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sevenswellsTitle: Hoshi no Suna
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sevenswells
Rating: PG 13
(One True) Pairing: Gackt/Miyavi
Warnings: Not safe for work, yaoi, angst, alternate universe.
Word Count: 968 w.
Comments: Dedicated tokamexkame, most perfect beta and friend ever. Thank you deeply, my dear.
Still one chapter to go before it all ends. I'm being very emotional about it, aren't I?
One day as we were practising side by side, I asked Chacha, after one of his spectacular riffs, what his secret for being that good was. I wasn't particularly awaiting an answer, but he paused to think and replied:
-Imperfection.
My face might have borne some kind of quizzical expression at this point, because he went on, brandishing his guitar at arm's length:
"I'll never get the hang of this thing, it's a total burden for me. To start with, I had it all wrong: I actually thought I could get the hang of it. I practised like mad, without ever even getting close to what I had in my mind. Then, one magical day, everything just... unraveled.
-How so?
-The day I understood I'd never get anywhere close, that was the day I finally started producing something interesting.
-You've gotta be kidding.
-I swear to God, it unraveled, all of a sudden, it really did. Because, in the end, nothing's more boring than perfection, it doesn't catch one's ear. It's not intriguing. What's more, any useless bum out there can accomplish technical prowesses if only he gets down to it. On the other hand, once you've accepted and processed your fundamental imperfection, you know, just as a plain, stupid human being? That's when you can transcend it, and impose yourself, your subjectivity.
A silence, then he looked at me, scratching his beak-like nose, as though he felt self-conscious about throwing all those grandiloquent words at my face:
"Cause, that's what art is all about, right? Subjectivity. Following the same idea, that's also what visual rock is about, too. It's like, some kind of, absolute art, you know?
-Okay, so it's all about subjectivity, but also, and correct me if I'm wrong: about imperfection.
-That's, roughly, the idea, yes.
-Then what about Kamui?
He suddenly gave out a suprised laugh, as if he hadn't expected that one at all. His eyes still smiling, he said to me:
-Kamui... it's not the same thing.
The first words that left Kamui's mouth when I came back from my trip to Europe were: "How was Germany?"
Afterwards we discussed about it, sensibly, like two very civilized human beings.
I don't even remember that conversation, and words didn't matter. There was only this unforgiving feeling that, whatever I could say or do, it couldn't be helped in any way. All I had left to do was to pack my bags and leave.
-Do you think I've changed?
Kyo handed me my cup of tea without saying anything.
I tried again:
-I mean, I wanted to know whether you found me, like, different, or not?
He took his time to sit in front of me and folded his arms, elbows on the table.
-The blue-grey hair and the mohawk, they're new, aren't they, from your last clip? Looks good on you.
-It's from my trip to Europe. It's not what I'm asking you, stop that.
-Why don't you tell me what happened to make you come back all of a sudden and ask me existential questions?
-I'd rather not. Am I bothering you? Tell me if I am, okay.
-Come on, enough with that, I already told you I like having you around bugging me. I'm just a bit worried. You look distressed.
-Have you seen Takeshi lately?
-He drops by, from time to time. He's moved out, and that created expenses, so he has some money problems...
-Stop giving it to him.
-...
-Kyo?
-Yeah, yeah.
-I'm serious: stop giving money to him. Do you promise me?
-Yes, okay.
A pause.
-I've bought your album, he said finally.
-Ah.
-You should give me an autograph. It's great.
-You don't have to...
-No, really, it's really great.
-Thanks.
-Are you already preparing the next one, or...?
-Nah, I don't think I will.
I nursed my cup of tea between my hands.
"It wasn't really my world, I said without thinking. It wasn't for me.
Kyo handled me with kid gloves and kept his tone neutral:
-How so?
-I'm... a mongrel, I explained, inspired, as if struck by lightning. My only talent is my rage to survive.
-Don't say that.
I snickered.
-Whatever, let's talk about something else, I offered.
-What about?
-Are you seeing someone these days?
-Yes.
-How is he?
-He's kind. It's a change. Where have you been sleeping these last days? You can always come back here, you know. Whenever.
-I know. I'm good. Don't worry.
A silence, then I said again:
-Actually, Takeshi and I bumped into each other not very long ago.
-Ah?
-He didn't recognize me.
-Good news at last!
I couldn't help but smile.
I was holding Kamui's album in my hands. The cover was fuck ugly but still it occupied every aisle end display everywhere, and the shop I was in was no exception. I took out the laser disc to put in the audio station for public use and covered my ears with the headphones. The machine set off with a little electronic swish.
Several times in a row, I almost stopped the listening. It wasn't only his voice, terribly close, that upset me. Obviously this album was a total success: ambitious, but also woven with intimacy, all impregnated with the nostalgia of a time that never existed. Each song didn't belong to time even though they were painfully present in every instant. Three quaters of an hour later, I was vanquished. This album belonged to the kind that change the world. I could already see him selling millions of copies, filling whole stadiums with these melodies, and reaching higher than he could ever have reached with his former band. Higher than I could ever achieve: it was all about the pedigree. I never had that option.
A mongrel. Tumbleweeds.
Star dust.
