♔The · Wild · Rose · Lolita♔

I am deleting this account soon. I'm merging everything here with my other LJ account, misscuriosity.

I will still be translating Novala, and I will still be wearing Lolita daily, and I will still be on the internet, so never fear.

Please, if you haven't already, add misscuriosity to your Friends List.

It has been fun being wildroselolita, but I'd rather just be Curi for now.

Curi.

I'm going to be in the What Are You Wearing? section of the Chicago Reader, which is very exciting. I'll be wearing this Baby dress:



The interviewer, Jessica, talked to me about Lolita over the phone for a long time, and I hope I answered everything well. I think it'll be a great interview. I'm very excited!

~The Wild Rose

This is the Valentine I made for my band Curiosity, and I worked long and hard on it, so I'm posting it here.
(Even so, I'm trying to separate my translation activities from my musical activities. So, I've made a Curiosity LiveJournal which will be exclusively for band things. Please add it, because unlike this journal, which is mostly about Novala and Lolita, it actually will have random details about my personal life. All true, except for the ones that are fabricated. misscuriosity)

I hope everyone has a gorgeous Lolita Valentines Day!

Happy holidays everyone!
I wish you all a wonderful holiday season and a Happy New Year!
If you would like to receive a nengajyou (Japanese-style New Year's card) from me, please leave your mailing address as a comment on this entry. I am screening all comments, so your information is safe.


~The Wild Rose

I'm having a hard time justifying my love of Lolita fashion with my desire for it not to become popularized and watered down and disgusting. Therefore I am no longer going to be a member of egl.

There are other reasons for this. It seems every single time someone marginally unattractive posts a photo, in a horrible coordinate which looks absolutely appaling, there are several girls who tell them how beautiful they are, and how amazing they look. Whenever I post a completely reasonable photo of clothing or artwork or whatnot, I am told that it is, or I am, ugly. I know exactly why this is, and I know that it has much more to do with personal problems associated with me than the value of the photo or artwork or whathaveyou. I am tired of this sort of immaturity, though, and I believe that if someone has a personal problem with my attitude or the way I behave it should not be masked through insults to my clothing or artistry.

I believe the greatest blow to my hard work and efforts to explain the crux of the fashion (which will become misunderstood, bloated and dead despite my best efforts, if you do not believe me, look at the back of this month's Shoujo Beat magazine) were the events leading up to Novala's trip to the US.

I write this to inform everyone that I will no longer be associated with egl...no longer will read, post or comment. If there are things in the world of Lolita that you wish me to know about you will have to contact me here or through email since I will not be a passive audience any longer.

Soon I will graduate from college and begin life as a translator. All I would like to do is perform music, continue to dress in Lolita daily and freelance translate Japanese into English. And if I can do this with a minimal amount of personal attacks out of jealousy, all the better.

I have a new sales journal, wildrosesales. Nothing as of yet, but expect a LOT of brand stuff within the weeks to come. I'm cleaning out my closet.
(To ease your LiveJournal buying/selling worries, I am a reliable shipper and I have perfect eBay feedback.)

