His father sipped tea nearby, concentrating on the valley below as if he was memorizing its every feature.

Genji collapsed in the doorway from exhaustion and began the first real sleep he had received since venturing off into the woods all that time ago.

The next few weeks were no respite from his experience with Haetorigusa. Though his body had returned to normal, and he bore no open wounds, beneath the all-encompassing layer of scar tissue on his body, was a burning fire that caused Genji to writhe in agony. His family would care for him as they had in the forest, but the buried gashes and lesions he sustained would allow for no lasting comfort.

This time was excruciating, but it did eventually pass, and Genji was able to sit and sip tea with his father as he had as a young boy. When his strength returned, He helped his mother in the fields and trained mugai-ryu with his sister.

If Genji was focused on the immediate needs of his family, he could find peace, but he would awake in the middle of the night in distress. His mind would race as it had done in the forest. He would sweat profusely from nightmares recounting his distrust of the entangled creatures, Haetorigusa’s words, and the memory of Atsuko’s fear.

With more time, he experienced pleasure in the activities that he used to deem pedestrian. Genji would pride himself in training and building and repairing the community with his people. The key to this peace was avoiding any thought or conversation about himself. Genji became skilled at focusing on the task at hand and ensuring quality in the small details of life.

Life was liveable for a time, but the dull pain beneath his skin remained.

One morning while sitting with his mother and father, Genji’s defenses broke, and he confided in them.

“I have brought shame to our family,” he cried. “I have behaved in a manner that can only be justified by the great success that I sought. Now I am irreparably scarred, an abomination you are burdened with. How can you tolerate my great disappointments?

Genji’s mother put her hand on his shoulder as he wept.

Genji’s father did not react, instead he remainded stoic in the face of his only son’s confession.

Of all the anguish Genji had waded through, the prison of his own body was now the setting for the most hopeless test he had experienced.

Genji felt his former self slipping away, and something new building inside him. His mind was racing faster than he could cope.

“Is this dying,” Genji managed to utter as tears streamed down his face.

“this is living,” his father responded. “Now come help me.” Father spoke as if Genji had never left, as if he was still a young man learning the bushido.

“A new baby was born in the village today,” said his mother, “and we are going to build a azumaya (gazebo) in the newborn’s honor.” Her voice was soft and caring. “You are a great builder, and your help is needed.”

Amidst the sound of his own sobs and screaming thoughts of malice, Genji began to hear a new melody. This song was much calmer than Haetorigusa’s song of the Gods. It was infused with soft mountain winds and the unintelligible chatter and laughter of his people across the village.

Genji could feel the energy of generations of love, honor and commitment radiating over his homeland. It was clearer now that, one day, the specifics of his people would fade into the landscape, but the pieces that would linger are the notes they all would add to the immortal song.

Today, Genji Gozen began a new journey with this new song. Today, he added his first unique melodies in the form of hammer on nail, in commemoration of new life, and it was beautiful.

“Oh, we grow and grow, it is all that we know, so we grow and grow until we’re buried in the snow,” sang Haetorigusa, deep in the depths of the forest.

The End.

Terms:

Mugai-ryu – Outter Nothingness School

Genji – Two beginnings.

Tomoe Gozen – a famous female Ona Musha warrior

Haetorigusa- Venus Fly trap

Daimyo- local land owner or ruler that employs Samurai to fight for them.

Atsuko- Sincere, kind

Samurai – 1168 – 1868

Through the chaos, he sensed a faint but pure energy. The energy was focused terror and desperation. “How could this be,” Genji thought to himself. “How could something so awful exist in my utopia?”

The creatures of Haetorigusa became fixated on Atsuko. She was fighting as hard as she could to free herself from her tangled prison. Genji could sense the aggressive and vicious intent of the old God’s minions.

In Atsuko’s fear and rejection of his power, Haetorigusa meant to eat her.

Genji had little time to react, but his main thought was, “this kind of abuse cannot be a part of my legacy.”

The biggest of the wolf heads, the twisted terror Genji had conversed with when he first arrived at this place, darted for the little rabbit. Genji was sure Atsuko’s body would not provide even the tiniest amount of flavor or nutrients for the ravenous beast.

