Dead Man Switch

If you're reading this, I have failed at Blaugust, and am even now looking for a swiftly flowing stream...

This is a Naruto / Hikaru No Go plot bunny that came to me in the middle of the night and just wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. I am sharing it with you all because I am a terrible person, and also because I'm perversely proud of it. If you haven't read Hikaru No Go, do yourself a favour and borrow it from your local library, it's the best manga about a Go-playing ghost around. If you haven't read Naruto, congratulations. If you've read neither, this will probably not make that much sense to you.

I'm basically going to try and tell the story of Hikaru No Go if it happened in the Naruto universe, with Hikaru's quest to become a go pro being replaced with a quest to become a ninja, Hikaru replacing Naruto wholesale and Sasuke replacing Akira. Yes, I expect it to be a terrible schmozzle, but I was having fun, so what the heck. I don't expect to get that far before I get bored of the premise, but let's run with it for now.

The basic idea is that the first chapters of Hikago will form a kind of prologue to Naruto, the insei chapters will correspond with Naruto's passage through the ninja academy, and then the Pro exam will be approximately equivalent to the Chunin exam. By this point I expect the universe to be so hideously malformed that it will collapse in on itself and explode, but if that ever happens we'll blame it on the 'Eye of the Moon' plan.

<-->

The sun set on a regular peaceful day like any other in Kohonagakure. Trainee ninja terrorised escaped family pets, friends casually attacked each other with lethal weapons; and in the civilian quarter, two teenagers explored a storage shed.
"Hikaru, are you sure about this?"
"Grandpa won't mind, he never even comes out here, he won't notice if we borrow some old junk."
Sure, Hikaru didn't plan on ever returning them, but Akari didn't need to know that. There was a lot of  junk in his grandfather's shed, back-issues of magazines piled to the attic roof, old sports equipment littered the floor, he'd never find out if Hikaru acquired a few things. A boy had to live, after all.
Once he edged carefully past the piles near the door, Hikaru found the good stuff, some antique-looking gobans (too heavy to move easily), a set of illustrated hard-bound novels by someone called "The Great Jaraiya-Sama" (too embarrassing to properly examine in front of Akari), and a non-descript, but obviously ancient, scabbard.
"Hey Akari, check this out! Man, my grandpa must have been a total bad-ass when he was younger" he called out as he drew a sword almost as tall as himself out of the scabbard. Even in the dingy half-light of the shed, it was clear that the sword had a razor edge.
"Hikaru! Be careful with that! You could put your eye out!"
"Weird, it's got this strange stain on it, have a look..."
"Don't point it at me! All I can see is a huge sword waving in my face!" 
"Look, it's right there. It's looks like dried blood or something..."
You can see the stain?
"Whoa! Who is it? If you're a burglar you'd better watch out! I'm armed... and dangerous!"
"Keep that thing away from me! If you screw up my haircut, Hikaru, I'll never forgive you!"
Can you hear my voice?
"I mean it! Show yourself!"
"I'm out of here before you poke your eye out or something and try to blame me!" Akari disappeared out of the shed, leaving her friend alone to wonder if he'd just imagined the mysterious voice. He didn't have to wonder for long.
Hikaru felt bewilderment and fear rising up in him as a humanoid shape appeared out of nowhere in front of him, filling his vision. He struggled to keep on top of his emotions, but he didn't do anything dumb and girly like fainting away. Even if neither he nor anyone he knew was a ninja, people appearing out of thin air was a common occurrence in the Village Hidden in the Leaves, it was practically a leaf ninja signature move, after all. Besides, he had a sword.
Thankyou, kami-sama. I will now return to the living world.
Hikaru might have been confronted in his grandfather's shed by the sudden appearance of a strangely-dressed woman (or man?), but he was still an inquisitive twelve-year-old boy. Encouraged by the comforting weight of the sword in his hand, he asked the first thing that popped into his head.
"The living world? Where were you before?"
I was...elsewhere. It is a long story.
"We've got time, you're not going anywhere until you tell me what you're going here."
Oh? It would obvious to anyone that follows the way of the sword that you have no idea what you are doing with that. And even if you did..."/ the man moved towards him passing straight through the sword and Hikaru to the other side, /"...I am a spirit. An earthly sword will not harm me.
"You're a...a spirit...a ghost?"
Please allow to me introduce myself. I am Fujiwara No Sai. When I lived, long, long ago, I was a tutor to the Emperor in swordsmanship and martial arts...

