The J-Rock Phase: Miyavi, Gackt & L’Arc En Ciel

Posted by Rock Kitaro on May 19, 2019
Posted in: kpop. Tagged: , , , , , . Leave a comment

II. The J-Rock Phase: Miyavi, Gackt & more L’Arc En Ciel

Gackt Vainlla

J-Rock stands for Japanese Rock.

By Spring Break of 2005, during my senior year of high school, I learned that I was accepted into a film school in Tampa, Florida. Knowing my future was secure was a relief. There wasn’t a lot of angst or trepidation in my heart at the time. Just full of hope and an eagerness to leave the nest. Every day since, I woke up, fully aware that it was another day to say goodbye to Georgia and the friends I had come to depend on.

*disclaimer: If you hadn’t read the intro, the following is a personal memoir about my 13 year journey of exploring Korean and Japanese music.

Having already been introduced to L’Arc en Ciel’s “Ready Steady Go” video…I was curious. What else they got? I learned that their genre was called “j-rock” so I searched for that on Limewire.

Apparently in 2004, early 2005, the biggest names in J-Rock were indeed L’Arc-en-Ciel…as well as a Japanese rock vocalist named Gackt. And man…hahahaha! Not gonna lie, I’m about to reveal some embarrassing stuff in talking about these guys.

So, mind you, from 5th grade to 12th, I was raised in Augusta, Georgia…which is considered a more country, gritty version of Atlanta. Meaning, everything you’ve heard regarding the stereotypes of blacks and whites had some truth to them in this city. That’s not to slight Augusta…because the thing is, the people know how they are and they don’t see it as a bad thing. Yes, there’s racism and a somewhat semblance of unspoken segregation, but people seemed cool with that. Most teens tended to stick to their own…

Had I been born and spent my whole life in Augusta, I probably would’ve fallen into a stereotype as well. But my parents were military. I moved around and attended multiple elementary schools ranging from south Florida to a place deep in the heart of Texas called Fort Hood. When you’ve moved around as much as I have, you know the world is much bigger. That America is made up of so many cultures.

And when you’re attending school on a military base, you’re afforded the luxury of just being yourself and making friends, because all the other kids are just like you. They’ve all moved around through their parent’s military transfer. So they understand and are more likely to accept you the way you are. But once you leave the base and start going to school with the civilian folk…yeah. You’ll find how different you are. And I think on a subconscious level, the natives don’t take too kindly to some new kid coming in and messing up the status quo.

My point in mentioning this, is that for years of being more or less stuck in Augusta, Georgia…I wasn’t exposed to a lot of diversity when it comes to the cultures. So when I discovered Gackt and L’Arc-en-Ciel…it was somewhat of a shock that had me questioning my own sexuality.

Remember, this was early 2005, a very conservative Christian time in the country. Lady Gaga wouldn’t blow up till late 2008-ish. And you see, in Japan they embrace this thing called “Visual Key”. Plainly put, it’s straight up androgyny, a style where men make themselves appear like women. They wear feminine makeup, eye-lashes and longer hair where it becomes difficult to discern whether they are male or female.

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L’Arc-en-Ciel’s lead singer was notorious for this. Even without the make up, Hide looks like a girl. And just to make sure I wasn’t going crazy, I’d eventually ask my first roommates in Tampa to rate his appearance in “Blurry Eyes” on a one-to-ten scale. And my roommate without hesitation said… “I’d hit that.” As you can imagine, I laughed for some time. Not just at the humor in it, but the realization that it wasn’t just me. I’m not gay and I don’t think I should feel bad if I’m fooled by a person’s appearance.

 

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Korean Music – The Beauty of Understanding Nothing

Posted by Rock Kitaro on May 16, 2019
Posted in: kpop. Tagged: , , , . Leave a comment

I. Korean Music – The Beauty of Understanding Nothing

BTS

Why do you listen to Korean music if you don’t understand it?

The short answer: Because it’s better than understanding English lyrics and intensely disliking the message.

By 2004, I was fed up with mainstream American music. I was 17-years-old living in Augusta, Georgia with a military moved-around background. Even back then, before Google was big, I began to theorize how the entertainment industry used mediums like music, film, and television to promote a message, to promote a lifestyle.

Celebrities and what their producers put out…they’re the ones who determined what’s cool, what’s acceptable and taboo. I remember walking through the halls of high school every year, and every year it was something new that everyone was doing, everyone was conforming to. They said stupid stuff like, “I hear that” all the freaking time. Slang like “Shawty” and “trifling”…

As an adult, I have more of a “whatever” attitude. But back then, the lack of diversity was abysmal. The stereotypes were real and I never fit in with any trope or clique unless I pretended. I resented that.

Because the thing is…if you saw me in real life, you’d have never guessed that my favorite group growing up was the Backstreet Boys. By the time I was 15, I was over six feet tall, 250lbs, black, talked like a white boy but I’m not gay. I used to dream about being in a boyband. I could sing really well and danced like a son-of-a-gun. So much so that I literally dislocated my knee while popping and locking.

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Also, it should be noted that my parents didn’t exactly expose me and my brothers to a wide variety of culture. I wouldn’t discover Queen until I was 23. I barely knew about groups like the Rolling Stone, the Who or Jimi Hendrix. Hell, I didn’t even know that much about the most celebrated black artists aside from the ones who were fortunate enough to have TV mini-series based on their careers.

I only listened to whatever was played on the bus or on my parent’s car radio, which was mainly pop and soft rock (90s hits). I never thought to myself, “I wonder what else is out there?” It was always just by chance that I came across something new.

By 2004, following the end of the boyband era and dealing with a whole host of internal teenage rage issues, I started listening to metal. I discovered bands like Slipknot and System of a Down and played them out for most of the year. I remember my driving my brothers in the car with me while blasting Slipknot’s “Surfacing” and they’d back down in their seats to avoid being seen. Haha! Those were good times.

However…I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve learned that I couldn’t just jam out to adrenaline pumping groove metal all the time. To me, metal was perfect for my mood and street racing. But I don’t get amped up, looking like I’m ready to rip into someone’s neck. Something about metal just calms me down. I didn’t notice until a friend pointed it out, joking that I was some kind of sociopath.