"Fantasy and fairy tale do not have to be confused. The two things aren't the least bit similar; they are disparate as heaven and hell, as saints and vulgarity, and as far as we are concerned we must exterminate the fairytale from the necessary fantasy. Both things have the same general meaning, because they are unrealistic visions and daydreams, but when it comes to translating them, isn't there quite a distinction between "It's like a fairytale" and the whole fantasy genre? Of course that would be the definition. However, when people refer to fantasy, they are too often referring to fairytale, and this is a big problem. We therefore must make a clear separation of what is fantasy and what is fairytale. A saint's dream is very different from a fool's, and they both express dreamlike qualities, although a daydream is completely different on an atomic level. The dreamlike immanence of a fairytale has the energy of stale humanism which has been colored with reality. "If I have a dream I cannot be defeated!" "No matter what, I will follow my dreams!" A fairytale seeks out the warmth and gentleness in a dream. In a faded pastel world, where it's absurd to believe that the hearts of children are pure, a clown is shedding tears over the lack of imagination, and it is this which we must scorn. When a fantasy "dream" crosses over the boundaries of reality, conflict ensues. When we are tired of reality, we revive ourselves with fantasy. Yet fantasy and reality are not enemies, but more like accessories. A fairytale is a dream in the shape of reality, and a fantasy is reality in the shape of a dream. To put it another way, a dream is independence from the stiff possession of a worldview. A dream is like losing oneself in a labyrinth, with a resolution to never return. Edogawa Ranpo, Izumi Kyouka, Kafka, Delvaux, Bellmer, Ooshima Yumiko...this is everyone, all the writers who chose to live in fantasy, who couldn't define fairytale. If we're translating fantasy into "illusion," wouldn't fairytale also allow itself to be translated into "illusion"? Ooshima Yumiko's work "Planet of Cotton" (Wata no Kuniboshi), about chibineko (tiny cats) who reconstructed the world with a single glance, is what shoujo manga has come to. The instant a system for fairytales was written, it led to the foundation of Edogawa Ranpo's "A Strange Tale of Panorama Island," about a strong-willed hidden utopia. Because of poetry, the whole world has made a transition towards gimmicky asestheticism. The fairytale containing Ooshima's cat protagonist had equal workmanship but a different style, what I think is a mixing of already established fantasy without the same qualifications. Hello Kitty and Miffy can become either fairy tale or fantasy. The choice is yours. But if you find Hello Kitty insanely beautiful, and despite the harsh, Andy Warhol-style manufacturing techniques you still scream out "Kawaii," then Hello Kitty has probably become your fantasy.
As for me, I think Rika dolls are adorable, I think the dolls of Yotsuya Simon are adorable, I find the Tenniel illustrations of Alice in Wonderland adorable, and I also think that Joel Peter Witkin photographs of cadavers are adorable. When a young lady follows someone into suicide by her own volition, it seems like a dream. But she cannot wake up twice, this flowering maiden who has come to an end."


Original by 嶽本野ばら from Soleilnuit
Translated by
❧The Wild Rose

Instructions:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions of a very intimate and creepily personal nature. Or not so creepy/personal.
3. You WILL update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

1. When did you get into the Lolita style?
I got into Lolita in December of 2001.

2. Why did you want to study Japanese?
I didn't originally want to study Japanese. I studied Mandarin Chinese for two years and then wanted to study abroad in China. At the time, there were hardly any study abroad programs for mainland China, so I decided to study in Japan. I didn't speak any Japanese when I went over there. Of course, just being there prompted me to study.

3. Favourite time of day?
About 7pm, in the summertime. It's warm, light out and evening and the perfect time to be creative.

4. Favourite dessert?
Creme brulee. Much like Amelie, I adore the sound the burnt sugar makes when being cracked with a spoon.

5. Is there anyone you admire? If so, who?
I admire anyone who takes personal responsibility and then goes after their dreams with full passion.

I dedicate this to my mother, who has a birthday coming up.♥


"Happy Birthday to Me
Happy birthday.
Whenever it is, these words don't seem to make me happy...
A year has gone by, and I haven't grown a bit. I'm exactly the same, without any self-confidence, not having made any signifigant achievements, not having told the ones that I love that I love them.
That's what you said. One birthday each year is sort of boring, so just like Alice at the tea party, let's celebrate un-birthdays. A very merry unbirthday to you.
So I wonder why is it that today, suddenly I'm all full of courage, on this completely unremarkable Sunday. Just like when I was a child, I'm drinking tea from a mug with a picture of Alice on it, wanting to hear your androgynous voice on the other line, so I called you.
How did this happen? Honestly, I didn't have anything better to do, and so...well, it's your unbirthday, so I wanted to wish you a very merry unbirthday.
Alone, I blush.
But, I wanted to say nice things about you.
Today is the first day that I was able to call you. It's nothing, but it's an important day. It's not an anniversary, or a holiday.
Well, today is my birthday.
It's the day in which I was reborn with a little bit of courage.
Happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday, new me.


