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Yuki Eiri

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(3 got lost.|Find me.)

This journal will no longer be updated. [16 Jul 2005|12:42am]
[ mood | melancholy ]

A stagnant testament to everything that never was.

(3 got lost.|Find me.)

Blanket verse. [05 Jun 2005|05:29am]
[ mood | tired ]

Blood does not fall like water. Its density prohibits it from moving so freely. A drop of water on a puddle will rise and bloom, scattering in a fit of symmetrical dissolution. A drop of blood is hard-pressed to expand on contact, leaving but a rusty smear as proof of birth.

It won't stop raining.

(11 got lost.|Find me.)

White noise. [01 Jun 2005|12:37am]
[ mood | blank ]

Only the punctuation was left to rot; mangled dots in an apricot wasteland.

(6 got lost.|Find me.)

No more. [05 May 2004|09:36pm]
[ mood | discontent ]

I can't stand occupying this space for another day. Even twelve hours is threatening to exert my tolerance beyond its threshold.

Now is as good a time as any to seek temporary solace from recent aberrations. Shuichi can start working again when we return. He's been away from the studio for so long, I'm not sure how much time it's going to require for him to become fully re-immersed in his work and regain his footing, though that can wait.

It can all wait.

I've had enough.

It has been a while since I last spoke with Noriko, so I'm not entirely sure what's happening in terms of her unfortunate condition. The uncertainty isn't improving anything. I hate not knowing for sure whether or not everything is going to change. There are enough gross transmutations currently underway as is.

If you want the number of where we're going to be, you're going to have to suffer. I have no intention of divulging such information to anyone.

(21 got lost.|Find me.)

Stranger than fiction. [26 Apr 2004|01:58pm]
[ mood | amused ]

I no longer have any faith in the recording industry, or any facet of capitalism which prompts desperate CEOs to interrupt the lunch of their prospects on the basis of wanting to sign them on the spot. Especially when they have nothing to go on but the enchanting voice of a rainbow-headed maniac, stark, mechanical thumping, rhythmic, wooden tapping, and a poor Cristal Baschet impersonation.

He even offered to pick up our tab.

I abruptly goaded him away and Trisha pursued his wake, in true band manager glory, leaving us to dissolve in our prodigious amusement, wiping the tears from our eyes. She returned shortly after, face flushed, looking distinctly nonplussed, raving that he was clearly a homosexual. Compy choked on his chicken. DJ’s face twice met with his miso soup.

We had to cancel the rest of our session, due to our consistent failure to starve the laughter from our throats. I can’t say for sure, but had she continued with her attempts to exorcize our demons, I think Doctor J would have shown us all what we were there for. She was bordering on wrathful. Even gave us homework, which did little to dispel our mirth. Though, I couldn’t tell if Hitotsuboshi was laughing or crying, as it is equally improbable for her to do either, and she hadn’t been there to witness the phenomenon. Note to self: Dissuade her from being so damned anti-social in the future. Initiate bribe if necessary. Tulips are good.

Tor was by far the worst. Each time Doctor J directed a question at him, he’d fall backward in his chair, hands folded over his stomach, legs poised straight up in the air, kicking wildly. It was only fitting, as it was his voice that got us there in the first place. For the most part, anyway. Some people simply have no aversion to breaking out in song in the midst of a crowded restaurant.

This is the second time this week I’ve laughed so hard that I’ve thrown up. I’m starting to think there’s something seriously wrong with me.

But honestly … Me … a record deal …

I don’t think he knew Yuki Eiri was hiding under that stupid hat.

He just admired my chopsticks.

Shuichi must think I’ve finally lost it, as I’ve been sitting in the dark, laughing my ass off, for the last half hour.

I’m sort of glad I started doing this again. I forgot how entertaining therapeutic it is.

I need to breathe.

(1 got lost.|Find me.)

What the ... [21 Apr 2004|03:36am]
[ mood | mellow ]

Ugh ... I think I feel asleep. Here, that is. Not someplace else.

