Tower of Endings

Fox hung from the railing with one hand, trying to catch a clear grip with the other as his savage opponent chiseled deep into his knuckles with his fingernails. The pain was sharp, but he had to bear it. From that position there were only two possible outcomes, an arduous ascent into a battle on the platform or a long drop to injury and defeat.

In the beginning, the two boys had been friends. Fox and Michael had spent a few seasons together running through the forests and the hills, hunting, fishing, and fighting imaginary foes along with a few others from the surrounding area.

Fox and his brother had moved from their suburban home to a new life in a rural area far to the north and Michael was one of the first to welcome them. They had gone to church together and lived relatively close to each other; Michael’s family had even been part of the group that had helped Fox’s family move into their new home. Their adventures were many and their times together were frequent and fun. Michael’s father was a metalworker who had access to unusual resources which allowed him to build his son all manner of interesting playthings, including a monumental tower topped with a wide platform accessible only through a spiral staircase running up the middle of the central support column which opened a hatch in the platform floor. To the young boys it was the ultimate place from which to launch their adventures – a watchtower that was impenetrable from the outside, towering high above the surrounding grounds amidst a forest of tall hardwood trees.

For a long time they pursued their varying interests and improved their lofty base of operations, with Fox eventually accepting a role as the de-facto leader of the group. As had been the case in the past, Fox repeatedly proved himself to be the most intrepid of the little band, leading them on adventures both dangerous and profitable. They had walked the riverbed together, swam the lake together, rebuilt an abandoned boat together, and together rode their bikes to the end of all the roads they knew. However, this was an age of great inner turmoil for boys who, upon reaching their teens, would soon begin to pursue their roles as young men. As such, Fox’s fame as the heroic leader of the club was a fact that began to irritate young Michael, as did the fact that Fox carried with him such unanimous support from his brother and from the few adults with whom they had regular dealings. Over time, this seed of irritation cultured and manifested itself as a sprout of bitterness. With each new interaction, this sprout grew larger, spreading its roots and maturing to blossom into jealousy.

For a relatively long time, this second in command carried this jealousy unbeknownst to his friend Fox, who visited his home and laughed and joked with him and his family on regular occasion. It may have gone on forever this way, had they not decided to upgrade the tower. The varying designs fueled a debate which eventually ignited the volatile garden of jealousy that Michael had been cultivating for such a long time.

The argument was loud and long and Michael ended it by sealing himself in the tower and announcing that he no longer had any use for Fox or his brother. The tower was his and the age of democracy on his property had come to an end.

Rather than submit to the insult of this sudden change of policy, a confused and infuriated young Fox took it upon himself to prove that the tower was not a defense that could stand against him – and that Michael’s hold on it afforded him nothing.

It was well-known that Fox was not one at which to scoff when it came to a conflict between peers; even though he was not one to invite discord unnecessarily, he had even at his young age gained repute as one willing to exhaust every resource at his disposal for the sake of principle.

He attacked the tower for hours and was viciously bombarded by a seemingly endless barrage of pinecones from the stockpiles he and Michael had long since stored in baskets on the platform. He dodged and defended himself with an improvised shield, but was careful never to return fire. Instead he continued his futile attempts to open the locked steel door at the base of the giant supporting column. He hammered and pried, but somehow Michael had locked it from the inside. It appeared that Fox’s second had every intention of using the club’s complete defense strategy against him, but he was determined to succeed. Fox knew that if he continued, he would lose his right to freely access the tower and possibly create a rift between himself and his jealous friend; but his wrath only continued to grow as Michael’s continued attempts to thwart him began to wear at his pride. He had to break through the defenses and show that jerk that the tower was no prize and that having it did not make him a leader.

Fox fought the column until the rain of debris halted. As he had expected, Michael exhausted his ammunition in his frantic attempt to halt his enemy’s siege. He was defenseless, and the young former leader of what was once a club of good friends laid on with his real plan to take the tower.

Taking a thick piece of livestock rope and tying the end to a piece of timber about 3 feet in length, he moved to the outer edge of the platform as it hung suspended 20 feet above him. He threw the wood up to and over the railing along with a coil of rope, pulling it tight as fast as he could in order to avoid Michael’s inevitable attempt to catch it and toss it back to the ground.

Michael saw the line come up, and frantically attempted to grasp the piece of timber just as the rope tightened and pulled it just out of reach. It caught the side rail of the platform and flipped over the edge, swinging dangerously close to his face. He ran to the side and cackled down at Fox, who was already engaged in tossing the line a second time.

On the second attempt, the angry boy on the ground threw the chunk of timber like a javelin, wrapped tightly in several coils of rope. It passed between the third and fourth rungs of the heavy steel railing, nearly hitting the boy a second time.

Michael stumbled back as the chunk of wood clattered to the deck of his highly defended embattlement. He rose to his feet in shock as it rapidly unraveled as it was pulled back to the rail, where it lodged between the parallel bars through which it had initially passed. He rushed to the edge to loose the board from where it had taken hold, but found it firmly fixed by the weight of his adversary, who was already ascending.

He scrambled to the toolbox, but found nothing that could quickly sever the kind of rope Fox was using to penetrate his impregnable fortress. At the bottom of the box that he and Fox had prepared in the event they had to deal with a possible siege, he found a pair of school scissors. They were barely sharp enough to cut cardboard, but they would have to do. Fox was not the fastest climber in his school, but would surely reach the rail swiftly.

Michael rushed to the edge again, rapidly sawing at the thick rope supporting Fox’s weight as he ascended. He was frantic, out of ammunition, and was about to face a powerful adversary on even ground. He had to get through the rope before Fox reached the rail.

As the rope began to fray, Michael called out, “I’m cutting this rope! You should give up, or you’ll fall and break your legs!”

There was no answer on Fox’s end, but only a few seconds after that sentence left his mouth, a hand rose up and gripped the bottom bar of the rail. Michael paused. The other hand rose with some apparent effort to grip the second bar and the plank dropped to the deck. Fox was at the rail and there appeared to be nothing he could do to deter him; it seemed that a fight was imminent.

Fox climbed to the top rung of the rail and was in the midst of pulling himself up when the timber he had used to ascend smashed into his left hand. The sudden pain almost caused him to let go of the rail, but he held fast. The angry boy could see his former friend raising the board for a second hit, so he released his left hand and grabbed the rope, pulling it sharply and with all the force he could muster. The sudden shock of the rope tugging from the center of the plank yanked it from Michael’s unprepared grip and the weight of the rope dangling over the side aided in dragging the improvised weapon off the platform and to the ground.

With the piece of wood and all of the pinecones gone from Michael’s arsenal, Fox forced his fatigued arms to resume the ascent. The only thing keeping him going was the fear of falling and the need to show himself better than his former second’s challenge.

Frustrated with Fox’s irrational tenacity, Michael tossed out the unwritten rules of childhood fair play and gouged his fingernails deep into the knuckles of Fox’s uppermost hand. Fox pulled up and swatted at him with his left hand before gripping the top rung and attempting to gain a foothold on the deck. Michael could see in Fox’s narrow gaze that he had no intention of giving up. The bleeding scratches in his right hand seemed only to make him more determined.

Desperate to end the battle and save face, Michael committed a taboo among schoolboys, slapping Fox in the face and immediately going to work on his hands with the scissors. Even with all of the interesting encounters Fox had faced up to then, he had yet to feel the pain of a former ally carving into his flesh with a dull metal blade. It was an egregious crime that kids of his kind never even considered, regardless of the circumstances. Knives and scissors were adult weapons designed to permanently injure or kill people.

Fox was stunned by the sudden deterioration of the situation, but he had to finish his advance before the frantic defender seriously injured him. The pain was brutal but brief as Fox gained a foothold and vaulted over the rail onto the platform within seconds of Michael’s final onslaught.

The two stood face to face. The taller, older Fox bleeding from both hands and panting from a grueling ascent and the stocky, young Michael red-faced and sweating from his last failed attempt to thwart Fox’s incursion. Before Fox could do or say anything, his defeated rival stood on his toes and screamed into his face, “GET OUT!”

Fox looked down at the backs of his hands and raised a particularly gory laceration to his mouth. He strolled wearily to the hatch and unlocked it, taking his knuckle out of his mouth again and looking at it, “You should be ashamed of yourself, you coward,”

Michael stomped up to him, stopping just out of reach and screamed again, “GET OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK!”

Before he had finished, Fox was already descending the stairs. His last words to the boy who had once been his friend were, “Don’t worry,” and with that, he closed the hatch behind him, descended to the ground level, and walked home.

In this story we see a new side of the main Character’s personality as he plays a more ambivalent role, facing a friend after a jealous argument. Since both the setting and the characters have changed since the last adventure, the reader can see that Fox’s charisma in his earlier years did not translate as successfully into his new environment as it had in his old neighborhood. Once his family moved to a new location, the main character was forced to carry on without his former allies and the comforts of his past reputation. From here the reader might expect to see the main character less willing to form new friendships with the sparse candidates in his new locale.

