I'm not sure why, but I decided to lay it out in front of me so I can be certain of what I want to do.

Any of these fit you all? Or something else you want to do? Anyway.

1. Write a book entirely in poetry format (personally Japanese poetry)

2. Write a dystopian (maybe everything I want to write is dystopian in a way...)

3. Write about twins (lots of ideas one can come up with for that)

4. Write something that would work when adapted into a video game (well, it is me we're talking about...)

5. Write an autobiographical novel (whether it'd sell is beside the point)

6. Write a story around solely our time in school (when you're the only one that remembers things, it makes you question your memory and sanity)

7. Write a collaborative title (perhaps as a way to alleviate the control freak?)

8. Write something that jumps genres (to not run out of ideas)

But the underlying ambitions is simply...

* Write something that will be called a modern classic.

              A good portion of this story bases itself on kendo and Japanese culture in general: I added links that explain a couple of foreign terms. Hopefully this makes it a little easier to read...so, enjoy, if it's enjoyable.

              The final minute was approaching. The hands were straining, ready to burst out viscous fire as crimson as the ribbon tied to my back. Under the blue, padded kote gloves they went raw even more; the wooden calluses were ready to break under, but my grip on the shinai handle stayed loose enough to be firm. My feet were strained, the left calf already convulsing from electric collapse, but it failed to break down, praying that the minute will pass.

              It was then that the opponent, out of stress and the survival instinct to free oneself from a corner, pounced sharply with a step that left a bass resonance in the court. His bamboo sword swung hellward for the left wrist – so brief an arc that the strike may have been a hellward thrust – but my pleading right arm took itself down to receive the slash, and my shinai drew a quarter moon back to his head. Incomplete, but I ran into him, pushed him back into the court corner and I found myself on the opposite end, only my soul-deep bellow and a cacophonic echo telling what had happened to the enemy’s side.

              The red flag rose.

              “Dou-ari! Shoubu-ari.”

              The match was over, and for the first time victory had descended…no, I had ascended to the realm of victory – the end ceremony will bring before me the trophy of first place.

              Super Lumpia, Whale, Absurd, The Sisters, Bone Daddy, Princess. The whole crowd of my friends managed to appear for the first time they see me in action.

              I bowed out of court, hustled to my opponent with my erupted soles and electric muscles, then took his rocky hand and said “good game.” My hand was fossilized in form and could not stretch or fist up; the curse of discipline is blood wood. I staggered with lifeless limbs back to the edge of the gym, undid the aged armor and finally breathed a peaceful lungful of air. The duel mind subsided, and I saw my friends still clapping and smiling toward me. I meet a set of eyes at a time and lower my head courteously, but the last pair of eyes I met at the far right end…was an indescribable crucible of smoke, water and lush plains.

              Three feet’s space was too close a distance for me to look straight into Princess’s eyes. I froze.

              I was lost in those eyes. They were the same eyes I was allowed to be mesmerized by forever, the same eyes I now am forbidden to admire forever.

              I found my head against the floor then and there, a prideless bow.

              “Please give me one more chance!”

              The group grew silent. I had told everyone – except for Princess herself – that if I could seize the victory in this tournament – if I could earn first place for the first time in my life – I would ask for forgiveness and another chance to reignite the flame.

              She froze. Three second’s notice was too soon a timeframe for her to think straight toward my mind.

              “…no. I don’t know what you had in mind, but I’m not taking you back just like that.”

              My head still down, she walked away to her grandmother’s car and left the rest of us behind with the echo that her speech bubble Converse doesn’t leave behind – an echo of silence audible only to us.

              Everyone froze. A first time’s witness to a shot down dream was too harsh a moment for anyone to know how to react properly.

              My head still down, I could feel the glasses growing heavier. My eyes were shut hard, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t tell the glasses growing heavier from something unlike sweat or blood. After all, the shattered dream lost form and ran free from my eyes.

              Absurd was the first to burst the bubble, because he was the most passionate of the bunch when it came to keeping my dream alive, even if he wasn’t always sharp enough to always logically calm me.

              “I’m sorry. Just keep at it though, you’ll have more chances!”

