Karate

Many of you are aware that I am a member of Seido Juku karate, and have been since September of 2011. On the 20th of April, I went with my dojo to Honbu, the headquarters of the style of karate I follow. Honbu is in New York City, and I was there for two days, although there was only one day of training, much to my surprise and almost sadness.

When we got to Honbu, I was immediately struck by how much the members of Cayuga Lake Seido (the branch I belong to) stuck out from those who train at Honbu. It was like watching the difference between a beginner and one who has been training for their whole lives. Those who trained at Honbu more often were precise, clean, and had a feline grace that the students from Cayuga Lake couldn't match. The only ones who could were Senpai Mike, who has recently passed the test to become a black belt, and has spent much time training with Kaicho, the grandmaster, and Kyoshi Robin and Kyoshi Gail, our teachers at Cayuga Lake. Those who had been to Honbu before, too, also had traces of that grace that comes from learning from the creator of the style.

I do not mean to say that we were below par, though. But we were rough, and unpolished. Like a piece of rough turquoise compared to a cut and prepared gemstone. It was interesting to watch how the members of Cayuga Lake who had never come to Honbu before reacted to the physical rigor of the classes.

Many of the teenagers I train with at school do not try in classes. They view karate as an escape from gym class, and it shows in their attitudes and their form. It showed in their whining later in the day about how fast-paced the classes were, and how they couldn't understand the commands given to them. I felt bad for them, I really did. I felt bad that they couldn't enjoy the classes because they couldn't get past the challenges. Which isn't to say that the classes were easy for me. They most definitely weren't. I struggled, especially in the class led by Kaicho's son, Nidaime. I promoted to my current level recently, and as such, I'm not 100% sure of some of the things most yellow belts take for granted. And I struggled with them. But there was an element of fun and challenge to it that made the pain of muscle fatigue vanish.

The classes I attended were not all just physical ones. We also had the fortune to manage to make one of Kaicho's meditation classes, and to hear one of his meditation lectures. The lecture of choice was titled "Tan Ki, Tan Mei", which translates to "Short Temper, Short Life", something I find personally striking, as I have the tendency to react with a short temper to life's problems.

Many of you know that I do not do well in cities, that people crowding around me is one of the things that makes an inner animal's hackles rise. On the way back to the hotel we all stayed at, our bus passed near Times Square while it was nighttime. When I saw the neon lights, and their images seared themselves into my brain, I felt a little piece of myself curl up inside my mind and die; it was at that moment that I knew that I was not destined to be someone who found joy or comfort in the gaudy neon and the thrill of city life. I need to see the sky, feel a breeze that doesn't smell of death and sewers. I need to be in a place where I can walk and not be pressured and buffeted by an unending wave of humanity, all bent on personal destruction. But it was in that famed square that I found myself the next morning, despite my protests.

I had been under the impression that a second day of training was to be opened to students from my side of the lake as well as the other. I was sorely mistaken, and had to go to Times Square with the majority of the class. I would have much rather gone to a second day of training, muscle fatigue or no. I didn't find much in the way of joy walking the streets of NYC, only stress and the lurking fear that I was going to get lost in the crowd and swept away. I would have much preferred to go with Kyoshi Gail to the second day at Honbu, and I hope that next year, that will be an option for me to take.

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Today, I did one of the things that most people associate with karate; breaking wooden boards. Today was the first time I did this, and I was just a lot terrified of breaking my hand or foot. However, once we (we being myself, Kyoshi Robin, Senpai Mike, and six others) were actually there, I realized that it wasn't as terrifying as I previously thought. I broke eight boards today, three with kicks, the rest with my hands. All in all, it was a good day.

Warning: All Is Not As It Seems

This is the first time I've ever felt the need to say this, but the image that follows needs quite an explanation; the purpose and intent in its creation are not as they seem. The image could also be considered graphic. You have been warned.

This image is not about suicide. Not at all. While I might associate myself with the image of a dragon, this is not that dragon. My dragon has four limbs, and generally looks a lot different from this one. I'll get an image of her later.

This image was created out of anger, and out of emotions that had been kept squished inside of my mind for far too long (see my previous post). In fact, this dragon represents, in my mind, tyranny of one person in particular, the dragon being the traditional embodiment of evil. To those who know what my family's going through this week, this image makes a lot of sense, for tyranny is being forced backwards.

Without any further introduction, I present the image. Any other questions can be asked in the comments.