Relaxation

Through some life experience and a great deal of humbling training with a few great swordsmen over time, it has become apparent that the need for a calm and relaxed body and attitude as absolute as one progresses deeper into the truth of duel-type combat. This is a mysterious element of higher fighting directly connected to one’s own grasp of the void and is difficult to explain in common terms. Essentially speaking, it is the ability to face your opponent in a state of uncommitted readiness. You must be ready to react, but with a mind clear of If and Then. If your mind is cluttered with thoughts about what the opponent does or does not do, you will distract yourself. In swordplay especially, I have seen many times when preemptive flinching gave away enough intent for the opponent to adjust his attack and score. This goes for fencing as well as Kendo.

Musashi Miyamoto expressed this several different ways in his Book of Five Rings, even going as far as to describe proper posture and shoulder position in detail. Perhaps I will find time to post some excerpts of his work for the reader’s reference, but for now let it suffice for me to say that the body of a swordsman should not change its way from regular life to combat and vice-versa. To remain upright, to be strong in the lower leg and back, and relaxed in the chest and shoulders – this is the bearing common of individuals who try to maintain proper posture in daily life. The feeling of the fighting stance is essentially the same, since it lends itself to rapid movement in any direction and generally sustains good balance when at rest. To be without intent is important for two reasons; the most obvious reason is that your intent can be read by your opponent if he is clever or if the intent is deep enough to be revealed by the myriad subtleties of your body, face, or movements. The other reason (the big and hidden reason) is Newton’s Law. Your body has the property of inertia just the same as everything in the material universe, therefore, if your body moves, it is committed to that movement until you exert effort to change said movement. This includes tiny movements of nervous muscles within your body – muscles that will tighten and pull in order to prepare you to pursue your intended attack or defense. Experience tells us that this is not good for speed, since the body has to work against itself in the event that something unexpected occurs. To be relaxed is to be neutral, and to be neutral is to be equally ready for anything. I believe that this must be examined thoroughly before it can be understood. I often find it difficult to put into practice when in the heat of practice, but it must be mastered if one intends to progress.

The higher aspect of this same concept is the relaxation of the mind. This is necessary for a person to effectively neutralize attack and defense bias within the body, but it can only be refined once the body comes into subjection and is forced to relax despite the urgency of conflict. The brain controls the body – this is medically proven fact. But it is not always so with the mind; the mind can be occupied with thousands of things while the body goes about its business and the two might have little reason to communicate during mundane daily routines. So we develop the habit of acting in a disharmonious way which causes us to become distracted in situations in which focus is required. To have a calm body when the mind is not calm is possible, but only with effort. Training reduces this effort by unifying both the body and the mind. Once again, the clarity achieved by relaxation is most easily attainable during the absence of intent, since powerful intent stimulates the imagination and clouds one’s view of reality. To focus upon a single detail in battle is like suffering from tunnel-vision. If the opponent realizes that you are preoccupied with some strategy, he can attack and overpower you with speed or surprise. In this case, your only hope of survival would be an error on his part or the off-chance that your strategy involved the attack he decided to execute at the time.

The best metaphor for the calm mind is the relaxed eye. When you relax the focus of your eye, you may notice that everything seems to loose focus, but at the same time you become more aware of things that are visible in your peripheral vision. You can see the movements of a wider range of things, even though you lose the detail you once saw in the finite object in front of you. This is the same of the mind in a neutral state. While one sacrifices the detailed thoughts of intent, one gains a wider view of the situation and the ability to react more swiftly as a result. As I mentioned before, this is a necessary skill, but only comes with great practice.

Bike Gang!

The streets ripped by beneath our narrow wheels as we hurtled down the hill to the safe line, the point past which we knew the Yellows wouldn't follow. Sticks and stones splintered and clattered to either side as salvos of debris rained down by the efforts of our adversaries. We had succeeded in our raid, and it was just a matter of making it back to the safe line – the area defended against their aggressive pursuit…

I think back to those summers when we children were free of school and responsibility, banding together into our little groups, loosely organized according to the graded caste system imposed upon us by our schools. We ran and played with our friends, enjoyed lemonade and the neighborhood swimming pool, played the latest NES games, and rode our bikes everywhere and nowhere. It was the bike that was the defining factor of a young middle-school student’s influence in the neighborhood back then. It was a display of one’s status as well as a key to the rarest of commodities – independent mobility. But with independence came a certain degree of trepidation, because the farther a child travels from the safety of his yard, the more his safety rests in his own hands; and on a bike, safety in numbers was little more than a bluff. These were the days of wooden swords and makeshift armor, pinecone fights, bullies, and barking dogs; the days when knights, jedi, cowboys, and samurai battled back to back against enemies unnumbered for ultimate supremacy on the hot concrete of the cul-de-sac. The days seemed endless and we were as old as we had ever been, with the world stretched out before us and the thought of tomorrow never crossing our minds.

This story begins with the introduction of the enemy known as the Yellows, who came on the scene one summer initially as baseball team rivals of an acquaintance of ours. At first it seemed to be of little concern to us; my brother and I were more than content to allow the rivalry escalate to whatever degree the participants saw fit. It seemed that the boy and his brother would bother our associate everyday, and it escapes my memory how it first began, but I believe it was with a pinecone. A toss heard around the block and the beginning of a faction war that would continue almost all summer and stretch from one end of the subdivision to the other. You see, I was never involved with the extracurricular sporting activities subsidized by our schools, so I had not been called into the rivalries that had been instilled in some of my peers. However, as a leader of my respective street, I was compelled to join the campaign, adding my forces to those of the other streets belonging to our school. In the end, our headcount averaged about 20, which was supported by the 8 with whom I regularly dealt. Of those, I usually rode with 2 or 3 other people, including my brother and the friend who was with us during the backyard battle the year before. This however, isn't the story of the war, but of one of our little campaigns - the first and last 'big one' in which I recall being directly involved.

The bike raid was not a new concept, but it was something we had not experienced before the Yellows, who attacked some friends of ours with rocks and pinecones in a sort-of adolescent drive-by. Of course, this was generally considered bad form, since my lot was of the classical school of mano-a-mano dueling, so we began carrying rocks with us in the hopes of ambushing them on the next pass. Twice more they came, hurling more debris each time, and we laid on with everything we had, but found the cyclists infinitely harder to hit than traditional pedestrian assailants. In addition, they wore skater gear, which protected several parts of their bodies and made them unafraid of getting in close or even wiping out.

It was around that time that we decided to fight them as we had fought others before, focusing on the leader of the formation, then chasing the remnant to their base. There were only four of them and they were growing more daring with each passing day, making more passes each time and yelling provocative insults all the while.

Two days before we would make our first raid, I carried my wooden longsword to the house of our associate and asked my friend to bring his lance as well. The lance turned out to be the critical element of our plan, since it was the perfect shape for the plan we intended to hatch. Little more than a discarded pool cue with an improvised basket guard made from a ‘Big Gulp’ cup, it was the longest and straightest of the weapons at our disposal.

We had seen them preparing near their hangout in the park by the swimming pool, collecting ordinance in bike baskets and the like – already decked out in their indestructible skater armor. We waved at them, yelling and shaking our backsides, doing all that we could to get them to deploy as quickly as possible. We were wearing our own rag-tag armor as well: knee pads, elbow pads, soccer guards - I had on a hard hat, my brother wore a football helmet, and our friend wore his signature Texas Rangers junior baseball helmet. I am sure we were not the most intimidating opponents those rich Northampton kids had ever seen and so much the better, because they came at us like hornets from a fallen hive, just like we planned.

Their momentum was a big part of our strategy, so we ran as fast as we could as if to somehow escape them. Our flight stirred raucous verbal abuse and shouting from our highly excited pursuers who undoubtedly pedaled all the more swiftly. We rushed to a large tuft of pampas grass where we had hidden our weapons and turned on our heels to meet the curb as they closed on us. We were bombarded by a hailstorm of pea-gravel, acorns, sweetgum seeds, and pinecones as they raced upon us. So much so that we advanced with our heads down, unable to see our targets.

I lunged in with my sword and missed, my weapon being promptly run over as the leader passed. My brother met the ground before reaching the street, taking too many hits to continue. But the man with the lance, executing a classical baseball belly-slide, thrust his pool cue into the spokes of the leader’s front wheel. The lead bike came to an immediate stop, turning end-over and hurling its stunned rider onto the street like a ragdoll. Regrettably, I only saw a part of the crash from under my helmet, as the whole thing happened before I could return to my feet with the hilt of my broken sword still in hand. As if in slow-motion, two of the remaining three bikes smashed into the tumbling lead bicycle, leaving the second man on the street, and the third afoot working to free his ride from the tangle of wheels and tubing we had made.