Dude. The brownies Tatsuha sent me are weird.

I think he put coconut in them or something.

Little brat, Shu-chan, can talk me into anything now, it seems ... It's not supposed to be an engagement ring, it doesn't even look like an engagement ring, yet, somehow, it is. It is, okay? It is. I can deal with that. I think.

Though, right now, I could probably deal with anything.

Well, almost anything ...

Where the hell did I put that ... Ah, forget it. I forgot what I was looking for.

Probably doesn't matter, anyway.

I'm going to go sit outside and look at all the lights.

Those lights could shine like incubated diamonds.

(23 got lost.|Find me.)

The things I do. [16 Apr 2004|03:01pm]
[ mood | complacent ]

Happy birthday, you little punk.

Happy now?

(3 got lost.|Find me.)

Why me ... [16 Apr 2004|03:01am]
[ mood | confused ]

Why the fuck does that baka want to marry me, anyway?

Okay. Off to bed now. I told him I wouldn't stay up too late working on this pile of shit. I'd rather occupy the same space as him, anyway, than remain here and continue swearing at myself.

Definitely need a break.

(2 got lost.|Find me.)

Staunch adherence. [14 Apr 2004|11:50am]
[ mood | anxious ]

I'd might as well scar my unproductive streak with further counts of raging stagnation. Sometimes there isn't enough hours in the day. Still, after everything which has occurred as of late, I feel the need to embrace some form of social aversion.

If I could persuade Mizuki-san to cease considering castration as a viable alternative to not handing over my illustrious, and virtually non-existent, recent work, I may be able to come up with a solution. Until then, there's always Shuichi's birthday ... As much as I despise the thought of hosting some manner of celebration, I can't help but feel the need to do so. If you're willing to clean up your own damned mess, you're permitted to make an appearance.

I still don't know what the hell to get him.

It's nice to have him home again. I have to admit that. It was only when I awoke with his hand on my back that I realized I wasn't dreaming. A time when he was confined to the surface of the couch feels less far off than it did a month ago. I don't know why. You feed off the distance, grow from it, then the moment you skip a meal you find it distressingly natural to awake with your bodies still joined in some way or another. The sand slides out from beneath your feet.

I reiterate. It is of moral imperative to get away from a while, once this birthday crap is over and done with. This course of action is best suited to the preservation of maximum sagacity, by far.

Why is there never any wakame when I need it?

(6 got lost.|Find me.)

Unshelved. [04 Apr 2004|10:19pm]
[ mood | sick ]

A frail, whimper of a cry. Sometimes he sings in his sleep. Sometimes his weight shifts, and the rain pours. Sometimes it's all that you have left. And even then, you have to wonder, because it changes everything.

My father located Tatsuha's stash of masturbation material. After they revived him, he revoked said idiot's internet privileges. I don't know how long he'll be out of action for. Probably a while.

Shuichi's father stopped by long enough to inform us that his daughter has now seen fit to disappear. He then returned home in an attempt to console his inconsolable wife. She has yet to physically acknowledge Shuichi's return. He's convinced they both don't care. Maybe they don't.

I finally contacted Seguchi, hoping to bypass any future nagging from Mika. Whatever. I don't fucking care any more. He can talk to me if he wants to, but it's not like I'm getting anything out of it. He has nothing left to offer. His effectiveness as a whole has dissipated. I don't know what's wrong with him, but it's not my problem. I don't need him.

I don't need anyone.

Now to kill this fever, before it kills me. It's a shame, really. I think it's trying to do me a favor.

(45 got lost.|Find me.)

Nocturne. [28 Mar 2004|12:46am]
[ mood | rushed ]

There's too much going on to make time for putting it all together right now. Too much. I will, however, state that the brat is doing better than I expected. He finally stopped talking long enough to get some sleep and I sped back to the apartment to shower and pick up a few things. The scent of all the damned flowers gathering in the room was making me nauseous, anyway. Not to mention they have something against lighting up in hospital rooms, for some reason. It's all a little fascist if you ask me.

