cheshyre grin's Open Salon Blog

The End Is Fear

Fri, 1 Jun 2012 04:06:39 -0400

The countdown has begun. 30 days to doom. Un-fucking-believable. It's too unreal to be true. It's too real to be false. So this is how a condemned man feels.

I'm looking at the notice and I swear I've never seen such an angry piece of paper before in my life. I understand: you want me dead. No wait, I don't understand. You're not really going to do this are you? What crime have I committed that I should be banished to the streets in slow agonizing death? You people...you can't really mean this!

This is a movie, right? Something always happens in a movie so the unthinkable never comes true. I'll get a magical job offer, or an inheritance or maybe find some money by the side of the road. I've read about that before, you know. Some couple out walking finding money. I'm going out of my mind. I don't know what's left to do dropped in a dark well to die!

***

It's been a week now and no word on anybody joking. I can't sleep at all. I have to wake up to escape the nightmares. Sometimes I dream I count after all. No one's going to kill me just because I ran out of money! But when I wake up and see the burning notice I scream in my apartment, praying for God to hear me. Some woman said she prayed and God helped her out. Well, you better get on the stick, asshole God!

I walk around looking at everyone's face, wondering if I really am seeing the faces of killers. I feel like showing each person this tragic paper, asking them if they really mean to do me in. But I know their eyes would only turn away, telling me they can't help me. I'm just an inconvenient corpse to be stepped over, a dreaded non-person never to be acknowledged or spoken of. Yes, it really is all a conspiracy.

I try to hold out hope but I wish I wouldn't. It's maddening to still cling to faith in my fellow man. When I read about us coldly killing from the sky in other countries it takes on a whole new meaning now. Now I'm the one targeted for termination. It really does happen. Who are you people?

***

It's passed the halfway point and I feel like I'm falling off a cliff waiting to hit the hard ground. Everyone thought I was OK before but really I was just using up my cash reserves, putting on a front. I made myself believe too, going to the movies as if I still belonged, laughing in the face of love as conning coins jingled in my pocket. That was my morality, my proof I deserved to live. Now comes to light my fraudulent ways.

Maybe if they're going to treat me like a criminal I should act like one. What have I got to lose? But I'm not even committed enough to my life to even do that. I just want to be left alone, to live. No one questions the judgement I should die. The minute you're out of money they turn against you, calling you traitor for betrayal of the Holy Lifestyle. It's people like me who fuck it up for everyone else, they say. Just got to get rid of my presence reminding them of their conscience.

I can't make it through the night without dripping in sweat. My hair is soaked, my body drenched. The smell of an outcast. My skin decays into unsightly sores, making me too ashamed to face the world. The more I rot, the less I can share myself. The less I can share myself the further away the possibility of hope. Snarling wolves surround me, waiting for the feast - and I grow only weaker.

***

I start thinking about trying to enjoy these last few days indoors. I don't sleep at all anymore at night. Or rather, I sleep off and on around the clock, always slipping closer to the terrifying edge, always silently screaming "Nooo!" The clock marches mercilessly forward, sometimes I drown only a few minutes, sometimes a few hours, always coming back to the surface to check the time left. Insane thoughts run through my mind.

I take off all my clothes, peering through the blinds at an alien planet. I'm going to run outside naked and show them all who I am at last, sores and all. Come see the freak you've created! They will give voice to my screams, pulling their children away later telling their trusting minds the beasts had no part in my demise. "If anyone dies, it must be their own fault. The world is perfect." The beasts are afraid of the world they made, they dare not speak against it.

Oh, God, have you no mercy? Round and round goes my head. Killing, hating, dying, loathing, begging, caring, loving, dreaming, blanking out, staring out, falling out. Nothing makes any fucking goddam difference! Mob rule - God's god - rules the day, demons in suits walk without fear in the sun. Henchman in hard hats steal with impunity. I should have been one of them. I'm being punished for my dishonesty. I should have admitted I was a killer too instead of posing as a Moral Man. But still, I cannot bring myself to kill.

I can't take it anymore. The more I live, the more ready I am to die.