The best way to explain it…they’re screaming so I don’t have to. Think about it. If you’re super pissed off with no one to talk to or understand… simply being around someone who’s 10x angrier, it brings you down a notch. Well, it brought me down a notch. It’s like, “What do I got to be angry about? This guy’s fuckin’ furious!”

But that said, I’m not an angry person. I have my moments, sure. But it’s not like I roll out of bed full of rage. Blue skies. A cool breeze. The freedom from prying eyes and obligations…and I’m happy. In times like this, I’d like to hear music that’s just as uplifting. Which, brings me back to my original problem.

The pop music of 2004-2005 had some horrible messages, in my opinion. I never care about materialistic superficial things like cash, clothes, cars, poppin’ bottles or dropping it like it’s hot. I’m not a club-banger. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. And oddly enough…I didn’t care that much about sex. I liked women, but the idea of being with one just to get laid…this desire wasn’t strong in me at the time.

I know that’s weird. Pretty much, I’m lame in the eyes of young people who want to do things that’s “in.” Even back then, I liked to read, write, and just go…anywhere in my car. My pleasure came from production. Being tasked, trusted with a job, realizing that everyone depended on my output and simply making it happen. I liked to help my friends, comfort them. Make them laugh.

Plainly put…there wasn’t any popular music, hip hop, or R&B that I could relate to. It’s kind of like the argument some marginalized groups in the U.S. have about TV shows. For a man like me, there was/is no representation.

Not sure how I adapted this attitude, but ever since I was a kid I always had this innate, rebellious drive where…If I feel like you have no place in this world, pick your chin up and build your own place in this world. It was the same when I’d eventually go to college. They said, “you have to play the game to win it.” But every game I want to win has been dominated with high scores locked in place and guarded by ridiculous high walls. Do I really want to spend my life trying to climb over all that? Or would I rather venture into uncharted territory and build my own kingdom from scratch? So off, I went…

By January of 2005… I was 18-years-old and just dumped by the first girlfriend I ever had. So yeah, the holidays saw me pretty much playing out “Wait and Bleed” and some of Linkin Park’s greatest hits. I was so thirsty for something different that I even took to listening to the soundtrack of video games like “Need for Speed Underground” and “Smackdown vs Raw”.

Then one day, I was messing around with this anime on-demand network and I saw two music videos that were available for viewing. One was L’Arc En Ciel’s “Ready Steady Go,” and the other was O-Zone’s “Blue”. They were Japanese music videos. The first foreign music video I ever saw was “Ready Steady Go.”

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The K-Pop Chronicles – A 13 Year Phase

Posted by Rock Kitaro on May 13, 2019
Posted in: kpop. Tagged: , , , , , , . Leave a comment

bigbang6The K-Pop Chronicles – A 13 Year Love Affair
By Rock Kitaro

When I was in college, everyone told me that my love for Korean pop music was just a phase and that it would pass. Thirteen years is a long time to simply call it a phase.

Ever since 2005 I’ve been listening to popular music from the countries of Japan and South Korea. This was back before everyone else heard of “Gangnam Style.” Back before BTS took the Billboards. Back before Twitter and Instagram determined one’s prestige.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve watched the rise of Big Bang since they were still trainees. I rocked out to Dir En Gray. Witnessed the fall of DBSK when they were near untouchable. I went back and explored the history of legendary groups like Seo Taiji, H.O.T, NRG, Turbo, and stumbled upon gems like Clazziquai, Epik High, Drunken Tiger, and Dragon Ash.

But…as you can imagine…we’re talking about a span of thirteen years. The music has changed. I’ve grown up.

Since this journey of mine has come to an end, I thought I’d take a moment and tell you my story. In the upcoming memoirs, you will see me as an impressionable college freshmen who lived out his twenties dishing on some of the best kpop and jrock ever produced. It’s been an honor, really. You’re going to see what real diversity looks like. Hint: it’s not about race, it’s about taste. Back when the charts weren’t saturated with artists who look the same, all producing the same thing.

That being said…fair warning. You might read some things that strike a nerve if you’re a hardcore fan of certain groups. Mind you, this is just one man’s opinion, the perspective of one who’s been watching the scene since 2005. So if you just discovered kpop in 2016 and get mad talking about how so and so is the greatest when you haven’t even heard of H.O.T or Seo Taiji…yeah, you’re in for a bad time. This is my journey. My discovery of musical groups and the evolutionary effects they had on my life. Sit back and let me show you what I saw…starting in the middle of 2004.

Here’s a taste with a music video I edited in 2013, compiling some of the most impressive kpop dances I’ve ever seen.

Dance Appearances in Order – Song “Jiggy Get Down” by the Untouchables

1. :10 – Yunho of DBSK
2. :37 – Xiah of DBSK
3. :52 – Hyunseung, formerly of BEAST
4. 1:02 – Kikwang (AJ) of BEAST
5. 1:12 – Rain (Bi)
6. 1:31 – 2pm
7. 1:50 – 2NE1
8. 2:10 – Untouchables
9. 2:30 – Taeyang
10. 2:50 – DBSK
11. 3:09 – Big Bang
12. 4:08 – Block B
13. 4:17 – BEAST
14. 4:27 – Big Bang

Elliot Chan – The Network Executive (Thriller Short Story)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on April 10, 2019
Posted in: Paramour Letters. Tagged: , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Elliot Chan – The Network Executive (Short Story)
By Rock Kitaro

Network Executive

Training to become a Paramour was about what one expect from any covert Special Forces operation. Except, we learned Tai Chi and a form of kung fu called Wushu. Also, the training didn’t take place over some eight-week boot camp period, but over the course of three years by which, you have to maintain the appearance of an everyday civilian by progressing in your respective fields. For me, that was in the TV industry. I got an entry job at MBC straight out of college and began working my way up as a production assistant.

The Paramours had posts all over the world. However, our headquarters was in this big country house in the English county of Derbyshire, right along the Derwent River, not far from the Chatsworth Estate. Its official title was the Leigh Estate. But the Paramours called it, Hollow Rock.

Many of the actual facilities were underground and shielded from aerial coverage, such as the firing range, the armory, and it’s inventory of the most badass vehicles I’ve ever seen. The first time I saw the place, it was breathtaking, the beauty of its green luscious splendor. It was vast, remote, and serene with singing birds and the trickle of creeks. Everything had this quaint, old British feel to it like a step back in time. Peaceful and soothing. It was just what I needed to accelerate the healing process…by which I was able to move on from the murder of my adoptive parents.

