47 Ronin, the Battle of the Alamo and the Will McAvoy Speech – By Rock Kitaro
By Rock Kitaro
Date: February 10, 2014
Dragon Ash – “Walk With Dreams”
Let me begin by saying that I plan, by no means, to turn my website into a movie review site…But I confess…After watching Keanu Reeve’s “The 47 Ronin”… It was the first time in a long time that I was actually moved to tears inside an actual movie theater. Why? You might ask? I’ll tell you.
When I was nine-years-old, my parents took me and my brothers on a vacation trip to a city called San Antonio, Texas. The history behind Texas’s independence is, I think, both controversial and admirable. Since I was born in 1986 and know all too well that history is written by the victors, all we’re left to go on is what’s written in history books and passed on from generation to generation.
“47 Ronin” That movie was quite beautiful to me. I know quite a bit about Japanese culture. The idea of avenging one’s master and fighting for the right to commit suicide with honor…that may sound absurd, but living these days in America, I don’t think anyone has the right to judge the Japanese or their ancient ways. When I was younger, I’ll admit that I used to think it was idiotic of the Japanese to willingly want to commit suicide. But it just goes to show how ignorant I was.
The culture of the United States is not a universal culture. Meaning, that just because we deem something appropriate or inappropriate, it doesn’t mean everyone else in the world has to agree with us. And I think one of the reasons why the U.S. is spited and abhorred by so many in other countries is because we have a habit of trying to impose our culture and morals on other nations. Especially when our own culture is all over the place with standards that are constantly being lowered.
“I’m not the same person I was before. I no longer dive in headfirst. Now, I step lightly. Slowly wading through the shallow waters, Hiding my caution with a mask of confidence and apathy I see the deep end. I want to get there. But whether I do or not, depends on how hot or cold it is. And the only one who can control the temperature… is you.”
I wrote this a couple of weeks ago and planted it on my facebook page. While the concept of “no longer diving in headfirst” pertains to the tactic I plan to use in most of my future endeavors, it obviously pertains primarily to the aspect of romance.
“WAIT, ROCK! Why are you writing about this and putting it on your website!? Aren’t you worried that any female who comes into your life might wander onto your website and read this?”
lol…No.
One reason why, is because I understand that I can be quite difficult to understand. I’m not like most men. And that’s not to brag, because sometimes I wish I was. It would make things easier to just fit in, rather than being that nail that sticks out. Trust me, there is nothing noble about being rebellious. I blame it on my education. Once you’ve become aware, there’s no going back. But that’s for another editorial.
My upcoming e-book will be the last e-book I release for a while. But while it may be the last, it certainly isn’t the least. After I write any story, I go back and proofread what I’ve written, and it’s usually the most difficult process for me because mentally I’m like… “I’ve already finished this project. I want to move on.”
But with this upcoming e-book, it didn’t feel that way. It really is my favorite story, involving one of the most arrogant, sophisticated and conflicted characters I’ve had the pleasure to create. While I’ve already written a novel and I’m working on my second novel involving Eliza Christie as an adult, this upcoming e-book will reveal what Eliza Christie was like as a pre-teen. It’s a narrative told by her best friend, Aida Jennazo. Aida sees first-hand accounts of how Eliza didn’t just roll out of bed and become a vigilante outlaw. Defiance is simply in her DNA.
Eliza Christie aka The Jaguar of August the 18th – age 22,
Being raised by a single father who’s the lead detective for Tampa’s organized crime unit was difficult to say the least. But despite the long hours her father had to pull, his devotion to her was undeniable. And even as a child, she didn’t hold his job against him. She didn’t cry about not being able to go to the park or get that Barbie Doll. Instead, she embraced being raised by the police unit, the officers treating her like she was one of the boys. That being said, Eliza’s never really gotten along with her peers, subconsciously thinking herself above them and their petty individualistic problems.
At a young age, she was exposed to the violence, obscenities and lewd behavior no child should have to witness. But instead of falling into a hole of darkness that only therapy could pull one out of, Eliza reveled in it.
It was only when things got too dangerous that Eliza’s father brought her to live with Aida Jennazo’s family. And that’s the way it was until she reached the age of fifteen.
On one faithful night…the outstanding work Eliza’s father put in finally caught up to him. You see, Eliza’s father, Detective Emil Christie, began to theorize that the city’s entire criminal body was under a single umbrella, a Syndicate, with only one faction pulling the strings for every other gang. From the patterns of murders, extortion, kidnappings and missing persons…only one entity seemed to benefit from it all…The Pierce Corporation with Isaac Pierce sitting at the head of the throne. Isaac Pierce is the richest most influential man in the world at this time.