***

Doomed to an invisible jail in the streets, mocked by clever cunts blind to their own demise. I burn cool with rage, my glaring eyes spitting on your stay of execution. You gave me no way out and by such determination have defined your own fate. Clock ticks loud for my destroyers as well. No phony currency will save you. No army, no position of power can make you safe. From within explodes the final answer of life or death.

But here now and afterwards in the great beyond I know I will do one thing will all my heart and all my mind and all my soul: I will pray.

I will pray this planet dies. I will pray you suffer a hell not known since the beginning of time, that you bury your children in despairing misery born of your ways, never knowing a moment's peace from your treacherous neighbor. I pray every ounce of judgement is squeezed out of you till either you repent or die - I don't care which. I will pray you drink twice the portion from the cup of righteous poison you so zealously served to me. You will plead, "How could we have known the end of him was the end of us?" But I will say, "How could you have not?"

How To Get That Dream Job!

Tue, 29 May 2012 22:05:38 -0400

That's me in a good mood

[Author's note: I'm a convicted felon. I once shot a man in Nacogdoches. He used the forbidden phrase: "Dream job". I told him my dream job was to cap his ass! Therefore I "followed my bliss" just as he had recommended. Seems my bliss was not his bliss. Who knew??

That often makes it difficult for me to get a job. Nervous employers don't like it when I tell them "Everything will be fine just as long as you don't get out of line." Lots of folks need their ass capped in this world - and they know it! It even makes things awkward in everyday conversation.

"Where did you say you shot a man, Harry!?"

"In Nacogdoches," I say. "But I was aiming for his stomach."

"What???"

I get tired of explaining. Anyway, when I saw an article on "Acing the Job Interview" I considered it a must-read and must-share publication.]

Have you ever had this conversation??:

"Hey, you lazy worthless BUM! What in the hell is WRONG with you? OTHER people have jobs. Why can't YOU get one, you NO GOOD piece of shit. You make me SICK! Stop breathing air REAL PEOPLE could be using and START getting your goddam ass to WORK! I don't want to hear any of your SHIT! Now get out the FUCKING DOOR and don't come back until you have a JOB! You HEAR me? I'm gonna SHOOT YOU where you sit you X-Boxing loser FREAK!"

"Yes, mother."

It's a cold, dog-eat-dog world out there. Don't turn your back on anyone! It's open season on the unemployed and anything goes! Remember: you're no longer a person, you don't count and all we employed persons secretly wish you would die. But now, I bring hope!

After Moses the Law Giver, there is Brentney Hamilton [the third??] speaking from on high to get you back on the road to redemption (even though you probably don't deserve it after losing your job). But I know what you're thinking: What the hell kind of name is Brentney?? All I can say to that is 'read on':

Acing the Job Interview

While the number of Americans filing for new unemployment has dropped [because why the fuck bother!], and the World Bank projects joblessness rates dipping as low as 7.8 percent by November [can always trust a bank's numbers!], the Bureau of labor Statistics reports at least 12.5 million Americans are still out of work or under-employed ["No, wait! I really do have a degree in McDonalds!"] as recently as April.

The National Center for Education Statistics [All these stats! Maybe I should do that!] has projected what will be 1,781,000 students graduating at the bachelor's degree level this month. [In other words: "Mom and Dad, I'm home - for the next ten years!"] As these students make their initial forays into an already inflexible job market, and and as older workers continue to delay retirement [Die already!], successfully marketing onself during a job interview is more crucial than ever. [Maybe I should hire a PR firm??]

I hear that job interviews for those unwilling to kill their employer can be pretty rough. But our man Brentney rides to the rescue. Here are some helpful hints:

Schedule your appointment so that it is the first thing on your agenda for the day to ensure you are mentally and emotionally energized.

Love that one! My I-Ought-To-Kill-You-For-Peggy-Harding-Dumping-Me-In-12th-Grade look is never more pronounced than when first waking up angry with morning wood I've still got going when I show up for your stupid ass interview. NO, I am not happy to see you!

Bring a book or magazine to read in the building's lobby or outside, in the event you are more than fifteen minutes early.