I reconnected with “Jake” at Hollow Rock. His real name was Col. Jacob Buchanan, having served in the Gulf War and conflicts in Bosnia and Kosovo. His story was a sad story. I mean…damn. But I’ll let him tell you himself. Jake became my closest friend and confidant. I told him what happened to Marvin and Sharon and he commiserated with me.

I remember one of my first conversations with him, after I went through the inaugural training sessions and my peers saw that there was more to me than meets the eye. We were walking along the stone bridge over the clear stream of the Derwent when I asked him something that’s been on my mind since I joined.

“Here’s my problem with the Paramours. It’s sort of like the superhero in a comic book. They foil the evil plan but they don’t kill, so the villains keep coming back. I don’t get that. It’s illogical. You said the Paramours don’t kill. To know that this secret society exists but no one’s doing anything to make them public? We don’t even turn them into the authorities, so they just keep on killin’ and ruinin’ innocent lives. Does no one feel guilty about all that?”

Jake, with his cold blue eyes and crew cut, stared out over the river.

“Elliot, do you know what a Paramour is? By definition, do you know what a paramour is?”

A question with a question. Friggin love those.

“It’s like a person’s who’s loved the most.” I answered.

“It’s an illicit lover, a secret lover to a married person. In that sense, I think Lord Byron named us precisely when he founded the brotherhood. Granted, not all of us are married or have ever been married, the key word her is love. You never met your mom. Do you love her?”

His questions were getting annoying.

“I don’t know. I guess.”

He scoffed, shaking his head at me like the rookie I was.

“It’s like this, Ellie. When you’re here, we train you, we give you the tools and trust you to assist your brothers out in the field. If you kill, if you choose to kill, you’re no longer a Paramour. You’re not one of us. Not in your heart. But once you’re put in a position where you have that choice and you choose not to kill, you’ll know what it means to be one of us.”

“Alright, I get what you’re saying. You can’t kill the woman you love, sure. But what if someone else, what if one of your comrades kills the woman for you? Because you can’t do it yourself, but you know, you know without a shred out of doubt that the bitch needs to die. Like, put down. For good!”

He started chuckling.

I threw up my hands. “You get what I’m saying, right? When does it end? How does it end?”

“The same way it always ends.” He told me.

“Well!? Let’s hear it!”

“I can’t tell you, son. You stick around long enough, you’ll find out for yourself.”

Of course…

Anyways…Marcus Angel was also there. I couldn’t believe it. When I came to Hollow Rock he was still in a coma due to his extensive injuries and to be honest, his situation didn’t look good. He was shot multiple times. He had broken ribs and a fractured skull. He was on life support, costing the organization $5,000 a day but they had no intention of giving up on him. It was endearing, their level of compassion. Of course I wouldn’t find out until later how much everyone was depending on him to regain consciousness.

It wasn’t just military training that I learned over the course of three years. The Paramours were all about refinement, the stuff of gentlemen. The education, the in-depth history taught to me was more than I ever knew existed. I learned six different languages and took acting classes to both suppress my emotions and convey the right ones to elicit any response I wanted. The Paramours focused on stealth, intelligence, and tactics of subterfuge. Perception was everything and like a chess master, I was conditioned to think five moves ahead.

After three years of training, the Paramours started taking me on missions in the field. At first, it was just to observe and shadow other experienced members. My non-descript Asian appearance was extremely helpful. It didn’t matter what country I was in, there was something about me that whispered, “nothing special” or “harmless foreigner.”

Then came the first mission where I had a more pertinent role. It was in the summer of 2018. The leading Paramour was a revolutionary named Arsen Masol. My unit was posing as documentary filmmakers and I was the cameraman. Arsen’s mission was to provide the authorities with proof that deputies within the Verkhovna Rada (Ukraine’s parliament) were being blackmailed and coerced to stay in the European Union.

What does this have to do with the Paramours? I had no idea. And honestly, I didn’t need to know. It was Arsen’s mission. He had his reasons and we were there to support him. I never doubted for a second that when the time came, my newfound comrades would assist me in my personal mission as well.

That’s the thing about us Paramours…we’re intensely loyal. When you’re in hostile lands or investigating in countries where things like due process and evidence are laughed at like bar jokes, everyone’s afraid. The fear of death or imprisonment was inevitable. But we weren’t alone. Our comrades were with us. They had our backs.

We’ve been shot at. We’ve been wounded. We’ve been caught. We’ve been killed. But no one has ever revealed our existence to the outside world. Even the Society didn’t know about us. The Paramours who were declared dead to the world could never leave Hollow Rock. That included men like Marcus Angel. Should he ever reappear, he’d jeopardize us all.

After five years of running with the Paramours, it was my turn to step up to the plate. It was a difficult decision that I knew would change my life forever. Once I crossed the threshold, there was no coming back. From here on out, I’d have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. The Society wouldn’t stop until I was killed. That was the risk I was willing to take to find my mother.

The Knights with No Lords: Epilogue – A Ray of Hope

Posted by Rock Kitaro on March 27, 2019
Posted in: Knights With No Lords. Tagged: , , , , . Leave a comment

In the aftermath of the Tristan and Isolde tragedy…

Epilogue
The Knights with No Lords: Epilogue – A Ray of Hope
By Rock Kitaro
Date – December 30, 2018

The day Isolde died marked the beginning of a turbulent period of warfare and violence. King Lot broke his pact with the Roman Emperor and declared autonomy for Kingdom of Lothian and Orkney. Vortigern began invading south into territories protected by King Mark of Cornwall. Even without the Lion of Dumnonia, High King Vortigern soon discovered that Cornwall was still force to be reckoned with.

Gawain and Morgan Le Fay would go on to defend Tintagel from every incursion thrown at their doorsteps. No matter how many legions came, no matter how many monsters or magical devices stormed with the threat of impending disaster, Gawain and Morgan stood in defiance. They were unstoppable. Their love and dependence on each other grew as they did in age and maturity.

At night, they’d have each other in secret. During the day, she’d assist him on the battlefield. More frightening than a fire-breathing dragon was the sight of Morgan and Gawain mounted side by side on their fuming horses under Tintagel’s black and gold banners.

