Author has written 5 stories for Soul Eater.
Clexausic - The profile
Welcome to the nutty profile that is mine – and remember:
A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free.Nikos Kazantzakis
Dunno the human being (?) who wrote the sentence but I like it!
No one's going to take me alive
The time has come to make things right
You and I must fight for our rights
You and I must fight to survive
Muse Knights Of Cydonia
I am now proud to say that I'm a deviant :D I have...there. (yaaaaaaay)
Beware my imagination – I have a weird thought process
My favorite book/story up until now: ‘Hansel and Gretel’ by the Brothers Grimm. It was the story that made me somehow ‘grow up’ (partially because I cannot see how a tale like that can be read to children, don’t ask me why, and I was 10 when I read it) – but a great story nonetheless. It played a big part in my creative self!
What mainly inspires me: music (of course) and random, daily stuff like my little brother making a mess on the kitchen – and thus, ‘Another Day Another Jar’ was born! - , my friends kneeling on the street every time a bird makes a toilet out of the spot right next to them, granny that likes folding socks and my uncle that thinks wearing yellow and pink sunglasses is ‘cool’.
When its keys are pressed, when the chords come to life a little spark ignites inside our chests and those watering memories return. Flowing sounds escape from the strings, soft or hard depending on one’s mood.
The first time I entered a music room, the instrument that caught my eyes was the Transverse Flute, with its silvery body and slim appearance. I tried playing it, but I was too young, my fingers too small, and my uncle scolded me for touching an instrument ‘not appropriate’ for my age.
Instead, he picked me up only to place me down on top of a stool, right in front of a huge upright brown monster with black and white teeth. I remember it clearly, the darker stains of mahogany were spread all over the thing, its keys were chipped, its color fading and its texture rough and bumpy like the wood of a tree.
From all the beautiful instruments in the music room, this one was by far the ugliest.
“Press one” My uncle said, his voice grave and distant.
And I looked at him, stared at his curved lips and shook my head, arms crossed stubbornly over my chest. “No. It’s ugly, I want the flute.”
Uncle scoffed and tapped a gash under a bleached key. “This here instrument has a story. The only story you’ll find in the flute is the walk from the music store.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Come on, do your uncle a favor.”
Back then I felt like crying, because uncle didn’t understand me and the things I wanted. But the look on those eyes, they have seen music roll out from the most unexpected places and heard awkward beats by the hands of awesome players. As a musician, he had more knowledge than I would ever have. Not that I knew that at that time. “But I won’t like it!”
I just didn’t want him to be sad.
Maybe if he saw how bad I played, he would tear me apart from the humongous brownish thingy. Just like he did with the flute.
I don’t recall the exact note my finger touched (my memory isn’t amazing, but oh well) but I liked the sound, it was nice. Not hard to the ear, not difficult to make an actual good vibe. For an ugly beast, its music was angelic, for a lack of a better definition.
I pressed another, and another, and I stretched my arms left and right just to see how far I could reach. Mr Chipped was fun to play I decided.
But I wasn’t ready to give up just yet! That smug smile on uncle’s lips was just too cocky after my initial impression.
All my ten fingers connected with the old keys and the noise was terrible, horrible. Uncle cringed. “Hey, hey, hey! Do it like this.” He did something with my hands, all my fingers were on a different key and would you look at that – they weren’t small there, they reached all that it was necessary! “Now press.”
And so, from that moment on whenever I thought of playing another musical instrument in all my music life, something tasted bitter in my mouth. There was also another music room in uncle's house, where his friends stashed all the instruments for future moments. There was a shiny Transverse Flute, a slender Violin, an elegant Clarinet, a majestic Harp... I had a chance to touch them all, to press my palms on their bodies and run my fingers through their figures.
But the monster (now my monster, now my beast), black, white, brown, grand, upright, with weels or no weels, four, three or two legs remained in my soul. Its music together with uncle's laugh were both my prision and my friends, the ones that followed me wherever I went and soothed my mind and body.
But I was a stubborn child back then, so I crossed my arms and said-
“-I still like the flute.”
My uncle laughed.
My words may have made the moment more beautiful than what it really was xD, but it was real. Oh well, not gonna change it now (artist mind ftw)
And in my defense, that piano was really ugly, like, really old and ugly. And there were at least four off-tune keys. But it still lives!!!!
And so, await my fiction!
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