///Origami Dream/
 
Part 1: http://pastebin.com/9uvj1ww4
 
//Just another hero/
 
(...We don't need another hero hommie gallop off on your my little one trick pony
Holly Hobbie Polly Pocket pretty future destiny
If the slipper fits fire up Cinderella propeller and curtsie for the munchkins right before
Aesop Rock smashed the pumpkin...
 
                                -"Bracket Basher" Aesop Rock)
 
-------
 
Fame was his being, strife, and creed.
 
And he felt that perhaps nobody except he, was worthy of the honors it brought.
 
But a place like Japan fails to offer the same degree of opportunity as other places, such as Great Britain or the United States.
 
A football player without a field; a huntsman with no hunting ground.
 
Well, a guitarist with no scene.
 
After he finished school, the most he could do was work his way up the local scene in Kyoto. Bars and clubs, he worked endless hours until one night a man in a suit approached him with a card in one hand and a paid tab in the other.
 
¥25,000 an hour. It really does seem like a lot.
 
Session work was either good money or good shit, depending on the artist. Some weeks you get no calls. Other weeks, you get some orchestra or a film director looking to record a few pieces. Then there's the artist who had no hours and no life. The pretentious dicks who felt that recording into the wee hours of the morning improved their sound. At most their singing was slurred from the booze, but sobriety doesn't exactly destroy inspiration either.
 
That's why that ¥25,000 an hour was minimum wage.
 
The recording company gave him a break though, on tour with an 'up and coming artist'.
 
In the job description though, was to be a tolerant, and good 'people person'.
 
Makes you wonder, don't it?
 
The tour of the Yellow sea brought a lot of free time, paid free time at that.
 
His true passion was in western music. He admired the masters and virtuosos of the instrument and strived to meet their precision. He dreamed as a child of moving to the United States and starting his fame there as a great in the music business.
 
With the money he'd make from this gig, it was possible to move, but scoring the big time in the US was another story completely.
 
Well, a man can dream.
 
-------
 
One evening in Sapporo, backstage in the green room.
 
One of the few places where the ruckus outside was barely audible.
 
A warm up turned into a little personal jam session, playing the chords humming the tune of the song. A few words he could slightly remember, a couple of lines he could fully recite of the song. The dark, rich sound of the acoustic guitar resonated from the walls of the small room.
 
Perhaps he didn't hear the door opening while he was working through the solo, a graceful expression of aggression and passion. He hammered his fingers to the fret board.
 
Turning around, Hanako was standing in the door. Apparently the room wasn't as soundproof as he thought.
 
"Oh, hey Hana."
 
"Hey..." she looked down, just a little bashful, "Did I interrupt you?"
 
"No not at all, I was just getting ready to leave, really."
 
"Oh...what's the name of that song?"
 
-------
 
She became a local sensation.
 
Well, more local than anything. National was just a goal that seemed decades from now.
 
Actually, let's be frank for just a moment.
 
National was a dream fading every day she woke up.
 
It began during the stop in Kyoto, the final show of the tour, a call of summons to the Recording Company’s artist relations committee in Osaka.
 
Her agent was a small, lanky man with a phone in his right hand at every moment of the day, in his left was a briefcase. He always wore a black suit, but had a plastic, lime green watch on his wrist. His smile was charming, an important tool he used in his more diplomatic moments.
 
He was in attendance, as well as the Manager for the Japan branch of the Record Company and two others. An older man and woman in suits, both always had their heads buried in a book or notepad of some type, scribbling down notes.
 
The meeting room was designed for twenty people, a long table spanning the length of the room and a large window on one side, overlooking Osaka bay. The ceiling was probably about fifteen feet high.
 
"Let us begin," began the management, "The first record, 'Flower Child' was a strong seller, especially in the indie market in the Shima and Tokyo prefectures. We see that as a great success, and in turn, have provided a ¥1,500,000 bonus in addition to the already arranged contract."
 
"We enjoy such success, especially for our artists," one of the suited women began, "and we wish to provide you with the best resources available for further success."
 
"As a former agent, I see great potential in you, Ikezawa, great talent indeed. But...currently, we feel as if we've hit a plateau in merchandise sales. Our concert in Tokyo was a loss in revenue for ticket sales. We've had to move shows to thousand seat auditoriums. In response, our marketing department recommends improving the artist image."
 
And her heart stopped.
 