Agravain was always in the vanguard, ready and eager to sink his teeth in. The shrewd, Gaheris always had his bow and wore an unbreakable visor to protect his beautiful face. Constantine was a captain and became the youngest Lord Chamberlain in Tintagel history, honoring his late father. No other kingdom in Britannia had a roster of warriors so capable, so dominant, so fierce and relentless in their pursuit to protect their world.

Pellinore, who was already famous in his own right, would go on and become more famous by taking up a post on a popular thoroughfare. He’d challenged kings and knights to duels and win every single one of them. Of course, there were some casualties along the way. He ended up making more enemies who were loyal to the fallen, adapting the moniker of “Fisher King”. The name “Pellinore” became synonymous with “manslaughter”. He was terrible, really.

The fortifications of Tintagel Castle were rebuilt and reinforced. King Mark became cold and hardened in Tristan’s absence. Some say the legendary Tristan went and joined an order of priests. Some say he became a mercenary for Saracens in the holy land. One thing was certain. Tristan would return. Everyone knew it. They wouldn’t say it, but they knew.

Gawain’s reputation for leadership, valor, and prowess on the battlefield spread far and wide. Despite his youth, he succeeded the role of prince and became one of King Mark’s most trusted generals. With Gaheris and Agravain by his side, Gawain never lost a battle or failed in his mission. However, with that success came the loss of something else. His compassion.

By the time he turned twenty-one, Gawain was ruthless in his lack of hesitation. There was no mercy on the battlefield. Wherever his brothers went, Gawain would throw himself in the midst of combat. He’d lose himself in it. After four years of nothing but intense combat, Gawain began to thirst it to the point where all he thought about was destroying his enemies. He’d fantasize about it. He couldn’t wait.

Morgana would blossom into a mesmerizing beauty that surpassed even her sisters. By twenty-one, she was taller. Her confidence was supreme and unshakeable. Men of all walks bowed down and shrank under her dark penetrating gaze.

She continued her tutelage with Niviane at Lake Avalon. Her potential seemed endless. Avalon was home to the world’s most gifted magicians and everyone knew Morgan would be the most powerful of them all. She could do everything her instructors could do and she performed them with better knowledge and understanding. Her spells lasted longer and her fire burned hotter than steel furnaces.

Her unbridled arrogance and ambition was matched only by her affection for Gawain. Anyone she saw as a threat needed to die. Queen Iseult sent wave after wave of mercenaries to murder Gawain. Morgan crucified them all. Anyone she suspected of aiding the enemy was tortured and chained without question. Gawain was thought to be the only person who could control her violence. It was only in Gawain’s company that Morgan exercised some degree of restraint.

Their love…it was powerful. The fear of losing each other drove them mad. It was a hypnotic spell by which they were locked on each other for what seemed would be forever.

For four long tumultuous years, this was the way of life. The days were dark. Death was beyond every hill, every forest, every field, and every bastion. Farmers were afraid to till the fields. Merchants became marauders. Protectors became plunderers. Treaties couldn’t be trusted. Warlords were always encroaching, and the mass of migrants seeking sanctuary in Tintagel only put more of a strain on King Mark.

Just when all hope seemed lost, just when there seemed to be no end to all the bloodshed and despair, a ray of light began to spread throughout the land. A young man, pure of heart, pulled a prophetic sword from its stone. Rumor has it, Merlin is with him. They say the young man is the rightful heir of to Pendragon’s throne, the only one who could possibly unite the clans and bring peace and stability to all Britannia. They say his name is Arthur.

The Woman in the Green Cocktail Dress (Suspense Short Story)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on March 17, 2019
Posted in: Paramour Letters. Tagged: , , , , , , , , , . Leave a comment

Repressed memories of a murder leads to a lifelong obsession. Elliot Chan was just a toddler when it all went down, but now that he’s all grown up, he’s searching for the missing pieces. He’s searching for his mother, the woman in the green cocktail dress.

Green Cocktail Dress 6

Elliot Chan – The Woman in the Green Cocktail Dress
By Rock Kitaro

“When I count to ten, I want you to open your eyes. Tell me what you see. Elliot, open your eyes. Tell me what you see.”

“It’s dark. Like nighttime. There’s a light to my left. TV’s on. Everything’s grainy with blurred lines like the Zepruder film but I see the semblance of an American flag. I’m sitting low to the floor. I don’t like this.”

“It’s okay, Elliot. It’s okay. Don’t be afraid. This is why we’re here. Confront this. You’re not alone.”

I was sitting back with my eyes close but my mind open. Palms were sweaty. I didn’t want to see it but she was right. It would never end if I didn’t go through with it.

“Tell me what you see,” she prodded.

“I see a fat man sitting in a lazy boy. Right in front of me. In a white tee shirt, black pants, and a large belly. He’s bleeding. He’s bleeding out. He’s twitching. The handle of a knife is sticking out of his chest and I’m just sitting there watching. What is this? Who is he?”

“Keep watching.”

“I’m not doing anything! I’m just sitting there. It’s the same as before! Nothing’s changed.”

“Keep watching!” She urged.

Even with eyes close, tears came through.

“Wait…” I said, almost in a gasp of relief. “Someone just walked by. Long calves in a green dress. High heels glistening from the TV light. I smell her, her scent, her perfume as she just walked by. Dude, she is stunning. That dress, looks like she just came back from a cocktail party or something.

“She’s walking towards the man on the love seat. She’s standing there. The man, he’s struggling to look up at her. I can hear him. He’s wheezing. I don’t know what he’s saying. Oh! She just grabbed the knife! She’s shoving it deeper into his chest. Oh my god! What the hell is this! He tumbled back! She literally just shoved the knife so hard that he fell out of the chair. She’s screaming. Stabbing him over and over again! Dude, she’s stabbing the hell out of him! I can’t do this!”

“Keep going.”

“This is messed up!”

“Keep going!”

“No!”

“You’ve come so far, Elliot! See it through. You’re the only one who can!”

“There’s nothing… She stopped. She’s getting up, standing over the man’s body. Damn…There’s blood everywhere. It’s pooling around her heels. She’s walking my way. I see the knife. It’s drenched. I can’t make out her face. The TV light, it’s not enough. I’m looking up at her. Long dark hair. Her hand’s clenching the knife. It’s completely drenched as if she just dipped into a can of paint.”

“Don’t be afraid.”

