I used to be the best and the brightest
and the world was my oyster.
I used to have interesting stories to tell
and people to tell them to.
I used to want to hit home runs, or design buildings
and make millions doing what I loved.
Now all I want is to write words of enduring beauty
but who will listen.
Not even the wind.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The Samurai- Part 4
10.
Jun awoke early. His plan was to watch the camp, slowly stirring from slumber, to get a feel for its demeanor. He rose, gathering himself, just before dawn. He watched the sun rise, meditating upon the soft rustle of grass and flowers bending in the slight breeze.
The camp was a cluster of large tents, sleeping four men per tent. There were twenty, no, twenty five tents, including the tents of the overseers. All said and done about 100 men were living and working at the river.
As the sun rose, so too did the men. Most were young to middle age. A handful looked more aged. They seemed to be performing the lighter work, stoking fires, making breakfast.
All were filthy.
Jun roused his comrades and they all joined the men in their morning meal. Through mouthfuls of rice and fish, Jun learned that most of the men had come from the village or the surrounding valley. Many were here in the hopes of earning enough to expand their fields or put a new roof over their heads.
A small pocket of the men claimed to be ronin, masterless samurai. Their master being recently killed in defense of his holdings. Lacking a master they had no real hope of attaching themselves to another. So they walked, picking up food and work as it came.
Jun had his suspicions about the true intentions of the ronin, but said nothing. There would be time enough for inquiries later. For now, with their bellies full, the three friends stood and went forth to begin their survey of the bridge.
11.
Jun had been told to speak to Chief Architect Aswade. After minimal searching, Aswade was located in his tent, inspecting his designs with a handful of other officials, as well as giving the days instructions to the foremen.
Jun would have described Aswade as beady, or shifty, if he had not been so rotund. The man was obviously fed well. But there was a look in his eye that bespoke, no doubt, to the years of boot licking, back stabbing, and more or less constant infighting that were sure to go along with rising to the top of the heap as one of the Shogun’s closest advisors.
“Most Honorable Aswade. I am Jun. My father, the magistrate has sent me to aid in your endeavors and understand your needs as fully as possible, in order to fill them to the best of his ability.”
“Master Jun, I welcome you to our humble camp. Your father is indeed a great man and trusted ally of the Shogun. Your presence is most appreciated and can only increase your father’s already impressive reputation as a gracious and hospitable lord.”
Following a round of introductions and bowing all around, Aswade began to show Jun the plans for the bridge. It was truly a work of wonder. Jun had never heard of such a construction having ever been undertaken, in his village to be sure, but nowhere else in the world as far as he knew.
It was massive. A high arching bridge of stone and wood, requiring six ten foot square support structures being built in the water up to a height of twenty feet in the center of the bridge. The largest structure Jun had seen with his own eyes rose barely five feet on three legs.
“Master Aswade, I am sure that no bridge will know its equal,” said Jun in awed tones.
Aswade, it could be said, was rather fond of praise. Jun allowed a smile to play across his consciousness.
12.
They left the tent, Aswade leading the three young men to the construction site. The men had begun the work for the day, hefting large rocks into barrows and dragging them to the water’s edge. But to Jun’s eye, very little work had actually progressed on the construction. It looked most like two small piles of rocks just beginning to show from the surface of the water.
“Master Aswade, forgive my incompetence, but should there not be four more bases, and the beginnings of legs after so many months of work? I am surely no expert on the matter, and I beg your forgiveness for asking such an impertinent question.”
“I would normally be most upset if one, such as yourself, asked such a question. However, in this circumstance, it is most warranted. Sadly, the river has been largely to blame. When we are able to make some progress, the river just washes it away. It is most frustrating.”
“But sir, there must be a solution. May I ask your methods? How are the men attempting to build the structure?”
Aswade opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did the men became ready for fresh attempts. He promptly gestured in the direction of the men by way of explanation, and what Jun saw was beyond comprehension.
It became immediately clear why the bridge was being built where the ancient ferryman tugged himself across by the rope and pulley suspended over the river.
One man had been tied into a harness attached to the center of his back by a long rope, itself hanging loosely from the main pulley rope. On the ground next to him was an enormous boulder with large metal rings protruding from four points on its surface.
The man waddled over to the stone and grasped the rings with hands and feet, gave a nod, and the rest of the men began tugging on the pulley. Slowly, the man raised off the ground, tendons threatening to burst through his skin while blood and sweat rushed to his face. Swinging to and fro, he was pulled just a short distance from the shore, cursing and grunting as he went, and centered over the first small pile. Once in place, the men onshore gave up a cheer, signaling the impending release. The remainder of the camp came rushing to the shore, waiting with baited breath and prayers.