Good idea. I'll bring the Anarchist's Cookbook and a Playboy.

Remember to dress appropriately, erring on the side of conservatism. Should the company turn out to be more conservative than expected, there is simply no remedying a marijuana leaf or lacy corset worn in hopes of proving one's hipness.

I don't know what this dude's problem is but if a hot chick in a lacy corset smoking a joint enters my office she's hired on the spot! As for me, I always show up in a spiked dog collar, black thong and pink pumps. You get some wonderful looks from security that way!

"Which way to Personnel?"

To top it off, our man Brentbaby pulls out the big guns: Harvard Business Review, for the asshole's asshole. So what glorious tips do these soul selling brokers have to offer? They be three for ye!

Remember to stay relaxed and confident, mirror the body language of your interviewer, when he or she "uses open body language - leaning in toward you or keeping her arms open - do the same.".

Believe it or not, the bolding is not actually mine. But yes, when they pick their nose, you pick yours! When he scratches his crotch, you scratch yours! And when the interviewer farts - well, you get the idea. Actually, kinda wish I had thought this up on my own. Could drive the bastards crazy with that!

Find common interests with your interviewer, ideally work-related ones that express your values and work ethic.

Man, have I got a home run waiting for someone who likes to surf for porn on company time and masturbate in the bathroom! High five!

Prepare a few answers ahead of time - especially if there are unaccounted gaps in your work history [like doing 3-5 years in the state pen] or other potential red flags on your resume, and tell stories with a moral.

By God, I got that last one down! Moral of the story, motherfucker, is I'm going to cap your ass if you don't hire me! Say hello to my little friend!

I'm telling ya, folks, please please print off copies of Brentman's fine work here and we'll solve this dang unemployment problem in no time!

"Do I have talent?"

Tue, 29 May 2012 03:05:10 -0400

This is how you have to act to speak truth to power - and live.

Many are those who assume or believe "the church" to be the inheritors of the legacy of Jesus. The simply is not true. Just because one calls oneself a church of the living Christ it does not follow to be necessarily true in any sense of the word. If, for instance, one finds oneself burning people alive to appease one's god, one should suspect oneself to not be on a Christ-like path.

No, the true inheritors, the magical and mystical ones who carry the light are the ones history most often shuns aside: the liberal artists. The Da Vinci Code strikes a cord because it speaks of a secret lineage of Jesus and in a sense that is true. After the mourning of the killing of Jesus, rays of light gradually returned. Song-bearers, traveling minstrels, actors and playwrights remained wedded to the light, keeping hope alive.

In the Bible, it is the prophets whom the Royal Courts sought out for (not always accepted) guidance. But emerging from the Dark Ages it was the merry minstrel who brought sunshine into the hollowed hearts of power. Christian Kings may pray at the altar of the church out of fear but listened to the playful minstrel out of joy. I'll let you decide which is the fruit of love.

Society has always had a love/hate relationship with the artist. Loving the feel of the art but fearing its truth. But as time went on we found that more and more we hungered for this light, that feeling of infinity brought by Jesus. Oh, we claimed to know the truth, claimed to know what we were doing, and even killed to "prove" we were right. But all along in our daily feudal lives we were fucking miserable, asking for a way out.

Land owners owned the lives of ordinary people

And so the arts became formalized into professions - though even to this day not considered as truly legitimate. Military professions never questioned will one day pass away forever. The arts will then take their place as the most unquestionable and certainly noble of pursuits. There is only the light, nothing lives outside the light, the struggle will be over.

We all secretly ask and hope of ourselves: "Am I a purveyor of light?" It can come through in all manner of ways for anyone but the artist is the highest calling. Deep down inside each of us without exception is the desire to contribute to the light - and if we feel we cannot war ensues until either we die or feel we can again. It's what makes life worth living, to feel alive and excited, to know the universe is on your side.

Our manmade society, of course, has only been brought along dragging and screaming in acceptance of this fundamental axiom. We propagate for a world of mechanics, engineers and mathematicians even as we laud millions upon those who can entertain us to escape from a world of mechanics, engineers and mathematicians. It's no easy task for one to escape from that hell. So it's with the utmost trepidation some must ask themselves, "Do I have talent?"

