Nighttrail's Evolution - From 2012 And Onwards

“Hello everyone. This is Zeldaru - yes I do write for the Ribbon Room - and this is a solo blog. Here I will focus on various art mediums, in particular the written and music. The Ribbon Room will remain a more analytical and philosophical blog; there I will explore more esoteric matters. To summarize my relationship to art: I play video games; compose, record, and produce music; listen to music; read books; in addition to a myriad of other activities.”
July 14^th, 2012

And so this blog was kicked off, with my intentions for it laid bare here. I drifted away from the Ribbon Room shortly after starting this blog, though I still, to this day, have not truly retired it. I may find a purpose for it someday. Many of my earlier works were shamelessly taken from stuff I wrote for my world music class. The only real sub-focus early on was Pakistani music, allowing me to reflect on my cultural heritage. One item in particular stands out – my music ethnography – which allowed me to do firsthand research by interviewing a musician I had listened to. Writing the work while in Pakistan and interviewing a Pakistani musician sure went together, or something. Before you question how that is relevant, we talked about how one’s surroundings influences music, which was a fascinating discussion. Through crafting interview questions and then interpreting the responses, I better understood the music-making progress and how nonlinear it is.  And I also wrote short blurbs about songs for other posts, but I soon realized that my blog became cluttered. 

Therefore, I chose to shift the focus of my blog off of writing about particular songs (for the most part). Now, I write about a host of mediums – truly I am closer to my original post than when I even wrote it – though I do not spend much attention on paintings and visual art. 

One turning point was in my writing an essay about the show Hyouka. This essay stands out for two reasons: I began writing analytical pieces on anime and this was my first essay where I actually focused on the art style. From said essay, “Throughout the show, KyoAni has a knack for creating simplistic, realistic scenes that are at the same time stylized and interesting. At the same time, focus is shifted back and forth from characters to objects and vice versa, creating dynamic exposition.” For example, there is a scene where birds are depicted near a pond, creating an image without the characters present. However, that separation gives more emphasis onto the characters. I employed a scene-by-scene approach to understanding the art style. I never again attempted this style of analysis, making this essay quite unique. It led, however, to me writing more analytically and wanting to contribute intellectually rather than simply consume art. This was in February 2014.

The next turning point, it could be argued, was my post about disability in general. Here I combined theory and my personal experiences. Finally, social messages of value to me could be conveyed in an effort to help other people – to me, this brought my blog beyond the artistic and into the meaningful. I was proud of my ability to use feminist theory, disability studies, and my own experiences together to create a definition. (Though, admittedly, I will probably still defer to the  definition provided in the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990.) This approach allowed me to look at feminism and disability separately or together if I wished. I began moving away from music in the summer of 2014, when the disability post was written, and focused on this personally relevant topic. Looking back, I think the fact that I stopped making music (more or less) at the end of 2012 led to my switching gears. (That coupled with 2013 being a terrible year for me.)

As of late, I have been switching even from disability and have spent time thinking about other analyses, such as the Hyouka post. I would say that feminism has been relatively predominant in my postings lately over disability. However, this blog has become spread out as I try to become more versatile and more active. So, I need to work to establish motifs again in this blog and after August I will officially abandon the one-post-a-day rule for at least one post every two weeks. I hope to also revive the Ribbon Room (again) for collaborative works and other topics; I imagine Ribbon Room will lose its focus on art as a result (if I go this route).

Through this process, I hope that at least some of my posts have been entertaining. I have never expected all of them to be engrossing to everyone who has chanced upon this blog. But that is why I vary topics. If one post is boring, then another could be fascinating. Nighttrail will never be second nature, even if I make it to 20 years. But fear not. I hope to share a music post in the near future so that I can bring this blog full circle. From blurbs about songs to a review of an album with multiple songs – it sure seems like a progression in that regard.

I will keep writing, even as life creeps in, and evolve with this blog.

Until next time,
Zeldaru

The Mythos of Mushishi

The other day, I saw an episode of the show Mushishi (Season 1). Though the show has no such lack of atmosphere, this particular episode struck out to me. I could pluck it out of its context with only a small amount of prior description (mainly describing mushi, which are essentially spirits that live in the world and cause supernatural phenomena). To me, episode 8 does an excellent job of drawing upon previous Japanese mythology while creating a unique entry back into it. This I can dub this the Mythos of Mushishi. Deal with it. Mushi are a reflection of the spirits that cause supernatural phenomenon in mythology but here the mushi are put to god use. 