The man spider, in one convulsion freed hands and feet, sending the rock spinning down into place, only to have it roll free of the pile and start washing downstream. Dejected, the camp went back to business. The man reeled in looked like he would never walk the same.
Jun turned to Aswade and said, simply, “I see.”
Jun awoke early. His plan was to watch the camp, slowly stirring from slumber, to get a feel for its demeanor. He rose, gathering himself, just before dawn. He watched the sun rise, meditating upon the soft rustle of grass and flowers bending in the slight breeze.
The camp was a cluster of large tents, sleeping four men per tent. There were twenty, no, twenty five tents, including the tents of the overseers. All said and done about 100 men were living and working at the river.
As the sun rose, so too did the men. Most were young to middle age. A handful looked more aged. They seemed to be performing the lighter work, stoking fires, making breakfast.
All were filthy.
Jun roused his comrades and they all joined the men in their morning meal. Through mouthfuls of rice and fish, Jun learned that most of the men had come from the village or the surrounding valley. Many were here in the hopes of earning enough to expand their fields or put a new roof over their heads.
A small pocket of the men claimed to be ronin, masterless samurai. Their master being recently killed in defense of his holdings. Lacking a master they had no real hope of attaching themselves to another. So they walked, picking up food and work as it came.
Jun had his suspicions about the true intentions of the ronin, but said nothing. There would be time enough for inquiries later. For now, with their bellies full, the three friends stood and went forth to begin their survey of the bridge.
11.
Jun had been told to speak to Chief Architect Aswade. After minimal searching, Aswade was located in his tent, inspecting his designs with a handful of other officials, as well as giving the days instructions to the foremen.
Jun would have described Aswade as beady, or shifty, if he had not been so rotund. The man was obviously fed well. But there was a look in his eye that bespoke, no doubt, to the years of boot licking, back stabbing, and more or less constant infighting that were sure to go along with rising to the top of the heap as one of the Shogun’s closest advisors.
“Most Honorable Aswade. I am Jun. My father, the magistrate has sent me to aid in your endeavors and understand your needs as fully as possible, in order to fill them to the best of his ability.”
“Master Jun, I welcome you to our humble camp. Your father is indeed a great man and trusted ally of the Shogun. Your presence is most appreciated and can only increase your father’s already impressive reputation as a gracious and hospitable lord.”
Following a round of introductions and bowing all around, Aswade began to show Jun the plans for the bridge. It was truly a work of wonder. Jun had never heard of such a construction having ever been undertaken, in his village to be sure, but nowhere else in the world as far as he knew.
It was massive. A high arching bridge of stone and wood, requiring six ten foot square support structures being built in the water up to a height of twenty feet in the center of the bridge. The largest structure Jun had seen with his own eyes rose barely five feet on three legs.
“Master Aswade, I am sure that no bridge will know its equal,” said Jun in awed tones.
Aswade, it could be said, was rather fond of praise. Jun allowed a smile to play across his consciousness.
12.
They left the tent, Aswade leading the three young men to the construction site. The men had begun the work for the day, hefting large rocks into barrows and dragging them to the water’s edge. But to Jun’s eye, very little work had actually progressed on the construction. It looked most like two small piles of rocks just beginning to show from the surface of the water.
“Master Aswade, forgive my incompetence, but should there not be four more bases, and the beginnings of legs after so many months of work? I am surely no expert on the matter, and I beg your forgiveness for asking such an impertinent question.”
“I would normally be most upset if one, such as yourself, asked such a question. However, in this circumstance, it is most warranted. Sadly, the river has been largely to blame. When we are able to make some progress, the river just washes it away. It is most frustrating.”
“But sir, there must be a solution. May I ask your methods? How are the men attempting to build the structure?”
Aswade opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did the men became ready for fresh attempts. He promptly gestured in the direction of the men by way of explanation, and what Jun saw was beyond comprehension.
It became immediately clear why the bridge was being built where the ancient ferryman tugged himself across by the rope and pulley suspended over the river.
One man had been tied into a harness attached to the center of his back by a long rope, itself hanging loosely from the main pulley rope. On the ground next to him was an enormous boulder with large metal rings protruding from four points on its surface.