Genji unsheathed the blade of his grandfather that waited patiently on his belt.

It sliced through the vines with ease.

The head of Haetorigusa’s mighty chifu flew helplessly through the air and landed on the ground with a quaking thud.

Genji proceeded to cut through the vines ensnaring Atsuko, including the invasive connection running down her throat. The rabbit’s speed was incredible. The second she was free, she hurdled herself away. She vanished, back to the forest, never to return to this place.

Genji felt his body reject his connection to Haetorigusa, as well. The immeasurable pain brought him to his knees as sap ran down his face. He used his grandfather’s blade once more to sever his connection and retch the remaining vine from his body.

Haetorigusa’s severed chifu snapped and leaked all manner of sap on itself. “You were doing so well,” it snarled. “Don’t let weakness keep you from greatness.”

Being free of his connection to the God gave Genji new perspective on it and its parts. What he had perceived as devious and malicious energy in the God’s creatures, had, instead, been extreme pain and the fear of further pain. Atsuko was right, there was no future peace to be found in this place, not for Genji, anyway.

“You may design the forest,” Genji muttered as he collected himself, “but the way you feed off of it to sustain your identity is evil.”

“You cannot be concerned with the individual and insignificant of this world if you mean to create the immortal, the chifu head rasped.

Genji looked as objectively as he could at everything that made up Haetorigusa and cringed. “What good is immortality if your thirst is never quenched, he asked with sadness.

“There is always more to drink, young one,” growled Haetorigusa.

Genji lifted his sword. He meant to free all these beasts from this nightmare.

“Fool, don’t you understand,” laughed Haetorigusa. “They all came here of their own free will and have no interest in leaving, nor am I demanding they stay.”

The earth split under the weight of the Haetorigusa’s scrambled horror. It slid toward the severed chifu wolf head, dragged by an colossal force.

“These beasts are here because they choose to be.”

Vines extended from behind the wolf head, who now sat in a large puddle of sap. “I told you that I was building something worldly, and this is how it is done.”

“Then I want no part of your trickery,” Genji said.

“That’s fine,” responded the chifu, “but know you will wear your weakness for as long as you hold breath and long after. You will be horribly scarred so that all will know of your failure before they make the mistake of engaging you.

“At least I will have a form of my own,” Genji said with a sigh, as he sheathed his sword and walked back into the forest in the direction of his people.

“Hello,” he said.

The rabbit leaped backwards, obviously startled. “You cannot catch me demon, so do not even try,” she said, quivering.

Genji hated that he was perceived as a threat. He was constantly worried that his altered appearance would scare, not just his enemies, but the animals he hoped to protect. To him, it was only a matter of time before he would change his appearance and purpose to splendor.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. What do you think of the great God, Haetorigusa,” Genji asked.

“I think it is a corrupted and sick monster,” the rabbit responded.

“I think you are correct. All these magnificent creatures attached together with me, and none of them have the vision I do. In fact, I think they resent me,” said Genji, condescendingly.

“It sounds like you resent them,” said the rabbit.

“I wouldn’t go that far, I just don’t think they have the capacity to sing the song of the Gods the way I can. They continue to slow my progress,” said Genji.

“That is the definition of resentment,” said the rabbit. She had become perfectly still, apart from her twitching nose. Genji sat atop the tangled, currently inactive, monstrosity.

“What is your name,” asked Genji.

“I am Atsuko,” the rabbit said bluntly.

“Atsuko, what do you want from your life?” Genji stepped down from a bed of vines, towering over her.

“Nothing of excess. I would like to eat today and stay alive. I would like to make it back to my family.” Atsuko took a few steps backwards, towards the edge of the clearing.

“I don’t understand how that can be enough. Why would you want to be ordinary and forgettable when the respect of many lies in great accomplishments and vision,” asked Genji.

“I have no experience with the many. I can only stay true to a few and hope for peace,” Atsuko said, her tone growing more impatient.

Genji took another step towards her. “There is wisdom in what you say but it lacks confidence. I am in search of someone I respect with the will to achieve great things.” Genji began twirling his finger. A vine mimicked his movements On the rich soil surface of the clearing. Atsuko scurried to the tree line.

