Lestat

I'm probably doing the same and will be attending the 27th only, depending on what my friend will do. The price for the regular live will be €40,-. I'll have no problems paying for this entire schedule if we decide to attend the whole thing, but it seems just a little overdone and overpriced for the regular fan. The event on the 28th is hosted in somewhat of a regal palace, prices for this will be €190,- and Kamijo will only be doing a short acoustic show, and the event's main interest is the video that covers his twenty year anniversary (probably the exact same one as was released on the limited edition of Royal Blood). You will be doomed if you aren't in possession of formal or "aristocratic" wear (seriously, I'd be embarassed if I'd have to walk around in the latter myself). There's just Kamijo talking and hosting the event, handshakes (so probably not even a proper meeting, again!, and I doubt you're allowed to take pictures with him) and a children's choir will be singing (no thank you, I can't stand children's demonic voices). Oh and by the way, ticket sales start this Wednesday the 29th already. There's hardly any time to make arrangements or even a decision on whether you'd want to spend so much money on this. There's no information yet on whether there will be V.I.P. arrangements for those who will be part of his international fanclub by then, it's just known that you'll have access to limited goods and merchandise. But other than that, this is a great opportunity for people who live nearby Paris and can afford this with ease.

Aoharu × Kikanjuu is certainly entertaining. It's nice to watch something so light and fun-loving for a change, and personally I can't see the connection to Ouran Highschool Host Club all that much — the setting is entirely different and I doubt this will be revolving around Matsuoka's host club very much. I am very interested in the development of Yukimura Tooru, he's just a shady character you'd want to know more about. Durarara!! ×2 Ten remains the same and I don't worry about them running off the rails. I love Durarara!! and every episode is yet another adventure. My favourite characters are obviously Celty and Anri (although the latter hasn't been active all that much in the last season, which is a disappointment) and I am always looking forward to seeing more of them. Gangsta. is really something refreshing. It reminds me of Gungrave somewhat, as in how Nicholas Brown reminds me of Brandon Heat (both appear to be altered in one way or another, with Brandon existing after death as some kind of monster). Truthfully, I didn't have much hope for this after the first episode, but the two latest releases have been quite strong and they paved the way for the rest of the story. Gatchaman Crowds Insight continues where it left off, comically and heroic with absolutely no sense of realism whatsoever. I watched the first season in one sitting because I was simply enjoying it so much. Berg Katze was the main reason for this, however with how Ichinose has absorbed him and he only appears during quick occasions, I am uncertain how this anime will develop itself further. A new Gatchaman has arisen who appears to only be able to activate her suit in anger or another highly emotional state, and something tells me that I have seen this before a dozen times. GATE（ゲート）自衛隊 彼の地にて、斯く戦えり — this is an oddball. A gate to another dimension has opened in the middle of Tokyo and all kinds of monsters come flying out. Dragons, elves, orcs, you name it. A random otaku saves the day with strategies he came up with whilst playing videogames and immediately he is promoted into the army as first lieutenant out of the blue. I'll have to watch more of this to form a solid opinion, because at the moment it just looks weird. Junjou Romantica 3, oh yes dear, do I watch this. I felt obliged to continue the series because at one point my yaoi-driven friend had forced me to sit through this entire thing with her. It grew on me and I can't seem to be able to shake it off despite the slight embarassment. If you know the drift, I need give you no further explanation on this. Ranpo Kitan: Game of Laplace only bothers me with one thing at the moment: why not write a normal boy into this series? It could've been so much more mature if the anime didn't focus on making a boy as girlish as possible without even giving us one indication of him being a boy other than how he is addressed by these pronouns. The entire story loses its purpose because it all just seems to suck itself towards this one phenomenon. I love detective animes, they are the diamonds in the rough that usually stand out above other genres. I'll just have to see about this one. The idea is there and will no doubt be executed well, but just... I don't know.

I like this better than anything Dir en grey has ever done.

At least their looks have improved. Still can't get around Hizaki's skewed eye though.

My God, really? I paid ¥7.600 for the whole deal (DVD, Tomo's costs and shipping). I'm glad I got away with it safely then.

If I am doing something, I'd rather do it wholeheartedly rather than in such a half-assed way. It's either everything or nothing.

To come back to this, all of these bands have released (or will release) something in either 2014 or 2015, with the only exceptions of Moi Dix Mois and X JAPAN — so your reasoning is slightly invalid and I think you thought too quickly when I mentioned "foundations." I also said that these groups are all still very much alive and active, so I didn't miss anything on-topic.