But it's not over.

It's only beginning.

(36 got lost.|Find me.)

Freeze frame. [24 Mar 2004|01:51pm]
[ mood | guilty ]

Buried canisters of toxic waste, breathing softly in the dark. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Only it doesn’t work that way. Things have a way of resurfacing, no matter how deeply you bury them. The tiniest fracture permits the gradual release of the very pollutants you’ve sought to conceal, and once the hull ruptures you have no means of repairing it, no method of reversing the damage done. You turn off the lights with the intention of embracing the shadows, only to discover you glow-in-the-dark.

Tiny, sticky droplets administered to cylindrical sources of comfort, set alight and converted to instant placation; condolences whispered in flame.

It plays repeating.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t be here.

I shouldn’t …

I don’t know how to make it stop.

(9 got lost.|Find me.)

A lack of density. [22 Mar 2004|12:56pm]
[ mood | crappy ]

Trust does not stem from stability. It is those who change us for the better that are most worthy of our reliance. Homeostasis is too easily obtained, and to invoke balance requires only the bare minimum of emotional investment.

The paper is folded at the corner, torn down the middle, held together by cheap, plastic tape. Water spots cluster among sections of words, censoring their existence. Shuichi's writing. Once proud characters are reduced to wobbly strings which follow no discernible rules of any acceptable persuasion, as is evidenced by the lack of punctuation, grammar, and the presence of several words huddled together without spaces, as if they lack the strength to stand apart. The instructions are clear. Printed in basic black and white. Each article of flesh is the equivalent of a monetary function. Hard currency. Our humanity has been replaced by numbers, our souls made trade-able on the stock market. Buy. Sell. Rinse and repeat. We bleed ink instead of blood. On Friday night Shindou Shuichi will be bought and sold, his worth principally defined by a briefcase full of money. Trading closes at midnight.

Buy stock in the human race. Limited-time offer, only. While quantities last. Just don't be surprised when it flounders.

Blood-stained sheets and scattered seeds. Life is but the memoir of a dream.

Hours of meditation; a slow, deliberate rewind of recent events, and it all came down to the koi.

Tatsuha's absolute inefficiency in guarding the contents of the pond from marauding wildlife reminded me of something remotely similar.

Growing up, death became an integral component of life. One could not separate one from the other, as they existed in such a relentlessly interchangeable mode of presentation. My earliest memories of my father consist of him seated beside a recently deceased cadaver, dwelling in an almost trance-like state of meditation. I joined him on numerous occasions, though I never really understood what it was supposed to mean, or what I was supposed to feel. Keeping the dead company consistently failed to en-richen my sense of awareness.

The draining of one of the koi ponds brought about a distinct shift in perspective. Its demise was necessary in order to make room for renovations, and as the water level was gradually reduced, the fish began to asphyxiate. A world they'd never known closed in around them, proving vastly unsympathetic in nature. Their tails swept rapidly through the air as their scales caught the light and reflected it back, prompting their bodies to shine in the sun. I happened upon the sight not knowing why the fish were reacting in such a manner. Tugging at the sleeve of my father's robes, I asked why the aquatic creatures were dancing. He told me they were dying. I pondered the fundamental difference between the two.

Their performance went on for some time before finally drawing to a close, scaly bodies strewn out across the sand, motionless. Defeated.

Transmigration at is finest.

(68 got lost.|Find me.)

Unlike any other. [17 Mar 2004|10:57pm]
[ mood | distressed ]

Seguchi Tohma was arrested with socially unacceptable quantities of cocaine stowed in the trunk of his car. I imagine Mika will have him out on bail soon. I ... I'm not really worried about that right now.

I've been increasingly paranoid about ensuring my phones (cell and home) are turned on at all times. A week ago it was the direct inverse of this. Dreams will do that to you. This morning, however, I was glad I was able to catch the shrill, almost metallic ringing. I've never enjoyed that sound, especially when it wakes me up, not even when the voice of a beautiful woman is on the other end.

