Archive for November, 2018

徒花ネクロマンシー // Adabana Necromancy

adabana-1

Who would have thought a series about a zombie idol group would become this legendary?!

Notes:

I liked the “because this is our saga!” from the TV intro too much to formulate the SAGA stanzas in any other way. (A slightly more accurate way would have been “This is a saga where we…”.)

I love how aggressive the lyrics are, honestly.
The flower is the dream and represents the group, if you get tangled in any of the subject/object spaghetti.

I worked off the official translation of the TV intro, so I can’t claim full credit for that part.

TV Intro:

死んでも夢を叶えたいーいえ、死んでも夢は叶えられる!
それは絶望? それとも希望?
過酷な運命を乗り越えて、脈がなくても突き進む!
それが私達の…サガだから!

shin’demo yume wo kanaetai – ie, shin’demo yume wa kanaerareru!
sore wa zetsubou? soretomo kibou?
kakoku na un’mei wo norikoete, myaku ga nakutemo tsukisusumu!
sore ga watashitachi no… saga dakara!

Even though we’re dead, we want our dreams to come true…
 No—even though we’re dead, we will make them come true!
Is that something to despair, or does it inspire hope?
Though none of us have a pulse, we will overcome our cruel fates and press on!
Because this is our saga!

徒花ネクロマンシー
 Adabana Necromancy
 Vain-Flower Necromancy
フランシュシュ FranChouChou
No. 1: 源さくら(本渡楓)
No. 2: 二階堂サキ(田野アサミ)
No. 3: 水野愛(種田梨沙)
No. 4: 紺野純子(河瀬茉希)
No. 5: ゆうぎり(衣川里佳)
No. 6: 星川リリィ(田中美海)

誰が弔う 死地は彼方
静寂を破り 芽吹いた夢を

dare ga tomurau shichi wa kanata
shijima wo yaburi mebuita yume wo

Far from the final resting places mourners mourn
A budding dream breaks through the stillness

誓え 穿て
重なる 屍 高みへ
届くまで

chikae ugate
kasanaru shikabane takami e
todoku made

Vow upon it — break through
Until you reach the very top
Over mounds of corpses

唸れ 徒花
朽ち果てても進め
奪わせはしない 尊厳の愚弄に
飢餓を解き放て
枯れても走ることを命と呼べ
空に叫ぶ 脱・生存の定義
骨を斬らせて 闇を断て

unare adabana
kuchihatetemo susume
ubawase wa shinai son’gen’ no gurou ni
kiga wo tokihanate
karetemo hashiru koto wo inochi to yobe
sora ni sakebu da-seizon’ no teigi
hone wo kirasete yami wo tate

Howl, vain flower!
Though you may wither to dust, never stop
We will not let you be stolen by those who mock your majesty!
Unleash your starved hunger!
What is life, if not the will to keep racing long after you’re spent?!
To the heavens we cry our definition of life derailed
Let them cut your bones if it means clearing away the darkness!!

雲間に光る 簒奪の勝機
覚悟を 宿命に突きつけて
天下に狂い咲く サガ
SAGA

kumoma ni hikaru san’datsu no shouki
kakugo wo sadame ni tsukitsukete
ten’ka ni kuruizaku saga
SAGA

Our chance at victory shines from a gap in the clouds!
Take your determination and stick it to your fate!
For we will blossom, no matter what stands in our way!
Because this is our saga!

傷ひとつ無い 手など愚か
意思も自由も その身を投げて

kizu hitotsu nai te nado oroka
ishi mo jiyuu mo sono mi wo nagete

You won’t see any of us with unwounded hands
We’ve thrown our wills, our freedoms, everything into this!

守れ 退くな
涙も 血も無い 神話を
築くまで

mamore hiku na
namida mo chi mo nai shin’wa wo
kizuku made

Protect the dream! Do not retreat!
Until we build ourselves a legend
Free of tears or blood!

燃えろ 修羅花
鼓動亡き世界で
摂理に抗い 天命に無礼に
腐鎖切り抜けて
心を無くすことが死と知れ
極めど儚い偶像の寵児
目には目を剥き 牙を剥け

moero shurabana
kodounaki sekai de
setsuri ni aragai ten’mei mo burei ni
kusari kirinukete
kokoro wo nakusu koto ga owari to shire
kiwamedo hakanai guuzou no chouji
me ni wa me wo muki kiba wo muke

Burn, mayhem flower!
In this dead and lifeless world
We fight divine providence, scoff at heaven’s mandate
Cutting ourselves free of rot and bondage —
Know death is only when you’ve lost your soul!
We are idols, no matter how perfected, our lives are short
So an eye for an eye — glare back and bare your fangs!