<---->

Hikaru sat in history class and tried not to look too bored.
So, Sai, you were so sad when you couldn't teach any more that you killed yourself? You really like martial arts that much, huh?
Of course I do. When you're facing an opponent in combat, a rival, there's nothing else, just you and he. It's simple and beautiful, like Go.
Go? That old man's game with the black and white stones? Talk about boring.
A game of the mind that is a reflection of battle. Strategy is the key to both.
Bah! They're both boring. I'm not going to play go, and I'm definitely not going to do any fighting. Martial arts is for losers and wannabe ninjas... Suddenly, Hikaru doubled over with a terrible pain in his stomach, like that time he hadn't noticed that he'd drunk week-old milk.
What the hell? I think I'm going to be sick! Sai, is that you?
Sorry! Sometimes when I feel strong emotions they flow over into my host.
Whoa. You were so sad about not being able to fight that you felt like you were going to chuck? You must really love martial arts.
I really do, Hikaru.
I thought you were taking over my body or something. Like a horror movie, you know.
I would never do that without your consent!
But you could, though, right?
I could, but only if you were willing for me to do so. I'm not strong enough to overcome your conscious control of your body.
This is weird. You've done this before, haven't you, Sai? Like, you've had other hosts before?
Once before. Hundreds of years ago now. There was a man called Bennosuke. I found him when he was very young, and we travelled all over Japan, fighting in many duels and battles. In his body, I met and fought many strong opponents...

<---->

"Shindo. Are you daydreaming again?" His teacher's voice interrupted their conversation. 
"Ah...sorry. What were we doing again?"
"You were writing about the Heian period. And if you're not nearly done you're going to fail. Again."
"Don't worry, sensei! I'm on it!"
Hey Sai, what do you know about the Heian period?
The Heian period? But that was when I was alive. What do you want to know?
Great! How about you try taking over for a bit and write in the answers for me?
Hikaru, are you sure?
Hey, I can't do this myself, I never listen to this guy, he's really boring. It'd be nice to surprise my grandpa by actually passing history for once. I'll get my body back when I want it, right?
Of course. Very well, this will feel a little strange.
A sensation like an ice-pack being slipped inside his shirt filled Hikaru's whole body, and all of a sudden he was outside his own body, watching the back of his head from where Sai had been just moments earlier.
Weird. Really weird.
Do you want to switch back, Hikaru?
No, I'm ok, I think. Besides, I have to get something handed up at the end of this lesson.
It took him a little while, but eventually he got more used to it, and settled down to watch Sai fill in his assignment with flowing and intricate calligraphy that was so foreign to Hikaru's habitual scrawl that it might have been another language altogether. Something about the Emperor and his concubines... Hehe. His teacher and his grandpa wouldn't know what hit them.

<---->

Hikaru's teacher had been putting off the chore of marking the last paper in the stack for an hour now. It wasn't that Hikaru was a bad student, exactly, he was just easily distracted, and one more graphic description of a soccer match allegedly occurring between rival armies might be enough to ensure a fail mark for the term, or give his teacher a mental breakdown. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the worst, he turned it over and began to read...
*thump*
The sound of chair and body hitting the ground brought the teachers from the nearby offices running.