Unable to retrieve his weapon and suddenly feeling in well over his head, our friend fell back, essentially fleeing the field, while my brother and I were left to fend for ourselves with a broken sword and a broomstick.

I do not recall exactly how the leader and the other rider managed to get away, but their two comrades left them behind, only stopping to check on them once they were well away from the action. One of the defeated pair was crying like a baby and the other was cursing like I had never heard before. I am certain that both would have readily attacked us if our cowardly associate had not suddenly appeared with his two cousins to bombard the living daylights out of them with their own stockpile of prickly tree castings. My brother and I made a tactical retreat, deferring to the might of our debris-hurling backup as the enemy pair separated their bikes and fled in humiliation.

We had no way of knowing what lie in store for us now that we had utterly beaten down and humiliated the enemy. Their snappy yellow skater gear was now scratched and stained by the thousand rolling impacts of a full-speed bicycle pile-up and the mouth of the group had undoubtedly lost some of the confidence of his followers – followers who had realized they were now facing some kids who were not afraid to step up when attacked.

Meanwhile, we rebuilt our equipment, adding additional bits to our armor to protect us from rocks (particularly our faces) and prepared for the second phase of our plan, anticipating that they would attack us even more powerfully than the previous day. Matters were further complicated by the fact that our fellow the lanceman was grounded for his participation, having told his parents part of the story when questioned as to how he had sprained his wrist and torn the knee out of his pants. So we were out one veteran and our young associate (his two cousins included) was not mobile enough to take the fight off his own street. This left myself and my brother to carry out the finishing blow and re-earn our reputation as untouchables, effectively removing us from the war and absolving us from any possible retaliation. The original plan was for a dozen fully armed bikes to ride into the park and utterly destroy the operation there, then occupy the area, but since it was just the two of us, our goal changed. The enemy would still be crushed, but it would not be by our side of the subdivision, it would be by us – and after that, we were out. We even planned to tell them so. By that time, my brother and I had no intention of continuing with battles that had nothing to do with us but also had no intention of keeping it from continuing without us.

The sun rose early that weekday morning and our mother allowed us to ride our bikes to our caretaker’s house, the home of the young associate who was partially the cause of this war. We waited until we had the opportunity to take a ride on our bikes and returned home, where we loaded up with our gear, which included our lighter ‘riding armor’, new lances, plastic bags full of ammo (pinecones, acorns, and sweetgum balls), and a bag full of playground sand each.

Riding back to the battleground, we found a new assault already in progress, but it was different than before. The riders had dismounted and were using their bikes as shields (they had duct-taped some thick cardboard to the frames of their bicycles to defend them from bombardment) while they engaged in a projectile battle against the entrenched cousins, who were using everything they had to keep the aggressors at bay, including the water hose. In addition, there were only three of them instead of the initial four.

Calling out to each other, we charged in at our top gear, bringing our thick lances to bear. We intended to severely damage the Yellows’ bikes, dashing them to the ground with our lances while simultaneously scattering our foes like birds. It was a good plan in theory, but they saw us coming and mounted long before we reached them. They fled down the street as fast as they could but their single-speed freestyle bikes had only a fraction of the speed of our fleet 10-speeds and we were upon them faster than they must have expected. One of the Yellows slowed and tried to hit me with a rock from his saddlebag but I hit the breaks to match his speed and ran my lance through his rear spokes to return the favor. He skidded to a crashing halt an fell on his side, his locked wheel yanking the stick from my hand, but we held our speed as we chased the other two.

My brother closed on the leader with his own lance, but the same turned, having a stick of his own. My brother broke off as the Yellow made an attempt to send him endo with the stick. The enemy had to reach too far in an attempt to send the stick through my brother’s front spokes and was forced to drop it in favor of regaining control of his bike.

The two Yellows broke ranks and went their separate ways, so I called to my brother to head to their base in the park.

The Yellow base was essentially a picnic table and a jungle-gym with a hand-drawn yellow flag at the top. There was not much to destroy, but they had gone through the trouble of making the flag and organizing their arsenal atop the picnic table, so that was our target.

We swept in, finding the fourth man there without his armor. The boy ran without saying a word and we swept the whole table into a nearby trashcan and took the enemy’s banner forthwith. The last two came upon us as we were leaving and shouted at us, cursing as if we had urinated on their mother’s grave.

We were already past fearing them, but we knew we had the advantage at full speed, so rather than fight, we merely employed the SR-71’s most famous evasive maneuver: When there’s a bogey on your six – just open the throttle and leave him in your jetwash.

They followed us furiously even as we climbed our gears to our cruising speed and began tossing our loads of ordinance over our shoulders and into their paths. I recall that the stuff just bounced off their helmets and pads, doing little to distract them from us. They yelled and threatened, understandably upset, throwing the remainder of their weapons at us as we flew to our safe house several blocks away. We knew that with only two of them, it wouldn’t matter how mad they were. The cousins would take them apart if they followed us too deep into our own territory.

As we neared the end of our own street, I called to release the chaff, at which point my brother and I slung our sand into the paths of the two riders chasing us. They were taken aback by this tactic and looking back I saw that they had stopped cold as if they had hit a wall. I am not sure if it blinded them like we expected, but it certainly had the anticipated effect of stopping their pursuit.

As we rolled up to the house covered in dirt, sand, pine needles, mud, sweat, splinters, and bruises, we could see our defeated foes roll out in the direction of their own homes. Aside from a few minor encounters at school the following season and a bit of hearsay from unfortunates on the other side of the neighborhood, that was the last time we had any dealings with them. Peace had once again been restored and our reputation around the block had (for better or worse) been increased.

This is the second story in the main plotline detailing yet another of the main character’s adventures as a child. Though there was slightly more action than the first, the stakes were a bit lower. However, the greater scope of the story shows a great deal of development in the area of strategy – at least in a childish sense. Despite the fact that this account seems to describe the violent rampaging of unsupervised youth, it has within it an element of chivalry which reflects the interests of the main characters, in this case the two brothers and their friend. This account helps to further develop the main character’s past and establish his familiarity with ‘action’ as well as to further reinforce the concept of his willingness to fight for his friends.

Defend your ride!

The Grip

The grip is an important facet of swordsmanship which is all-too-often overlooked by the novice and the casual enthusiast. It is a common oversight which frequently results in injury to the wrists, or at the very least, the development middling swordsmen who spar like animals and are easily defeated.

From what I have seen from the lesser-experienced knifemen wielding swords and similar weapons, I gather that the most common improper holding method is the ‘Hammer’ grip. In this grip, a person clutches an object in the midst of a tightly pressed fist as if to prevent its escape. This type of hold is appropriate for very heavy tools an tools with an end-ward center of balance, such as an axe or hammer, because swinging heavy tools hazards one losing his grip due to centrifugal force amplified by asymmetrical weight distribution between the two ends of the tool. I would generally limit the appropriate use of this grip to sledge hammers and large axes, since using these tools is more a matter of resisting shock than retaining grip. It has been my experience that the proper sword grip easily translates into the use of hand tools with practice.

According to the form of Kendo and Kumdo, the proper grip could be likened to that of the basic grip used in golf, but more distributed (for two-handed sword use) and with the thumb resting in line with the index finger rather than on the back of the handle. To avoid confusion, I have added pictures of both grips. Rather than noting the differences, look carefully at the similarities between the two grip styles. Remember that both arts require a swing with accuracy, speed, and finesse. Both focus on these rather than power and both seem to show a great deal of similarity for this very reason. As a sidenote, I have heard that some tennis players also use the so-called fencing grip, which is logical, but unfortunately not included in the attached image.

Note: The left two pictures are for golf, while the right are for the katana; the smaller sword grip image is actually a bit more proper than the one on the far right. The proper grip has a smoother grade between the angle of the forearm and the angle of the thumb. Acute bends in the wrist betray an unsteady grip or a rigid 'Vice' grip.

The science of ergonomics is still in its relative infancy, but it has a lot to say about the way we use our hands to hold things. For the most part, human hands are basically operated like the limbs of a marionette, pulled and twisted by myriad sinews and tendons attached to muscles in the forearm. Since the hand can pivot at the wrist, the orientation of the hand has a direct effect upon the efficacy of the muscles in the forearm and vice-versa. As a result, certain grips are better suited for ease of movement, for crushing strength, for pinching grip, for twisting (like a screwdriver), for lifting over the head, for writing, etc. The sword and golf grips are essentially a synthesis of several of these grip methods, allowing for the greatest range of motion and sensitivity of control without compromising too much holding power. In addition, the angle of the grip allows for greater reach without requiring the hold on the handle to loosen, as would be the case with the hammer grip.