“It was scary for me in the beginning too, but with the power I am learning, I will be able to protect my people for millennia,” Genji said, persuasively. He had an air of confidence and mischief that made Atsuko’s blood run cold. All she had to do was turn and run as fast as she could, like she had done 100 times before, but her awe of Haetorigusa kept her paused.

“All I see is pain,” said Atsuko.

“Pain is temporary and necessary to be a God,” responded Genji. “It requires sacrifice, but I can show you how. We could show the whole world what true power could be.” He skipped closer to Atsuko, causing the vine to skip along behind him.

“I don’t want that. I just want to live in peace,” Atsuko said, firmly.

“I really don’t mean to scare you,” interrupted Genji. “I think you could see what I see if you trusted for only a moment,” said Genji. He sat on the ground, cross legged, to get closer to eye level with Atsuko.

“I do not trust you and I am leaving,” she said. Her awe of Haetorigusa waned. If she stayed any longer, she knew her fate would no longer be her own. Atsuko turned to run into the safety of the dark forest.

“I know when you get a taste of this, you will want to journey with me. We will bring great bounty to this land, and you will give your family immense pride,” encouraged Genji, yelling after her.

Atsuko paused again and spoke over her shoulder, “I want no part of your trickery.”

Genji shot up. At the same time, Haetorigusa came alive. The mass sloshed and squelched, violently. The animal heads howled and screeched to the heavens.

“Its not a trick,” growled Genji.

Atsuko leapt out of the clearing, disappearing from Genji’s sight. He stood by, as Haetorigusa continued to rage with a sound so loud, it could be heard in far off lands.

Atsuko reentered the clearing. She had lost her free will.

A multicolored vine, much like Genji’s, had gone down her throat and was lifting her towards Haetorigusa. The wolf heads whaled and spewed sap across the scene.

“I will keep you safe,” said Genji. “I will stay right here with you and guide you.”

The song of the Gods was louder than it had ever been. Genji could feel the possibility of limitless power right in front of him. He tried to catch his breath amidst his manic state, but his thoughts raced to the point of exhaustion.

His aspirations had been limited. There was no reason to keep this power in the secluded mountains of his people. The whole world was going to want to see and benefit from what Genji was becoming. He sang and danced as Atsuko was slowly swallowed into Haetorigusa.

“I love you, Atsuko. I cannot wait for you to understand,” Genji screamed amidst the tremendous and crushing noise of the God’s melody.

“Can you do what is needed, young one,” Haetorigusa asked. The God’s voice was no longer an external force, but was rather, inside Genji’s head.

Genji was finally able to take a deep breath. He gave the moment all his attention.

Amidst the destruction of his insides, he noticed a connection with the creatures and plants that made up Haetorigusa’s shape. It was as if Genji’s experience of the world had suddenly expanded to include every living thing the God had ever consumed. The energy of these creatures felt like his own but they were less focused than he, and they were selfish and devious. He judged them as interesting and useful, but not to be fully trusted.

Genji’s chest sank, his head felt tight, and his stomach bubbled like a cauldron.

The pain and disorientation did not deter Genji. It led him to a dream-like state. He leaned into his feelings and analyzed the new connection he had with Haetorigusa, using every ounce of energy he could. If he conquered this nightmare, he would be one step closer to a life well lived.

Genji lost track of the time he was in the woods. The longer he focused, the more in tune he became with the beast. He could feel the energy of a million years, pulsing to the sounds of a million different creatures. As Genji listened, the noise took on a melodic quality. It was like nothing he had ever heard before. He hummed the tune to himself and basked in its constantly changing tones and organic rhythm.

He was captivated, but he was restless. Genji found pleasure in the song of the God’s but his connection to the other animals bound to Haetorigusa continued to make him uneasy. Eventually, he grew paranoid and angry. He was convinced that at any moment, these creatures would turn on him, rob him of his essence, and kill him and everything he worked for. Genji’s distrust of Haetorigusa had made him guarded and isolated, but still, he hummed the immortal tune right along with everything that had ever existed.