              “He’s right, I’m sure you can still reach out to her,” remarked the middle Sister.

              “Don’t take it too hard, man. I mean, I’m sure you thought this would happen a bit, right? No big deal though, I know how important she is to you, so you can keep it up,” encouraged Whale as he stooped beside me to coax my face up.

              Super Lumpia picked from there, and said, “I know you don’t plan to just stop. I mean, we did go after the same girl before, yeah? You’re not giving her up that easily. And besides, when you’re ready to chase after her for the rest of your life, this little bit’s pretty puny, eh?”

              My head no longer down, beyond the soul-shaded eyes, beyond noticing the chronically chapped lips, I saw his left eye wink at me after lifting my spirits and my head.

              “Right…I-I guess I’d better brush up more for next time. Give me a sec, fellas, gotta change out of this stuff!” I rose up straight, yanked off my glasses and wiped my soul-laced eyes with my sleeve – which I regretted about four seconds later, as I pranced around complaining of burning eyes from salt. After being a fool for the greater half of a minute I headed to the changing room, but settled for a breather at the bench before the entrance.

              I sat there wondering. I’m lucky to have a fragment of our friendship still with us, but the piece grows ever smaller every time I try to hint at the bigger picture again. Is it really worth it, to risk the friendship of the girl I love most to take the step forward again, knowing that her trust in that is already in shambles?

              I sat there justifying. If the chance is there to provide her with happiness for the rest of her life, why not?

              I stood there, mind upright.

              In the distance, I could hear two voices...one asked why she didn't accept, and the other trying to legitimize herself. I didn't give it that much thought. All I know is that it's not over yet.

              I didn’t see the light of victory today, but someday I’m sure I can find it again.

I'm not noble enough to let you be happy with someone else. I'm sorry. But I can let you be. I'm fine admiring a flower from afar.

I'm never motivated enough to really slap down a long entry that often, if it isn't fiction. But, well, this all started with what I thought one day, that pulse above. I suggest you look at it once before you keep going.

For about a week before January 29, 2008, that's how I felt. I didn't make those words until a few days ago, but nevertheless, I realized that that must have been exactly how I felt; I had a circle of friends around me, the folks that always surrounded that old tree just out front from our high school, but those few days, it was just different.

A few days ago, reminiscing about what was then and what is now, I compared the two selves and found them very similar...they both have the person they want most near around them still, but yet still so lonely; they both know that they cannot just act on their impulse, because - even if for something that will be even more dear and cherishable - they are unwilling to sacrifice the friendship - chance - they have now...

But most of all, they...we...I...just love her.

In case you haven't noticed in my earlier posts (or you're new here), a good half of this blog's writings, rants and poems all share the same voice and purpose. I'm not the kind of person that starts blogging because I want a new hobby or because I have spare time.

After my misleading voice in the pulse though, I realized that I can't let any bit of my intentions be misunderstood if I really want to do anything. I attempted to reason that I expected my readers to understand the meaning behind my pulse through prior entries, but that's a crappy excuse, especially when the first impression (I admitted also, upon re-reading) was that of a stalker.

This was the reply I received...and I bowed in respect to her after reading it. Without her reply, I probably would have never understood the weight of my message from someone that doesn't know me. I could tell that she genuinely worried for the girl's safety, even if she doesn't know me or her.

So I'd like to take this chance to fully explain why I'm here at all in the first place.

I used to blog for a bit a few years ago on Xanga. I can't quite remember why I shut down the first site...but it was probably for a foolish reason. In any case, it was her that first introduced me to Xanga. It was sometime of my freshman year.

I started this blog on February 28, 2009. I'm sure you can tell, since it's displayed. If you read my poem for CCW Week 169, you can tell that it happened on the 27th. The blog opened up as a way to let "heartbreak," "denial" and "suicidal thoughts" out before they ate me alive.

They almost did several times regardless. But I digress.

Here's the reply to clarify my position from one as a stalker:

In short, the line in the pulse was not so much a literal situation as it was a figurative expression of my attitudes toward her. I'll take this opportunity to say that I read that myself and I do acknowledge (along with a friend who sees both my and her side of the story) that there was a stalking image.