Noriko called. Insisting that she see me. Still more than half-asleep, I wasn't about to protest. It sounded urgent enough. Her husband, being as attractive to her as he is, is a regular pornography connoisseur. Or so I discovered today, when I was brought something I did not expect to see. The photographs I distributed to the press ... Were not half as bad as this. The cover is by far the tamest aspect of it all. As you may have already guessed ...

Shuichi is on the front cover.Collapse )

Like I said, it gets worse. And what do you know ...

They even managed to procure an interview.Collapse )

I have nothing more to say.

(6 got lost.|Find me.)

Doctor recommended. [15 Mar 2004|04:19pm]
[ mood | calm ]

I feel so amazingly dead. Devoid of all feeling. Robbed of all mass. Hollow on the inside. An airless tube.

Everything is still as glass. Trapped on the inside. Brewing in decay.

I've been sleeping off and on since this morning, and I can already feel my strength returning. I've never been so content to just sit and do nothing; an action done without conjuring the vaguest hints of boredom. Quite the opposite, actually. It's the kind of thing where you can't help but find amusement in the fact that you find oblivion to be sufficiently entertaining. I fall asleep without being aware that I was ever awake, and awake with no knowledge of being asleep.

It's exactly what I needed.

Blond, indeed.

(27 got lost.|Find me.)

SDfajhdasfkladsf. [14 Mar 2004|11:54pm]
[ mood | uncomfortable ]

The most beautiful things are felt when you’re alone.

K-san was over here last night, examining what little evidence I have pertaining to Shuichi’s disappearance. He showed up on my doorstep, jet-lagged, having little or no clue why he was even there. Like a newborn baby. All he knew was that Shuichi was gone and his job was to bring him back. Informing him of the nature of the brat’s absence was left entirely up to me. Thank you for that, by the way, Mika. You know how much I love discussing my personal life with total strangers.

I’ve never seen anyone, Shuichi included, get so drunk off one beer. I don’t know if he’s always like that, or if there was some other factor involved in the equation. It was amusing at first, but it grew highly irritating very quickly. I won’t go into details.

I got up sometime in the afternoon. When I say got up, I don’t mean woke-up, I mean gave up on trying to sleep, resigning to the fact that it was never going to happen without a blow to the head or something equally as effective.

After giving Mika a call I went down to NG, signed for Shuichi’s royalties check, then bumped into the keyboardist for Bad Luck. Literally. Damnit, I can’t remember that kid’s name. Tohma’s nephew. Or is it cousin? I should know. Shuichi invested more than enough effort into complaining about him. Obviously I didn’t care enough at the time. Anyway, the kid fell asleep (passed out? Lost touch with reality? Tripped and fell? I don’t know, fucking pick whichever suits you best) in the middle of the road, and as tempting as it was to leave him there I thought, well, there’s enough roadside pollution in this city as is. Might as well do something. I helped him up and we wound up in a coffee shop in an attempt to appear inconspicuous. I actually ate something, too, and the kid had his first taste of beer. Not that I had anything to do with that.

There was a message from Noriko on my machine when I got back. Don’t know why she didn’t call my cell … It was nice just to hear her voice. There’s something about it. It leaves footprints wherever it goes. Or maybe I’m just really, really drunk.

Thank God for spellchek.

(16 got lost.|Find me.)

Mitsudo. [10 Mar 2004|03:03pm]
[ mood | crushed ]

Yellowed fingers, sticky with the product of our efforts, worked diligently.

The narrow channel allowed little room for error. Should too much pressure be applied fragile tissue was inclined to burst at the seams, leaving subtle flesh wrenched in defeat, visibly torn. In order to prevent such infractions, one end, poised rigid and absolute, was gingerly eased into the other, waiting, wanting; forcing the skin which enveloped it to expand in accommodation. The process was repeated multiple times, adding to the gummy build-up which accumulated on my fingers in shades of lunar-pale.