His dream state was nearly ceaseless, but Genji would occasionally become aware of the clearing in the forest and the sound of birds again. This would remind him of the pain his body was in, as well. Sometimes he would shake and shiver with fever and yearn for relief. “It is temporary,” Genji would say. “Your current suffering will lead to great beauty.”

One day, during a rare lucid moment, Genji felt a wet washcloth on his forehead. His mother sat beside him with a pale of warm water, periodically dunking the cloth and ringing it out before reapplying it to Genji’s forehead. He could hear her voice in the distance, telling stories of the community and of his sister and father. He found it brought him momentary peace.

Every day after, he would find another visitor. Sometimes it was his father, speaking of old battles won. Other times it was his sister, reading him poetry and working on her studies. Soon after that, friends, cousins, aunts, uncles, all made the journey into the forest to sit with him and send word of the regimen on the hill. None of them knew he could hear them, but they came anyway.

Genji did not see how his people could understand what he was trying to do. His horrible appearance and inability to explain his quest for greatness made them all seem very far away from him, even when they were right next to him.

He needed to make them proud. He needed to be worthy of their love.

Genji continued to focus on the song of the God’s, memorizing its rhythms until he could add to them himself. The better he got at creating his own music, the faster his pain was replaced with strength. He was soon able to stand again. Genji would dance around in front of Haetorigusa, singing at the top of his lungs.

“Not as young and weak as you thought I was, huh,” Genji would ask.

“Oh, you’re still here,” the cranky Haetorigusa would grumble.

As his strength grew, Genji learned he could control the vines like the other unbodied creatures. He would practice obsessively, throwing around stones and picking fruit off the trees. In the beginning, it felt as though his connection to Haetorigusa was controlling him, but he was quickly learning how to manipulate the monster to his will. Every passing day, his abilities improved, but so too did his restlessness. To Genji, the ability was only a small part of the journey. He still had not made anything to rival the Gods. There was still no reason to remember or respect Genji Gozen.

“A thing so young and small as you cannot fathom the strength I have accumulated,” said the beast. “This forest has provided me the means to be immortal and so too shall be the songs they sing of me.” The wolf head seemed to stare directly at Genji, but its solid green eyes made it unclear if the creature could see, or if it needed to.

“You are the God Haetorigusa,” said Genji. I have heard many stories of your amazing and terrible power.”

“Of course you have,” said Haetorigusa.

“You eat the living forest, scolded Genji.”

Haetorigusa laughed again. “I do no such thing. I provide all the forest’s creatures a means to be a part of something spectacular. I could not exist without the beauty of this place, and it would be forgotten by time without my design.”

The other, more pod like heads let out a symphony of shrill screeches through bird-like beaks.

“It takes great sacrifice, but since you are a seeker, I would be willing to trust you to help me build,” Haetorigusa growled. “If you do not disappoint, I will keep you around.”

Genji pondered for a moment, feeling deep down that he could build something more beautiful and less destructive than Haetorigusa. He would need to learn the God’s process so he could develop his own. With the power of a God, Genji could make the crops grow when the fields were cracked from drought. He could fight the necessary battles and protect his community. He would be painted on great city walls so generations far from here would say, “That is Genji Gozen, the guardian and the gardener. Genji knew there had to be a way to harness this power with grace. He imagined improving the lives of all he touched.

“I am not afraid of pain. I will build with you.” Genji spoke clearly and without the hesitation of fear.”

He hoped that the old God could be trusted and that their relationship would teach him about the excellence he sought, even if it was lessons of what not to do.

“I am pleased,” Haetorigusa uttered, shaking the environment with the bass in his voice.

A long colorful vine extended from within the collage of natural madness that was Haetorigusa. It crawled up Genji’s armor, slithering between the deep engravings and stitching of his people. Genji’s fear rose with the vine, traveling from his feet to his face.

“This will not be comfortable,” said the old God.

The vine went into Genji’s mouth and down his throat. He struggled to breathe at first, gripping tight on the vine. He fought and failed to keep the invader from continuing into his body.

As Genji’s desperation increased, he was overcome with a different, but equally intense sensation: euphoria. The vine filled his veins with flowing warmth. The burst of energy he experienced made Genji feel like he could run through the forest forever without tiring. The mixture of fear and great excitement intoxicated Genji as his body transformed.