First and foremost, she's my ex. Before that was the case, we were the first friend to each other in high school, and subsequently best friends before I did gather the courage to admit feelings for her rather than admire from afar (as I did for a year). I had a minor problem regarding school that I didn't take care of, and eventually the problem grew exponentially and ate me whole; during this phase I was increasingly suicidal and callous. After a while this subsided, but the same pattern resurfaced, and after a year into the relationship she cut it because it was too much. I can't blame her for this, but either way I was even more serious to commit suicide.

My fault entirely. Whatever I could do to win her heart again, I would.

This blog itself was started the day after we split, as an effort for me to write out sorrow and alleviate my urge to kill myself. I understand that I probably make myself sound like the victim in this ordeal; I don't mean this in any way, but at the very least I'm grateful that I am still alive after all the attempts.

February 27, February 28, 2009.

I still had her as a friend, but since I was still stuck in the mindset, I continued to write rants about my feelings and dark poetry - often including suicide and torture as the focus. To everyone except my family, I tried my best to wear a mask of a normal self to hide. It was only recently, after starting college, (as well as confessing my thoughts to one of her closest friends) that I started to turn around my thinking. I didn't "move on" in the sense that some of my less-acquainted friends told me to do, but rather, I decided to see if I could redeem myself, and eventually, revive the ties.

Being in the position of thinking about her without having the privilege of telling it to her again, I saw several parallels between how I think in my mind our state now and how I was before everything started. The pulse was my way of reminiscing how I was, and drawing parallels to my state of mind.

She's not mine anymore, I understand. But that doesn't mean I can just forget all the promises and dreams we had between the two of us. I started getting back up on my feet and attending college pursuing the (im)possible dream of creating the future we had envisioned - the only true picture of a future I ever had.

I was never serious before when it came to thinking about my future; I had the bleak image of being a teacher, but nothing else. Only when we started asking each other questions about life and marriage did I start to consider how life would be...and the picture I saw of a future living with her was the first and only clear one I ever had.

Everything's still clear, I haven't forgotten a day that was memorable, nor have I forgotten any detail we shared about living together...

That eventually we could get an apartment together, and live with nothing but a mattress if we had to.

That we would stay in the area so she could stay in touch with her family readily, because she has strong ties to both sides of her family.

That we would save each other for when we marry, just for our own reasons, without religious reasoning.

That we would take turns with the cooking, because we mutually agreed that neither one of us alone could fend for the two of us all the time.

That if she was wanting to work, I'd gladly be in charge of the house for her.

That we would have three children, as she always thought of: one boy and two girls, with one of the girls named Pearl (to be named after the sister of her grandmother on her dad's side).

That she would be the only princess in my life, even when the little ones were born.

I just want to go after the only vision of happiness I ever had. We are friends still, but eventually I want to try going further again. I don't, have not, and never will do anything that would make her uncomfortable, including stalking...and if it's clear that what I'm trying to do will forfeit her happiness, I will immediately stop.

I used to be able to make her happy. All I want to know is if I still can.

Because time nor distance will ever make me forget that she is the one most treasured person in my heart, forever.

That's why, even if it started out as a stupid inside joke, I collect dimes to this day. Because I vowed that whatever the results may be, I will collect dimes - just dimes - and I will save up to buy an engagement ring...even if it takes years, even if I can never accomplish it.

I hope you understand...before anything, she was my best friend, and I wouldn't do anything to make her life any more difficult.

nazo

......that's the message.

I'm a bit embarrassed to post this, seeing that she has a Xanga account herself and that she knows I do also as well as my account...but, it's here.

One last thing, the lyrics to a short song I made with her in mind...

Through my life I won't forget that Monday
That was the first day I stayed away
The next day was our fateful, special Tuesday
And even on that day, I was at bay
But a few minutes later
Well maybe it was a few months later
That a dear friendship of two years came to an end
And in its place a stronger bond would descend

We were gonna raise a pearl
And then another boy and girl
I promise never again will my blues cause you distress
'Cause you're still my princess

I promise you'll look best beside me in a white dress...
You're always my princess...

That's why I'm here.

nazo

No.

Daiki