It's coming in next week, but I don't think I'll have the patience to create a video file for this. I am currently not equipped to properly rip DVDs, and I don't think I will be.

I'll be receiving a third copy soon.

I never was sent rips for the tapes I purchased ;(

Do you mean Ben? Ironically, that's a guy who I can actually respect. He's not shoving the "lukit me i'm so visuaru keiu!!1'1!1!1!" trope in everyone's faces. He stays respectful towards the scene and I can appreciate that.

Wow, this sounds really amazing. Can't wait.

Sent requests to the both of you!

Not really digging Ryouga's looks, but the mini is fantastic. I love it.

Kamijo will return to his favourite country for two special event-lives, November this year. More information will be released soon. "Last Live in Europe" - looks like it simply marks the end of the Royal Blood tour-leg in Europe, and it likely won't be his last European visit.

Apparently no one has found a fix for this yet. You could try deinstalling and installing the Last.fm client again, but you might lose your cache like this.

Playing in a band with some Japanese guys doesn't make you eligible to be a "Japanese muscian", not while you're in this band, nor after. I haven't ever heard of anyone suddenly changing race. Also, I don't know if you are talking about Kouki or Tsukasa — but I'd classify neither of them part of the current Visual Kei scene. Kouki is doing general ballads while simply looking like a sun-burnt Asian pretty-boy, and Tsukasa is doing enka while in makeup. I know bands from Sweden and Finland that play this type of music, dress in extravagant clothing — have platinum hair and wear makeup. Does that make them Visual Kei? No, because they're not Japanese. Anywhere outside of Japan this is simply called "glam rock" or anything you can think of that derives from the word "glamorous". These guys (Sebastiano and Yohio, and a few other names that can also be mentioned) are only "part of the scene" because they're born in rich families who can buy their way into the music industry, any part of the music industry they desire. They can buy whatever clothes they desire, and they can hire anyone to write their music for them.

I don't even know why this is on MH in general.

Okay, whatever. I'll stop having an opinion. Will you stop following me around to deflect all of my words in threads about my favourite artists then?

i. en in het wakkerende licht verliest hij de tranen van ons dageraad als zij opkomt in het oosten, een land vergeten door zijn jammerend verloop van zonden die hij pleegt en daardoor niet langer een almenum ziet voorkomen, zoals het zonlicht dat op zijn snuit zal schijnen in een deinum dat hij vergeet door de dauw zijn druppels, de knikkers van zijn ogen, die nu samentrekken als het pluis van uitbloeiende paardenbloemen ook gevolgd zal worden. ii. gij, verlaten wolf, zal u nu treden in verzonken voetstappen van uw voorgangers en huilen naar een maan als eenzaam als dat u bent, vanaf momenten dat uw vader u verliet, zal u eens weten van zijn angst en zwaar verlatenheid, als ook hij het goud neerslaat op pas geboren jongens die zijn naam niet zullen dragen in vereniging en samenhorigheid als een sprei van eeuwig sneeuw waarvan u nu uw poten optrekt als het ons is. iii. dat blauwend maanlicht waar ginds u naar ijlt, een lach verborgen onder een aamborstig en ook deerlijk wenen van de stem die hij niet langer hoort als zijn gelaat dan ook vertrekt bij dit geluid, dat volgens u zwaarmoedig valt en de keel een rapaille van beknelling geeft, weet u zeker dat zijn oren niet meer spits staan als uw zoekend grienen naar uw broeders langs een horizon fluit, als geroezemoes door de morgen haar bloemend glorie. iv. een vader sterk naar zijn zoon, hij die nu zonder kracht en passie is en hij die alleen zijn gedrag van een aantal open boeken kiest, hij beantwoord niet zijn roeping in de naam van de Heer, hij zingt niet langer een ‘heilig, heilig, heilig is de Heer van de hemelse machten’ als in een tijd van eeuwig broederschap, gevleugeld zes keer en gewaad in het wit van hemels pracht en praal in sterrenlicht. v. u blijft enigszins een eendelijk kind verstoten van de vader, hoewel zijn borst nu open staat voor zielen zoals de uwe, zelfs verbrand en verkoold door het zwavel van de hellenacht, zelfs nu staat hij nog in vuur en vlam voor een morgenster gevallen door de gouden poorten van zijn lieflijk hemel.