That was a question a fifteen year old named Alf asked himself in 1927. He auditioned and was accepted into a famous touring children's act in England, escaping the hell of his orphanage. His father had been a minstrel and Alf was considered the most talented of all the musical children. Alf, it seems, was one of the very lucky ones and his story could have been one as a child Disney star who goes on to a rich and famous career. But it takes more than just talent to survive in this thorny world of ours.

Alf was taken back to the orphanage where he was then severely punished. His life in show business was over - his life was over - forever to be a shell of who he really was. Alf did "what was expected" instead of what he wanted, which killed his spirit. (And here we find the meaning of "Thou shall not kill") In this world, doing what one wants is the hardest of all pursuits. Too often we let fear or guilt - or both - guide our decisions.

Most of us are not doing what we want. And in not granting that freedom we resent when others find it. I'm sure the headmasters at the orphanage took a special relish in beating the life out of poor Alf. One can only hope they found a similar fate in the after life (CSPOS!). Our false society constantly brainwashes us with its false ideas of responsibility, mostly earning money. But one day it will be made clear who the real losers are.

Denied his needed life of glamour, Alf immersed himself into the most glamorous world of his time: the cruise ships. With his artistic temperament he never held a job for long but used his talent to entertain the passengers in a witty ad hoc fashion with his impersonations of Louis Armstrong and Al Jolson. He was not paid for this, of course, but it was his only outlet. These days we'd call him a blogger. Yet, he still had secret dreams.

"Do I have talent?"

Unknown banjo player

He met another free spirit named Julia. She too played the banjo and together they dreamed, "What if?" Julia was known as the most irresponsible of the four daughters and her entire family hated loser Alf, even conspiring to get him a job on a whaling ship to get him out of their hair for two years (he declined when he found out why). Alf and Julia's feelings were real but their commitment was not. Even so, eleven years after meeting they married in 1938 and had a son born two years later in the darkest days of WWII.

Alf's life continued to disintegrate during the war as a merchant marine, even landing himself in jail in 1943 and going AWOL. When he returned he offered to take care (best he could) of Julia and the child but she declined having already found someone else. He returned to sea, jailed again for six months in 1949 after breaking a dress shop window and dancing with a mannequin until police arrived. When Julia was killed in 1958, Alf wanted to reach out to his son but feared how his reputation had been savaged by Julia's family at that point, fearing his son would despise him as a jailbird. Once again, he failed to do what he wanted.

This essentially parentless son (Julia left most his caretaking to her sisters), however, only did what he wanted. Born of two "irresponsible souls" he shoplifted to his heart's content, flunked his school exams with notorious disinterest and had a much feared reputation as a troublemaker with a smart mouth. Like his parents, he could be witty and charming but he needed to "shape up" if he was to have any sort of future. His motto at the time a horrific "Death before work!"

"Do I have talent?"

By the standards of society, three misbegotten lives were those of Alf, Julia and their son. By the standards of life, however, a different story unfolds. By sticking to his guns, by never giving in to fear or to relentless voices of opposition, by never letting his spirit be compromised, the treasures of the universe opened before their son. He never did "responsibly" die nor "responsibly" work, but he did become John Lennon.

How many dreams are lost in the daily grind of this planet? Only the weeping angels know. No one gets a free ride, not even those with the gift/curse of talent. You may wind up a sharp-tongued Alf Lennon washing dishes till the end of your life, or a mad Van Gogh drinking away your misery, or an unbalanced Bobby Fisher losing his mind or maybe John Lennon who sought always a way home. I don't know what talent truly is, but I do know all you need is love.

"I don't feel like a hero."

Sun, 27 May 2012 11:05:52 -0400

Peace has never been as popular as war. Few are those who openly question the reasoning for going to war, few are those who do not openly question the need for peace. Some even just give up, calling war merely a fact of life like a Spring rainstorm. But war is very much manmade and thus very much optional.

