Part 1 is here
Part 6
Arata had fallen asleep before Kuri could even move again. She seemed conveniently poised, her back against a thin archway leading into her kitchen area, the dim light of living room hinting at her. Kuri began to move towards her, realizing that as he moved, he was leaving behind a trail of actual cream soda that led back to his original position. This was surprising. He had not realized that he bled cream soda.
Sugary and fizzy as it seemed, he crept on, toward Arata's body.
When he reached her, he was almost dead. He laid his head on her lap and asked, "Please can you rejuvenate me, Arata? I promise I won't take this type of advantage again. I only want to discuss our collective malady." Then he died upon her lap.
Part 7
"Do you mean why we both feel inexplicable pain?"
"Yes!"
"Why I've lost most of my friends, and why nobody believes me when I say to them, sometimes, that I cannot be there for them?"
"That is the worst!" said Kuri. "You say that to your friends?" he added, opening one eyelid.
"So you agree, there is no gender bias. It's not women who become depressive, or men who become physically weak, through this ailment?"
Kuri thought about that. "Well, typically women are accused of being weak at everything, so while I agree that there is no gender bias posited toward me, I will say that, I am a man. And what I experience is sort of a phenomena. And an unbalanced phenomena at that."
Arata was amused. "You're a phenomena, huh?"
"We may both be. I wrote this in my diary," said Kuri, before his head finally collapsed into her lap.
She took the diary from the fevered boy. It started: "Please read Part 1 of my diary, before you meet me in the battlefield. Perhaps then, we can both fathom as to the extent of our pain, and understand it together."
Friday, July 8, 2016
An Anime Idea (Parts 6 & 7)
Part 1 is here
Part 6
Arata had fallen asleep before Kuri could even move again. She seemed conveniently poised, her back against a thin archway leading into her kitchen area, the dim light of living room hinting at her. Kuri began to move towards her, realizing that as he moved, he was leaving behind a trail of actual cream soda that led back to his original position. This was surprising. He had not realized that he bled cream soda.
Sugary and fizzy as it seemed, he crept on, toward Arata's body.
When he reached her, he was almost dead. He laid his head on her lap and asked, "Please can you rejuvenate me, Arata? I promise I won't take this type of advantage again. I only want to discuss our collective malady." Then he died upon her lap.
Part 7
"Do you mean why we both feel inexplicable pain?"
"Yes!"
"Why I've lost most of my friends, and why nobody believes me when I say to them, sometimes, that I cannot be there for them?"
"That is the worst!" said Kuri. "You say that to your friends?" he added, opening one eyelid.
"So you agree, there is no gender bias. It's not women who become depressive, or men who become physically weak, through this ailment?"
Kuri thought about that. "Well, typically women are accused of being weak at everything, so while I agree that there is no gender bias posited toward me, I will say that, I am a man. And what I experience is sort of a phenomena. And an unbalanced phenomena at that."
Arata was amused. "You're a phenomena, huh?"
"We may both be. I wrote this in my diary," said Kuri, before his head finally collapsed into her lap.
She took the diary from the fevered boy. It started: "Please read Part 1 of my diary, before you meet me in the battlefield. Perhaps then, we can both fathom as to the extent of our pain, and understand it together."
Part 6
Arata had fallen asleep before Kuri could even move again. She seemed conveniently poised, her back against a thin archway leading into her kitchen area, the dim light of living room hinting at her. Kuri began to move towards her, realizing that as he moved, he was leaving behind a trail of actual cream soda that led back to his original position. This was surprising. He had not realized that he bled cream soda.
Sugary and fizzy as it seemed, he crept on, toward Arata's body.
When he reached her, he was almost dead. He laid his head on her lap and asked, "Please can you rejuvenate me, Arata? I promise I won't take this type of advantage again. I only want to discuss our collective malady." Then he died upon her lap.
Part 7
"Do you mean why we both feel inexplicable pain?"
"Yes!"
"Why I've lost most of my friends, and why nobody believes me when I say to them, sometimes, that I cannot be there for them?"