This element of tactical swordplay is one of the few cases in which fencing and kendo/kenjutsu generally agree, though the arts tend to go about cultivating proper grip habits in completely different ways. To further complicate matters for the diligent student of swordsmanship, the East and West are further subdivided into dozens of different mainlines, which are each broken into several different schools. As such, we will limit discussion to the basic, stereotypical foil fencing and shinai kendo. In the first, we have the grip as it would be employed to support the weight of the weapon as well as to guide it forward into its target. The fencer uses a single hand to move the needle-like foil according to an angular thrusting pattern, deviating essentially only to parry or edit the angle of attack. To move the tip, the wrist and fingers are employed to make subtle, accurate adjustments. To move the hand, the arm is used, flowing from the body, which is empowered by proper footwork. In this type of swordplay, the grip is usually maintained through the use of an odd pistol-ish handle that supports all the fingers so as to encourage proper form. The heft of the sword is managed by the grip of the last two fingers of the hand against the base of the thumb, while the thumb, index, and middle fingers guide and control the direction of the weapon.

With Kendo, the handle is more simple, but the grip dynamic is the same, the base of the hand holds the weapon, while the two front fingers help to maintain the proper angle during the strike. Unlike fencing, the kendoka’s attacks are strikes achieved by swinging the weapon with both hands. The left hand holds the weapon and initiates the strikes while the right gently guides the weapon along, merely to prevent its being shocked out of control during a fierce engagement. All striking originates in the lower body, where the power of movement is gleaned from proper footwork and transferred through the muscles of the trunk and the arms to the datostubu area of the shinai which, like the real katana, encompasses the center of percussion of the weapon – the ‘sweet spot’. An improperly tuned grip constitutes a break in the chain of movement between the floor and the target, which results in poor attacks and awkward balance. The two-handed grip offers more swinging force than the single-handed grip, but also requires greater coordination. Coordination of grips during the execution of a technique, however, is a deeper subject best left to personal instruction and diligent practice.

I would like to conclude this entry with an excerpt from the Go Rin no Sho, by Miyamoto Musashi; a swordsman acknowledged by many to have been the greatest in Japanese history. It would be difficult for me to close with better instructions for the swordsman’s grip.

“Grip the long sword with a rather floating feeling in your thumb and forefinger, with the middle finger neither tight nor slack, and with the last two fingers tight. It is bad to have play in your hands.

When you take up a sword, you must feel intent on cutting the enemy. As you cut an enemy you must not change your grip, and your hands must not "cower". When you dash the enemy's sword aside, or ward it off, or force it down, you must slightly change the feeling in your thumb and forefinger. Above all, you must be intent on cutting the enemy in the way you grip the sword.

The grip for combat and for sword testing is the same. There is no such thing as a "man-cutting grip".

Generally, I dislike fixedness in both long swords and hands. Fixedness means a dead hand. Pliability is a living hand. You must bear this in mind.”

Judge Book by Bookshelf?

I often wonder whether anyone takes the time to research the various profiles for disturbed and dangerous individuals for the sake of learning how many profiles said person or said person's friends actually match.

This odd thought occurred to me one morning while I was getting ready to work with the TV playing the last 10 minutes or so of Discovery Channel's 'The Most Evil' documentary series. Apparently some sociobiology geniuses gathered some grant money and made a scale upon which to grade psychos who commit heinous crimes based upon what they can gather of their respective psyche, motives, stimuli, etc. Near the end of the show, they often do some explaining about this or that - basically how they determined so-and-so's place on the chart. As I half-listened to the doctor's explanation of what 'sociopaths' generally do and how to identify them (while tossing on my attire in the chill of my drafty little flat) I found myself mentally listing several people I know who fit that description. I even felt that I could be fit into a similar profile by a person who didn't know me very well. That has a way of making a person feel a bit uncomfortable - especially when you think that lots of people watch shows like that. How many folks are out right now pigeon-holing misfits as sociopaths and potential spree killers? It's like a cut out of the movie Minority Report.

Despite what the modern education/media system likes to portray, people in general are still very deeply affected by stereotypes and the mind has a natural tendency to classify and categorize things accordingly. That being the case, it seems a bit socially irresponsible to go about saying things like "A sociopathic spree-killer candidate is the type of person who keeps to themselves, but has a domineering attitude; doesn't like to socialize unless it's about them, doesn't have many friends..." - or whatever. I would say that an appreciable portion of the world population has at some point matched that vague description in somebody's mind at some point in their lives.

As a semi-humorous sidenote, if the reader might take a moment to look it up, the DSM-IV definition of 'sociopath' seems almost purpose-written to match politicians and movie stars.

Anyway, why would this be a problem for me? I suppose it isn't, really. It's just another one of those things I notice while about my daily business that causes me to say (or at least think) to myself, "Gee, that's stupid - I wonder if anybody else picked-up on that," Being a law-abiding citizen myself, I'll just note here that should I ever become a suspect in a multiple homicide based purely upon the fact that someone told an investigator, "Yeah man, I bet it was him - I mean, he lives alone!" then my congressman can expect a rather irritable Email from me forthwith.

RPG Hunting!

In my travels I have hunted many animals, both dangerous and benign. I don't see any reason why I should take the time now to get into the various interesting hunts I have undertaken or the varying countries and environments in which such hunts have taken place. This post is more the effect of my observation that hunted animals rarely seem to yield gold, armor, or weapons when killed.

As a hunter, I do not find this surprising; but as an individual who has played his share of video games on various platforms, I find this a bit confusing. Take Super Mario 64 as a well-rounded example. The enemies in this game can be taken out in all sorts of entertaining ways, after which they vanish, yielding their worth in Mushroom Kingdom tender. Now, is this inside them or what? Take your pick of early RPG games and you'll see the same: "Evil Monster takes hit; loses 2500 HP. (victory music) You gained 25,000 EXP; you got 130 Gold!" That manner occurrence is so far removed from anything remotely 'real-life' that I can't imagine that it was just developed as a simple way for the characters to earn the money necessary for game progression, thus alleviating the need for long term in-game career plans. Although one doesn't have to spend much time with certain game-philes to detect a certain fear of the concept of 'job'.

Of course, I have taken the time to reason that this is actually representative of the value harvested from the creature's carcass - assuming that the characters broke the monster down into profitable parts and the value thereof was equal to 130 gold - making the assumption that such transactions take place in the next town 'off camera' as it were. That seems well enough - but that's assuming that mercenary Mario's lucrative kills are a phenomenon that only occurs in the the parallel dimension of the Mushroom World(s). I won't bother to touch the relationship between the coin in Mario's pocket and the level of health he maintains; but I'm sure I would feel better each time I encountered an frizbee sized gold coin too. I think he learned this pecuniary healing technique from Sonic the Hedgehog during the Nintendo vs. Sega arms race, but I digress.

Anyway, it would seem that Square caught this confusion recently, since I noted that you actually have to find someone with gold before you can get any in Final Fantasy 12. Monsters only have pelts, teeth, horns, etc. You have to find somebody dealing in the loot trade to actually make any money off a kill. This is much more realistic and brings back memories of hunting bounty varmints in Texas. I used to get $0.50 for every dead crow and a bit more for a rabbit in a farmer's field - though it would have been much more fun if the animals just dissolved into their average cash value.

I also thought during even those days, that it would be much nicer to be able to just sell off something like a rattlesnake or a winter jackrabbit whole without having to first divvy-up its anatomy into usable parts. Both animals are technically edible, but not meant for gourmet cooking - most people only care to lay down a dime for the skin. This takes time to remove and cure, and they are not really worth a whole lot as a single item, so I couldn't see a smart fellow wasting time or energy on them unless he had an empty stomach, an interested buyer, or a bounty ticket from a farmer citing and open season notice. Why would I take note of this fact? Because I see a lot of the gaming community's younger generation bartering conjecture as to how profitable and fun it would be to do the RPG-style hunting ala EXP grinding in real life. I can't really see that as being viable.

However, I recently saw a recording in which a certain fisherman had made a bit of money off the stuff he had found inside a shark. I'll have to take a moment to find the video, but the contents of certain sea animals has been documented to include such things as treasure, furniture, booze, and apparently even a suit of armor. Now that's a monster right out of video game fare. "Player kills greatwhite! You got steel armor!" or "Player slays tigershark! You got severed hand with gold wedding ring!" (Victory music and heroic poses all around!).

So, the those RPG fantasy buffs who want to hunt deadly high-level monsters for the treasure: toss out the replica landskneckt two-hander and pick up your harpoon gun! There's a new frontier out at sea and rumor has it the quarry love meeting novices up close. The EXP you gain depends on what you learn and your level at the time (an issue for another day).

Level 75 Great White Attacks!