"Artist image..."
 
She didn't want to go any further than that.
 
The older she got, the more the scars seemed to fade. Every year, a week before her birthday, she would look into the mirror and inspect every inch of her face, make a mental note of the extent to her scarring, then leave it at that. Every year, it faded, slowly. She didn't need this, and she didn't need to be reminded of them. Not now, not in the middle of her promising career. Two years’ worth of therapy seemed to unravel. She pulled her hands closer to her body. The room seemed to grow larger.
 
The rep said a lot of things, she didn't listen.
 
"With your permission, we wish to publish the story of your past."
 
"It wouldn't be too obvious, we would publish it though our lower media outlets..."
 
"So what do you think?"
 
Her agent gave that wide smile to her, a nice tool of manipulation.
 
She shook her head, "No".
 
But not today motherfucker.
 
The polite smiles in the room turned to disappointment, frustration, the old man looked up from his notes and gave a little cringe.
 
"If you'll excuse us for a moment."
 
The agent pulled her by the arm, and the two stepped outside of the meeting room.
 
The ambient noise grew louder outside, phones, low chatting, printers and the usual office hustle.
 
"Do you want some water?"
 
She shook her head.
 
Her agent began to pace a little around the door, inside she could see the reps discussing with one another, once in a while, and they would give quick glances to her.
 
"I didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, Hana-chan. Believe me, I hate to be the bad guy."
 
He took a flask out of his pocket, quickly unscrewed the top, and then drank a small bit.
 
"Want some?"
 
Right now, she felt as if she needed alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs more than anything.
 
"No thank you."
 
Her eyes drifted to the floor as she leaned against the wall.
 
"You're a wonderful girl. I wish more people understood that. And very talented. Don't tell anyone I said this..." he put a hand on her shoulder, she reeled back a little, still looking at the ground, "...you're the best person I've ever represented. Usually solo singers are cocky, arrogant. But you, you're really a sweet girl, you aren't just acting the part."
 
She didn't respond.
 
"But the company wanted me to tell you this. With your...image. We need to move somewhere with it. Unfortunately, if you want to look at going truly national, it would require either using your past to better sympathize with your fans, or stay in the indie scene for the rest of your career, granted they keep your contract renewed when it runs out next year."
 
So that's what she was to them, an object to be used, to be merchandised and sold to the masses.
 
It really was painful. She thought she moved on from that. Being some sort of doll to be admired through the safety of the shop's glass window. Singing and songwriting was her way of breaking that, a justifiable way to tell someone her emotions, to vent or even break down, regardless of if it was everyone that listened. The only thing that mattered was that they did listen.
 
No more of this today.
 
"I...I...I just want to go back to the hotel for a while..."
 
Her agent sighed, "I'm sorry, I should've told you this earlier. I hate to spring this on you a day before your last show of the tour."
 
The two stood in silence for a bit, neither knew what to say.
 
"I can stall them for a day at least. I'll give you that time to make your decision."
 
-------
 
A nice guitar in his hands, that's all he needed.
 
His fingers could do the rest, hell, he could do it without thinking, at this level, it was nothing but natural to him. It was a quick gear check backstage to test out a bit of his new equipment.
 
The manager came around with a piece of paper.
 
"Set list, Ikezawa edited it a little. She said it would be a song you knew."
 
He stopped playing and turned the volume down on the amp.
 
And there at the bottom of the page was the edit. Did she and the rest of the band really learn that song in three months?
 
"This is real?"
 
"Of course, wouldn't hand it out if it wasn't..."
 
"So you should probably get practicing." Hanako's voice came from the left of him. She stood there with an acoustic guitar strapped around her shoulder.
 
"Oh, well thank you, it really is a surprise."
 
"Well, I just wanted to be appreciative."
 
-------
 
"...The Obama administration has yet to comment on the allegations."
 
"Well thank you Matt for that news break."
 
"And on a lighter side of the news, a rising star in the music industry goes viral!"
 
"You know, Natalie, the first time I read this story, it just brought a tear to my eye, how a girl could be that strong, you know?"
 
"Oh! Yes, I know exactly what you mean, a really heartwarming story. Her name is Hanako Ikezawa, a singer from Japan, released an album that has gained a cult following in the Japanese Indie scene. But a video of her cover of Santana's 'Game of Love' released on the band's YouTube page, gained a little under 300,000 hits on the first week before being featured on several music blogs. Reportedly, their record sales began to peak after the third week the video was published."
 