I couldn’t tell if it was Dr. Wilkerson or the woman in the green dress who just told me that.

“Go on, Elliot.”

“She drops the knife. It hits the hard surface floor. She’s walking away. I turn to watch her go but I can’t see her anymore. She entered darkness. I just hear the clacking heels fading in the distance.”

“And the knife?” Dr. Wilkerson asked.

“I don’t pick it up. I don’t do anything. I just sit there. Like a dumbass.”

Finally, I opened my eyes to the white popcorn ceiling. Dr. Wilkerson’s nodding, seemingly proud of my accomplishment. Odd. I didn’t feel accomplished. I didn’t feel fulfilled and I for damn sure didn’t feel satisfied.

“How do you feel?” She asked.

“Not good, doc. Not good at all.”

“Before we entertain the possibility that this actually happened, is there any chance you saw this before? On TV or in a movie?”

“Ma’am, I saw Scarface and Goodfellas when I was six. This doesn’t even compare.”

“Where are you going? You have thirty minutes left in the session.”

“Doc, I really appreciate everything you’ve done. Really, today was truly a breakthrough. I’ll follow up next week. I promise.”

I was halfway out the door when she tugged me by the sleeve and said with caring, compassionate eyes, “You really do need to talk about what you saw.”

“Ma’am, I just did.”

…

This all began because of the reoccurring nightmares that decided to hit not long after I enrolled into film school. I understood the neighborhood of Chelsea tended to have that affect on impressionable artists but this was different. New York was supposed to be the place where I could shed off the past and begin anew. But no matter where I went. The unanswered questions lingered like a chronic illness, like a sore throat. There’s no vaccination for what I had.

I was walking past the eclectic boutiques of hipster vibes when I felt the vibration in my pocket. It was Marvin, my father, giving me a call.

“Yallo.”

“Hey, how’d it go?” He asked.

I heaved a little sigh before changing directions on a course for Washington Square. It’s a park in the Village known for its ripoff of the Arc de Triumph, but ideal for self-reflection amongst the shaded trees, the exquisite monuments and a lovely central fountain. Twas still early in the day, so I didn’t expect it to be noisy or packed.

“Dad…I have to ask you something and I think it’s about time.”

He’s groaned. I got the feeling he knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

“Dad…who are my real parents?”

After a long pause, he said, “Elliot, I think its time you come home.”

“Yep. Was thinking the same.”

Is God Really Hearing My Prayers?

Posted by Rock Kitaro on March 10, 2019
Posted in: About the Author, Food for Thought, religion. Tagged: , , , , , , . 4 Comments

Is God Really Hearing My Prayers?
By Rock Kitaro
Date – March 8, 2019

billy-graham-praying

Every once in a while, I fall into brief bouts of depression, short spells that last two or three days. It’s usually triggered whenever circumstances force me to slow down and I have no choice, or rather it gradually becomes apparent that I’m missing out on a lot.

What most people do for “fun”…isn’t fun for me. I can’t help but see how different I am from my peers…and all of it makes me sad and lonely.

Like I said…this doesn’t happen often. But as long as I live in a society, I believe its human nature to compare yourself to others every once in a while. It can’t be helped.

During a recent conversation with my mother, a strong believer of Christ, she asked me if I trusted in God with my whole heart.

Without hesitation, I said yes. 100%. Understandably, she had some reason to doubt me. In the Gospels, I recall Jesus mentioning a number of times how… “Happy is the man who trusts in Him…”

And of course, if I’m not happy it does beg the question if am I really trusting in God? It led me to an interesting thought in which I may have surprised myself more than I surprised my mother. I asked her:

“Was Jesus happy? While he was here on earth, was he happy in the general sense? Sure the Bible mentions that there were times when he was happy. But also times when he was indignant. Or what about Jeremiah? Or Isaiah? Or Elijah? Or the Twelve Apostles or the Apostle Paul? Were these happy individuals? Happy to be doing God’s will, sure. But other than that…”

This requires deep thought and for the topic of this essay, I don’t want to dwell too much on answering that. Because, as humans, I believe everyone runs the gauntlet of emotions in which we experience happiness, sadness, triumph, victory and defeat. But overall, in the big picture, it is food for thought to consider whether men of God who sought to serve him and do what was good in his eye, were happy…living on this earth, amongst human societies.

And the reason why these thoughts prevail…As a man who’s read the Bible in its entirety, cover to cover, I believe it’s incumbent upon me to serve as a good example to others. God is my salvation, my rock, my hope. But if I was a non-believer, or someone who was on the fence about wanting to learn the true character of God, and they saw me looking down and depressed on a chronic level…it doesn’t exactly make for good advertisement.

Meaning, why would someone want to read the Bible in its entirety and strive to put God first in their lives…if they’re witnessing the complete abysmal state of someone else who’s doing that? Thus, I feel responsible. I have to fight back that which is bringing me down and remember God’s grace. But I need his help. I can’t do it alone. And so I pray…

I pray everyday when I leave my home for the strength, patience, and wisdom to deal with whatever may come. I pray when I’m faced with a challenge. I pray before I leave work, thanking him for getting me through it. I pray before I hit the boxing gym, asking that he help keep my body intact. And when I come home, after a hard day’s work and near depleted from working out…I sit in the same spot on my couch and bow my head, truly reflecting on the day, what I’ve done, how far I’ve come and where I want to be.

I beg his forgiveness for I know I have sinned. I know my weakness, my propensity to desire badness towards those who have crossed me. I know my weakness to sometimes lust after women who are no good for me. So I pray and beg him to continue to be with me. I pray that he blesses me with the strength to continue on, to hold my head up and keep the faith. I pray that his will be done. And I pray that I forever continue to strive and seek first the kingdom of heaven.

If I pray so fervently on a daily basis and claim to trust God 100%…how could I ever face bouts of depression? Doesn’t sound right, does it?

And last week, I watched a documentary about the evangelist, Billy Graham. This was an awesome man who lived to be 99 years old. And I confess, I wept as I watched him. From what I learned, he truly did so much to spread the Gospel to hundreds of millions throughout the world. And he seemed happy doing it. He appeared to have a loving wife, loyal children, and productive grandchildren. This was a man of God, in my opinion, who truly put God first in his life and from what I saw, he seemed happy.