"That is the worst!" said Kuri. "You say that to your friends?" he added, opening one eyelid.
"So you agree, there is no gender bias. It's not women who become depressive, or men who become physically weak, through this ailment?"
Kuri thought about that. "Well, typically women are accused of being weak at everything, so while I agree that there is no gender bias posited toward me, I will say that, I am a man. And what I experience is sort of a phenomena. And an unbalanced phenomena at that."
Arata was amused. "You're a phenomena, huh?"
"We may both be. I wrote this in my diary," said Kuri, before his head finally collapsed into her lap.
She took the diary from the fevered boy. It started: "Please read Part 1 of my diary, before you meet me in the battlefield. Perhaps then, we can both fathom as to the extent of our pain, and understand it together."
Saturday, July 2, 2016
An Anime Idea (Part 5)
"Also, don't call me senpai. That is a term reserved only for someone older than oneself," said Arata, dressing the wounds Kuri had suffered from being thrown off the balcony.
"I was in a different state of mind when I said it," said Kuri, accepting her swaths of alcohol upon his open wounds.
She laughed as she finished dressing him up. "Did you really imagine this was some kind of fiction, and some guy was out there, in the open universe, writing about your predicament?" One of tips of the bandages was showing, so she got up, navigated to her dresser, and came back with an implement. She snipped off the offensive tip with the implement. "There. Now you look like, erm, what is your name again?"
Kuri was suddenly healed, and he sat up. His eyes were clear, and they looked into her no longer for her shoes, or dress, or her bodily sexiness, or even as the ample bosom who had just healed him, but as an equal, and a confidant.
"My name, shidoshi," said Kuri, "is Akahoshi Kurimusoda, or Kuri, for short. I have an unusual secret that I am now compelled to disclose."
"Shidoshi, huh?" Arata had walked away and was looking in what seemed to be her many closets and cupboards. "Yes, yes, we've heard that, but why don't we forego your secret for the meantime and discuss why you are named after a brand of soft drink?"
Kuri was aghast. "A-A-re you making fun of my name? At this holy moment?"
The being known as Arata began to break down at this point. She had been standing very tall and mighty, but now she was on the floor. Kuri had seen this kind of special effect before. A woman, completely in her own regard, and poise, lying on the floor and laughing uncontrollably. The way she moved seemed unseemly, almost horrific, but there was an immense sweetness to it.
"Are you sure? You want to know why my name is my name? This is going to increase the amount of time we have to get to our mutual resolution."
Arata, between her giggles, laughs, and outright bellows, managed, "W-what resolution--" seizures, by now, "what type of resolution(s) are you hoping for? Please? Please. Tell me about your name. I'm almost actually going to say L-O-L."
As has been intimated earlier, Kuri's most essential aspect is that he prefers to operate in states of absolute clarity. "I didn't mean to break into your apartment. It is just that, previously, no matter how hard I tried to reach you about a very deep question that I have, related to my suffering, I was met with general 'fuck you's. So I went drastic."
Arata finally sat up again. "Your suffering, huh? Well, I'm glad you didn't turn out to be a Hitler-type, at least. Alright then." She rose to the sink to clean her hands from his blood. The antiseptic was warm on her palms, and she tried to imagine what it might feel like to feel like her, except with physical ailment rather than mental ailment. "So tell me about your name, Kurimusoda-san."
"I was in a different state of mind when I said it," said Kuri, accepting her swaths of alcohol upon his open wounds.
She laughed as she finished dressing him up. "Did you really imagine this was some kind of fiction, and some guy was out there, in the open universe, writing about your predicament?" One of tips of the bandages was showing, so she got up, navigated to her dresser, and came back with an implement. She snipped off the offensive tip with the implement. "There. Now you look like, erm, what is your name again?"
Kuri was suddenly healed, and he sat up. His eyes were clear, and they looked into her no longer for her shoes, or dress, or her bodily sexiness, or even as the ample bosom who had just healed him, but as an equal, and a confidant.
"My name, shidoshi," said Kuri, "is Akahoshi Kurimusoda, or Kuri, for short. I have an unusual secret that I am now compelled to disclose."