The man waddled over to the stone and grasped the rings with hands and feet, gave a nod, and the rest of the men began tugging on the pulley. Slowly, the man raised off the ground, tendons threatening to burst through his skin while blood and sweat rushed to his face. Swinging to and fro, he was pulled just a short distance from the shore, cursing and grunting as he went, and centered over the first small pile. Once in place, the men onshore gave up a cheer, signaling the impending release. The remainder of the camp came rushing to the shore, waiting with baited breath and prayers.
The man spider, in one convulsion freed hands and feet, sending the rock spinning down into place, only to have it roll free of the pile and start washing downstream. Dejected, the camp went back to business. The man reeled in looked like he would never walk the same.
Jun turned to Aswade and said, simply, “I see.”
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
The Samurai- Part 3
8.
“Come in, come in!” Saito exclaimed.
He stood and walked, with little regard for his steps, but somehow not disturbing the slightest ripple of fabric or strand of hair. The man was incredible.
“Jun…Hideki!, my friends, come and sit awhile,” he said with a hearty laugh, but under his breath he added, “I’m unsure whether I will be able to remove myself from these wily clutches. I’m not sure that I would want to.”
“You’re still planning on joining us, out to the bridge construction?” Hideki asked.
“No, he’s proposing that we stay awhile,” replied Jun, offhandedly.
“Not at all,” Saito said with a catbird grin and a mighty wink.
“Daylight is wasting, and I want to return before dusk. Coming or not, we should proceed. But when we return I would like to help untie the knots on your floor, there,” added Jun with mild innocence.
Thundering laughter and glad handing all around, the three began their preparations to venture forth from the den of nearly drunken debauchery.
The debauchery could wait.
9.
They rode through the well worn streets of town, until the streets gave way to dirt road, and the road dwindled to a path through the forest. This was the only route out of their valley that led, eventually, to the capital, as long as one could ford the river that bisected the path and ending in waterfall from the plateau upon which the town was perched.
Until recently, the only means of doing so was to pay the ferryman and wait as the old codger pulled slowly at the rope strung across the swirling torrent. He did not ask much, a handful of rice or a coin or two, but his barge was only large enough to carry between four men or two men with horses at a time.
Therefore, it was put forth by the Shogun, wanting all of his loyal subjects to have easy access to the capital, especially when they might be carrying all of that precious iron ore to trade. The town, nestled in a mountain valley, among crags and peaks, had discovered that they were sitting on a veritable gold mine’s worth of iron ore. So they started mining the ore.
Is was soon realized, however, that the ore would only come trickling out of the mountains as long as there was no reliable passage across the river. And that simply could not stand.
The Shogun dispatched, with all possible haste, his loyal surveyors and architects, and they devised a means by which the river could be bridged. But with the volume and quickness of the waters, the plan was easier set than completed.
Forming the support structures in the water was proving to be quite the deadly endeavor. So far, eleven workers had been washed away downstream, found battered and bloody at the base of the waterfall. So many had succumbed that the chief supervisor on the project had ordered the construction of a small camp at the base to attempt a speedier recovery of the victims. It always happened so suddenly, it was hard to be sure whether the men were dead on arrival or surviving the fall, only to have deeper injuries take them in due course. At least two of them looked as though they may have been alive long enough to crawl ashore before expiring.
The Shogun’s advisors were asking Jun’s father for more men to replace the fallen, but word had spread. The wages kept increasing, but so, too, did the danger. It was to this end that Jun was asked to ride to the construction and see if he could assist in any way, primarily to study the structure and report back the true nature of the dangers involved. Jun was no architect. He was intelligent and had good instincts, as well as the complete faith of his father.
“Come in, come in!” Saito exclaimed.
He stood and walked, with little regard for his steps, but somehow not disturbing the slightest ripple of fabric or strand of hair. The man was incredible.
“Jun…Hideki!, my friends, come and sit awhile,” he said with a hearty laugh, but under his breath he added, “I’m unsure whether I will be able to remove myself from these wily clutches. I’m not sure that I would want to.”
“You’re still planning on joining us, out to the bridge construction?” Hideki asked.
“No, he’s proposing that we stay awhile,” replied Jun, offhandedly.
“Not at all,” Saito said with a catbird grin and a mighty wink.
“Daylight is wasting, and I want to return before dusk. Coming or not, we should proceed. But when we return I would like to help untie the knots on your floor, there,” added Jun with mild innocence.
Thundering laughter and glad handing all around, the three began their preparations to venture forth from the den of nearly drunken debauchery.
The debauchery could wait.
9.