Memorial Day is a time false patriotism gushes from all quarters. If you wish to call yourself a supporter of your country then you must support what helps your country to survive. War profiteering, summary executions and baseless invasions are the hallmarks of the downfall of a paranoid and corrupt society. That would be us! Blowing sunshine up someone's ass doesn't make you a patriot.

Polling for our Afghan war is at an all time low. Lip service is paid to an exit timetable to keep the gullible and willfully ignorant at bay. We've staked ourselves to the idea that war somehow magically makes us safe and at this point I think most people are terrified at the prospect of peace, that we'd then be doing "nothing" to protect ourselves. Of course, the best way to protect yourself is to not be going around the world fucking people over. Just a thought.

America does not want to admit she has been wrong. Wrong to wage her wars in the Middle East. Wrong in her stated motivations. Wrong in the blood she has put on her hands. A price will be paid for that. For as long as the lie is allowed to continue the more it will consume us: more war, more bills, more denial. It's not enough to say "I don't support the way this war is going." We must say we support peace at all costs.

When is comes to the human costs we find who are supporters and who are users. Some of the most vocal "supporters" are nothing more than predators on the backs of veterans like blood-sucking demons. A soldier's life means nothing to them. Better a dead soldier than to admit their god of war to be wrong. And that is why it is so very painful to their facade to see actual veterans they claim to "support" spit in the face of that false god.

Veterans symbolically discard service medals at anti-NATO rally

CHICAGO (Reuters) - Nearly 50 U.S. military veterans at an anti-NATO rally in Chicago threw their service medals into the street on Sunday, an action they said symbolized their rejection of the U.S.-led wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Some of the veterans, many wearing military uniform shirts over black anti-war t-shirts, choked back tears as they explained their actions. Others folded an American flag while a bugle played "Taps," which is typically performed at U.S. military funerals.

"The medals are supposed to be for acts of heroism. I don't feel like a hero. I don't feel like I deserve them," said Zach LaPorte, who served in Iraq in 2005 and 2006.

LaPorte, a 28-year-old mechanical engineer from Milwaukee, said he enlisted in the Army at 19 because he felt there were few other options. At the time, he could not afford to stay in college.

"I witnessed civilian casualties and civilians being arrested in what I consider an illegal occupation of a sovereign nation," LaPorte said.

...

"There's no honor in these wars," said Villatoro, before he threw away his medals. "There's just shame."

Could you ever imagine our President ever saying there's no honor in our wars? Or any politician? Some say the government is not listening to the people when we do not pull out of a poorly polling war but that's not true. No one who stands for truth and peace can be elected in this day and age. We'd shoot him down - both literally and figuratively. Below are some samples of comments to the above article, all of whom who consider themselves patriots I'm sure.

Shout and cheer and call them heroes if you want. Or, if you'd rather, put your selfishness aside and listen to what they have to say instead.

The Sword Of Doom (Clarity In A Grey World)

Sat, 26 May 2012 10:05:40 -0400

[NOTE: As always, I write only for myself. But this is even more so, intended solely for my own edification of an enigmatic but very choppy movie. There is no Western style resolution to it and to watch it while expecting that one misses the overall theme of the Sword's journey. Here, I put it into perspective with some interpretation of what perhaps was sometimes meant if not exactly executed by the filmmaker.]

"The sword is the soul.

"Study the soul to know the sword.

"Evil mind, evil sword."

It all started at the mountain peak of Daibosatsu Pass: Revelation. He had become Sword, the last of the Human gone. Upon doing so, his vision far surpassed the confused wandering souls who happen to cross the arc of his path. How clear this fearless world! He saw not their kindly bowing faces, but their True Faces, for ill or for good. The Lying Fools.

Like a ghost he walked, as if in a vivid dream, passing through dimensions following the unerring light of katana steel. The clarity of the sword providing answers in a Grey World where false prayers blew as dandelions across the prairie and false desires bound hearts in unbreakable cages. The Sword makes no such missteps, its path given over to the clean karmic guidance of the universe.