Alpha Folder

And now for the swordsman's review of another fine product, which has provided me with years of reliable service and has been an article of pride among fellow enthusiasts of edged tools: the Buck Alpha Folder.
This folding knife is what one might consider the leading design in Buck's impressive new line of hunting knives, but it's a lot more than a modern twist on the eternal Buck 110. It is a new type of multipurpose full-size liner-lock that is built sturdier, having a thicker blade, more sturdy geometry, and a more ergonomic handle incorporating a skinner's trigger-grip finger grove.
The whole platform is stainless steel and the handle is a tail-bound open design that allows dust to be cleared from the blade channel unlike its predecessor, which has a U-channel that can only be cleaned with a Q-tip or an air compressor. But, true to its roots, Buck offers these impressive cutting tools with the buyer's choice of tactical plastic grip scales or 2 choices of dense grain wood (mine is the walnut, which is most resistant to wear and moisture).

I have had mine since 2004, and I have used it almost daily as I run through my regular chores and supply functions at work. I make good use of the lanyard hole, lashing it to my belt with a length of military cord, so it won't fall to the ground it it manages to make it out of my pocket unbidden. I can say from experience that this knife is made for cutting. that may sound like an unnecessary observation, but almost any experienced user of knives in the workplace will tell you that there are plenty of mainstream knives out there that aren't made for cutting. The thick, drop-point blade bites through all manner of common cuttables and is quickly resharpened. Granted, stainless steel blades do not retain an edge like I wish they would, but the Alpha Folder holds up to daily rigors quite nicely.

In addition to being a hard worker, the large folder's ergonomic design and pommel-ward center of balance make this knife a fierce fighter as well. The handle fills the hand, and the trigger groove helps to ensure both weapon retention and avoidance of reverse slippage (a.k.a stab-slip, in which the hand move forward while the knife remains static, resulting in the user sliding up the blade - ouch!). The sturdy liner lock assures that the blade will not close on the hand without the application of tremendous pressure, so an emergency engagement is not likely to result in lost fingers, and the blade length is such that it can inflict a very deep penetration without being too big to carry in most places.

In both cases, the ambidextrous one-hand opening is a major plus and the pivot screw can be adjusted to allow for faster opening if that's your thing. With practice, the knife can be deployed with a flick of the wrist, making it significantly faster to employ than a balisong or lockback in an emergency.

With all that, the traditional look and the rich color of the wood scales makes this knife look too much like 'Grandpa's Knife' to stand out when it leaves your pocket - even despite its size. This is of course another advantage; since it disturbs certain people to see that you have a large folder on you at work, the grocery store, etc., especially if it's one of those mechanized, matte back, Navy Seal wannabe style knives. Even though this knife can do more than its fair share of damage, it maintains a wholesome, 'Americana' profile that makes me feel a whole lot more comfortable carrying it around.

Strength Training:

This entry is not so much a treatise on what I do in my own training or what should be done, as it is an article discussing a given result and a method by which that result is achieved. In the martial arts community (especially the western breed), a great deal of emphasis is often placed upon strength and stability. This, along with speed and flexibility, is one of the foundational concepts of personal training – while endurance seems to be occasionally overlooked, that observation should be reserved for a separate article.

Too often, however, I have seen youngsters who are truly afraid that training for strength might somehow result in a loss of one or more of the other qualities. The idea that one has to be sacrificed for the other seems to be extracted from the proportions of individuals working in the realm of extremes, but would have no effect upon most of the people with whom I have discussed this subject. For example, a creatine-fueled muscle-building workout is not something that an Olympic track runner or tour cyclist would want, since their highly trained speed and closely monitored weights would be adversely effected by additional mass, while they would reap little benefit from the added muscular strength. However, it is often overlooked that these extreme examples are focusing all of their effort into dominating an extremely narrow field of human kinesiology while sacrificing the broad potential thereof.

The martial artist on the other hand, is a testament to the general capacity of the human body, rather than the record-breaking capacity that one element might yield through extensive fine-tuning. Therefore, it is important to avoid becoming fixated upon a single element during any kind of training intended to carry its weight in combat unless that facet of one’s individual capability is notably less than that of said individual’s peers.

Having said all of that, I must admittedly take the western stance of regarding strength a very important trait which is all-to-often sacrificed for the sake of speed. The truth is that speed is not so elusive as to evaporate once one lifts a dumbbell from the rack – if anything, most people exhibit sluggishness in sparring primarily due to the fact that their strength to weight ration is not properly balanced. The same can be said of slender people as can be observed of obese individuals. Within the bounds of common sense, the weight is not so much a factor as the related strength ratio. So in the end, the goal of strength training is not to become stronger by virtue of how many pounds of iron one can heft, but by how much weight a person can move in relation to his own bodyweight.

This is achieved by the means one might expect: through work. Lifting weights is the primary means. It establishes a base of strength as well as proper posture and a decent feel for one’s own bodyweight. There are untold billions of examples of the various exercises one might perform either at home or in a gym, so I’ll not exhaust effort detailing them. One thing that I would stress however, is that the best strength training is the proven kind and at a level of intensity that is controllable and can be performed with proper form. Overstressing your muscles without proper technique and a clear idea of what you are doing can result in injury and continuing such exertion despite the pain response that is meant to protect you from injury is no sign of strength – its masochism. Of course, as with most things, tolerances differ; but most martial artists have developed the common sense to know the difference between the ‘burn’ and a muscle or joint injury.

This type of training should be regular and at a schedule that compliments regular dojo training. Occasionally one would expect the soreness from a workout to carry over into class, but this would be less common than a novice might expect, since development is gradual once a person develops a habitual training cycle.

Strength training is not different than swordsmanship or track when it comes to the need for complete warm-up and stretching before and after (cool-down is the ‘after’ version of the warm-up). Muscles can handle huge strain at an instant’s notice – but they do better when they have had time to increase circulation, which reduces the build-up of toxins produced during exercise.

Depending on a person’s discipline of choice, there are several ways that a strength regimen might be tweaked to further benefit a desired art. The heavy bag is a type of strength training that encourages the growth of punching, kicking, and stabilizing muscles through pushing, impact, and retraction. The suburito and suburi shinai are used by the kendoka to develop greater upper body strength, control and balance, and weighted dummies or sandbags can be used by the grappler to further increase takedown and throwing strength. In China, the stone ‘lock-bell’ (known more popularly by the Japanese name Ishi-sashi) is still a popular way for fighters to increase punching power and shoulder strength, while many judoka and wrestlers tend to benefit from training with high-resistance grippers. These training methods bring undeniable results if employed consistently and are also known to increase burst speed dramatically among beginners. As I had noted earlier, strength, speed, flexibility, and endurance go hand in hand. Hitting fast is great, but hitting hard is just as important – after all, a soft little feather would have to be moving at near quantum speeds to do any damage. Once again, the mind becomes deceived by extreme comparisons: “I can hit him 100 times in 30 seconds and it’s so fast that he can’t dodge even one of them,” but said hits do no damage, so the opponent can clobber his speedy rival after he has tired himself out with repeated, useless attacks. Balance is the key.

In closing, it has been my experience that a heavier body is actually beneficial for close-quarters combat and upper-body striking, while a lighter frame gets better results with rapid kicking and cut-and-thrust arts. However, this is only because of the opponents one might expect to face – not because skinny people are somehow naturally faster than stocky types. In any given art, the interaction between practitioners has a lot to do with how much advantage a person’s body type can give them. This is not so much because a certain style of person is inherently limited in some way, but because certain opponents can present disproportionate advantages. (Ref. T-Rex Scenario) In any of these cases, I have never seen high strength levels as a disadvantage if they are attained in stride with the other training focuses of the individual’s chosen art.

the Gluttony!

Today was an interesting day in the life of the swordsman. Today I visited a Japanese style ramen bar in Seoul that is known throughout the strip for having a special ramen bowl that only the manliest of manly men can even finish - however, if you can finish it in 20 minutes, this massive bowl of noodles (worth $20) will be free and your picture will be added to the board with your completion time. They even take the time to click the timer for you.

Now, I know what the reader might be thinking. The average east Asian manly man is not quite the stature of the average westerner, but never underestimate your opponent. This bowl of ramen is truly enormous (I think it was a salad bowl) and full to the brim with boiling hot soup, about a half pound of noodles, two boiled eggs and several generous cuts of pork (not to mention several uzumaki naruto bits, without which, its just not ramen).

I looked up at the wall as I waited for mine to arrive at the table, I noted that the fastest completion time was just under 9 minutes. Even though I was just there to get the ramen for free (since I had little doubt that I could polish it off within 20 minutes) I felt in the back of my mind that I could beat that time if I put forth some effort.

I will spare the reader the details of my garish ramen-consuming frenzy; but suffice it to say that I finished this unbelievable bowl of noodles with kimchi, while conversing with my associate across the table, in about 7:30. This scored me the top slot at the bar and got me whatever I wanted free. It's a smart prize, since I am certain nobody wants anything else once they finish that thing, but just to prove a point - I ordered some rice balls and curry, which I ate while happily relishing the looks of amazement I was getting from the service staff.