いつか誰もが散華する捨て石
輝け 刹那無限の火花
乱世に迸る サガ
SAGA

itsuka dare mo ga san’ge suru suteishi
kagiyake setsuna mugen’ no hibana
ran’se ni hotobashiru saga
SAGA

One day we all will have our glorious discarded deaths
So shine! Let every moment of your spark reach infinity!
We will surge upon these troubled times
Because this is our saga!

何が神の冒涜か
裁きなどさせない
希望 高らかに打ち鳴らせ
呼吸よりも生きた証

nani ga kami no boutoku ka
sabaki nado sasenai
kibou takaraka ni uchinarase
kokyuu yori mo ikita akashi

What are you calling an affront to god?
We won’t let you judge us!
We will clamour our hope as loud as we want!
This is more proof than our vitals that we’re alive!

唸れ 徒花
朽ち果てても進め
奪わせはしない 尊厳の愚弄に
飢餓を解き放て
枯れても走ることを命と呼べ
空に叫ぶ 脱・生存の定義
骨を斬らせて 闇を断て

unare adabana
kuchihatetemo susume
ubawase wa shinai son’gen’ no gurou ni
kiga wo tokihanate
karetemo hashiru koto wo inochi to yobe
sora ni sakebu da-seizon’ no teigi
hone wo kirasete yami wo tate

Howl, vain flower!
Though you may wither to dust, never stop
We will not let you be stolen by those who mock your majesty!
Unleash your starved hunger!
What is life, if not the will to keep racing long after you’re spent?!
To the heavens we cry our definition of life derailed
Let them cut your bones if it means clearing away the darkness!!

雲間に光る 簒奪の勝機
覚悟を 宿命に突きつけて
荒野を駆ける 乱世に挑む
天下に狂い咲く サガ
SAGA

kumoma ni hikaru san’datsu no shouki
kakugo wo sadame ni tsukitsukete
kouya wo kakeru ran’se ni idomu
ten’ka ni kuruizaku saga
SAGA

Our chance at victory shines from a gap in the clouds!
Take your determination and stick it to your fate!
We’ll race through the wastelands, challenge hard times
We will blossom, no matter what stands in our way!
Because this is our saga!

adabana-2

棄劇 Kigeki – A Comedy Which Should Never Have Been (Excerpt)

legion-web

No one asked for it, and you aren’t getting any more.

This excerpt is from Portrait de Legion (レギオンの肖像) which comes in four parts, and this is from the beginning of the second part (written first).

Don’t read this book actually. I don’t recommend it, unless blood curdling screams, gratuitous sexual and non-sexual violence, torture and cannibalism are your thing. It’s also confusing as hell until you’re most of the way through. It does, however, provide the set up for the events of Jane Does, which compared to this, is very tame.

Portrait de Legion’s other subtitle is La Machine Infernale and Jean Cocteau is the poet mentioned below.

This excerpt is safe for work.


The Witch’s Bedchamber

The frivolous poet prince wrote: forever, you must strive to be drunk — whether your drink be a glass filled to the brim with wine, or the dried dregs of the opium poppy, a nauseating degree of virtue, or a fit inducing depth of immorality. Whatever it be, whichever it be, we all must strive to be forever drunk.

The witch lay in her bed, staring at the accumulated tobacco smoke swirling above her. A hookah sat at her bedside, quietly toasting the tobacco leaves in its bowl hardened with honey. She inhaled shallowly from a golden mouthpiece, holding the smoke in her mouth and letting it sluggishly seep down into her lungs. She rose partially out of bed and rested her back against two pillows laid behind her. As her right hand held the mouthpiece she tossed her left arm out towards her bedside table, upon which there was a single plate. Upon the plate were three jujubes, seven pieces of hard candy, five dried figs, and nothing else. As she exhaled, the smoke formed a ring as it drifted out towards the stagnant smoke above, mixing with it until you couldn’t tell which was there first and which was there last — nothing of it could be told.