These discoveries he must share! And so it came as no surprise when he reached the top of legendary Daibosatsu Pass to find a Grandfather praying for death, a seeming burden upon his Granddaughter he bemoaned to the small shrine. The Sword acted without hesitation, sending him into the void in one skillful stroke. The Sword was alive, channeling energy he'd suspected but never before harnessed. As he watched the old man tumble dead he felt his aim so sure he could have cut the wings off a fly, the most natural thing in the world.

On his way back down the mountain he passed the Granddaughter he'd orphaned, she crumpling in wailing tears upon heartless discovery, denied the presence of this unfailing devotion for the rest of her days. What price love in a world ruled by ghostly steel?

Tomorrow, a competition match, the best swords in the province in attendance. Already a lauded master but as the Sword he had yet to display his otherworldly power. Exuding an air of magnetic mystery, a Pleading Wife appears in his doorway the night before. "Lose the match," she luridly begged, "and my brother [actually her husband] will be named fencing instructor by the overlord." Her life would be set, paradise found. For this she would give anything.

He took his gift in a dirty mill down the road, rolling her in dirty hay until she succumbed to dirty delight. A lingering look and he was gone. She stared achingly at the empty doorway.

In the morning, she was divorced by her Fencing Husband, furious at what he saw as her belligerent betrayal. The tournament no longer a simple competition - a match to the death it would be! He'd strike down the Sword no matter how vaunted his skill! Jealous rage dripped as burning blood on seething tatami mats.

"Something is wrong...," cautioned a whispering spectator. The two circling men on stage were in a fight for their lives, death heavy in the air. Sensing disaster the judge quickly declared a draw - but a fraction too late. The Fencing Husband charged a manic thrust only to be fatally parried by the Sword. A fractured head dripped lifeless blood onto the mat.

The Fencing School the Fencing Husband was to have led was outraged by the killing. Not because it was unfair but because they worshipped a lesser god than the Sword and this revelation as misled fools twisted their minds in mad fury. The Sword must pay! But it was they who paid, littering the ground, believing a righteous stance undefeatable.

On the this day the Fencing Husband's brother vowed revenge, soon traveling to the Edo capital seeking the finest swordsmanship school. The evil Sword must be stopped.

Over the next two years, the karmic wheel turned in its usual blind indifference to human conditions, be they foul or fair. The Granddaughter had been handed over to her Pimping Aunt who placed her as a luring servant in the Virgin Overlord's palace. "A beauty such as you is sure to be noticed," she sickly purred to her niece. From one tragedy to another befell Granddaughter on her road in life. Perhaps there is only Doom after all.

The world moved on as well, the ancient Shogunate cracking and fissuring at the edges with talk of restoring the emperor to full power as was a thousand years before. The samurai would be stripped of power, a ruling class no longer trusted by a grumbling populace. This gave rise to Political People, snakes of the human race. Late night clandestine meetings percolated across the countryside with the growing discontent.

The Virgin Overlord was not virgin by choice but by frustrated spirit, often reviled by even his own samurai. But his emotionless life gave him clarity of sight to lead by, despising bumbling fools chasing illusions of power or dreams of envy. When he rebuffed a clumsy attempt by the Anti-Shogunates to join them, his character was assassinated without mercy.

"How dare he talk like a man when he can't even make advances to a woman!"

In attempted foreplay to the luscious Granddaughter, the Overlord lashed out his sword at his frightened prey, menacing her as he was menaced by her unreachable beauty. Only by a few fortunate inches did she keep her life safe from his cutting blade.

"Don't run! I won't be able to do this much longer. We samurai are finished, our time has passed."

Had he stood in a public square and made such a statement with the same honest conviction and certainty of knowledge a political firestorm would have erupted for exposing the truth. But his words never reached the light of day just as he wished nothing personal of his to come to light. But Granddaughter's Beloved Uncle passed through in his wandering ways of thievery shocked to see his Niece in the clutches of such a twisted Overlord, urging her to run from the castle permanently. And so she did.

Above the feuding fray, the Sword too stayed outside the grind of the political wheel which gathers and scatters so many lives into disarray. But the initial magic had worn off, too alone in his special world where only he could travel. The Pleading Wife, now his, bore him a son yet still complaining bitterly of her paradise lost on the fateful day of the match. The Sword saw things differently.

