, I'll show you. So the dinosaurs are gonna die,
huh? I'll live and give you headaches even when you have insect repellents.
If you must,
Tetchan was the Juene Fille. Columbine and Pierrot of sorts, I guess. And
me? An anti-hero? Personification of Harlequin x Pierrot crossover? Pathetic
old me?
What about Sakura?
Another anti-hero?
Are we really all
doomed?
If I must be an anti-hero,
I shall reveal all that is deemed to be blasphemies, yes?
Suppose I lived in
this world. What could come out of it?
I am Hyde. I am the
uncanny. I am what you would not like to see that which is close to you
as yourself, but in truth, I am there.
It is not everyday
that someone knows what this world is made of.
Which is why I got
along with Lynn. And why I got along so well with Sakura.
We were the same
thing. We were, to some extent, doppelgangers of each other. And because
we were part of the darkness, we didn't reject each other. We didn't reject
light as well; we just saw it a bit more cynically.
Tetchan had his own
ideals. He was, like I said, a beautiful person.
Often he would hole
up, bury his head in his knees, and sleep. But I chose to stay awake, because
I didn't want to miss anything. He told me, "If you sleep on the bus, you'll
find that the journey is a lot shorter."
That's a kid's mentality.
So, I stayed awake
and played poker with Ken and Sakura.
Tetchan always answered
in riddles, almost like the clown. I usually answered directly, because
I didn't care anymore what the world thought. Besides, my truth was often
misleading to people who didn't know better, and boy, the entire world's
full of idiots. They usually take things at face value without much consideration.
As for why England…?
Because, in 1997,
we went there. It was… A sort of a beautiful memory.
You know the way
a flower brings hope of colours?
It was the only time
when I was allowed to love him directly.
Especially after
we went major… Years; painful years, in fact. And only months of happiness
scattered along.
Tetchan had his own
ideals, but his ideals were different from mine. Too often he hid himself
behind the armour of petals; too often his tears were wept only in the
darkest nights.
Soon enough even
I could not see his tears. He didn't allow me—
But he was such a
pure, demure person. He didn't want to bring harm to anyone, so he decided
to quietly sidle off to a corner, while I attempted all means to hurt him,
to see what I could bring out of him.
Enchant him? I could
enchant anyone.
But only he could
enchant me.
Now you see why I
only feel despair even in hopes. There were times when I felt stupid, such
as when I was happy. That was actually okay… Like the high of a crush,
for example. Crushes don't take you down; they lift you high up. Like drugs.
Love, on the other
hand…
"Why a tulip, Hacchan?"
Tetchan had asked me in 1996. I no longer remember which part; I usually
remember the year, because I keep a sort of a journal.
"Why a rose, Tetchan?"
Usually, I didn't
reveal my thoughts about Tetchan. There's nothing to say. I knew I could
enchant him, but to let him know that I loved him would be letting my game
go flop.
Not even to him,
I suppose. When Sakura left, I had an excuse. I had an excuse to hold him.
He wanted to comfort me, but really, he didn't know what really hurt me
in the first place…
I love my buddy and
I have a crush on my wife.
Does that sound like
something a person of my age would say?
What a laugh. What
a big, fat…
Back when we confessed,
I knew you loved me even before you opened your mouth. So sweet and pink,
and as lovely as the white fragile form that I defiled.
Sometimes, I remember
the smell of blood too well. When I thought I was almost going to die,
I saw you in a distance.
I would have sworn
that it was the only reason I lived on. But now that I think of it, it
is simply because death is too bleak without you. But it wouldn't matter,
really. If I lived, or died… There is no reason for us to live, even if
all of your blood pooled as my tears, and we sang till we went dumb.
If nothing is meant
to come out of the only thing that makes me want to live, then, why?
I don't have the
answer, mind you. I doubt I'll ever have the answer, because I have only
loved once in my entire life.
…I suppose, perhaps,
I could be called a romantic, albeit in a really cynical sense, especially
when I have to tie it in with existentialism…
Why, do you reckon,
am I speaking in riddles? Can't you tell?
Because I'd said
too much in my songs. Do you really want me to tell you?
I am the doppelganger,
remember? I suppose my lines should go something along the lines of:
Succumb! Do you not see the promises of wealth, glory and forbidden arcane
knowledge? Why not be the next Prometheus? Come along! And share with me
the arcane fruit of wisdom!
Unfortunately, there
is no such thing as arcane wisdom. This I know too well. And what is there,
I wonder? There are tricks of the industry. Tricks to earn money, et cetera.
I have nothing against that.
When Gackt came to
talk to me, I knew it already. He's gay. As gay as a sunflower. Which,
as it was, what Tetchan once was. But that guy's hardcore, while I prefer
to be myself.
An incentive: In
the movie, I could be 19. So I agreed.
Tetchan…
In the movie, perhaps,
when I was 19, Tetchan would still be the premature bud that he was, without
the incandescently redundant petals in the way, would it?
That's why you're
a flower, Tetchan. A flower of sorts. A tulip, because of the petals; a
lily, because of the purity; an anemone, because you are forever the goal
that I will not reach.
I know why I'm a
rose, Tetchan. Because I have thorns, and you were afraid.
But, Tetchan, did
you know that thorns could cry? Thorns cry with the blood of their beloved.
Thorns echo the beauty of their beloved's voice, if that is the only way
to echo…
Why do I talk in riddles
now?
Tell me, then, why
do you wrap yourself in petals, only to reveal yourself to people who didn't
know you? Sure, there was the record label thing, and all that commercial
shit. You probably think I'm a spoilt brat who hasn't been through as much
shit as you have all because the genes decided to give me my face, naa?
This, I don't mind.
It's the truth, after all. But… Why wouldn't you show me your true self,
even now?
I know why, I think.
You're a lost little kitten.
And I am a cat.
We own the masses;
we own our masters. We own all that we want, except each other.
Love comes so naturally…
But there are just too many petals separating the bud from my fingers.
Back when we confessed,
I knew you loved me even before you opened your mouth. So sweet and pink,
and as lovely as the white fragile form that I defiled.
Sometimes, I remember
the smell of blood too well. When I thought I was almost going to die,
I saw you in a distance.
That was the exact
moment when I came alive.
I might be a romantic,
after all.
It is a lovely combination.
Perfect, in fact, but deadly.
Haruka na aozora
Haruka na anata wo
Kokoro wa wasurenai
I'll remember, remember
you
I'll remember staying
close to you
Sunday, 26 January 2003 10:59:39
PM
Afternote:
1) There is
a reason why I refuse to single out each song. Technically, though, the
essence of each song, especially A Drop Of Colour, Evergreen and the ever
existential Cape Of Storm and TS Eliot New Days Dawn are embedded within
this fiction. The point is that if I did it would sound… (Hah…) Lame.
2) The accident did
occur, but I don't remember which year. I think it is around Heart period.
Also, I have no idea who the hell Lynn Hobday is, so basically the character
of Lynn is made up in this fiction.
3) There are hints
given here with regards to Suite November, but only at the end.
But I have a hunch that unlike Hyde's perception of Tetsu as a romantic,
Tetchan feels sorta discouraged with regards to Gnosticism, ie: he shares
the same perception of God and fate as Hyde, just that Hyde's slightly
more cynical and Tetchan's more resigned (but willing to hang on to teeny
weeny hope against all odds. Yessirree, that's Tetchan). Which means that
Tetchan is a romantic, yes, but just more dejected than Hyde thinks he
is.
4) Memories are not
organised like fiction usually is. Thank god for the structure of no structure.
5) Sakura's presence
is ambiguous, but note that he is put on par with Lynn.