He watched as I performed the task, my eyes searching his for the vaguest hint of approval between bouts of intense concentration.

His lips parted and he laughed softly, eyes shining in the light of the mid-day sun. “Eiri-san, it’s supposed to be fun. You look so serious ...”

I stared down at the pallid, viscous substance which shone on my fingertips and frowned slightly, wanting nothing more than to impress him, despite any entertainment factor the activity was intended to hold.

He took the dandelion chain I had been working so meticulously to complete and placed it atop his head, grinning idyllically. “Very nice,” he said softly, disentangling the crown of weeds from his hair and placing it upon mine. “Fit for a king.”

Tainted yellow blossoms, oblivious to their status as an overly persistent thorn in the flesh, appeared regal in demeanor, as if nothing could shake their confidence. He leaned back toward the grass, face turned skyward, plucking a nearby dandelion by the stem. It rested temporarily in his grasp before a swift flick of his thumb sent the flowered cap spiraling through the air, landing dejectedly a foot away.

The stem crashed down beside it.

It becomes integral when you’re fully aware of the fact that you’re not all right to continually convince yourself otherwise. It’s when you actually admit you have a problem that you have something to worry about.

(7 got lost.|Find me.)

Kaleidoscope mechanics with broken-down wings. [07 Mar 2004|09:03pm]
[ mood | horny ]

There’s a bruise on the left side of my hip – the result of a sudden collision with the kitchen floor. After enduring so many hours without sleep I was confronted with the temporary suspension of all motor functions and left lying in the same position until opening my eyes again roughly twenty-four hours later. At least I can close my hands fully for the first time since deciding seven years Bad Luck was in order. Typing is a much less disruptive task to perform when unaccompanied by shrill stabs of protest.

If venturing outside these walls was classifiable as unappetizing previous to exercising the right of every public figure to feed the media surreptitious lies; it now resides in the realm of the totally inedible. I can’t even buy a pack of cigarettes without bumping into at least one woman I’d associated with pre-Shuichi. Spurning their advances is adequate ego-deflating fodder to encourage them to launch into explicit-laden tirades about the nature of my sexuality. Not that it bothers me. Being called a fucking fag by an ignorant whore is not nearly as condemning as it may seem.

I spoke with Tohma for a while yesterday. I wonder if it helped as much as he made it seem it did, or if he was merely attempting to satiate me. I know now what he has to do, and I feel as if my hands are bound behind my back. There’s nothing I can do to make this any easier for him. I can’t detach the cords that are wrapped around my own neck, let alone his. But at least …

Our encounter left me feeling better than I thought it would. There was just one thing left for me to do.

The only light escaping the Shindou residence filtered through the pane of glass which separated Shuichi’s room, left preserved in the exact state of anarchy and disarray it had always personified, from the night air. Mr. Shindou must have been sitting in the dark, for shortly after I knocked the door was forced open. He knew of my intention to speak with the youngest Shindou and agreed with reluctant to release her from her temporary prison. I took the opportunity to inform him that, despite what he may have seen or heard, my concern for his son was unwavering. Mrs. Shindou was physically absent from the picture, though her cries could be heard from any position in the house. The droning, continual extraction of raw, unadulterated lament was tedious at first, but the noise grew so well accustomed to the ears that its existence was readily ignored.

Maiko-chan and I went back to my apartment, and I explained to her as best I could what both her and her family should have been told from the beginning. I hope now she understands, and will refrain from harboring any further ill-will toward those who are helping to bring her brother back, even after the rather unfortunate incident with Mika-san.

At least one of us has bad aim.

(19 got lost.|Find me.)

Wherein Yuki spamms your frienbds list. [03 Mar 2004|01:47am]
[ mood | drunk ]

Rimming is love.


BEst thing I;ve senee allll daaay.

(2 got lost.|Find me.)

Nevermore. [02 Mar 2004|09:45pm]
[ mood | indifferent ]

My life today.Collapse )

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