When it was all said and done, I walked out with my name and picture on the wall and received a handshake from the owner, accompanied by clapping and cheering from the servers and a few of the other customers. to date, I am the only westerner on the board and the first person to top the old record in over a year.

This event was more fun than the double BK quad stacker I put away in Yongsan, which scored me a free meal card with the franchise manager's signature on the back and a photo on the bulletin board. And, I walked away without feeling like I had increased my risk of cholesterol-induced stroke by about 50%. the stacker was nice and everyone thought that was pretty cool - but that was cake compared to this ramen bowl. I have to get a picture to post so that the audience can get an idea of its enormity.

Anyway - that's that. I'll go look at my trophy spot on the wall of fame sometime later. Since we are on the subject of food and gratuitous overeating, I have decided to paste in an older post I made after having eaten my way out of a sushi bar in a port town in the far south of the country.

Here it is:

I have a bit of a reputation in parts of the Pacific rim for being able to put away a bit more food than the average person.

Once in Busan City, South Korea, I found myself locked in a life-or-death match of paper-rock-scissors with a drunk who had 10,000 won (about ten bucks) that I really wanted. I needed the money so that I could add it to my own to eat at a sushi/sashimi bar that I happened to find before I got on the boat to Japan.

I won the best 15 out of 20 or so games and the drunk finally began laughing and tossed me the money, saying “You the Kai-Vai-Vo Sun-seang-Nim!” (literally meaning: You’re the master/teacher of paper-rock-scissors).

I took the money and ran into the bar. I was on a tight budget since I had to change all of my cash for the boat ticket (because the beetle boat ticket teller wouldn’t acknowledge my credit card), so I was starving. I sat and ordered the “bottomless sushi platter” which consisted of samples of various rolls that alternated with each replinished order. Very good.

I ate continuously, plate after plate, until the waiter/rice-baller made a concerned glance to the manager, who came and (in careful English) explained that I had eaten more than enough.

I laughed and ordered another plate, when the manager told the server to cancel that order. I was surprised and tried to indicate with the menu that I had ordered an item that was technically without limit.

He just shook his head and apologized, saying something like, “You no more eat! Five men, maybe this much – but one man, we lose too many money!”

I had seven wooden platters stacked up and I had spent the last of my cash to eat my fill, so I made every attempt to explain that the menu did not specify a limit and that it was up to him to fill my orders until I was full.

In a final attempt to satisfy me, he suggested that I by an expensive drink with each new plate; but little did he know, I was broke after the initial cost of the meal.

So in the end I was denied and I was forced by my pride to leave the establishment; which I suppose is as close to getting kicked out as I might have gotten, considering my own size and the fact that most Korean people are very non-confrontational in their service practices.

That said, I'll take a moment to remind the reader that this is not something I do everyday. It is not a good practice for a martial artist to regularly overeat, since it leads to weight gain; but, I noted once before - this appreciation for food is one of my vices, so I offset it with vast amounts of exercise and a very regular diet most of the time. I would hate to set an unhealthy example with exploits like the one above. Remember kids: too much of a good thing can easily become a bad thing.

Kid Fight!

Somewhere in a suburb in the American south, a young boy holds his ground against a vicious teenage onslaught. Armed only with the thorned stalk of a rosebush and wrapped in makeshift body armor of his own devising, he is the only one standing at the gate to prevent the passage of the enemy. He comrades, determined though fearful, stand far behind him - dreading the inevitable conflict that their brave friend had invited with his resistance.

I recall this scene with a dimming sense of nostalgia. The young boy was me many years ago, already interested in swordsmanship, though too young to know anything more than what one might learn from playing with wooden swords in the backyard. I knew some karate at the time, but what I had learned came from a local dojo and was catered for the youngsters - hardly something actually intended for use in dangerous situations. I admittedly can't remember how I managed to get myself and my friends into such a desperate (relatively speaking) situation; but knowing myself in those days, I am probably safe in assuming that I had instigated the events that led to the standoff. I recall this situation now, because it was the earliest event in my life that established my reputation in the community as a fighter - or a "wooden sword-swinging nut" as a neighbor so aptly put it at the time. Before that I was known by the townsfolk to be one who tended to play at knighthood and fencing, but the standoff between a few of us adolescent children and four aggressive junkie-grade teenagers (between 14 and 16 if memory serves) would be something the neighbors would talk about for a while after.

The Enemy:
They were not particularly well-liked by the community. Scraggly, zit-faced, foul-mouthed, drug-addicted teenagers just about driving age who were already known for their vandalism, assault of house pets, loitering, and various degenerate activities. Most people who remember the 80's and 90's probably have a clear picture of the type already in mind, since this kind of suburban soft core scum is all but a household stereotype nowadays. They were enough to scare old ladies, but not the kind of truly dangerous trash one might find turning over rocks in deep urban areas and they weren't above taking out their frustrations on little kids if they had the energy for it when the opportunity presented itself.

The Protagonists:
Three kids aged 12, 11, and 9. We liked to run about, climb trees, dig holes, ride bikes, and play like we were Arthur's knights. According to my own parents accounts years later, we fought each other and various different challengers throughout the neighborhood on a practically daily basis, building our own wasters (wooden swords) and practicing with great frequency. So much so that many children were forbidden by their parents from playing with us because our familiarity with the fighting itself made us quite comfortable with the rigors of our own unskilled swordplay which also made us quite dangerous to children unprepared for such hard-contact play.

The Situation:
Kids playing at fencing probably tend to get a bit of teasing from older children wherever you go. Kids who afford themselves tactical advantages by manufacturing armor and shields for themselves are likely to get a bit more teasing - while kids that go at it with all manner of medieval style wooden weapons as if they are out for blood ~ well...
However the initial confrontation started, we had done something to truly off the piss out of the aforementioned enemy and the situation digressed to the point that the three of us, finding ourselves both out-muscled and outnumbered, made a tactical retreat to the back yard of my house. We shut the gate and secured the lock with a piece of wood, hoping that it would keep them out long enough to allow us to arm - as our parents must not have been home at the time.
In retrospect it was rather surprising that these teenagers would have wanted to haze us so badly that they were trying to kick the gate in, but IQ points tend to drop faster with each individual added to such a group, so four of them together must have been the red line common sense limit. In anycase, we armed with a T-ball bat, a bicycle chain with a lock at one end, and the feared and coveted 'Rose Mace', which was never used for challenges - only for enemies (such was the rule for a few weapons in our clubhouse arsenal; I believe the chain, which we called the lock-flail, and the bullwhip were the other two). We managed to meet them at the threshold just as they managed to get through the gate - and by that time they were really ready to teach us some respect.

The Battle:
It was the only time the Rose Mace was ever used on an opponent and it was the first time that our little group had faced a foe that truly outmatched us and was really intent upon hurting us, though we could only imagine what form the hurting would take.
The wretches cursed at us and made various threats, but we held our ground, yelling for them to back out of my yard if they knew what was good for them. I remember that my brother showed more guts than my friend, who was very quiet the whole time. I don't remember exactly what he was doing during the encounter, since he was well behind me.
The enemy didn't budge; they made light of our weapons and asked us if we had the guts to use them, at which point I attacked the leader. The stick glanced off his shoulder and down his arm, leaving a trail of dry rose thorns broken off in his flesh. He howled like an injured cat and jumped back, knocking into one of his friends while he frantically tried to scrape the thorns off.
I advanced a second time, going for the face of the next closest guy, while my fellows gathered enough courage to rush in with their equally frightening armaments.
Already falling back, the enemy succumbed to the momentum of retreat and were literally chased back to the street by the three of us, where they threatened our lives before quickly walking to one of their hangouts a few doors down. We laughed, but were a bit shaken by the reality of the experience. The neighbors who had witnessed the event told my mother that evening and my brother and I were soundly grounded - but rumors spread quickly and the reputation of our group grew quite a bit among the children younger than us. Challengers and and would-be inductees came from all over within the following few months. It was a bigger win than we had thought.

In Retrospect:
It was fortunate that we were still part of an era that had yet to hear of school shootings and things of that nature. The punks we had defeated occasionally nailed us with a BB or a waterballoon after that, but we feared not for our lives. I am sure that I might have dealt with the situation more carefully had I been a child in the present. In anycase, it was an interesting experience to say the least.

This account works to further develop the roots of the story, showing that certain behavioral patterns had been established within the main character at a young age. While further cementing the more central elements of the main character's personality within the story, it also acts to show said character in a more vulnerable and less refined state. Depending upon the preference of the reader, this short story can act as either a preface or a flashback.