The witch looked to a hourglass upon her vanity table. It was filled with dark red grains that continued to fall slowly through its center. Her exhaled smoke danced as if on stage, as it lost all rhyme and reason drifting to all four corners of the ceiling. Furrowing her brow, she then reached for a book that lay beside her in bed, and flipped through its pages. There were no details in its pages. It was a void of nothing, page after page, only formed into the shape of a moldy book.

If sometimes, the poet continued: you find yourself on the stone steps of a palace, or the verdant slopes on the side of a canal, or in a gloomy room filled with ashen swirls, and drunkenness, like an gallivanting energetic child dances right out the gate and away, I dare you to ask. Ask what? What time it is now.

The door to her room creaked open.

“Shall I say, as always? — or how rare?”

A sickly sweet voice tinged with night-shaded sneer, danced its way with spider’s feet into the witch’s ear, piercing its hairy needles through the skull to stroke the brain. It was awfully unpleasant.

With exaggerated motions, the devil slipped through the thin gap in the door and walked toward the witch. She fanned the butterflies of smoke away as she pulled an old round stool to the bedside, sitting down cross-legged. She rested her elbow on a knee and her head on her hand bending forward to look closely at the witch.

In the devil’s other hand swung a dark red pendulum — no, it was an hourglass. What should have been resting on the vanity, she had taken, and was now swinging in front of the witch’s face. She smiled — happily, joyfully, annoyed, sad, but smiling she swung it.

“Patchouli,” the devil said, in her sweet venomous voice, “soon Sakuya will die.”

“Again,” the witch replied, her voice low and hoarse. She turned a page, and then it was quiet.

“No, not yet, Patchouli. This play is always still beginning. Nothing will end, and so nothing will begin. Even so, this error-ridden love letter will continue, eternally. So we must end it. That is our promise.”

“No, it is a promise with you and me.”

“Patchouli, let us end this boring comedy, this idle tragedy, the kind of story no child would ever enjoy.”

The witch reached out to touch the devil’s face.

“Dying again, I see.”

Still dying.”

The poet wrote: so verily shall the flowing wind, the flying birds, the swaying trees, the open sky, all say to you: be drunk. Yes now, be drunk.

***

The Cast

  • Gramophone А: A Gramophone, broken eighty-one years ago
  • Gramophone Б: A Gramophone, killed two hundred and six years ago
  • Man: sitting for the past 19,683 years

Gramophone А, sits stage left. Gramophone Б, stage right.

Center stage, man sits in a chair. Beside him, is a puppet theater stage.

Man turns the crank on the side of the puppet theater stage.

Gramophone А and Gramophone Б start to sing.

Gramophone А: Koschei! Koschei!

Gramophone Б: Koschei the Immortal!

Gramophone А: Koschei! Koschei!

Gramophone Б: Koschei the Immortal!

Gramophone А: Koschei! Koschei!

Gramophone Б: Koschei the Immortal!

Gramophone А and Б: What do you see, in the depths of the skull, deep in the glass of your eyes?!

In the center of the puppet theater stage, a man and a girl dance, looking in different directions.

Man: Now shall we begin?! Will we begin? Are we beginning? Have we begun?! Now shall we end it? Is it ending? Has it already ended? Is it the beginning of the end? Is it the end of the beginning? Has it ended long ago?! Has it begun long ago?! What kind of story? That kind of story? This kind of story? Another kind of story? Do they want to hear? You want to hear? Yes? You want to hear? Am I telling you it? Are you already listening to it? Have you heard it long ago? What is it about? What kind is that? You want to hear it? Yes? You do? Shall I tell you? Yes I shall!!

Gramophone А: Koschei! Koschei!

Gramophone Б: Koschei the Immortal!

Man: He was sitting in that chair for forever, you see, without moving a finger, without turning his head! In a six-foot world he had been locked forever! All that was about him was rubbish, the kind of gorgeousness to make you doubt your eyes! You see he tried to reproduce the world, the flowing rivers and rotting apples and soaring wrens, the inversion of the hell living and eaten in the sea, yes everything! No, not a single thing! He tried to make a world, you see. Pipe organs, warped pearls, foreign mummies, living perfumes of rotten roses such a glorious scent as to wreck your nose, everything but that!

Gramophone А: Koschei! Koschei!

Gramophone Б: Koschei the Immortal!

Man: Now shall we begin?! Shall we end it?! Has it already begun, is it already over? Let me tell you a tale! One tale, no countless!! Or a hundred, if I may…"

The man’s hands stop.

Man: Because fairy tales belong to children!!