"It was you who killed your husband, driving him mad. I too fought with your taste in my mouth. You say had I never come into your life it would be bliss on this day. But if you had not come to my hut that night your husband would still be alive - and you still bitter on having lost the match and his fencing position. You speak of self-sacrifice but never sacrifice your selfishness!"

An Anti-Shogunate group recruited the sword to its political ends, swapping monetary support for death’s dividend the Sword was sure to deliver. As yet it had not come to light the Sword shared not their convictions - only their money - and bitter division lay on the horizon as with any politician scorned. His interests lay elsewhere.

Vengeful Brother was summoned by the Sword's Father after the killing match. He complained of his son's evil sword, urging Vengeful Brother to increase his skill to match the Sword's. "Only after he's dead can people live in safety." But though he may have called his son evil, both Father and son shared the same ultimate belief in the sword as The Answer to man's ills. Father never came to realize this blindness he passed on was the basis for the Sword's "obsession" as Father expired in the night a week later.

When the Sword and Vengeful Brother did meet, it was by accident. Ever seeking to further the name of his blade, the Sword asked for a match with the Master at the greatest fencing school in Edo. It was granted, but first the Sword must battle his number 1 pupil: Vengeful Brother (each face unknown to the other). Having observed Vengeful Brother earlier, the Sword remarked: "You have a magnificent Doh attack!"

Magnificent to an ordinary swordsman perhaps, but not to the Sword. As part of his plan he always gave confidence to his opponent. He'd draw back his blade into the "surrender" of his Silent Form. Retreating, waiting for his opponent's lunge, trusting his blade to parry and then slice his prey once drawn in. Few were those prepared for such a unique strategy!

As expected, Vengeful Brother was defeated. But this was only by the wooden swords of the school, allowing him to keep his life. But when the Sword then demanded to fight the Master, the Master simply smiled and replied: "That will not be necessary. I'm no good at Doh attacks." The Sword left showing a contemptuous sneer not to be missed by the Master's students. He thought to himself: It's true! No one can stand against me!

The Anti-Shogunate group whom the Sword used for money had a plan for assassination. Not content to let the changing winds of the times sweep away the Shogun, justice would not come to the world without their first killing the Lords who supported him. "Tonight you can exercise your Silent Form, Sword!" Like all political creatures, they trusted nothing of Nature, only that wrought by their own two hands - or hands they could buy!

The snow was heavy that night, a time for normal beings to stay indoors, keeping warm by a family fire. But outside double-bladed assassins were sneaking through the dark, hounds on the hunt. But when they found the shrouded palanquin they'd hoped to carry their target they found instead the Master, displaying outrage by their intrusion, demanding a deep apology. But his unyielding anger incensed the samurai so they decided to teach the Master a lesson.

But it was the dozen samurai who were taught the lesson. One by one, bodies and body parts were dispatched into the snow, a dark crimson stain spreading from a severed hand. Even though "forced to kill against my will", the Master's sword was no less perfect in its precision. But what of the Sword? He stood transfixed at the dazzling display of skill. His religious obsession had brought him far, giving him the edge he needed, but this man...

The Sword was stared down by the Master whose blazing eyes asked if he were ready to do battle. The Sword turned and walked away shaken into the night.

From the village of the Sword and Vengeful Brother moved a peasant to Edo. It was he who gave word it was in fact the Sword whom Vengeful Brother had dueled in the school. The Master explained now was the time to strike while the Sword's confidence trembled. Word was the Anti-Shogunates were headed to Kyoto for their next self-seeking act of political vendetta. The Sword would follow for his money. Vengeful Brother immediately fled to Kyoto. Justice at last!

But the Sword did not immediately follow, paralyzed by doubt. Should he put his sword away? Was it still his ultimate savior in this world? But then word reached the Sword it was Vengeful Brother who he defeated at the Master's school. He smirked when giving the news to Pleading Wife. "Soon I will have killed both brothers!"