So when a young assassin scales the high-rise building of Emil Christie’s apartment complex. It hardly came at a surprise to him. What was surprising was that this assassin happened to be no other than Isaac Pierce’s own nephew, a rising enforcer who was already beginning to make a name for himself as a prodigy swordsman. Eliza Christie walk in on the tail end of this grisly murder to see the young man standing over her father’s body.
Her father’s last words… “…Braden Pierce…”
That moment forever changed Eliza’s life, unlocking a chest of fury and igniting a blaze of determination that would never be extinguished.
This stunning blonde green-eyed woman would go on to train in ninjutsu and capoeira before forming the unauthorized militia known as, August the 18th. This militia is a small band of war veterans, mercenaries and ex-police officers who have lost faith in the justice system to do anything about the blatant offenses inflicted by the Syndicate. And while Eliza thinks of herself as just and honorable…on occasion, she willingly and knowingly makes herself a hypocrite when she appoints herself as judge, jury and executioner when it comes to dealing with anyone affiliated with the Pierce.
Smart and philosophical, Eliza knows when and where to show her true self. While attending university and out in general public, she’s your average 22 year old respectable college student. But when she’s with her militia and out on missions, she’s a revered, dominating general who does just about everything except for waiting on the sideline. Only with Aida and Inspector Gazi, does Eliza not concern herself with appearances. It’s only with those two that she can truly be relaxed and free. But despite her growth and maturity as a young woman, two things remain cemented in her psyche. Her deep love for the color green and her need to erase Braden Pierce from existence.
– Eliza’s traits….Dormant pissy attitude. As an adult, she tries to act professional in the face of others, but deep down she’s selfish and unpredictable. She likes Yoko Kanno type music, reflective and instrumental. As a civilian she’s always wearing a long hooded green overcoat that was passed down from her mother. Aside from that, she almost always wears a jeweled bracelet even in combat and has a short katana sword down by her lower back, often concealed but easy to get to.
A former U.S. commando turned Syndicate enforcer recounts his first and only mission with the infamous Black Creek Security firm. It’s on this mission that he has the honor to witness the Godfather’s favorite nephew in action.
When a young street tough stabs a nonviolent door-to-door preacher, a small town urban neighborhood becomes infected by several of the most notorious criminals in the world. Continuing with the “Tales of Ybor” stories, this title contains graphic violence and street level language. While “The Godfather’s Sword” revolves around Braden Pierce, the prodigy syndicate enforcer, “Seven Deaths” introduces us to one of the few individuals who can match him in skill and execution. Gavin Hassell is an indiscriminate mercenary who sets his own agenda based on the highest bidder and his own private personal constitution.
It’s okay if you don’t like to read. More specifically, its okay if you don’t want to read my work.
As I get further and further ahead in my writing career, more and more I’m bumping into friends and acquaintances who hear of what I’m doing, and wear a look of shame. They usually begin to say things like:
“Ah man, I’ve been meaning to get around to reading that.”
“Dude, there’s not enough time in the world.”
“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me of that. I’ve been meaning to buy your book.”
“I’m in the middle of it, but things keep popping up that keep me from finishing it.”
Etc. etc. etc.
With a light-hearted smile on my face, I want to tell them that it’s okay if they simple have no interest in reading my work. I didn’t start writing to burden my friends and acquaintances by adding yet another thing that I’m expecting them to do.
Besides, putting myself in their shoes, I know that my style of writing or subject matter might not appeal to them. I don’t write with a focus on prose or clever wordplay. I’m a story-teller who writes clearly and direct as if I’m speaking to you personally. Some people don’t like this. Some people like reading the literary and poetic arrangement of words more so than the story, however pretentious and pointless it may sound.
And if I do write about something that catches your interest and you start reading and get too distracted by something else to want to continue on…Then I take responsibility for that. All that means is that my story wasn’t interesting enough to keep you coming back for more and I need to step up my game. Hmph…and that’s fine. I’ll accept the challenge. All that means is that I have to be more provocative and engaging, connecting with my reader so much to the point that my words hook into their brains, refusing to let them go.
I just wanted to create a post to welcome my newer visitors to this site, and say thank you to my fans from over the year and a half that this site has been up. Just an update on what I’ve done and what you can expect from me.