"Hanako Ikezawa grew up in an orphanage after her parents passed away in a house fire when she was only eleven. From there, she attended a school for the disabled where she began writing songs and singing."
 
"Wow, what a girl I tell you!"
 
"Really, an inspirational story."
 
"And, let's move to weather with Al! Al, what do you have for us today!?"
 
"Well, I'll tell you this much, that song really wants to get me moving when I hear it I tell you! Hoowhee, well in the northeast..."
 
-------
 
'This is BBC, Radio 1, with Scott Mills'
 
[Theme]
 
"It's 5:32 here on Radio 1.....So Chappers, I told you about this video that's just been circling around the web, right?"
 
"Right, right."
 
"Well, my mate told me to take a look at it..."
 
"Wait, is it that one about the rainbow and the guy..."
 
"No, no, what rainbow and what guy?"
 
"Oh, well I thought it was that one video..."
 
"One? Which one are you talking about..."
 
"The video of the guy going absolutely nuts over the rainbow..."
 
"No, no, not that one, here...I think it's...This one, yeah."
 
"Oh, THIS video, yeah, everyone in music has been talking about it."
 
"Yeah, and if you don't know what video we're talking about, there'll be a link on the site."
 
"Seems a little posh for a singer don’t she?"
 
"What, you mean her?"
 
"Yeah, I mean, when you're a singer, you're not exactly supposed to be posh about it."
 
"But she's posh in a cute way you could say..."
 
"I mean just look at her, its intriguing really."
 
"Well, tell me Chappers, what's intriguing about it?"
 
"..."
 
"Well?"
 
"She's got half of her face covered with her hair."
 
"Because she's an emo perhaps?"
 
"Well no, and the eighties glam rock did die a couple decades ago dinninit?"
 
"What else?"
 
"Well, she does have a bit of a scar under her neck."
 
"A bit under her neck now?"
 
"Well, what am I supposed to say [laughing]?"
 
"What if I told you it was a tragic story behind it."
 
"Then maybe I'd be more sympathetic in her favor now, instead you just go about getting me to be rude to the poor girl."
 
"What, and lose your first impression?"
 
"Well, my first impression was a bit of confusion of course."
 
"I'd think you'd be able to, you know, cover that up with a little make-up or something."
 
"A little make-up now?"
 
"Yeah, you know, just a foundation or something."
 
"And when did you become an expert of make-up?"
 
"Well, I don't even know if it's called foundation, I mean, doesn't the...scar seem a bit off putting?"
 
"Well, you got the scar, then you got the hair, and the hair isn't all that bad looking I mean it adds to the fashion of it all."
 
"But it's not always about the bloody hair..."
 
"Ok, so what, we've already established that she's a pretty good singer right?"
 
"Right right, she isn't all that bad no."
 
"And you're a bit of an ass..."
 
"Wha!? A bit of an ass?"
 
"Well, be kind to the poor girl I mean it really is tragic and all."
 
"Right, right. Coming up, we have a new one by Adele, Nicki Minaj, then Chappers with the sport."
 
-------
 
He didn't know what the hell he was looking for. Nobody knew what he was looking for. He could search the earth and not find a bit of ease with his life. Most of all, he didn't know why, of all places, he came here.
 
You could hear the music from a block and a half down. Somehow, the police weren't getting involved.
 
Approaching the apartment block, you could see the party lights from the street, lasers and strobes shot into the dark clouds of the night sky.
 
Next to the entrance of the apartment were two benches, he sat there for nearly a half hour, heart thumping in his ears.  How was he going to do this?  Why was he going to do this?
 
Well, no time like the present.
 
A security guard sat in the dark lobby, with a television playing an old drama.
 
"Kid, what are you doing here?"
 
-------
 
"Ha-na-ko! Ha-na-ko!"
 
The crowd chanted her name, as they were gathered around a large pool table. On top of the green fabric several plastic cups sat in a neat triangle with a few missing here or there.
 
A ping pong ball from the opposite side took a bounce on the table, and then plopped neatly into one of the cups.
 
She could only give a smile, and down the liquor.
 
Just as she was taking aim, a man approached her, tapping her on the shoulder, then putting his hands around her waist. She knew those bouncer's hands from many nights together.
 