Happy Birthday to You
See what I imagine.
That's what you said.
There is a reason why I celebrate every day, even if it isn't a special day. Today isn't my birthday, and it isn't your birthday. It isn't my aunt's birthday, or your cat's birthday.
But somewhere, today, something loveable is giving it's first cry, and tomorrow as well, something adorable will be born.
We aren't gods, so we can't know the details.
Humans and animals are not the only things which are born. Tunnels are opened, so that day would be the birthday of a tunnel. In your heart when a desire takes hold, that is the birthday of a desire.
I look at your face, I feel your words, and my heart cries out. The sound is the birth of a new beat.
If the same thing is born, then it is good to say happy birthday once. But if the same thing is born in the same place, that is a little different. However, I like to celebrate seperate birthdays.
The you inside of me has changed to something bigger and stronger than the you that was born originally. I emulate you, and continue to say these words of celebration.
Happy birthday to you.
The you of today is more special than the you of yesterday.
Happy birthday to you.


Happy Birthday to World
Why is it that we are always cowardly around the ones that we love?
Granted the ones we love are usually wonderful, and I want to be able to boast about you, but I can't say those kinds of things about anyone.
I love my pet cat, and I love my countless stuffed animals.
Those sorts of things are easy to say.
It's...a mystery. I want to let my thoughts be known in a loud voice, but you might see through my feelings, and then all of my effort would be for naught.
Today is your birthday.
I haven't thought of what present to bring you when I see you. But I did go to the florist and buy up all of their red African daisies, and have a bouquet made out of them.
I'm writing my feelings on the tiny white card, in small letters. I LOVE YOU...No. Those aren't the words I want to use.
Daisuki. Yes, that's it, daisuki.
Why is it that I long for tears to come to my eyes when I see these words?
Let's be honest, today is the day when you were born. It's embarrasing, but let's be honest.
Happy birthday to world.
It's the birthday of the world, the day when we met, and I'm grateful because now I can return to the place which I love, the place towards which you guided me.


Happy Birthday to Meets
Nothing is born from zero.
When oxygen and hydrogen meet, water is born.
When the moon and the earth meet, gravity is born.
Happy birthday.
Births are when something meets something else.
That's what you said.
Even more than two things meeting, they have to be completely different things, not close to one another, which rub up against each other.
When we celebrate birthdays, we're celebrating the miracle of these meetings.
Happy birthday.
However, when sadness is born, we should celebrate that as well. So many happy things are born that sadness can also be born. There can be no happiness without sadness. Like endings, or fear.
But when we meet, we depart. This makes for a lot of birthdays.
Happy birthday.
All of the happy birthdays, and the sad birthdays, too.
Happy birthday.
All of the gentle birthdays, and the cruel birthdays as well.
Happy birthday.
I want to say it thousands, no millions, of times. Together with you. In one unified voice.
Happy birthday.
Happy birthday to meets."


Original by 嶽本野ばら from Patchwork
Translated by
❧The Wild Rose

"Sometimes I try to wake up early. Near daybreak, it's as if the blue atmosphere of the early morning has been forcefully pierced and cracked. It's a morning so early that only the newspaper delivery person and the nightshift laborer know of it, and even the elderly have not yet gotten out of bed. While watching the test pattern on the television, I dress myself impeccably, because, well, it's the beginning of a new day. On the first train there are a few people here and there. From the train there are hardly any shadows of cars on the highway, and the shutters of the shopfronts are closed, and the pileup of trashbags seems strangely exhilirating, as I wonder if I will ever get used to this morning scenery. "Art is made at night," is what they used to say in the olden days. But, we're going to have to abandon these superstitions. Back then, a free evening was quite a priveledge. But now, the common people have fallen into the hand of the night. As the last train passes through, people overflow into the town. That's not to say that these are the types that are overly conscious of the night. The superstition about the night carries some power, but only a little due to a sense of delinquency. Since nowadays the night features a kind of democracy, where you can go to the same places in the afternoon that you can at night, that decadence has been lost. So, with this in mind, I'm guessing that it would work if our lovely decadent places were established in the early morning. Now that the vulgarity of the night is over, there's that moment of stillness before rush hour begins. We are young ladies, and there has been no creation of a new place of morning decadence. If we went out at night, Papa and Mama would scold us. But, I don't think they could find fault with us for leaving very early in the morning. It's the mobilization of behavior, like classical thought. In the present day it's good to be broad minded enough to overly drink it in, and this is the most hazardous form of decadance. After this, art will be created in the morning. If you think you want to be an artist, from now on abandon the legend of drinking alcohol at night, and in the mornings start to drink coffee with milk. As the pidgeons in the morning park flutter away, you drink fresh coffee with milk, and your heart jumps with a sense of genuine inversion. However, this essence of imitation is true decadence, and with it, you cannot become a proper, beautiful maiden. To be truly high class, the morning must have the essence of a neat and clean atmosphere, one which draws out a reaction of decadence. It is much, much more difficult to command the morning as it is to command the night. There are benefits to always waking up early. For example, going on a date. You make an appointment at a coffee shop, and for the price of a cup of coffee, you can buy an entire breakfast, then directly afterwards you can go to the park or the shops as they open. The movie theatres also offer early morning discounts, which is of course a benefit if you are cheap. If you wake up early in the morning you will sleep through the night, and avoid the indecency of the nighttime shows on television, and if you don't stay up late, your skin will become lovely and smooth. Go to bed at about nine o'clock, and rise at five am. This is the most attractive lifestyle. I'm going to do my best to do this, so I implore you to also give it all of your effort."