Since launching this site in July 2012 I have written:
– Three published e-books with Amazon Kindle, each over 30 pages
– Two original short stories in the “Dragon Ash” series, each over 40 pages
– Four original stand alone short stories and premises
– Three back-story pieces for the main characters of the “Three Kings of Ybor” saga.
– My first poem
– Four drama sketches from my days in acting class
– Over a dozen philosophical narratives…some more embarrassing than others
– Characters from four different stories
– Eighty page treatment for second novel in the “Three Kings of Ybor” saga.
I’ve used twitter and facebook as a means to promote my work, as well as paying for press releases to push my e-books out there. On Sept 27th 2013, I attended a party at a brewery for radio personalities to interact and network myself, handing out business cards and showing my face for all to see.
Cigar City Brewery – Tampa
When handing out my business cards, people usually ask what can I do for them. That question really does perplex me because in all honesty… ignoring what it technically is, it’s difficult to see my writing as a “business”. Yes, I want to make money from my talent, and yes I want to be known worldwide for it…but there’s a deeper reason as to why I want those things. It’s not the only reasons why I write.
It reminds me of Alan Watts’ question: “What if Money was no object?”What would you do if you had all of the money you could ever need? What then?
My dad and I got into it about two years ago where he chastised me for thinking myself better than others who call themselves writers without devoting themselves to the craft. I really do think that I’m better than people who call themselves writers when they only really write as a hobby. I’m not afraid to admit that and anyone who has a problem with it…sorry?
Skeptical Rock
Don’t get me wrong…if you like writing. Do that! I can’t tell you how many people I’ve met in real life who I’ve tried to encourage and support their endeavor in the field that I love… but so many lack the ambition and confidence. They’re reluctant to set aside the time to hone improve on their skills and just sit down and write. I don’t slight them. At the same time, I don’t consider them to be of my caliber…that’s all, really.
A friend of mine pointed it out to me long ago, and I agree with his theory. I write to escape the world that I’m in. It’s why I started writing when I was a pre-teen…its why I wrote during my college days instead of going out to clubs and partying. There’s something about embarking on a new journey every time I start a new story or add a new chapter that really fulfills me.
Haha! I’m sure as I get older, I’ll find better words to articulate what I truly mean than that corny reason I just gave you. But for now, it’ll just have to do.
So keep rooting for me! Until the day I die, I won’t stop improving or creating. Until the day I die, I’ll continue to strive in owning the Stage in the Sky.
To my very handsome and intelligent son. Happy Birthday!!!! I am so very proud of you. Not just today but from 18 August 1986 @1036pm when i first heard you cry. from the times when i would fall asleep with you laying on my back, mom would wake me up and tell me not to roll over for fear i would crush you. From the the time you would fall asleep in your swing set holding your stuffed frog. From the times you first started walking and you would follow me around the house humming. From the time you took my credit card and ordered pizza for 6 months without me knowing. You always made me smile. My baby has grown and is growing to be a better man than me. Here we are now 27 years later and you still make me smile. I love you son and happy birthday.
My Response
HAHAHA! Oh…dad…you could’ve stopped at following you around the house humming, but you didn’t. And I love you for it. I truly do appreciate the sentiment. I’ll never forget it.
When you think of Tampa Bay, what generally comes to mind? When most people think of South Florida, they usually think of Sea World, Disneyland, and the exotic club scenes of Miami. I think you may be hard-pressed to find many talking about the city of Tampa. If you did, you’d probably hear of the hundreds of strip clubs or the sports teams that constantly make a national impact in the various leagues.
But living in Tampa, Florida for eight years now…I’ve never done any of that. I’ve never been to a strip club, taken in the sights of the theme parks or even care to visit Miami. Does that make me lame or dull? Maybe… I grin… I don’t think so. I’m still relatively young, and ambitiously, I’ll tell you that compared to what I’ve dreamed, the worlds and complicated characters I’ve created…They make Miami those aforementioned attractions seem like the black-and-white pictures you’ll find of undeveloped new lands from the Great Depression era.
This isn’t to slight anyone who enjoys such attractions…only to differentiate that not everyone needs such sights to stimulate the imagination. For a romanticist such as myself, all I need is that which nature provides. The open sky that seems limitless, the perpetual motion of the oceans that shows an endless abundance of energy…and the wind…The wind that allows me to fly every time I close my eyes. It’s amazing.