Ginko, the one-eyed mushi hunter[1], meets a man who explains that his wife was lost to the sea a few years ago. Deducing that mushi are at fault, Ginko performs further research. At the same time, the viewer learns, through flashback, that the man’s wife seemed disgruntled with living by the ocean. The relationship appears even more distorted when the man reveals that he possibly was fired because he was engaged to her. Then he loses his wife to the sea, to snake mushi that no one else could see but her, and now he keeps waiting, looking for a physical sign that she has died. He wants to move on. Ginko, with the man, then pursue the snake mushi that took his wife away. He finds her after years and they have an emotional reunion where they tell each other their feelings about the other. However, the wife has been with the mushi so long that she disappears before his eyes, a heart-wrenching phenomenon. The man’s only consolation is that his wife only suffered excruciating loneliness for a few days – time passed slowly in this mushi cloud. 

He is only briefly reunited with his wife, which betrays expectation but also gives resolution – though she died, he was able to see her one last time. Therefore, this myth, through its subdued affection, elevates itself over many trite myths about love. The story lacks an airtight end as well – the viewer is allowed to ponder over the events, rather than “Oh, Orochi was slain” or something. The show’s ability to reveal messages rather than outright state them gives its stories a greater edge of memorability. Ginko, however, is also not a god but rather a peculiar human with skills. That adds to the strength of the atmosphere. A godly solution cannot happen from a human, which can be seen as dismaying to a person engaging the myth. If only a god can do it, then humans are powerless and pathetic. However, Ginko, despite being a rather calm person, exudes this down-to-earth power. This quality of Ginko adds to the story and makes it feel human, rather than godly, adding to its potency. This episode created a unique myth built upon past traditions while exploring human love.

---

[1] Mushi-shi means mushi-hunter, essentially.

Akane Senri’s Sorrow, Part Two: The Mythic Woman and Society w.r.t Gender

Originally, this piece was going to be very different but then I realized I was committing the heinous sin of narrative over analysis, which will not fly in something like this. Nope, no way. I read over part one and realized that what I had in mind was truly a part two. For this reason, I have added Figure 1 to assert this piece as the sequel. Below, further analysis on the points raised in Part 1. 

Figure 1. Akane Senri walking in a black dress surrounded by an entourage.

As already explained, Akane Senri is the mythical holy woman, head of a mysterious group that seems outdated. In this prestigious but sorrowful role, Akane is crushed under expectations and obligations. This role is very archetypal and thus rooted in the past, where matriarchal societies were more prevalent. It can be found in other works, such as Ursula Le Guin’s Tombs of Atuan, where the main character is a girl named Arha, which means the ‘eaten one’[1], who has the destiny to become the Arch-Priestess of her society. For this role, she is subjected to rules upon rules while being raised in the darkness[2]. Though Akane lives as a more modern being, she became set on this path because she was, as an orphan, selected to be the next holy woman.[3]

Both are forced into lonely roles of great power; despite differences in goals, both play almost identical roles as holy women. However, they are cast out as figureheads by prominent members in their respective societies, creating doubt about the very role of the holy woman. This archetype casts two seemingly opposite implications about gender: 1) woman as the matriarch, the powerful leader in the eyes of those she leads and 2) woman as leader through fake power that is for show. Akane and Arha experience special privileges befitting only the noblest beings in their respective societies while also being cast out as figureheads. They are held to exceptional standards but are also secretly doubted. In that sense, this archetype reveals how society views woman: not trusted even when given power. Perhaps the existence of this archetype can be explained in terms of matriarchal societies: the holy woman recalls these societies, which are now considered outdated and cultish if not outright wrong. Many of the claims against Arha and Akane stem from an implication that they, as holy women, are out of step with the modern world. They simply are called figureheads without an explanation; there is no discussion of why the idea of a holy woman is wrong. Rather, they want to remove leaders they see as unfit for the role, hence why the term figurehead is emphasized here. The emphasis in both works is on deposing the holy women, who are symbolic of the power of women.

However, Akane, through particular events in Rewrite[4] is also labeled a fake for her role in healing other people in addition to being a figurehead. Though this criticism comes from outside of her organization, presumably people within the group also felt that way – ultimately, an intra-group split occurs as a result of these feelings of animosity towards Akane. Her authority is questioned in more obvious ways too: the person calling her a fake goes to great lengths to prove that all of her miracles were concocted. However, Akane can use magic for this purpose, so this accusation is itself wrong. Therefore, this accusation operates in a different manner: the harsh criticism is based upon the high standards of being a woman[5]. As a woman, her word is doubted, as evidenced by her status as a “fake” and a “figurehead.”