But still. It was a documentary. It’s kind of like Facebook, or reunions where people share the highlight of their lives…while keeping the lowlights, the dark chapters tucked in the closet. I think that’s the case with me. It’s not like I’m miserable. I laugh and I smile a lot. But I confess…it’s tough.

Thus, my mother hit me with a question that left me dumbstruck for about five seconds. She asked… “Do you think God is hearing your prayers?”

As she continued to follow up with skepticism about whether or not I’m doing what’s good in God’s eyes, I took a moment to really evaluate the question. “Do I think God is hearing my prayers?”

And it made me smile, the conclusion I reached. I told her:

“Honestly, I don’t think there’s ever been a time in which I ever doubted God was listening to my prayer. I know he is. It’s part of that absolute trust and faith that I have in him.”

And I meant it. In my heart, I await God’s judgment. If I were to walk out of my home tomorrow and saw Jesus Christ returning on the clouds of glory to come and rid wickedness from this earth as it’s foretold…I wouldn’t dread it. I wouldn’t fear or run or scream or try to hide. I’ve dreamt of it. I know without a shred of doubt that I’d smile with open arms. Whether God thinks I’m deserving of life or death, punishment or grace, I submit to his judgment. Honestly, I can’t wait. Sometimes when I pray for the day, I weep thinking of how glorious the day would be.

I know that makes me sound somewhat like a fanatic…but if you knew the history I know about this world, what has happened, what is still going on all across the globe…I truly believe that you too would welcome the return of Jesus Christ with the utmost relief, like a flowing oasis in the middle of a scorching desert.

But of course…as a true intellectual, my belief and theories are just that without the pillars of evidence to support my conclusion. So…I went to the source, keeping in mind the question, “Does God hear my prayers?”

In Lamentations 3:8 it says “though i cry out for help, God shuts out my prayer.” This was Jeremiah speaking his wailings in the time of the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem. For those who don’t know…circa 600BC, Jerusalem was a very immoral place. For generations, God’s own people turned their backs on him by worshiping false gods, indulging in immorality and vice, and even sacrificed their children in the service of these false Gods. Time and time again, God sent prophets to warn them, to warn their kings to do the right thing. But Judah did not listen.

Thus…God passed judgment on his own people. And even still, in his infinite grace, God used Jeremiah to warn the people of the sentence he passed. Jeremiah told the kings and the people that a hammer, an army from the north would sweep through and destroy them. God chose King Nebuchadnezzar and the army of Babylon as the instrument of his wrath to discipline his people. Not to wipe them out completely. But to punish them severely for their iniquities.

In the book of Jeremiah, God repeatedly tells Jeremiah not to pray for the unrepentant ones of Judah because of their perpetual sin. And in Lamentations, he confirms that at the very least…if God does not hear it, he does indeed “shut out the prayer”.

So… If God doesn’t answer your prayer, is that an indication that he doesn’t hear your prayer? Or that he has “shut out your prayers”?

I don’t believe that’s the case. We have to understand that everything God does, he doesn’t have to do it at all. He owes us nothing. But he gives us according to his grace, love, and generosity. God answers prayers according to his will and at the time of his choosing. In Jeremiah there were instances where he prayed on behalf of the people and it took ten days for God to answer. In the case of Joseph who was falsely accused of sexual misconduct (sound familiar?) and imprisoned, even after he correctly interpreted the dreams by God’s grace, it would take him another three years before he was released.

Then there’s the example of Job. Job is probably the ultimate example of how bad things happen in which we have no explanation and will probably never learn the reasons why. Job never knew why God allowed Satan to strip him of his possessions and destroy his loved ones. And Job’s friends did their utmost with convincing arguments to say Job was guilty of all the afflictions. He wasn’t. If was due to a conversation God had with Satan, and really by God’s good grace and wisdom that he chose Job to have this happen to, knowing Job would not curse him and instead maintained faith as a shining example for billions who would go through trials and tribulations in the future.

That’s why I have faith. I ask God for his blessing every day as well as the strength and patience to wait. If I feel like I’ve been waiting an eternity, I have to remind myself that it just might be that God in his infinite wisdom is preparing me mentally and physically with experiences to handle that which I have asked for…like preparing me to be a man who would be a loving husband and devoted father.

Or it could be that he’s preparing me for another mission that I’m not currently ready to embark on. It may also well be that God is using me as an example for others, to test me, refine me, and punish me should I dare slip up and turn my back on his Word.

No matter what, we must never falter in doing our part by continuing to pray and have faith. Trust in him and if you lose focus or start to doubt, remember the examples he provided for us in the Bible. You think you have it worse than Job? Or Jonah? Or Jeremiah? Trust in Jehovah, our heavenly father. Always.

In conclusion, does God hear your prayers? Yes. Does he answer or deliver on all of them? That’s up to Him. But for your part, it should be irrelevant in your faith and trust in Him. And striving to put God first in your life certainly couldn’t hurt your chances.

And feel free to check out my essay of Job and Human Suffering. I think it might help improve one’s perspective. Thanks for reading!

The Knights with No Lords: Chapter 29 – Remember Me (Fiction)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on March 7, 2019
Posted in: Knights With No Lords. Tagged: , , , , , . Leave a comment

When all is said and done, Morgan le Fay has to pay for what she’s done. In just a few days’ time, there’s been a massacre, tragedy, and all-out war…all due to the treachery of a seventeen-year-old enchantress. Britannia will never be the same. Thousands will die in the battles to come and Gawain is determined to avenge them.

Chapter 29 - Remember Me

The Knights with No Lords
Chapter 29 – Remember Me
By Rock Kitaro

Nothing that once was could ever be the same. She knew that now. She knew there was no turning back, but at the same time, how could she move forward? Hopeless, exhausted, and alone, Morgan retreated to the one place that’s never turned its back on her. Chadwyck Forest.

The flourishing trees and all of its vivid colors was devoid of the blood, fire, and steel that so recently filled her sights. Here, she found solace with the woodland creatures, the rich smell of vegetation, and the trickle of crystal clear creeks.

She heard birds singing from the branches above. A cool breeze rustled the leaves and soothed the stinging gash along her right thigh. Morgan’s long black hair was grainy with the residue of sand and dried seawater. She had a blank stare, as if she was out of ideas and her body was now moving of its own volition.