"Shidoshi, huh?" Arata had walked away and was looking in what seemed to be her many closets and cupboards. "Yes, yes, we've heard that, but why don't we forego your secret for the meantime and discuss why you are named after a brand of soft drink?"
Kuri was aghast. "A-A-re you making fun of my name? At this holy moment?"
The being known as Arata began to break down at this point. She had been standing very tall and mighty, but now she was on the floor. Kuri had seen this kind of special effect before. A woman, completely in her own regard, and poise, lying on the floor and laughing uncontrollably. The way she moved seemed unseemly, almost horrific, but there was an immense sweetness to it.
"Are you sure? You want to know why my name is my name? This is going to increase the amount of time we have to get to our mutual resolution."
Arata, between her giggles, laughs, and outright bellows, managed, "W-what resolution--" seizures, by now, "what type of resolution(s) are you hoping for? Please? Please. Tell me about your name. I'm almost actually going to say L-O-L."
As has been intimated earlier, Kuri's most essential aspect is that he prefers to operate in states of absolute clarity. "I didn't mean to break into your apartment. It is just that, previously, no matter how hard I tried to reach you about a very deep question that I have, related to my suffering, I was met with general 'fuck you's. So I went drastic."
Arata finally sat up again. "Your suffering, huh? Well, I'm glad you didn't turn out to be a Hitler-type, at least. Alright then." She rose to the sink to clean her hands from his blood. The antiseptic was warm on her palms, and she tried to imagine what it might feel like to feel like her, except with physical ailment rather than mental ailment. "So tell me about your name, Kurimusoda-san."
An Anime Idea (Part 4)
" went to the Doctor," finished Kurimusoda, sitting in her apartment, drinking alcohol, layers of slime dripping from his reclined position.
"This is fucked," said Arata, immediately approaching the body, kicking it, and sending it toppling over the balcony of her nice apartment. "You're assuming a little too much!"
"Wait," screamed Kuri. "I've been waiting! I've been waiting for you! We're the SAME!"
"Are we?"
"This guy is even writing an anime idea about me. Us. We're the same."
She pulled him back over the balcony and then the sky became black, thunder occurred followed by casual lightning. Amidst the sparks she asked him why she was feeling like she was going fucking insane, even though she knew for a fact that everybody in her family was not experiencing any type of harsh mental malady.
"Senpai," said Akahoshi Kurimusoda. "I may be the answer to our mis-engagement!"
"That doesn't give you a right to appear just lounging drunk in my personal space!" she screamed back at him.
"This is fucked," said Arata, immediately approaching the body, kicking it, and sending it toppling over the balcony of her nice apartment. "You're assuming a little too much!"
"Wait," screamed Kuri. "I've been waiting! I've been waiting for you! We're the SAME!"
"Are we?"
"This guy is even writing an anime idea about me. Us. We're the same."
She pulled him back over the balcony and then the sky became black, thunder occurred followed by casual lightning. Amidst the sparks she asked him why she was feeling like she was going fucking insane, even though she knew for a fact that everybody in her family was not experiencing any type of harsh mental malady.
"Senpai," said Akahoshi Kurimusoda. "I may be the answer to our mis-engagement!"
"That doesn't give you a right to appear just lounging drunk in my personal space!" she screamed back at him.
An Anime Idea (Part 3)
Arata had started to feel a little bit like some small boy had suddenly taken control over her whole life. All of a sudden, where normally she would be calm, concerted, and inevitably sophisticated, suddenly it was like this guy was running up to her, claiming she was his answer to everything.
"My name is cream soda, cream soda! I'm just like you!"
She seriously doubted that she was in any way, under any circumstances, just like this man. "I don't think that you should be communicating with that equipment any more," she indicated at the world in general, hoping this Kurimosoda would just piss off.
When you bear the horror of slow, degenerative brain disease for your beloved family member, you don't exactly waste time focusing on popular brands. You don't exactly have time to meander into magical fantasy, or the wrong area of the button on the mouse.
There is only one button, you click that, and that's your outcome.