His cheeks split. Rows of sharp fangs filled his mouth. His eyes turned solid red and his skin turned to an impossibly dark shade of green. Genji’s armor joined with his new skin; a process that was excruciatingly painful. Jagged spikes grew from the once traditional Samurai battle attire and the vine constricted tightly around his neck.

Genji’s panic returned as he felt his former self slipping away, and something new building inside him. His mind was racing faster than he could cope.

“Is this dying,” Genji managed to utter despite the vine and fangs.

“This is living,” said Haetorigusa.

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Genji was competent as a fighter, but he struggled to focus on training, and would often be accused of disrespect to his regimen’s bushido (military code). The truth was, on some level, he was disrespectful to the code. He struggled to find honor in devoting his life to the daimyo.

Yearning to be recognized as unique and impressive, Genji would study the histories of Gods and Generals who built great nations. He would imagine himself in those positions of power and dream of the challenges he would overcome and the rewards he, his family and his people would reap. Genji was willing to do the hard work to be more than another nameless Samurai. Perhaps no one would understand at first, but eventually, all would be proud to know Genji Gozen and his story.

One day, after working in the field with his mother, father, and sister, Genji ventured into the forest. He often strolled amongst the trees, dreaming of faraway adventures before his night’s appointment, guarding the western ridge of the mountain community.

On this day, during his distraction, he wandered deeper into the woods than he ever had before.

Here, the treetops were so thick that the forest floor became pitch black. Only occasional sun rays cut through the leaves like columns supporting the sky. The rays reminded Genji that the rest of the world was not as dark as this place.

He Stumbled over something soft and felt the ground move beneath his feet. The crunch of limbs and shuffling of brush surrounded Genji. Something was alive in here and it was big.

A low and booming voice penetrated Genji’s insides, like that of an unexpected fall from a great height. “What do you seek,” the voice asked.

“What,” Genji snapped, “who’s there?”

“Only those who seek would find themselves in audience with me,” the voice vibrated.

Odd snaps and slithers creeped behind the black curtain all around Genji, obscuring his view of this place.

“I seek a map that leads to a life well lived, a life that will influence generations, Genji said, feeling clear in his convictions.

“Ah, Power, legacy and immortality; I know them well,” whispered the voice. “I know them because I am the incarnation of them. You will find no better map, than my example.”

“If that is true, why do you hide in darkness,” Genji asked, softly, matching the mysterious voice’s volume.

The voice let out a guttural and belittling laugh, “Because if you have never seen true and ageless power before, it will break your small mind.” “If you are unworthy, it will consume you and use your essence until nothing remains.”

Genji scoffed, “Don’t underestimate me, stranger. You have no idea what I am capable of.” “Whatever you have, I promise I can achieve it too.”

The cracks and slithers grew to a fever pitch. The tree canopy broke open and peeled back. Light flooded the space where Genji stood, revealing a lush and overgrown utopia.

Genji’s eyes were slow to adjust to the light, but when they did, he was confronted by the overwhelming reality of the voice in the darkness. Before him, was a giant living monstrosity, not completely plant, not completely animal. It was a writhing and sloshing mass of vines and thorns, more like fangs. If it was a singular creature, it appeared to have many heads. The oversized heads resembled that of wolves, as well as beaked predators unknown. Their eyes were alien and hollow and their mouths snarled, drooling all manner of sap onto tangled vines and razor-sharp edges.

“Behold true and limitless power,” said one of the larger deformed wolf heads. It contorted to break free from a tooth covered tumor, a rotted tree stump from another world.

I have no cultural connection to that area of the world, apart from a likely ancestry line to Genghis Kahn, but I am always taken with the beauty of that place and the legendary depictions of its people and customs. I think the samurai aesthetic and history probably wakes up the adventurer in me because I have yet to travel to the eastern parts of our planet.

I sometimes worry that my lack of true connection to Japan disqualifies me from fabricating a fable in that setting, but… whatever. It was fun and my heart came at it from a place of reverence. As someone who has developed a taste for over thinking every move of my life, I am glad this thing got written before I talked myself out of it.