"Hey darling, I'm kinda in a middle of something..."
 
"Babe, there's a guy downstairs, he wants to see you."
 
"A drunkard?"
 
"No, he says he knows you."
 
"So he's a fan?"
 
"No, he said you both go back a long way."
 
Everything stopped again. She didn't need a name to know who it was. Now she was back to her own self. What was she doing? Who were these people? Why did she have a spaghetti strap on?
 
Her smile turned into a bout of fear.
 
"Let me grab my jacket..."
 
"It's June."
 
"I know."
 
-------
 
Other than herself, no other sight could look any more pitiful.
 
Nakai sat there on the bench, a pair of large baggy cargo pants and a black t-shirt. His skin had grown paler and he grew out his facial hair a bit.
 
When she exited the lobby elevator, another pair of footsteps came behind her.
 
"Hey, I j-j-just need some time alone with him."
 
"Are you sure? He seems kinda sketchy to me."
 
"Its fine, I think I k-know him, I'll be right up..."
 
"Ok then, give me a call if you need anything."
 
She nodded quickly as the large man stepped back into the elevator.
 
A deep breath now.
 
Everything he thought about you has changed.
 
You're no longer broken, he's the broken one now, and the most he's probably done is work the graveyard shift at a konbini.
 
She had achieved more than he had.
 
Exiting the door, she mustered up her strength. She needed to show him she was no longer broken.
 
He slowly turned his head in her direction and forced a small smile.
 
"It's been a long four years Hanako."
 
She sat down on the second bench from him, keeping a nice distance. A silence began to grow, Hanako felt as if she should run, but now that she was engaged in conversation, she was locked in.
 
"Quite a success story if you ask me."
 
"What do you want?"
 
"Closure."
 
The silence began again.
 
With shaky hands, Hanako reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a box of cigarettes.
 
"Do you want one?"
 
"No thank you."
 
"Do you mind?"
 
"Not at all."
 
A little struggle with the matches, but as soon as the matches flared up, she quickly ignited the cigarette in a cloud of smoke. When it had lit, she lifted her head and exhaled deeply.
 
After calming her nerves, she felt a little more focused. A little more confident.
 
"Closure...I thought we discussed this?"
 
"You discussed this, I listened."
 
"Well..." she took a long drag "...what else was I supposed to say then? I wanted time to be alone, I needed time to think. And there you were, a knight in shining fuckin' armor."
 
"Then what was I supposed to say then?"
 
"Nothing, I didn't need your help, I didn't need to be handed around like a child, we discussed this."
 
Why did she need to force that?
 
A small silence grew again.
 
"You haven't talked to Lilly either, she's concerned about you."
 
"Yeah, Lilly, that harpy?"
 
Now she was holding back tears.
 
No, you're better than them, better than that. They were never good friends.
 
Hisao gave a little snort.
 
"Well, you've changed."
 
"A lot, actually. Where've you been?"
 
Damn, that sounded too caring.
 
"Well, graduated Yamaku, moved to Kyoto to drop out of uni, now I'm giving tours to foreigners...I think I know where you've been, I read it in the papers all the time."
 
"No surprise," she took another long drag, and then threw the butt away.
 
"I loved you."
 
That stung, it really did.
 
"Fuck you."
 
That one stung even harder.
 
Hisao took a deep breath.
 
"I came expecting no better," he stood up, "Well, that's my cue. Bye Hanako."
 
As he walked away, a million thoughts ran through her head.
 
But one lingered.
 
If she didn't ask it, she'd never forgive herself.
 
"Do you still?"
 
"Still what?"
 
"L-love me..."
 
He shrugged.
 
"Hell if I know."
 
-------
 
When she got back to the party.
 
"Hey babe, who was that?"
 
"J-just some guy."
 
"Oh, and what did he want?"
 
"Money, a job, I don't know, he talked a lot."
 
"Hmmm...Hey Takizawa has some grass."
 
"Oh, sorry, I got a headache, I'm going to bed."
 
He simply nodded, then left for the roof.
 
When she got to the apartment, she quickly grabbed a bottle of Crown Royal, ran to her room, and then locked the door. Her partner probably wouldn't be back until morning anyway.
 
She rolled herself into a ball on her bed, and then lit a cigarette.
 
The tears started coming, then the heavy sobbing, a rush of a million feelings entered her head, and she could do nothing else but cry.