“A meadow, I am — one of individual thought-patterns, one of solitary life; and clandestine, choral verses sung to me by this one beast, sieve of this copious, emotional embodiment of me, the ending of mine life — a sonorousness of his rescinding resonance in sonance, shudders hives envisioned to mine obsolete ribcage; he stirs the bees and awakens saccharine mine crested heart, and I leak of sweetness, and sugary convulsions drenched in saporous this honey with which his voice calls ‘pon mine chest. A meadow, I am — one abundant of this which his morning’s star arouses; of rubicund red, of cerise crimson heralded of his kiss emplaced of mine resplendence — of his undivided light spread ‘cross mine divested flesh as I lay in grasslands of mine genesis. I speak his colours, I taste his envisioning appearance, and I hear the fingers with which he burns his phosphorescent rays of suave auroras to mine cadaverous skin; and what I see… what see I? The beast that he is, and is not, and yet is — for him I see heavens aflame in the afterimage that this beyond left smouldered to mine sight. For him the enchantments in mine amber seers secluded a hereafter wherein his heart was absent from their vision. A meadow, I am — throbbing in an aftermath of love; as each rose he plucks from mine Eden was a pull of mine frail heartstrings. And mine knees are weak with each night I died for him. With each floral-petal of mine garden he touches to his sepulchral set of lips, with the burden his beastlike bearing in significance leaves an equilibrium of composure ‘pon mine silhouette. He smothers mine all-being as an anagram — as beast that he is, he obliterates, he asphyxiates — as beast that he is not, he silences mine mourning and malaise — and as beast, he yet is all-encompassing. Encompassing all of me.”

"An ocean resides within his being — restless, transient where his wandering vagabond-soul finds not a whisk of interludes, composed of the quintessence of the sea. There lie the billow-deep and crevasse-carved nihilities of void within his heart that even I — oft dare not so pass within; for evermore his depths inhere his longing for an endless frame of freedom, whereof his resolve was killed by the arrow winged with his own feather, so were mine undoing palms wounded by mine own skill. An ocean resides within his being — wherein I swim ‘midway until ‘tis lost that I become; the storms that wane ‘pon surfaces so glitter in splendid the reflection of that which binds me oft to him (that of where shall his golden hair so tie mine ankles to this vastness’ bottom-grounds, that of where I shall nevermore of leave, or think of mine departure) — wherein do I enmesh mine solvent, fluidic fingers; and he enters ‘pon mine being, he consumes mine frailty and foil and kisses mine savourous skin through waves that durably ingest mine heart here christened precious to his dearest soul. His maelstroms – undercurrents ‘roused through vivid beatings of his surmount, endeared clock of ceaseless time – pull me ‘way and nether of the shallow life ‘pon earth mine eyes no longer wish to see. His liquid love pours within mine breathless lungs, yet do I gasp strenuously to ‘come engrossed of his blue brilliance, yet do I yearn the stifling sentiment that pulls ‘pon mine emotion, and devotion. An ocean resides within his being — and I am his estranged, and barren sailor; I sail ‘pon the zephyrs brazen through his salt-like breaths, lick each fallen crystal off his skin. I am the unshared, the unblended non-being of phantasmal and nonpareil of pictures; I am the siren guarding his embankments and his waterfronts. I am the God, creating thunder ‘bove his wildest dreams — and empathy; the loneliness he cradles, when I exchange mine merriment of the horizon’s sun, above the solace of the moon, a mirror coasted ‘pon his soundless waves, an ambient encompassment of wakeful whiteness, to his gloom.“

‘Mid where harrowing the eastern night musters forth The aurora borealis ‘pon the canvas spread within a Separate constellation which derives me from mine might, Do I conjure up dreams spun by the golden, and the Sapphire threads woven ‘tween the stars riveting ‘mid Mine clouded and less insightful, barren eyes, those That worry where nether ‘neath I come to toll Blinded by an unknown light I stumble on, do I Pave mine way through spectacular sights and the Enchanting chambers ‘mid which mine shapelessness And lustrous heavens are embroiled and are naught In passive forms, and entrapped in a paradise I had Not merely created for mine own sits the miracle I Had not called earth, but the unbounded world Astound and visionless in the crevasse I once called Mine very heart (devoid and wanting, sans the nourishment These open palms secrete) do I fall, recede in terms Which once I christened the very sinful and the Wickedness of man and more than what is mere man, Do I swim ‘mid the Leviathan’s non-draught until The hand of mine own God consigns the only Life which I felt left ‘mid me, to His duress In evermore and aurous cohering minds lie the Concussing colours of loved souls entwined, and ‘tween the yellow and brass, and the blue and Azure am I beside myself; and restless in the Corners of thine oft unearthly being do I beseech for the times in which I am me — for me to know.