That night, Pleading Wife drove herself mad at the thought of the Sword having killed both her husband and his brother! Compelled, she rushed the Sword's sleeping room only to miss him by inches with her dagger. He chased her out into the nighttime cold where she soon begged to be killed.

Always one for mistaken self-sacrifice, she returned to her pleading ways. "Kill me! Kill me so in return Vengeful Brother may strike you down. I exchange my life for his! The gods will hear me!" Then the Sword fulfilled her part of the bargain.

The thieving Beloved Uncle sipped tea with his niece Granddaughter in a small Kyoto hovel. The Pimping Aunt had sold Granddaughter into slavery in Kyoto as punishment for escaping from the Virgin Overlord's castle. A visitor from Edo announced himself: Vengeful Brother, having recognized Granddaughter from his time in Edo. After comparing notes they soon realized they had the common enemy of the Sword.

"Take a look at this!" beamed Beloved Uncle, partially revealing a revolver. "I often trade in valuable merchandise and must protect myself. When the time comes I can use it on the Sword. No need for Foolish Rules!"

But Vengeful Brother was samurai. "I need those Foolish Rules or my life has no meaning!" In a few short years the Meiji restoration will take place putting the Emperor back in power and any pretense of samurai honor will vanish as a passing season, such fancy words to be even more useless than during this sunset of the age.

When the Sword did arrive in Kyoto he found a splintered group. Seems no honor among thieves or political operatives. The clan Leader begged the Sword to kill his rival while his rival made plans to kill both the Leader and the Sword. This unholy cabal claimed to serve the Emperor but bragged during the night's celebration they were here to "make a name for ourselves!" But at the celebration Granddaughter was a servant, and when her eyes met the Sword's eyes she could not hide her quivering truth of facing the man who killed her Grandfather.

Alone in a backroom she explained. "We were pilgrims to Daibosatsu Pass. I could see endless mountain ranges fading into distant clouds. It was a sight I had never seen before or since. When I came back with water Grandfather had been struck dead."

"He was praying to die, to pass from the world. My blade has killed no one who has not asked for death or challenged it in battle." But she was not of the sword or political agenda. She expressed that family alone was her desire.

The Sword had an answer for that. "When I fight I have no family." She had defeated him.

Suddenly a cold wind invaded the room despite all openings shut tight. Shimmering shadows moved along the rice paper in shapes of the victims the Sword had dispensed into the nether world. They had returned but this time untouchable by steel! Moans of pity filled the ears of the Sword, compelling him to strike back the only way he knew how: cutting the papered room to shreds.

Heaving and exhausted, the Sword stood defeated by the shapeless demons of his dead. Was he leading the sword or was It leading him? Confusion. Anarchy. Darkness. His formula which works so well in a bent and corrupted world fails him when faced with life itself. How foolish to have lost his saving humanity! Sleep would never be safe for him again. Having once believed himself Smartest he stood naked before the world as Dumbest.

But then...the demons took human form. His political bedmates who hated themselves for the folly of their ill fated agenda surrounded the room. Their only answer to their failings: kill the one among them who did not share their folly. To them the Sword held a higher morality and if they were to achieve and maintain political power he must be eliminated before he could expose them as moral frauds.

But now with something physical to strike the Sword soared in relief! 5, 10, 15, 20 - they kept coming, he kept killing. Bit by bit they weakened him: a cut here, a gash there, his forehead dripping red. The Sword staggered and stumbled, sometimes blindly striking out in moments of absolute weakness. But he fought on feeling his chosen path newly justified in the face of his fellow idiots.

The blood...it clouds my vision...but no matter!...SLASH!, SLASH! STRIKE!...I don't need my full vision to fight...my sword sees for me...magnificent!...SLASH! STAB!...This is where it pays off...my superior dedication - SLASH! - I'm fighting on a different plane...they reach up to me as I float upon a cloud...SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!...Even as I diminish I win...95%...85...80...who can believe it! Look at what my sword can do! Hahaha!...STRIKE! STRIKE! STAB!...Fools! Don't play a game you cannot win!...Why must you deceive yourselves?...I trust only my sword in this world!