Okay. First things first: a public apology to Indacelio, who DID in fact send me Moi Dix Moi mps well before the last article was written. I had them stashed in a weird folder and totally forgot about them. He promptly IMed me to tell me I'm a fucking jackass. And I'm forced to agree with him. So in apology I am mailing you your very own Gackt hair-doll, Indacelio. (Yes, that's what we at the Flannel offer our readers... disgusting lumps of hair!)
Secondly! Recently Dual Jewel preformed at KatsuCon 9 in the mythical land of Virginia. We here at the Flannel were lucky enough to have an operative in the field there and you cna check out Agent Lily's show review here.
Lastly: this article was written by the always lovely, talented and utterly MAD Writer! She's my homie. Word, G. To your MOM. Anyhow, she helped me out because I'm a lazy, er, BUSY, motherfucker. She's also got a bio up on the site now cos she deserves it.
Okay. Look. I'll admit it. I am something of a fangirl. Well, no, I wouldn't really call myself a "fangirl" per se…
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I'm obsessed and I know it.
I'm planning another trip to Japan. Yes, another, as in "been there, done that, bought the Engrish T-shirt". It was great, and I loved it, for one big reason.
No, I'm kidding. Drugs are bad.
It's actually two reasons: the anime and the J-rock.
Mostly the J-rock. And of course, by J-rock, you all know I mean Gackt.
He was everywhere in Tokyo. EVERYWHERE. Billboards, magazines, TV commercials, my bathtub… It was Gackt-Fan Paradise. Gackt-Fan Shangri-La. Gackt-Fan HEAVEN. Gackt-Fan-oh hell, I can't think of any more words for "really groovy place". But anyway, yeah, there was Gackt. And it was good.
I bought everything I saw with his name or picture on it. I'd buy TOILET PAPER if it said "Gackt" on it.
And now, the fucker is gonna be in a movie.
I mean, great. Fine, Gackt, display yet ANOTHER of your numerous and godlike talents. I'm all for more Gackt, really I am. Only one problem-what are the odds this movie will ever make it to America?
About the same as the odds that Britney Spears will spontaneously implode. Which is pretty small odds on most days, despite my efforts to master psychic people-imploding powers.
So, there's only one thing to do, right? I have to go all the way to Japan. To see a MOVIE.
It's kinda like having to go to China for eggrolls, only possibly stupider. I'm not going for the culture, or the sightseeing, or anything sane like that. No, I'm just hopping off to a foreign country, see, 'cause there's this movie, and this guy I like is in it…
And that sounds a little sad when I say it out loud. People sigh and shake their heads, the way they do when Grandma has finally gone senile and has begun watering the dogs and taking the petunias out for walkies.
But I'm still going to do it. Even though I've always despised obsessive fans, seeing them as a lower lifeform, much the way I've always looked down on slugs for being slimy and crawly and men for being… well, the same. (Okay, that was mean. Men are just great. I love men. Especially with fries and a Coke.) But now, now…
I have become that which I despised.
Can you FEEL my horror?
And it's not like I get anything back for it. Do I get special concert privileges? Do I get notes of appreciation? Do I get money for all the fanatical Gackt-cults my fervor has spawned among my newly-Gacktized friends? No. I get…
Broke buying Gackt shit on eBay.
…Not his ACTUAL shit, mind you. Even I wouldn't buy THAT.
But yeah. Being a fan is a thankless task, full of hard work, poverty, and disappointment. You go to bed every night with the disenchanting knowledge that your adored star will never know your name, or in Gackt's case, even be able to pronounce it if he did. And come on. We all know this man is probably so full of himself he shits mini-Gackts. I mean, try being gorgeous, talented, and adored by millions of people who would ALL do you in a SECOND given the slightest opportunity. That's bound to go to a person's head. That he is an egotistical nutjob probably goes without saying. Not that I'll ever know for sure.
And what if I DID, somehow, have the chance to find out? To meet the man, to have a conversation with him? Well, for one, screw conversing. As with all Fangirls, actually being in close proximity to Him (Gackt, that is, not the Christian Savior, though there's been some confusion about the two as of late) would without a doubt reduce me to a quivering, jelly-like state. If I didn't just try to jump on him and lick him, that is.
It is a sad fate indeed, no?
Writer got e-mail from Gackt. This is an acrual fact.