Announcement no Ryu

During my daily moments of contemplation it has recently occurred to me how frequently I have seen the stereotypical Kung-Fu movie style announced attacks in modern media ala "My monkey fist will defeat your complacent lotus!" I suppose this mostly occurs in Anime, but I have also begun to see it in western media and live action as well. I find this phenomenon most interesting, since it is not beyond my memory to recall the days when you would only see offensive maneuvers like the 'Planet Jurai Super-Supreme Total Annihilation Beam' complete with spastic pose and theme music during such classics as Tenchi Muyo or Power Rangers. Now it seems that this has become an acceptable way of engaging ones enemies in mortal combat - similar to the way a person might challenge their arch nemesis to a Yugioh Card match to decide the fate of the playground.

This concept of announced attacks and RPG-style antics has given me an idea for a new martial arts wherein no attack can be valid unless it is called out in advance of its execution. This would be a step beyond the target identification kiai of Kendo (which takes place as the target is struck), since it would require the practitioner to fully announce the attack, assuming the appropriate fighting stance, and then launch it. This would probably require a great deal of skill, since the defending party would then be fully prepared for the attack to be launched - so the attacker would have to be that much faster or stronger to be successful. Also, the attack's power would be indicated by the length and intricacy of the name; literally meaning that the "Flying whale assault of the three heavens," would be far less powerful than the, "Unobtainium Vulcan hammer earthquake submission slam of doom," Provided that the elemental affiliation of the person launching the UVHESSOD was fire or steel, since the FWAOTTH is more of an air/water type attack - but that's getting off track.

The style might also give rise to various schools of 'Announced Attack Arts' which would focus on themes such as "Sand based attacks," "Rubber based attacks," "Twisty submission style attacks," "Psychotic Scare Attacks," and etc. The art itself could get very diverse and interesting very quickly - although the fights would have to take the form of two opponents posturing against each other with a lot of staring and glaring and grunting (or witty one-liners, depending on the dubs chosen by the fighter's PR agents) - waiting for the right time to announce their attack in order to surprise the opponent, who at the announcement of the attack would stand in horrified awe and say something like, "Argh! Not that attack! He wouldn't!" as he receives it head on, suffering defeat in the form of a massive explosion.

But this could give rise to something I recently saw in an installment of the series One Piece, in which a character announced one attack and launched a completely different attack, effectively catching a well-prepared opponent off guard. Of course, in sport Attack-Title-Fu, this would result in a disqualification - but the idea of bait and switch on an opponent would have some applicability in real life if the art was ever to be touted as an art that is useful for self defense. However, I think the American audience would probably like to stick with traditional western arts like "Sprayem wi-mace no jutsu," or "Shootemen-callacops fu,"

Then again, maybe not. Developing concepts is a lot more boring that making them up and leaving them out for someone to find later - so I'm quitting this one here. I need to eventually get back to the memoir/story I was working on.

Practical Katana Review

Despite the fact that I am admittedly one of the least informed people I know, I could not help but notice the attention being paid to the US presidential pre-election posturing taking place back in the United States. To be honest, I try not to pay attention to it, as it tends to remind me how far gone we are. I just made a note of it here so that I might recall it later. Even if I were to express my opinions about individual candidates here, I feel that it would be of little profit to anyone, since in the end it will probably all be the same.

To step off into a completely unrelated subject, I have decided to review a practice weapon that I have found most useful and that might be worth considering for any of the young readers who are interested in edged arms of appreciable practical quality which might offer an excellent value for the budget-minded initiate.

The tool to which I am referring is the Practical Katana from Hanwei, which can be obtained through any number of online retailers (Google it) for about $150-$175 usd. Note that this is roughly a tenth of what the price at which 'real deal' martial arts grade weapons often sell. The matching Wakizashi is also available with the same synthetic fittings, to make a 'Practical Daisho' should the reader be so inclined. I bought one years ago, when the brass habaki was a new feature and have used it extensively since its initial purchase. It was my first shinken (in so much as swords made outside of Japan might be considered shinken') and holds its own among mass-produced functional swords due to the quality of the steel and the presence of a visible hamon along the length of the edge. The tip also bears the definitive coloration of clay tempering, which provides ample evidence of meticulous construction. The sori (curvature) of the blade is rather shallow and the original version that I had did not have the bohi, although that might now be available.

Now, to those who might think of this as a weapon like a machete, be aware that the edge of this sword is honed in the traditional manner, which is more polishing than grinding. this gives the blade a very smooth taper from the midline to the cutting surface. It is not a blade to be resharpened by a grinder or a belt of any kind, though with proper use, edge retention should not be a problem for several dozen cuts. I recommend buying Hanwei's sword maintenance kit and doing some diligent study, since the use of the sword is not just a matter of proper drawing and cutting - maintenance is also a part of the art.

My original Practical Katana is not a model that is easily dissassembled, as the tsuka is bound to the nakago (the tapered handle end of the blade) with epoxy and a metal pin and cannot be slid off as with traditional furniture. I have heard that the ito can be removed and the wooden halves of the tsuka cam be chiseled off the nakago, but since this is a practice sword designed for training purposes, such effort seems like a destructive waste. The logic behind the epoxy is clear, since it both seals the steel of the nakago from the elements and prevents vibration damage that can result in a rattling tsuba and tsuka if the sword is used harshly or poorly maintained. The designers undoubtedly anticipated that novices might continue to use a weapon whose grips had grown loose without realizing the need to re-wrap it or replace the pins.
*The reader may well note that traditional fittings tend to use a single bamboo pin to hold the tsuka assembly against the lower seppa of the guard, while stability is maintained by the pressure of the wood against the nakago as imposed by the tightness of the tsuka ito when fully wrapped. If heavy hits losten the hold of the ito, the centrifugal force of a sword swing and the shock of contact with a target will put enormous pressure on the pin. The pin at that point, while probably not liable to break, will grow ever more loose in its position and may eventually work its way out, or give way to tsuka slippage, which has been known to result in a rattling effect upon the performance of the cut.

With that in mind, one might imagine why such a moderately priced production piece would have such an overbuilt tsuka assembly - the average sword enthusiast does not take the same precautions as a serious swordsman, therefore swords cheap enough for the former to buy should be build to withstand some extra abuse for the sake of the company's reputation, if not the safety of the user.

In my experience, this fact does not detract from the authenticity of the sword's proportions, as the modern overbuilding does little to effect the weight or balance, the center of which lies just ahead of the habaki. As far as weight is concerned, the weapon is a bit heavily built and straighter than older style swords, lending itself to an ease of drawing and a forgiving cutting response. Overall, while deadly dangerous if handled irresponsibly, it is a tool that is obviously designed for beginners who would like to extend their experience to actual tameshigiri.
The saya of this piece came in black back in the day and i believe that this is still the color of choice, since it matches well with the blackened steel tsuba and black synthetic tsuka-ito.

One question that might still remain would be that of what makes this item so inexpensive when similar weapons are up to ten times more expensive. This has a double answer. The first reason is because the furniture of the handle is entirely synthetic and assembled using modern methods and materials (synthetic rayskin, plastic menuki, etc.). The second reason is that the blade was hand forged from fine grade steel, but was not folded. This forging process creates a highly resilient blade, but lacks the tolerance and the reputation of the folded variety. As a rule, forged production blades are designed for regular, controlled use, but are not of the caliber one would expect to survive and actual duel (hypothetically), which makes them less desirable among collectors and therefore cheaper. Forged blades are, of course, not to be confused with the blades of SLO's, which are stamped out of stock metal - they are still of extremely high quality and quite strong - just lacking the toughness and mystique of their legendary folded counterparts.

In closing, I could sum the PK up as an inexpensive alternative to custom blades or antiques that offers fine cutting performance for the price, which retains a benchmark position among martial artists as the entry level of 'real' katanas on the modern market. From what I have seen, the children and grandchildren of this pioneer model offer even greater quality and benefits to suit a large variety of users. I look forward to eventually trying one of these models as well.

A Minimalist?

To the reader: Have you ever taken a moment to imagine yourself riding a bicycle to work everyday? Someone reading this may already to such a thing. I know that it is something that I do and have consistently done for the past 3 years or so. Everyday, rain or shine, I travel to and from the workplace on my bike. Why would I do this? Am I especially green-conscious? Not really. I just live in one of the world's most crowded cities and my apartment does not come with a parking place, so I ride my bike and leave my car in a parking lot near my workplace. This theme of 'Make-do Minimalism' seems to be a dominant trait of my existence here in the Far East. I am not so much a minimalist because I choose to keep things at a level barely exceeding necessity, but because I deal with it when such is the case due to circumstances beyond my direct control. I think this is an important difference, since I do not always actively pursue a purposely minimalist lifestyle - my choice would probably be comfort and luxury - but I am satisfied to accept those frequent circumstances in which I find myself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Much of this attitude comes from regular training, but some of it is just habit.

