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name :: Hei Shou-ye player :: Haru [[etude on dstring]] position :: THE STUPENDOUS SIGHTLESS KNIFE HURLER group :: Asile |
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I was once obsessed with the truth of the eyes, therefore I tattooed my history on my bones, ink and words and flowers that held personal meanings. I know I'm not attractive, and I grow less so every day, my skin like worn wood. Appearance is not as important to me as it once was, that is to say, I can't see how shitty I look, so I really stopped caring. |
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Background.
The knife-throwing was a hobby, really. Some street performers invited me to give it a try, and I found myself surprisingly good at it. So I bought a set of knives and practiced, and I suppose you could say that's where my true career began. It never would have occurred to me to join the circus, I thought my true calling was to paint. When I was 15, I attended an Asile performance expecting to be bored or disgusted, as I was with most things. Instead, I was intrigued, and it was all because of the ringleader. To say he was dark and mysterious and my heart was taken is a horrible cliche, but it's the closest I can come to describing my feelings in words. I was more than intrigued or infatuated, I was hungry for the man. I wanted to be near him, at any cost, and before I knew it I had joined Asile, back in the glory days when it was still whole and not split by that silly bitch... Excuse me, I'm getting ahead of myself.
The strangest thing had happened to me, those years I traveled with Asile. I found these people to be familial. More than that. I wasn't merely tolerating them because they paid me heed, and I didn't desire for any more than acknowlegement from them. Here, amidst the stomach-churning so-called freaks and the creatures that pranced like birds in the air, I had found my peer group. That hole of desperation to be noticed was filled by the performance, and it only ever appeared now and then in my heart, when I was with the ringleader. He would never look at me as he looked at Ciro. Ever. Over the next decade I became an establishment within Asile, one of the people who remained when Ciro took her frivolous birds and left. How could I leave the ringleader's side now, when he needed a companion the most? As sad as it was that Ciro left, I was secretly grateful. With her gone, I could spend more time with the man I loved so intensely, even if was unrequitedly.
If it weren't for him, I would have gone blind and been left withering in the darkness, my own silence and fear consuming me. He helped me, no, forced me to face it. There was no way to reverse what must have been a mutation in the first place. The doctors said they could replace my eyes, but somehow seeing the world with mechanical devices seemed even colder than facing a world of darkness. And so I chose to remain sightless, while little by little I learned to see more with my other senses. My sight was a blessing I took for granted for far too long, and I have been punished for taking it for granted, and for wishing for things beyond my grasp. I do this no longer. Adapting my knife-throwing routine was the easiest. I always did the hardest bit blindfolded. |
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Practice and excersize, I'm not as young as I used to be and I must hone, hone, hone. Despite the previous fact I am still quite predisposed to drinking and smoking. Play the zither, write songs. Sometimes I ask my companions to read to me. |
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Ideals/Motivations. I was certain, for the longest time, that when my sight was lost, my life would be as well. These people had faith in me, and so have earned back my loyalty in them. There is nowhere else I'd rather be, and nothing more I'd want. Fame and art no longer appeal to me. There is only Asile. |
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Attitude. I've seen it all, I have seen the dark I've seen what I was, and I know what I'll be -Bjork, "I've Seen It All"
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Appearance.
I wasn't born a freak, unless you count being bisexual, and to some people, that's just as bad. My primary difficulty in childhood was frustration, nail-sticking-out-getting-hammered-down style, as well as the pigs that had the nerve to call themselves my parents. I was half painter, half clown those days: I had learned that entertaining my father and the men he brought to my mother's bar at night kept the rapes at a minimal number. A typically neglected child, I craved praise even from the most wretched of sources.
I was the ringleader's companion, as best I could be, when he was not pining over the girl or busy elsewhere, I was by his side, and no one who spends that much time together does so without forming strong bonds. I could confidently say we were close friends, and thusly, it hurt me to see him take up with Ciro only to have his heart smashed into shards like the bad luck of so many broken mirrors.
The punishment for my greed came gradually, manifested in a loss of eyesight. Over the period of several months, I started to go blind. That is literally what happened, for it was more than a loss of vision, but a refusal to accept what was happening. Even when it became utterly obvious, when I could not navigate my own belongings without bumping into things, I could not accept, would not believe that as things progressed I would no longer be able to see his handsome face, his intense eyes that still captivated me.