Her black top, black pants, and hip-resting skirt were shredded and singed. She trudged into a shallow pond, an oasis in the middle of the forest where beautiful green willows bordered the banks. Once the frigid waters reached her waist, Morgan sunk her weight and let her ankles slide forward to submerge her body.

There she lay, baptized in suspended motion. The grime that encrusted her body gradually deteriorated. Her long black hair fanned out. As if the pond felt pity, it caressed her, consoled her, cleansed her, and kept her company. Thirty seconds felt like thirty minutes. When she finally opened her eyes, the clouds appeared so close. It was easy to imagine flying, gradually floating up towards the heavens.

Morgan planted her heels to stand and emerged from the pond as streams of water trickled down her smooth porcelain skin. The pain in her thigh subsided, as did the heat from physical exertion. Her heart still palpitated. And her eyes still burned from the sweat and tears but she didn’t scratch or wipe. The scene was too beautiful.

She took her time, trudging out of the pond as her hips pushed ripples with each step. Her glossy purple eyes rose up and peered through the canopy of leafy branches and the golden light that shimmered through. She found a spot by a massive oak with giant roots and a bed of soft grass.

There, she cowered down and lounged with her back against the roots. Then, tearing from the bottom of her shirt, she ripped a strip of fabric and fastened it as a bandage around her leg. She didn’t know if it would be enough to stave off infection or not. At the moment, she didn’t care.

All she could think of was the danger. The death. The look in that corpse’s eyes as she was crawling on her elbows in the midst of a full fledge battle. What happened at Tintagel was beyond her wildest imagination. Nothing went as expected. She never calculated Isolde to take matters in her hands. And she certainly didn’t think Gaheris would take it upon himself to kill Isolde.

A single tear trickled down her cheek. Her chest fluctuated as anxiety and mind-numbing fear mounted. She wasn’t naïve. She knew she deserved to be punished. She accepted it. The sooner the better…Just not from the man who was coming.

Imprisonment. Lashes. Disownment. Death. Those things, she didn’t fear. Let her die by Tristan’s hand. Let King Mark sign her death warrant. Let Gaheris put an arrow her heart. That’s fine. She could take it. Just not from Gawain!

“Oh god!”

She deflated with an emotional whimper as her face convulsed in a disgusted grimace. She buried into in her hands and cried. Oh, how she wept. Like a toddler who had all of her favorite toys taken away from her, Morgan sobbed and gushed and languished in self-loathing agony.

Then, she gasped with abject horror. The fast footsteps of a sprinter were approaching. Just as she looked over to her right, someone came bursting through the bushes with a skidding halt.

Gawain turned around and cast his sights on her. Beads of sweat covered his face. The fury in his eagle eyes blazed hot with indignation. He didn’t blink. His dark tunic was tattered and torn. His britches were soaking wet and with each step he could sense the unpleasant feeling of mud sinking beneath his boots.

Morgan said nothing but pouted in a silent plea of mercy. Meanwhile, Gawain’s eyes conveyed the sermon of a fiery priest, blaming her for the induction of sin itself. She curled against the tree roots with her legs tucked in close. Her eyes dropped from his face to his right hand. Gawain was clutching his katana, the razor sharp blade still filthy with the blood of so many. Morgan stared at the sword, fixated on it as a child to a father’s rod. She was triggered to vomit but pushed the lump back down her throat. After sitting there for some time, she finally propped up and sat on her knees with a studious arch in her back.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

Gawain squinted. It brought him no pleasure to see Morgan so afraid but he demanded justice.

“Just give me a reason…”

“Because I love you!” Morgan whimpered.

“YOU CALL THIS LOVE!?” Gawain screamed with tears of his own.

“Damn it, Morgana! We’re not children anymore! These are peoples’ lives you’re toying with! Look at what you’ve done! I could’ve died! My brothers could’ve been killer. For the love of God! I almost lost you! You… I almost. I almost lost …Why? Why can’t I…DAMN IT!”

Gawain flung his sword into the pond and began swinging his fists as if he was literarily battling his own demons. Morgan kept her head bowed and winced with each forceful swing Gawain threw. Finally, Gawain dropped to his knees and let out a deafening roar that sent ripples across the pond.

A gust of wind howled through the trees.

“Just tell me this,” Gawain said. “Is it true? Did you poison Tristan’s mind to make him fall in love with Isolde? The truth!”

The Knights with No Lords: Chapter 28 – Gawain vs. Algayre

Posted by Rock Kitaro on February 28, 2019
Posted in: Knights With No Lords. Tagged: , , , . Leave a comment

Gawain knows that Morgan will never be safe as long as Algayre’s alive.

Chapter 28 - Gawain vs Algayre

The Knights with No Lords
Chapter 28 – Gawain vs. Algayre
By Rock Kitaro

Two riders carved a trail as they raced across the rolling moors of dying grass. Morgan was riding for her life, dipping and diving, zigzagging in an erratic fashion as she continued west for the shoreline.

Algayre was an avid horseman. The way his steed cleared fallen logs and skipped across shallow streams without so much as a pause was enough to inject fear in any prey. Twice now, he came within arm’s reach of her, lunging out to grab her hair before she dipped into the slope of the fluctuating moors. Algayre was getting agitated but he kept smiling. He knew her death was inevitable. There was only so much ground they could cover.

At last, they entered the Y-shaped valley between steep coastal cliffs to arrive at the sandy beach of Trebarwith Strand. As soon as Vebby’s hooves reached the first wave of the foam-crusted sea, Morgan hurled herself into the shallow water. It was just in time to dodge the decapitating sweep of Algayre’s rapier.

Even though he missed, Algayre was amused. There was nowhere else to go. His prey was trapped. The sea was freezing and the towering cliffs served as barriers. While Morgan struggled to wipe the sand and saltwater from her eyes, Algayre took his time to dismount and clean his long slender blade. Grinning from ear-to-ear, Algayre let the tide roll over his boots as the saliva began to build underneath his tongue.

Then, much to his surprise, Morgan stopped retreating. She turned around and faced him, kneeling in the saltwater that rose up to her hips. Algayre was ready to skin her alive but he noticed her dark purple eyes had turned milky white.

Morgan thrust up her open palms. Five streams of jade colored sea erupted from the waves and materialized into hardened knights with swords and shields. At once, they charged.