They rode through the well worn streets of town, until the streets gave way to dirt road, and the road dwindled to a path through the forest. This was the only route out of their valley that led, eventually, to the capital, as long as one could ford the river that bisected the path and ending in waterfall from the plateau upon which the town was perched.
Until recently, the only means of doing so was to pay the ferryman and wait as the old codger pulled slowly at the rope strung across the swirling torrent. He did not ask much, a handful of rice or a coin or two, but his barge was only large enough to carry between four men or two men with horses at a time.
Therefore, it was put forth by the Shogun, wanting all of his loyal subjects to have easy access to the capital, especially when they might be carrying all of that precious iron ore to trade. The town, nestled in a mountain valley, among crags and peaks, had discovered that they were sitting on a veritable gold mine’s worth of iron ore. So they started mining the ore.
Is was soon realized, however, that the ore would only come trickling out of the mountains as long as there was no reliable passage across the river. And that simply could not stand.
The Shogun dispatched, with all possible haste, his loyal surveyors and architects, and they devised a means by which the river could be bridged. But with the volume and quickness of the waters, the plan was easier set than completed.
Forming the support structures in the water was proving to be quite the deadly endeavor. So far, eleven workers had been washed away downstream, found battered and bloody at the base of the waterfall. So many had succumbed that the chief supervisor on the project had ordered the construction of a small camp at the base to attempt a speedier recovery of the victims. It always happened so suddenly, it was hard to be sure whether the men were dead on arrival or surviving the fall, only to have deeper injuries take them in due course. At least two of them looked as though they may have been alive long enough to crawl ashore before expiring.
The Shogun’s advisors were asking Jun’s father for more men to replace the fallen, but word had spread. The wages kept increasing, but so, too, did the danger. It was to this end that Jun was asked to ride to the construction and see if he could assist in any way, primarily to study the structure and report back the true nature of the dangers involved. Jun was no architect. He was intelligent and had good instincts, as well as the complete faith of his father.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
The Samurai- Part 2
4.
She may have been there the whole time, but he doubted it. She appeared near enough to shore that she could have waded in, but not close enough that Ganpei wouldn’t have heard her steps, at least under normal circumstances. But these were hardly normal.
She had the round face and wide bright eyes that he couldn’t resist. Her dark hair was down, the tips gently brushing the waist deep water. And she was naked, walking towards him.
Thank the gods, he didn’t have the energy to become aroused.
She came nearer, advancing slowly, like a child reaching out for a wounded animal. He thought of snarling and hiding his hurt, but he could see she was interested in little else. She reached out and put a gentle, insistent hand on his shoulder, and he was at ease, suspicions put to rest. It was as if she was drawing the hurt and fatigue, the sorrow and suffering, out of his broken body like wine out of a barrel. She didn’t take it unto herself. Ganpei would swear that he could see it pouring out of him and into the shallow waters where it swirled and combined with the water, and the silt, refined. Purified.
She helped him to his feet, and out of his remaining tattered garments. She led him into the deepest waters, coming up just past their navels. She bent and scooped a handful of water up to his brow, and let loose a cool splash of water down his face. She bent again and again, slowly washing every inch of his body, slowly and thoroughly, while carefully avoiding his tender man parts. And with every handful, he could feel an equal amount of strength return to his body, his soul.
She stopped and looked at him with such pain in her eyes, glancing down to his wound. He knows what’s coming.
She reaches down and delicately starts to untie his handiwork. The halves of his penis would flop and peel apart if it weren’t for the blood, dirt, and willpower keeping them together. He had done his best to clean the wound before tying it into a splint, but not being the most objective bystander to the procedure, he had figured that gently rinsed would suffice. She starts crying in earnest and starts to scrub.
Each pass with her hands feels like a million tiny arrows finding their mark in his groin and guts. His brain explodes in a violent explosion of white light fireworks. And then he floats down the white waters and into oblivion.
5.
When he comes to, the disorientation hits with nauseating force. He’s dressed and covered, next to a fire with the woman stirring a pot of boiling liquid.
“I dressed your wound,” she said, “but don’t look. You shouldn’t move for a few days. Do not worry, though. I will stay with you.”
After what seemed like hours of staring at the stars and trees overhead, watching the flames in their sinuous dance around the pot that she stirred, the smell of fire, and earth, and something delicious.
“Drink this” she said, handing him a small stone bowl full of a steaming liquid. His need was so great, he hardly paused from accepting to guzzling the sweet sustenance and almost jumping out of his skin with impatience waiting for a second helping. Nothing but broth, and fish, and some herbs, but each drop brought him one step back from death.