Original by 嶽本野ばら from Soleilnuit
Translated by
❧The Wild Rose

"Although the Gothic Lolita scene has various fields, currently the word which refers to "Gothic Lolita" feels as if it is going in one direction. If you are just wearing any black clothing, with black lipstick and eyeshadow, unfortunately this can be seen as Gothic Lolita... I think the outward appearance has changed to be a little too flashy. My idea of Gothic Lolita, disregarding popular opinion, is that those who have a mysterious outlook on the world will eternally like it, and the scene is for these types of people. This is not only fashion, but that all of the things they like (books and movies, for example), all of it has a deep meaning. When I was younger I loved mysterious things, and I still love them. To be truthful I don't believe I have changed at all since then. Isn't it best for people like this to continue the scene? Originally, Moi-Même-Moitié did not include clothing which people with this outlook could wear all the time. Fashion is a part of everyday life, and it expresses my desired view of the world. I also wanted everyone to wear this general worldview. Gothic Lolita is every day. When I return to my essential nature, it is my eternal style. I don't think I became Gothic Lolita, it was simply natural for me."


Original by Mana from Gothic and Lolita Bible
Translated by
❧The Wild Rose

"I happened to come across your singing voice one day, after an exhausting evening, on the subway platform. I remember feeling a headrush in the middle of the crowd, rummaging through my heavy briefcase for a cassette someone had loaned me, a cassette I hadn't listened to. A title in French was written on the label, and as I can't read English it follows that I couldn't read this either, so I casually put it in my Walkman and switched it on. What came flowing through the headphones was pitiful in a strong-willed way. The clouds tore through the blue sky of May in an unfocused manner, similar to the voice of this clumsy actress (but don't you think perfection is boring? Even so, that expression doesn't really ring a bell). The voice passed over all of the stains of my broken down body, and it was like a song of relaxation had cleaned away all of my congealed blood. To someone as dark as I am, just like Sappho, I came across your songs much too late. "I have a hunch that I really like French pop music," I thought, and you were my gateway. I knew Gainsbourg, and thought him to be pretty funny. I think it's ridiculous to say that I have a Favorite Song, since I have too many to count: Bach's Aria in G, Pachelbel's Canon, Chopin's Farewell Waltz, the Mary Poppins theme song Chim Chim Cheree, Gigliola Cinquetti's Di Che Sogno Sei, Morishige Hisaya's Gondola Song, I can't even stop there. As a conclusion to this list of songs, I found your voice. Isn't it a little too sentimental? The other day, while I was pondering writing this letter, I went to an amazing record shop, and discovered your four CD boxed set. I had about 12,000 yen in my wallet and of course it was 23,000. I grappled with the idea of taking the thing to the register anyway, and asking them, "Is it alright if I only buy one of the CDs?" That's how strongly I felt. That boxed set is like a classical urn. A Gainsbourg urn...no, at the same time I was only thinking of yours. He visited Japan several years ago for a concert, and I was in the front row. Watching you move had a mysterious effect on me. Your singing voice was so strong. I couldn't help thinking that you were like someone I cared about from a long time ago. Well, this has unfortunately become a letter without a point. I anticipate the next time you decide to visit Japan. Roughly yours (this is how young boys are ending letters nowadays, I have no idea why I used it)."


Original by 嶽本野ばら from Soleilnuit
Translated by
❧The Wild Rose