All that to get to this - it's January now and riding the bike to work is exceedingly cold, even when tempered by the fact that I perform said ritual every day. this fact is further compounded by the fact that riding in traffic in the dark of the morning with snow and ice everywhere is highly dangerous. Now that I sit here and think about it, my day at work begins by playing my hand against death - every day. All just because I can't park my car near enough to my home to warrant its use in conveying me to the office. Therefore I am lobbying for the complete revamp of the infrastructure of my local community to require parking for at least one vehicle per every four expected occupants of any given residence. ~And now I am done lobbying. Knowing the answer to a request in advance seems to save me a lot of time. ^^ Once again, a manifestation of my brand of minimalism.

Minimalism in daily life also seems to take many other forms (at least for me). One being that I have only one dish that I use - a square Tupperware bowl with a lid. By virtue of its shape, it can be employed for practically all conceivable food handling tasks. Aside from that, I have a folding pan and a hot plate, a pair of metal chopsticks, a spoon, and an electric kettle. I also have a rice cooker that I recently obtained and I have found that I am able to do what little cooking and eating I do at home with only these implements at my disposal. Having so few saves space and cleaning time - with the added bonus of me having a perpetual excuse for why I never ever allow anyone to invite themselves over to my flat for dinner.

Utilities are kept to a minimum. An example being no heat in the winter. This is more a matter of avoiding waste than anything else. I spend very little time in my little apartment and I have a perfectly good set of blankets (including an electric one) that keep me plenty warm during the majority of the time I spend at home (which is primarily spent sleeping).

Along an unrelated line, my car has a similar excuse - aside from the bonus of its being the only El Camino in Seoul, it affords me the right to drive about without any of my associates requesting my services as a taxi or designated driver (since I never drink). While at the same time I can carry one friend in the single passenger seat if need be and I can carry vast amounts of stuff in the back. However, since an El Camino is not a truck per se, but an LUV, I can refuse to help people move things like refrigerators on the grounds that its not a heavy hauler and it's more than 27 years old (despite being maintained in as-new-or-better condition). Minimalism? You be the judge.

As far as clothing goes, I maintain about 5 changes of clothes with a separate set used for the weekends or for dirty work - and most of these clothes look similar, so to the unobservant I might appear to go for days without changing clothes. Once again, a disregard for that which many people find important in life (luxury, appearances, possessions) could either be considered minimalism or simple indifference - this is one of the misfit traits that causes the swordsman to retain a degree of isolation from a normal peer group, albeit this case is often by choice.

Upon reading this, I am sure I might receive discreet commentary such as the ever-popular "Cough~psycho~Cough!", but this is perfectly fine for me now. When it is not fine, things will change - everyone has their own sense of what is valuable; but for now, fancy clothes, shiny things, and a multitude of insincere 'friends' cluttering my life are not at the top of my list. The 'list' will be further developed as I take time to establish the goals of the story.

And so concludes the second phase of character development; the line of interaction. This is the standard by which the character's interaction with the other characters in the story is to be measured and coincides with the subject of the 'likes and dislikes' to be established in future chapters.

Form and Function

Most recently during my travels, I wandered into a situation wherein I was offered a chance to join a kendo school. Being the type that enjoys new experiences and seeking the opportunity to expand my knowledge of sporting swordplay, I accepted and paid my way into regular classes.
After a few months of study, I have come to understand a great deal of the nuances of the form that drives the functions of the art to such a high level of refinement. Only through the adoption of methods and practices that were not simple and natural for my body to perform was I able to understand the degree of refinement to which the art aspired.
Kendo is well established as a sword art throughout Asia due to the fact that it wastes no time with lavish displays or excessive movements, nor does it purport itself to be a ‘combat art’ as seems to be popular with martial arts instructors these days, thereby avoiding a mentality disproportionate to the art’s capability.
That said, it still seems more than capable of cultivating the warrior mindset of enduring self-sacrifice as well as the physical prowess necessary to wield the associated weaponry with speed and accuracy.
In recent years, the western world has seen a rise in the popularity of the more refined martial arts, especially those of a more arcane nature which retain only an objective relationship with modern armed combat. However, this popularity gives rise to an increase in casual practitioners who have little interest in the cultivation of the art or in swordsmanship in general. From what I have observed, these people are often dismayed or disillusioned when they realize that arts such as Kendo are not the mail-order self defense arts that a person learns over the course of 6 months by attending class once a week. While this does little to prevent the spread of the art in general terms, a casual interest can result in an ‘ends justifies the means’ attitude toward training. This attitude is as subtle as it is common, resulting in the loss of form despite continued practice – which brings me to the beginning of this note.
Proper form is developed in martial arts for the sake of instructing students in the myriad nuances of proper function without necessarily needing to verbalize every detail of the given stance or motion. The odd stance in kendo, and the methods by which one is trained to strike, when employed properly, give rise to increased efficiency of movement. This efficiency allows for an experienced practitioner to move a greater speeds than the average person and strike with greater force, despite the possibility that said practitioner is not far from average capabilities.
Too often, a young student, realizing what he or she wants from training, focuses on a particular element rather than the development of proper form. This can be seen in the novice who desires greater speed (for example). In order to match the speed of his upper-classmen, he will force his body to move faster at the expense of proper geometry. The result is the appearance of greater speed, but since the technique is not performed correctly, it is only faster in the isolated training environment. The expense of such a trade is that the novice either suffers injury during training, or finds that the accelerated movement is detrimental to his performance of other aspects of the art. With respect to this common oversight, one might be able to reason that adherence to proper form would result in very efficient, but somewhat predictable function. Despite what one might expect, I find no grounds for disagreement; however, most thinkers visualize ‘predictable’ things to resemble simple math problems or the mechanical behaviors of clocks. The predictability of martial arts is more like that of a chess game – while the movements are such that they can be accounted mathematically with no unknown factors, there are few who can predict an opponent well enough to win by anticipation alone. If one imagines a chess game that can be won or lost in a matter of 2 or 3 seconds, one can easily see how quickly one’s actions and reactions must take place. Proper form lends itself to the ‘mapping’ of these actions and appropriate reactions, allowing the swordsman’s body to engage the opponent as the mind focuses on the opponent’s state during the match.
The function can be achieved without training in form, but only at the expense of awareness. There are hundreds of ways to strike the same point on a target, but only a few might be best for a given situation and only one could be considered the best of those. Over the thousands of years that human beings have been using swords for the resolution of conflicts, martial arts were developed through which skilled swordsman were able to further refine and expand upon their most successful techniques. As time passed, generations of swordsman through endless wars determined what worked most often and the best way to achieve the desired result with the weapon of choice (hence the dichotomy of cut and thrust in sword arts). As mastery was achieved, the creative elements of the ‘arts’ were focused on further refinement and upon development of new students whose skills had not yet been tested in battle. Through this process of refinement, generations of practitioners with greater and greater skill emerged, parallel with the collective inherited knowledge of techniques which together combined to create what is known as ‘Proper Form’. Through the use of the proper form in a given school of swordplay, one is able to profit from generations of battle experience without having to put one’s life on the line learning lessons the hard way.

The Practice Cut

The practice cut is the most necessary part of continued sword training; equal to sparring for its reflective benefits. Through cutting with the sword, one can become acquainted with the tactile sensation of forcing the blade of the weapon through a target and thereby determine the strength and angle necessary to properly execute cuts that would be fatal to an enemy in battle.
However, this kind of exercise is not for blades which were not originally designed for heavy cutting. Stainless steel swords and weapons designed for ornamental purposes are far from capable of holding up to the demands of the repeated practice cut, also known as Tameshigiri.
In the past I have used katana, wakizashi, tanto, bowies, machetes, cleavers, and tomahawks for tameshigiri, using multiple target materials to make thousands of cuts over a period of time. These cuts are made as individual exercises for the sake of personal refinement and should be done with the utmost care and with focused intent. It has been my experience that shorter, more balanced blades should be handled most carefully if the cut is to be successful, since the shorter blade will be unable to take advantage of the momentum available to longer weapons – angle of attack and proper movement is essential.
In general, the angle plays a key role in the stability of the target during the performance of the movements of tameshigiri. Though the act requires some movement, it is not an act of brute force. The blade must be drawn through the target and prepared for the next cut in a single movement, so excessive force should be avoided, as it reduces overall control at the end of the blade. A 45 degree angle is best for straw mats and generally works well for vertical targets of various kinds. This angle can be consistently applied against various axes depending upon the orientation of the target, be it upright, horizontal, swinging from a rope, or pivoting on an animated target stand.
To attain a higher level of awareness one should cut frequently using several targets and refine ones feeling for the edge. Sparring alone cannot provide this, as the training equipment is void of the edge – sparring only increases one’s feel for movement.
To have a complete awareness of one’s ability to perform cuts properly, the necessity of tameshigiri as part of one’s regular training regimen can never be overstated.
(Note to the Reader: The swordsman in the photo is not me. ^^)