The role of holy woman is quite stressful, as evidenced by both Akane and Arha leaving their roles. In the original post, I discussed how the archetype was disrupted, allowing Akane to seem sad and not composed. Rather, the disruption reveals the powerful strain placed upon the person assigned the role. As a result, the archetype of the holy woman is fascinating when disrupted because it provides an interesting perspective on gender and its political power - such a person is polarizing, forcing such issues of gender to the surface. Arha and Akane are both given strength but begin to feel crushed as they do not receive much (substantial) respect. Ultimately, the archetype of the holy woman provides a powerful look at how the idea of a woman leader is treated. That is why the mythic woman archetype is still relevant but beyond that important because matriarchal societies are now far removed from modern societies.

---

[1] Essentially, she’s a person of the shadows who serves the Nameless Ones – the Gods of the society in which Arha lives.

[2] Arha was abandoned as a child so that she could be raised by this secretive society – in this respect she can be viewed as an orphan.

[3] Rewrite isn’t as precise in this regard as Tombs of Atuan, so it is difficult to draw a more precise parallel.

[4] From the Akane route in said VN.

[5] Characters outside of Akane’s group do not necessarily see her as the holy woman. The character behind this criticism does not, so he just views her as a woman.

"Campaign" by Russian Circles, and the Inevitable Repeated Posting

A sonic cloud hovering at a low volume as guitar joins in, seemingly delayed. Retaining composure, sonic intensity increases as a left-panned stream of riffs holds its ground. The instrumentation blends together through reverb but they remain separated. A brief pause and a melody is pursued by a guitar, creating an evolution of structure. Fluid yet soft percussion pushes the other instruments - here vocals are unnecessary to create a full atmosphere. Nor does the song ascend to an explosive climax. Here Russian Circles, in their piece "Campaign", create and instrumental structure that is restrained but coordinated. Thus, it never falls apart - rather, it holds together nicely, all of the instruments in tandem. The work finishes much more quickly than expected, despite being nearly 7 minutes in length.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As hinted at, I will post more than one writing per day for a brief period to bring me up to, on average, a post a day.

Short Story

Marie L’Oye[1]
I walked towards the gap in the grove surrounding me. Suddenly, brilliant light – I exited the trees to find a cliff overlooking a massive gorge. Walking forward, I noticed a girl. Auburn hair, towards the thoracic vertebra. I stopped and, once I realized, I turned away. For, though her lower half was adequately covered, she only had a hot pink brassiere with black designs for her upper half. However, being embarrassed, I tried to stop thinking about it – I didn’t want to ogle her, after all.  This girl had been changing for some reason. I blinked a few times. The girl – who had wide, blue eyes but not quite the color of the ocean – now wore a black full-sleeved shirt and a – what the heck – red cape. Wait….I could tell those details because she had walked up to me and stood only a few centimeters form me. Loosely holding a sword in her right hand. She asked “Who are you?” in a calm and slightly airy voice but my fear was not allayed. Running into the forest would work….but then my back would be completely exposed.

The girl spoke in the same tone, “I am…a mage traversing these wooden lands in search of something potent.  Call me L’Oye[2]. Comment t’appelles tu?[3]”

I said, “Uh….I only know English….not that other language you spoke. Like, French or something. I am named Andrew.” Then I added, “Why aren’t you holding me hostage? Especially after….”

L’Oye interjected, “You committed no offences. I…have been examining you during this conversation. Analysis suggests 95% harmlessness – especially since you only have latent powers and no weapons at all – and 70% trustworthiness. Us traveling together for the time being appears to improve outcomes for both parties. It is in your interest to cooperate. This is all of the explanation I can currently provide.”

She spoke with a hint of an understanding tone beneath the jargon. I had no reason to object, so I joined with her. Hope….that kept me going forward after being separated from everyone I knew.  That sword of her’s either offered me protection or destruction. Protection I wouldn’t need if I hadn’t had to leave my village. I barely understood that day, now soaked with the fog of the past, because I had only seen one ceremony accidentally, without cause. Hardly the largest problem. But I was deemed cursed and had to escape the village of my birth to keep my life. After days of stumbling around, I had found the forest. …And escaped the mystery of my village. This place is too damn large, solemn for me to pay more attention to my past. Heading back to the forest was the only option as the cliff offered no safe route for descent.