Anger

First off, sorry for not posting in a while; what little I've had to say was a bit more private than usual.

~~~

Anger is a beautifully powerful emotion. It's primal, intense feeling, and it lends strength to the limbs like few other things do in life. It also terrifies me far beyond what could be considered normal.

I am afraid of my own anger. I'm afraid of how much I can feel, and I'm even more terrified of what I feel like doing when angry. I'm afraid of that rush of power, that feeling of wanting to pulp someone's head underneath my hands. I'm afraid of how good it feels. I'm afraid of what I could turn into if I tap into that power; I remember of being at the mercy of someone controlled by their wrath, and I have no want to ever experience that again for as long as I still walk on this planet.

That doesn't stop me from feeling this intense anger, though. I have moments when I feel like putting my fist through the wall, and some part of me, beneath my fear, really enjoys that feeling. I often wonder what would happen if I let myself be really angry without fear of bodily harm. I wonder how long it would be before I felt the pain.

The reason I bring this up is that I almost ran into Mom tonight at a hockey game. Upon seeing her, I fled without giving reason why. After that, I was so angry with myself for fleeing, for being prey for a predator that should have no control over my life anymore. I felt like putting my fist through the wall, or like tearing my room to pieces.

It is a terrible thing, in my opinion, to be afraid of one's own feelings. It sucks, to be afraid of feeling, for fear of the repercussions.

The Adventures of a Polyglot (and other things)

Upon reflection today, I realized that I have, recently, dealt with more languages than I ever had before. I do believe the total was five that I actively dealt with, and even more that I didn't use today (I think I'm up to eight languages some days).

As of today, the languages are as follows;

• English
• French
• Japanese (karate commands are given in Japanese)
  
• Ancient Greek
• Latin
• Hebrew
• International Phonetic Alphabet/Language
• Musical Notes (some count that; I do)

...and I'm sure there are others I'm forgetting. Joy.

In other news, I have passed promotion from white advanced belt in karate to blue belt! Very, very exciting, even though I was really nervous for the past month or so.

Gryphon, Part Deux

The gryphon from before, now with color. Carry on.

Lines and color by yours truly, all touching-up done by my father.

Doodles and Stuff

No, not my puppy. Just me trying (and kind of succeeding) drawing a gryphon; otherwise known as a combination of two things I fail at drawing. Quite honestly, I'm rather proud of this one.

Art is mine, all work done in Adobe Illustrator was Dad's.

____

As for the other stuff, I was writing a bit earlier in the week, and am just getting around to posting it for your possible reading pleasure. This idea came to me partially whilst sitting in chorus one day, letting my mind wander as I listened to our teacher instruct the bases. As always in my writings, any resemblence to anyone, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

"Jellyfish"

Through the haze around her, she can see dark shapes; blurs of shadows. They whisper in hushed voices as they glide about the room, dark shapes against the foggy white. She knows not what they are doing. She is past caring.

One of the dark things leans over her, its edges soft and blurred like a long-haired cat's fur. It speaks in a strange tongue, the tones as fuzzy as the beast itself, the syllables furred and weird. She tries to respond, but cannot move. She knew that already. The thing sighs, there is a prick in her arm, and then there is only welcome darkness.

___

Once again, the light is burning into her eyes, everything still fuzzy and soft. She is aware of the thick, abrasive straps that hold her captive to the bed, that keep her pinned in this half-world.

There are more shadow-beasts now, and their furred speech grates on her ears. She wishes she could wince. The beasts are talking to her, or so it seems, a wrong energy sending sparks across the room. She wishes she could cry.

Again, she feels the prick of the needle in what she once called an arm, the liquid sleep-velvet flowing from its tip; an ichor in disguise.

___

This time it is the jellyfish that wake her, stinging barbs of noise plunging themselves into her pulsing brain. She opens an eye, the orb naked and strange. She has no secrets anymore. The tubes winding in and out of her body have seen to that, like worms ventilating a corpse.

The shadow-things are back; back with their cheese-grater voices. As they speak, the jellyfish flow from their blurred maws, like glowing bubbles in the ether. The word-jellies pulse with light, their bells as light as dandelion silk, as rough as the sheets that cover her naked and emaciated form. The jellyfish sting her, prodding her with their tentacles, poking her with the stinging pain of words.

The shadow-beasts are leaning closer now, fuzzed forms with sharp-edged voices. She whimpers, trying to escape the stings of the sound-jellies that torment her. The sound-jellies seem to retreat, then, their pulsing bells flashing with deep blue sound. The shadow-creatures, too, fall back, weeping in harsh voices. Once again, a beast comes forward, and she feels the now-familiar pinch of the needle's tip, and the faint burning fire of the liquid sleep. She blinks, falling into the darkness, going completely still.

___

In the room, a woman wipes the tears away from her eyes, her makeup running into a gooey mess that runs into long, dark streaks. Closing her eyes, she gently touches the dead girl's hand, and mourns the passing of her daughter.

New Fanart

Yeah, just me having fun drawing a dragon version of a character I find cool. Carry on.



Kurou copyright to Capcom.