That's why you
"My name is cream soda, cream soda! I'm just like you!"
She seriously doubted that she was in any way, under any circumstances, just like this man. "I don't think that you should be communicating with that equipment any more," she indicated at the world in general, hoping this Kurimosoda would just piss off.
When you bear the horror of slow, degenerative brain disease for your beloved family member, you don't exactly waste time focusing on popular brands. You don't exactly have time to meander into magical fantasy, or the wrong area of the button on the mouse.
There is only one button, you click that, and that's your outcome.
That's why you
Friday, June 24, 2016
Secession (Cessation)
I'm leaving now,
withdrawing from our (w)hole.
No stated plan,
but bound to rules of exeunt.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot.
My peeps felt gray, and they say
it's not just 'cos our weather.
There was a lack of agency.
Everything we believe was not spoken loud enough, or heard.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again.
Once, I made you my colonies,
my pals, my droogs, my best friends under me.
Now I'm leaving you because
you've rushed into me so frighteningly.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again. I'll still have my troubles with money. Still feel I'm not in control. And you'll still be rushing into me.
As I wander away, my feet begin leaving grasp.
Cessation of sensation, as though floating up a staircase
into space, ignoring laws of gravity
so as to ascend in a straight upward line.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again. I'll still have my troubles with money. Still feel I'm not in control. And you'll still be rushing into me. But now I'm ascending like the slant of the largest pyramid in the universe, there is a cessation of oxygen induced worry, and I can finally convince myself, once again, that the world is actually a flat 2D plane.
withdrawing from our (w)hole.
No stated plan,
but bound to rules of exeunt.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot.
My peeps felt gray, and they say
it's not just 'cos our weather.
There was a lack of agency.
Everything we believe was not spoken loud enough, or heard.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again.
Once, I made you my colonies,
my pals, my droogs, my best friends under me.
Now I'm leaving you because
you've rushed into me so frighteningly.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again. I'll still have my troubles with money. Still feel I'm not in control. And you'll still be rushing into me.
As I wander away, my feet begin leaving grasp.
Cessation of sensation, as though floating up a staircase
into space, ignoring laws of gravity
so as to ascend in a straight upward line.
For 2(?) years this may hurt a lot, eventually things will be the same again. I'll still have my troubles with money. Still feel I'm not in control. And you'll still be rushing into me. But now I'm ascending like the slant of the largest pyramid in the universe, there is a cessation of oxygen induced worry, and I can finally convince myself, once again, that the world is actually a flat 2D plane.
Friday, June 3, 2016
An Anime Idea (Part 2)
"Well," said Dr. Chesterfield, staring intently back at Kurimosoda--the kind of stare that appears to be meeting your eyes, but is actually extending its phantom limbs beyond to pick apart and study your mind, "there is certainly something wrong with you." His inspection ceased suddenly and he gathered his pen to make some notes. "But it is not anything to do with your body. You're perfectly fit, physically."
"What are you writing there?" asked Kuri, trying to peer over the doctor's concealing arm, but the notes had already been written, and the pad secreted away into a coat pocket.
"Nothing, just some notes. I'm going to ask you to see--"
"A therapist. Right? I knew it. Look, this wasn't easy for me. I've tried to be truthful, and as hone--"
"No, no, you don't understand. I am referring to you to a colleague of mine, a specialist."
Kuri stared back at the doctor, in parts with distrust, in parts with distrust. And wholly burning with pain. "What kind of specialist?"
The doctor appeared to think for a moment before answering. "A--special one," he said, calmly.
"What?" Kuri exploded.
The doctor was still calm, but something uneven was surfacing in his voice and demeanor. Not fear or nervousness, but some kind of uncertainty, a tinge of anxiety. "You see, Mr. Akahoshi, you're not the first person to tell me this type of tale this week.
"A girl, calling herself Gushiken Arata," Chesterfield reviewed his special notebook, "also claims that she is hurting, just like you."
"Probably not just like me," explained Kuri quickly, but Chesterfield was too fast.
"Exactly like you," he said. "YOU ARE THE SAME!"
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