Murderous Intent Fantasia: Shadows and Impulses
Under the red moon, a boy of shadows and blooming flowers of blood—a murderous intent awakening in the depths of tranquility.
The most human and most terrifying emotion—'murderous intent'.
I have played that impulse, lurking within tranquility and shadows, as a two-movement fantasia.
The first movement is 'The Switch.' Light sinking into the tatami mats, a blade through the shoji screen, the sound of cicadas and the smell of iron—depicting the tension of the moment it is pressed deep within the silence.
The second movement is 'Impulse.' The smell of sweat, the sound of rustling clothes, the heat of blood—the five senses become fangs, playing the beautiful 'pause' just before the blade is brought down.
—Tranquility and impulse. A unique work that depicts the form of murderous intent wrapped in shadows as a fantasia.
◇ Movement I: The Switch of Murderous Intent
The light sinking into the weave of the tatami mats
is bleeding like ink that cannot fully dissolve into the darkness.
The setting sun through the shoji screen,
while still holding the twilight,
thrusts a thin blade through a slight gap,
turning the dust into a golden reverberation.
──Silence.
Yet, that silence was not peace,
but the very tension of quietly waiting for the "next" moment.
The sound of chopsticks touching a rice bowl.
With just that,
the "switch" sleeping deep in my chest is pressed.
Clinging to my ears is
the dying cry of a cicada dragging the remnants of summer.
At the back of my tongue, a phantom of iron pregnant with the scent of blood.
In my fingertips, the coldness of a blade I have yet to grasp
is surely creeping in.
The boundary between light and darkness wavers,
and the world flips.
Stripping away the garment of silence,
only the breath named murderous intent
sinks heavily into the tatami room.
──The moment it was pressed, the silence tore open, and the impulse bled out like blood.
◇Second Movement: The Impulse of Murderous Intent
It is not a thirst.
Like liquor that burns the throat,
scattering red flames,
it is an impulse that permeates the bloodstream.
The other person's shoulder takes a single breath.
Even that slow, languid sway
stabs into my vision with unnatural vividness.
The lingering scent of incense.
The dampness of sweat.
The faint, trembling sound of rustling fabric.
My five senses become the fangs of a beast,
causing the world to swell excessively.
Deep within my chest, a voice whispers.
"Now. Destroy it."
That voice fused with the heat of my blood,
tearing through my pulse from within,
striking my heart like a blade.
The more I suppress it, the sweeter it becomes.
Murderous intent is a fruit ripened in the depths of the shadows.
If I reach out my hand,
it will surely fall, shatter,
and spread with a sweet, putrid scent.
The silence is still deep.
But that tranquility,
is already pregnant with sound.
──It is the most beautiful "pause," which only arrives before the blade is brought down.
It is the most beautiful "pause."
The shadows envelop a person,
Silence warms the murderous intent.
The switch is pressed in silence,
and the impulse flares up like a flame.
In the gap where light and darkness intersect,
people are at their most human.
The "murderous intent" drifting within aestheticism and fantasy,
is as quiet as a prayer,
and as maddening as a flame.
◇ Commentary
Silence is not merely a void.
Within it lies a tension pregnant with the "next" moment,
and in that gap, people waver in their most human way.
Murderous intent is a silent switch pressed at the boundary of light and darkness.
Murderous intent is a dance of impulses flaring up like a flame.
When shadows envelop a person and silence warms the breath,
aestheticism and fantasy overlap, playing a single melody.
──It is as quiet as a prayer, and as maddening as a flame.
It is a "timbre" that continues to settle deep within the heart even after the final movement.