L’Oye said quietly, “I am glad that I can make this trek with a companion…” I did not hear her but she wore a slight smile, barely separate  from her resting expression .At the very least, together we found a clump of branches held aloft by shrubbery – under this blanket, we lied down. She crouched and slowly unfolded, whereas I lied down normally (quickly). Within two minutes, her eyes closed shut and she was asleep. I struggled for 30 minutes before I lost consciousness from my exhaustion. Somehow I felt restored when I woke up but L’Oye seemed to not even need it. Her fingers ran through her hair methodically, picking out minute twigs and clumps of dirt. She crawled out of the makeshift shelter and I followed. As we walked, my initial distrust had dissipated slightly.

Perhaps she was hiding something from me – that fear still grasped me. Soon we were barraged again with light as the trees thinned. L’Oye grabbed two white-headed mushrooms and offered me one. I inquired nervously, “Is this edible?” She nodded and ate her share to prove to me that they were. She did not collapse and convulse – always a good sign – so I hate my mushroom. It was a bland snack but I need nutrition as I began to feel faint of head. And we continued. Like this for the next two days or so. Same food, though some (nontoxic) berries had added variety. However, it rained last night, so both of us woke up soaked. L’Oye led us out of the forest and said “Now call me Lumiere[4]” with a grin. It struck me that she was making a joke, even though I did not now French.

I said, “So…now I realize that L’Oye is probably not your name. I thought as much.”

She paused and answered shyly, “My name is Marie…I am part French. I wanted to ensure your trustworthiness before disclosing my true name. It has improved.”

I responded with “Well then, Marie. Glad to meet you. Let’s find our way.”

This new area opened to us – and no, I had not come to the forest this way – was an expanse of green, with sparse shrubbery. Marie had led us through the forest towards the northeast, leading us to this field. We slept under the sky, unprotected. I woke up to a sudden sound – explosions in the near vicinity. Violet flames danced across the night sky – emanated from Marie. Across from us was a figure cloaked win black, barely visible under the moonlight. He returned Marie’s violet flames with brilliant blue ones, raising a circular wall around Marie and I. Marie ordered, “I will raise the wall…and then you will run!” A serious expression stretched across her face, so I could not disobey. I had never seen her like this, even though she still remained as calm as ever. Embers were dissipated and I ran back several meters but still within sight of Marie. She had unsheathed her sword and used it to direct a fire blast – the foe stumbled over after being struck but disappeared. This foe had teleported.

My head was swimming with images of purple and blue flames. Walking back, the world became a blurring of these two colors. Once at Marie’s position, I held my eyes shut momentarily, only opening them again when I started talking a few minutes later.

“I th-thought we were safe! Who would attack us? Why!?” I inquired.
Marie responded, “I was identified as an unaffiliated mage…that alone is an offence to the many mages who belong to one of the main groups. He is likely reporting on us. But be at ease – few of those beings prowl these areas, an d they are quite weak.”

By this point, I could hear the concern in her voice. As we walked, we continued to talk.

I asked, “Do you consider yourself an open person?”
Marie replied, “I cannot characterize that….Perhaps I am not.”
I said, “That makes you open, doesn’t it?”
Marie said, “I need more information…..I’m not sure……”

The conversation, like the bulk of our few discussions, trailed off awkwardly. Marie was not exactly who I thought but she had certainly earned my trust. That’s not to say I truly know her. For now, this will have to suffice. Days rolled into weeks, as we entered our first month as companions, and we graduated from the field.

From there, we arrived at a river. Taking turns washing clothes, we made sure to give each other sufficient privacy. Though the ordeal was itself embarrassing, nothing in particular happened. As the embarrassment faded from my mind and cheeks, I felt a peculiar sensation throughout my body. A tingling throughout my upper spine.

So I asked, “A while ago you mentioned my having a latent power of some kind….what is that?”
Marie replied, “It is a power sleeping within you. My fire magic…is not latent because I can use it consciously. But I am not sure what your’s is.”
And I described, “Just now – a tingle down my spine. Is that how it feels to gain a power?
Marie thought for a second and then, “Perhaps. It may be your unique way.”

Another awkward conversation. I was not a good companion – clearly if we could barely talk and I could not even help her out – nor would I ever become a mage, I figured. To become one would free me from my curse. Honestly, I do not know if the curse exists or if anything would happen, but being a mage would at least keep me alive here. Here where I have protected. Feeling insecure, I aimed for consolation in some manner. I reached forward and hugged Marie. Her arms hung by her side, and she seemed mildly shocked. I saw that subtle smile, though. Though she reacted oddly, she was not frigid or disingenuous.

---

[1] A pun (sort-of) on Ma Mere L’Oye, the piece by Maurice Ravel.

[2] The goose in French

[3] What is your name?

[4] “Light” in French.