The knights fought valiantly but Algayre countered with his own magic. He replicated his image. The knights swung at illusions, carving through a mere image of Algayre before that image dispersed like a popped bag of sand. The real Algayre would sneak up from behind and slice through the knights with either his rapier or the dagger. The battle lasted less than thirty seconds.

When the last knight was no more, the milky look in her eyes faded. Just as Morgan regained her senses, Algayre dashed for her. Impulsively, she extended her ruby palm and blasted him with a surge of furnace hot fire. Algayre stopped, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. The scorching flames hit an invisible force field that caused the fire to flow around him like a river coursing around a cemented boulder.

Steam from the scorched ocean rose until they were engulfed in a cloud of vapors. The fire flowed in a continuous stream. Morgan was giving it everything she had. She was already fatigued but now it was getting difficult to breath. A migraine throbbed so bad that it muddled her vision. She could barely see the blinding light emanating from her own hand. What she did see was Algayre smiling through his crossed arms. She screamed with rage and dug deep to pull out any hidden reserve still left in the tank, but alas…

The fire stopped. Morgan dropped to her hands with a hard splatter. Fumes rose from her singed hair and fabrics as she gasped for air.

“No words? Pity. I was hoping you’d chide me further. The arousal of gutting the bold in the midst of their foolhardy edicts is unlike any other,” Algayre taunted.

Morgan was drained. She lacked the wherewithal to hit him with some snarky comeback. As if she just finished a marathon, her lungs were compressed, her mouth gaped open, and thick strands of saliva dripped from her lips. The front of her head felt like it was about burst from the pressure.

It was in that moment that she heard the sounds of galloping in the distance. It was faint. Could’ve just been the headache. But in the midst of her shock and exhausted stupor, Morgan peered through her bangs to look up the beach and there he was, Gawain coming to her rescue. She wanted to smile but she couldn’t. Too tired. So deflated.

“Oh ho ho…This is sweet. Such pleasure. Such ecstasy. I’ll remember this moment for the rest of my life.” Algayre said with the utmost satisfaction.

The Knights with No Lords: Chapter 27 – Knights with No Lords (Fantasy Fiction)

Posted by Rock Kitaro on February 23, 2019
Posted in: Knights With No Lords. Tagged: , , , , . Leave a comment

Gawain (17), Gaheris (15), Agravain (14) are the brothers. Joined by the mercenary Pellinore (23), the squire Constantine (16), the lancer Kersey and several others…these young lads make up the future legends who will one day play a role in uniting all of Britannia. For now, they’ll settle for conquering the destroyer of Hibernia.

Chapter 27 - Knights

The Knights with No Lords
Chapter 27 – Knight With No Lords
By Rock Kitaro

Cups crashed and plates shattered as Morgan fled down the dark corridors like a runaway slave. She dragged down ornamental armor and tipped over chairs all in an attempt to create obstacles but the laugh persisted as if it was always just creeping over her shoulders.

Every time she stopped to throw a fireball down the hallway, it would hit absolutely nothing, lighting up the corridor until it reached a dead end. And just as the scarlet flames fizzled out, she’d see him. The ghostly image of Algayre, with his black hollow eyes, grinning from ear to ear with that creepy smile that flashed all fifty-two of his crooked teeth.

For a moment, he’d just stand there, taunting, toying with her. Then, he’d glide forward with startling speed, standing vertical without any gait as if he was levitating just an inch off the ground with his heels glued together, closing the distance so quickly. Twice now, she was only barely able to dodge the glint of his impaling blade, the glimmer of steel just inches from her face.

Morgan jumped from a window, fully aware of the adjoining rooftop just six feet below. She landed and scraped her knee on something awful. Almost immediately, she picked herself up and continued running along the narrow wind-scraped rooftop, focusing to ignore the perils of plummeting 200 feet into the alleys below.

A sharp pain seared across her right thigh. Algayre had just fired a crossbow, slicing through flesh. The pain was too much. The arrow hit her in midstride so she fell.

Propelled by the forward momentum, Morgan spilled into the nearest open-air terrace and crashed through a wooden table. Her hair was frazzled. Bruises galore. She sat up and gawked at the excruciating gash throbbing from her leg. It hurt to move but she had no choice. The laughter drew near. Thus, she forged on, biting her lip with angry determination.

Morgan entered the 3rd floor of the citadel and spotted two Lothian knights at the end of the corridor. Both had blood on their shields. They seemed strong and eager for more action. Morgan shouted that a villain was after her. And just as she pointed towards the door, there was a flash of gray light. Someone had entered and closed the door.

“Fear not, milady! We’ll handle this!” the knights declared.

One of them charged headlong into darkness and soon screeched out in pain. There was a hard stabbing sound followed by the thud of a body dropped. The second knight ran to avenge his comrade.

Morgan watched in horror as Algayre grabbed the knight’s neck and sliced him six different ways all while smiling at the seventeen-year-old enchantress. He threw a dagger her way and it was out of sheer luck that she managed to evade it by staggering against a pedestal. Blood from the dagger dripped to her cheeks. Morgan snarled with rage.

“YA!” she shouted with the hurled a fireball.

The grinning Algayre held out his open palm. The fire vanished inches from contact. Morgan threw another and another but it had no affect. Algayre’s own magic intercepted the flames. Each time Morgan summoned her magic, it exhausted her, bringing her closer to fatigue and dehydration. It got to the point where she felt light-headed and saw double vision. Algayre laughed.

“All witches must die!” he hissed.

Again he came at her, levitating off the ground.

“AYE!” Morgan yelped as she dashed into the connecting corridor.

Hobbling as fast as she could with blood, sweat, and tears draining from her face, Morgan raced for the nearest open window. Algayre was right behind her, so close that he could reach out and wrap his entire arm around her neck.

“AHHH!!!” Morgan screamed as she threw herself out another window.

This window was unfamiliar. She didn’t know if she’d splatter on a roof, a body of water, or the streets below. Anything was better than death by Algayre. She flailed through the air for what seemed like an eternity until finally her back hit a cushioned surface. Her lungs bounced as if she just was body-slammed and it took a few seconds to regain her bearings.

By some miracle, Morgan had plummeted eighty feet and landed in a wagon full of sheep’s wool. As she gulped and struggled to breathe, her weary eyes gazed up to the third floor window she jumped from. Algayre leaned out of the window with that haunting smirk and it pissed her off to no end.