GATG was written in 2023, on a flight between Austin, TX. and Frankfurt, Germany (about 9-10 hours). The polishing took place in a bakery/coffee shop on the Main River in Würzburg called Köhler Vollkornbäckerei. My uncle and cousin live in town, and I had the opportunity to travel with my other uncle to visit them and meet my cousin and his wife’s new baby boy.

Würzburg is an amazing city in Bavaria. It has around 130,000 people, just big enough to have an Ikea nearby, but small enough to have real local culture and a leisurely pace. It sits surrounded by Franconian vineyards and the watchful presence of the medieval Marienberg Fortress (almost 5 centuries old).

One of my favorite stories that I grabbed ahold of while I was in Würzburg was when the Swedish occupied the city in the 1600’s and the local winemakers got together and decided to bury their best wine in the forests to keep the Swedes from enjoying their amazing work. The only issue was that they forgot where a lot of it was buried, so people are still finding (or at least looking for) bottles to this day. A wine that old is mostly sludge at this point, but a really really valuable bottle of sludge. I’d try it. Fuck the Swedes! (Disclaimer: I do not have anything against “the Swedes.” My previous statement was a joke that would be lost outside of its original context. End Disclaimer)

It was a joy to write in that environment and explore Bavaria with my family.

The motivation for GATG hit because I was into the art of Brock Hofer, a Canadian illustrator who does these incredibly vibrant, chaotic, and violent depictions of snarling creatures tangled in vines and meat. What I found fascinating about his work is how the imagery could be, for all intents and purposes, grotesque, but because of the coloring and presentation, it wasn’t gory or unsettling. It was actually very pleasing to look at, even if the danger and horror of the environments he created screamed Hellish infection. I recommend you check out his awesome stuff: Brock Hofer Art

It and my testosterone got me thinking that I wanted a tattoo.

I mentioned before that I am an overthinker, so you can imagine the struggle that could come from the commitment to one tattoo or tattoo artist for someone that spends an unnecessary amount of time picking the perfect sour candy from the corner store.

The perfect candy needs to match the mood and the allowances of current times. Sour Patch Extremes are great, but the bag is so big and that is a very specific kind of stomachache that is hard to shake. Am I gaining weight? Do I need Cheetos to go with this? Do I look weird standing in this isle for so long as a grown man? Would Sour Punch Straws be the way to go, even though there are so few in the container? Should I start smoking again so I am not so hungry for sugar all the time? Are Twizzlers actually good or are they just red? These are the important questions.

I did not want to experiment with a tattoo that I might be tired of when I am 80. I could not commit to something meaningless, so as someone obsessed with story and kick ass imagery, I came up with a tale involving a corrupted samurai and an old forest God for a tattoo artist to interpret into a sleeve (I also grossly over produce everything, so I wasn’t about to just get a little inconspicuous tattoo to start. No, not me, I went full sleeve right out of the gate!). With the works of Hayao Miyazaki and Mr. Hofer floating around my head, mixed with a very strange transition point in my life, that I still seem to be hanging out in, I kicked out the 4,700ish words that will be spread out over 6 installments on this platform.

The tattoo itself is very expensive, so I only have the first session done on my forearm, but I think I found the right artist for the gig in Minh Pham, out of San Antonio.

Check out his amazing work here: Minh Pham Tattoo

I would love to get the story illustrated into a coffee table book someday, so if you think it has merit and happen to know a talented illustrator, send them my way.

As always, thanks for checking out something I made up. I hope it has some value to you, since it exists.

It feels harder to commit, not just to candy or tattoos, but to creative pursuits in general, now that there is such an excess of everything on the internet and AI is on the rise. I have been toying with this idea of “in a world with too much everything, we may need more nothing in our day to day.” I do not yet know if I find peace in that statement or just extreme melancholy, but I think there is room to hold a belief like that and to strive to be obsessed with something you’re passionate about, as well. I hope you can find things that light you up and get you motivated to keep making new stuff on this space rock we call home. I hope what you do brings you joy and makes life better for those around you. It is weird out here but it could always be worse, right? We could have everything we ever wanted, and it not feel like we made the right choice.

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