This little memoir is a piece I’ve written to elaborate on how this bridge has served as my own Fortress of Solitude. Since 2005, I’ve found myself embarking to this destination every time I feel lost or have strayed off course. And every time I’ve climbed up that bridge, I’ve carried with me chains of animosity and suicidal thoughts caused by heavy self-loathing. And every time I walk back down…I feel resurrected as an entirely new individual. I can’t blame those around me for not keeping up…I never stay the same and this is why.
The following work is completely fictional. Some spelling is incorrect intentionally for flavor.
“…I’m sorry what?”
“English, motherfucker! Do you speak it!” Said another officer before laughing his ass off and wandering down the hall.
“…Royes…” Det. James mumbled as a double-stream of smoke blew out of his nose. “I apologize on his behalf. The graveyard shift on a Tuesday night is boring for all the uni’s.”
I rolled my head and batted my eyelashes. My head was bangin from two white Russians and rum and these pigs was asking me every damn question in the book.
“Mmmhmm…Whatever muthafucker. Go ahead on… talkin about the graveyard duty. I got a double shift at Home Depo in four hours!” I wasn’t yelling at him. Just stessin ma point.
“Then, what were you doin at a bar on Corona Avenue?” James asked.
“That’s my business, you pale face motherfuckuh. Don’t worry about it!”
“You’re right. That is your business. So I won’t worry about it. Instead, I’ll handle mine. All right? And my business is all about figuring out what the fuck happened at the Smooth Umbrella at around 10:30pm on a goddamn weeknight.”
“So why are you asking me!?” I shouted, raising my voice to match his.
“Because you literally puked all over the hood of my Buick!” He said, squinting his eyes and moving his chair closer.
“What? You wanna a special certificate? You want a cookie for being dragged down here? You’re an adult, princess. Get your shit together and answer my goddamn questions! And let me tell you. You better drop the attitude before I run an intoxilyzer on ya ass. Toss a DUI in your lap. Yeah! Believe me, princess. That shits hard to get off your record. Mugshots all over the goddamn internet. Good luck picking up a guy who Google searches ya ass. Try me.”
Detective Patrick James. I saw from his badge that he was a senior officer and from the way he switched it up on me, I can see why. Caucasian, but he could talk like a nigga if he wanted to. Didn’t blame him. In fact, I respected it. I don’t like talking to cops or suits but James got raw on me all the sudden. Made me smile. But if he ain’t stop waving that muthafuckin pen all up in my face, they might had to be somethin.
“Tell me what happened, Michelle. Start from the beginning, alright. Tell me what you saw.” James said as he moved a Dixie cup of coffee my way.
Even the most peaceful god-fearing men on earth have family members who are dangerous. A local machete-toting street gang learns this lesson the hard way.
In this short story, a small town urban neighborhood becomes infected by several of the most notorious criminals in the world. And it all stemmed from one young gangster who felt insulted by a middle-aged preacher speaking to him about the bible. Like the Braden Pierce side story, this story contains graphic violence and street level language. It’s not to show how good I am with choreographing fight scenes or to display how attuned I am to retribution and intimidation.
These side stories involving characters from “The Three Kings of Ybor” are written to show the depths of how well they live up to their infamous reputation. To show that in this world…some people just aren’t people. They’re fucked up individuals who stand atop of empires they’ve created, empires built by the media who makes these killers look like superstars. And as hundreds of thousands of the good hardworking individuals point at them and protest their existence, wish for their downfall… these “three kings” take it unfazed, unconcerned and without care in the world about how others think. It isn’t until someone has the audacity to step up do these kings remind them and everyone caught in the crossfire… that monsters do exist.
8:02pm – April 28th 2209
Tallahassee, Florida…The old Floridian capital still served as a distinguished municipality. Though it had its share of scars from the war, it was still a decent place to live and raise children. Tallahassee was an urban city made up of old structures, mom and pop businesses and half-assed state departments. But for the most part, it was a peaceful city where people tended to their own and kept to the confines of “things just being the way they are.” But in this world… There are just several kinds of people that you don’t want to mess with.
At a little past eight at the Thompson Medical Center in downtown Tallahassee, drama was unfolding with a family of Mexican descendents. A fifty-two year old man named Gene Sanchez had just suffered from a brutal stabbing attack and was rushed to the intensive care unit via ambulance. Sanchez’s family and friends had received word of the stabbing. They congregated in the hallways, barraging the doctors for updates and answers that the doctors just didn’t have as of yet.
Stage In The Sky 