“Who are you?” Ganpei asked, wiping his mouth.
“ A friend. My name is Mizuki.”
“How came you to this place?”
She thought for a moment. “I was born in this pool. My family lives nearby. It seems as though I am always here, washing, singing…listening.”
“Listening to what?”
“The water” she replied.
“It’s sound is beautiful, lapping up the shore, rippling and splashing against the rocks.”
“It is that. But there is more. The wisdom of the water.”
He wanted to ask more, not being entirely sure what she meant. But with a full belly and a broken body, he drifted back to sleep.
6.
Cloudy frog trees whistle hair flying flailing sweat and essence hair melding moisture. Dirty fog aroma rock bird death. Rocky path rut juts akimbo rising falling rhythm heavenly orchestra. Purpose fury tossing sack rice umbrella gripped member soothing waves of agony. Searching hunting sniffing remnant secretions. Erections rage. Toothy grin grim freckles face seeking finding fancy fine dragon scale silken fire master.
She may have been there the whole time, but he doubted it. She appeared near enough to shore that she could have waded in, but not close enough that Ganpei wouldn’t have heard her steps, at least under normal circumstances. But these were hardly normal.
She had the round face and wide bright eyes that he couldn’t resist. Her dark hair was down, the tips gently brushing the waist deep water. And she was naked, walking towards him.
Thank the gods, he didn’t have the energy to become aroused.
She came nearer, advancing slowly, like a child reaching out for a wounded animal. He thought of snarling and hiding his hurt, but he could see she was interested in little else. She reached out and put a gentle, insistent hand on his shoulder, and he was at ease, suspicions put to rest. It was as if she was drawing the hurt and fatigue, the sorrow and suffering, out of his broken body like wine out of a barrel. She didn’t take it unto herself. Ganpei would swear that he could see it pouring out of him and into the shallow waters where it swirled and combined with the water, and the silt, refined. Purified.
She helped him to his feet, and out of his remaining tattered garments. She led him into the deepest waters, coming up just past their navels. She bent and scooped a handful of water up to his brow, and let loose a cool splash of water down his face. She bent again and again, slowly washing every inch of his body, slowly and thoroughly, while carefully avoiding his tender man parts. And with every handful, he could feel an equal amount of strength return to his body, his soul.
She stopped and looked at him with such pain in her eyes, glancing down to his wound. He knows what’s coming.
She reaches down and delicately starts to untie his handiwork. The halves of his penis would flop and peel apart if it weren’t for the blood, dirt, and willpower keeping them together. He had done his best to clean the wound before tying it into a splint, but not being the most objective bystander to the procedure, he had figured that gently rinsed would suffice. She starts crying in earnest and starts to scrub.
Each pass with her hands feels like a million tiny arrows finding their mark in his groin and guts. His brain explodes in a violent explosion of white light fireworks. And then he floats down the white waters and into oblivion.
5.
When he comes to, the disorientation hits with nauseating force. He’s dressed and covered, next to a fire with the woman stirring a pot of boiling liquid.
“I dressed your wound,” she said, “but don’t look. You shouldn’t move for a few days. Do not worry, though. I will stay with you.”
After what seemed like hours of staring at the stars and trees overhead, watching the flames in their sinuous dance around the pot that she stirred, the smell of fire, and earth, and something delicious.
“Drink this” she said, handing him a small stone bowl full of a steaming liquid. His need was so great, he hardly paused from accepting to guzzling the sweet sustenance and almost jumping out of his skin with impatience waiting for a second helping. Nothing but broth, and fish, and some herbs, but each drop brought him one step back from death.
“Who are you?” Ganpei asked, wiping his mouth.
“ A friend. My name is Mizuki.”
“How came you to this place?”
She thought for a moment. “I was born in this pool. My family lives nearby. It seems as though I am always here, washing, singing…listening.”
“Listening to what?”
“The water” she replied.
“It’s sound is beautiful, lapping up the shore, rippling and splashing against the rocks.”
“It is that. But there is more. The wisdom of the water.”
He wanted to ask more, not being entirely sure what she meant. But with a full belly and a broken body, he drifted back to sleep.
6.
Cloudy frog trees whistle hair flying flailing sweat and essence hair melding moisture. Dirty fog aroma rock bird death. Rocky path rut juts akimbo rising falling rhythm heavenly orchestra. Purpose fury tossing sack rice umbrella gripped member soothing waves of agony. Searching hunting sniffing remnant secretions. Erections rage. Toothy grin grim freckles face seeking finding fancy fine dragon scale silken fire master.
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