Author:
sevenswells Rating: PG 13
(One True) Pairing: Gackt/Miyavi
Warnings: Not safe for work, yaoi, angst, alternate universe.
Word Count: 968 w.
Comments: Dedicated to
kamexkame, most perfect beta and friend ever. Thank you deeply, my dear.Still one chapter to go before it all ends. I'm being very emotional about it, aren't I?
One day as we were practising side by side, I asked Chacha, after one of his spectacular riffs, what his secret for being that good was. I wasn't particularly awaiting an answer, but he paused to think and replied:
-Imperfection.
My face might have borne some kind of quizzical expression at this point, because he went on, brandishing his guitar at arm's length:
"I'll never get the hang of this thing, it's a total burden for me. To start with, I had it all wrong: I actually thought I could get the hang of it. I practised like mad, without ever even getting close to what I had in my mind. Then, one magical day, everything just... unraveled.
-How so?
-The day I understood I'd never get anywhere close, that was the day I finally started producing something interesting.
-You've gotta be kidding.
-I swear to God, it unraveled, all of a sudden, it really did. Because, in the end, nothing's more boring than perfection, it doesn't catch one's ear. It's not intriguing. What's more, any useless bum out there can accomplish technical prowesses if only he gets down to it. On the other hand, once you've accepted and processed your fundamental imperfection, you know, just as a plain, stupid human being? That's when you can transcend it, and impose yourself, your subjectivity.
A silence, then he looked at me, scratching his beak-like nose, as though he felt self-conscious about throwing all those grandiloquent words at my face:
"Cause, that's what art is all about, right? Subjectivity. Following the same idea, that's also what visual rock is about, too. It's like, some kind of, absolute art, you know?
-Okay, so it's all about subjectivity, but also, and correct me if I'm wrong: about imperfection.
-That's, roughly, the idea, yes.
-Then what about Kamui?
He suddenly gave out a suprised laugh, as if he hadn't expected that one at all. His eyes still smiling, he said to me:
-Kamui... it's not the same thing.
The first words that left Kamui's mouth when I came back from my trip to Europe were: "How was Germany?"
Afterwards we discussed about it, sensibly, like two very civilized human beings.
I don't even remember that conversation, and words didn't matter. There was only this unforgiving feeling that, whatever I could say or do, it couldn't be helped in any way. All I had left to do was to pack my bags and leave.
-Do you think I've changed?
Kyo handed me my cup of tea without saying anything.
I tried again:
-I mean, I wanted to know whether you found me, like, different, or not?
He took his time to sit in front of me and folded his arms, elbows on the table.
-The blue-grey hair and the mohawk, they're new, aren't they, from your last clip? Looks good on you.
-It's from my trip to Europe. It's not what I'm asking you, stop that.
-Why don't you tell me what happened to make you come back all of a sudden and ask me existential questions?
-I'd rather not. Am I bothering you? Tell me if I am, okay.
-Come on, enough with that, I already told you I like having you around bugging me. I'm just a bit worried. You look distressed.
-Have you seen Takeshi lately?
-He drops by, from time to time. He's moved out, and that created expenses, so he has some money problems...
-Stop giving it to him.
-...
-Kyo?
-Yeah, yeah.
-I'm serious: stop giving money to him. Do you promise me?
-Yes, okay.
A pause.
-I've bought your album, he said finally.
-Ah.
-You should give me an autograph. It's great.
-You don't have to...
-No, really, it's really great.
-Thanks.
-Are you already preparing the next one, or...?
-Nah, I don't think I will.
I nursed my cup of tea between my hands.
"It wasn't really my world, I said without thinking. It wasn't for me.
Kyo handled me with kid gloves and kept his tone neutral:
-How so?
-I'm... a mongrel, I explained, inspired, as if struck by lightning. My only talent is my rage to survive.
-Don't say that.
I snickered.
-Whatever, let's talk about something else, I offered.
-What about?
-Are you seeing someone these days?
-Yes.
-How is he?
-He's kind. It's a change. Where have you been sleeping these last days? You can always come back here, you know. Whenever.
-I know. I'm good. Don't worry.
A silence, then I said again:
-Actually, Takeshi and I bumped into each other not very long ago.
-Ah?
-He didn't recognize me.
-Good news at last!
I couldn't help but smile.
I was holding Kamui's album in my hands. The cover was fuck ugly but still it occupied every aisle end display everywhere, and the shop I was in was no exception. I took out the laser disc to put in the audio station for public use and covered my ears with the headphones. The machine set off with a little electronic swish.
Several times in a row, I almost stopped the listening. It wasn't only his voice, terribly close, that upset me. Obviously this album was a total success: ambitious, but also woven with intimacy, all impregnated with the nostalgia of a time that never existed. Each song didn't belong to time even though they were painfully present in every instant. Three quaters of an hour later, I was vanquished. This album belonged to the kind that change the world. I could already see him selling millions of copies, filling whole stadiums with these melodies, and reaching higher than he could ever have reached with his former band. Higher than I could ever achieve: it was all about the pedigree. I never had that option.
A mongrel. Tumbleweeds.
Star dust.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-19 07:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-22 11:09 pm (UTC)(just kidding, the end won't ever be bitter, since I'm a mushy idiot)