<---->

Walking home took a lot longer than usual, since Sai had never been in a ninja village before and had stop to examine every little thing, from the televisions in shop windows to the display of ornamental kunai. Hikaru kept having to wait for him, causing the nearby shopkeepers to eye him suspiciously.
As he doubled back to look for whatever had distracted Sai this time, he found the spirit lurking in a tree looking over the old Uchiha compound. Everyone in the village, ninja and civilian, knew what had happened to the Uchiha.
Hikaru! Hikaru! Look at this!
Whoa. Sai, come down from there. People don't go near the compound! There's like a family of ghost ninjas haunting it and they might kill you or something.
But Hikaru, I'm already dead! And look, that boy seems to be alive.
Hikaru climbed up beside Sai to see what he was looking at. In a small maintained area in an otherwise overground training ground, Uchiha Sasuke was performing a kata at ever-increasing speeds, flinging his body around as he dispatched hordes of imaginary attackers.
Oh, yeah. That's the last Uchiha. His brother went mad a few years back and killed everyone else in his whole clan.
Look in his eyes! Like a hawk ready to pounce on its prey! For one so young to be so committed to the arts of war...ooh!
He's a ninja! Bred and trained from birth as a killing machine. And you want to fight him?!
Yes! Oh, can I?
If you get beat up, won't it hurt me?
Hikaru! Trust me. I'll look after your body, just let me fight him!
Well, if you can do my history homework for me, I guess I can at least let you have one little spar. Just be careful with my body, OK?
Of course.
Hikaru leapt down from the tree and fought his way through the undergrowth to the training ground.
"Hey, Uchiha. Fight me!"

<-->

Talk about out of practice. All I can say is that most thirteen year-olds write better than I do, and I'm sure that I wrote better when I was thirteen too. I am truly sorry.

The Sea! The Sea!

Inspired by our Blagustine efforts, and some small amount of badgering, my mother has started a blog of her own. After reading just a couple of paragraphs, I was pleasantly surprised quite how much my writing style has so obviously been influenced by my folks. Reading some of her stuff feels a little bit like I'm back at home having a conversation over a cup of tea and a lot like I'm the cross-gender clone product of some illicit experiment. At least this way I'll be able to find out what she gets up to on her holidays!

I felt drawn to write a psalm after reading Xenophon's March this week. It feels strange and incongruous, given that Xenophon didn't share my faith, but the image of the sea as relief just seemed appropriate to me with some of what I've been going through lately. After I'd finished it I tried to compose a non-monotheistic, more Greek-feeling version, but I didn't like the result, so you get this. Make of it what you will.

Out of the wilderness you have led me,

despite the schemes of all my enemies,

through bitter cold and raging river.

Though many have fallen, you have sustained me,

And brought me at last to your safe country.

What could I do but raise an altar,

give praise to your name,

and fall prostrate before you?

My wonder shall not be surpassed.

My jubilant voice shall not fall silent.

Thalatta! Thalatta!

My Lord has delivered me.

I have no idea how I'm supposed to transition from this sort of stuff into being ready to throw down for Raptember in a couple of weeks.

Raptember

The challenge, a rap every week for September, where 'rap' is defined as any piece of verse that could conceivably be conveyed by a teenager in baggy clothing to the accompaniment of his little brother inexpertly beatboxing. Dan Thomas, of future archeological fame and reknown, leapt into the fray:

I was just hangin'

out in the hood,

doin' whatever I wanted or could.

I looked at the date,

just then I remember

this here is the very first week of Raptember!

I sat down at once

and wasted no time

gettin' down to business and pennin' a rhyme.

I sent it at once

with hopes to engender

Tommy-D to reply on the third of Raptember.

Now there's nothing left

to do but kick back

in a warm leather chair with a glass of cognac

and soak up the warmth

of the coals in the fender,

contentedly glowing, each one a "Rapt-ember".

 

[beats]

Break it down.

So, Dan had delivered, it was my turn, and there was no way that I could let a line like that last one go unpunished:

Well the days fly by
like the discounts at Coles,
an' my muse has vamoosed, it's outside my control.
But jus' like Marlon Brando,
I wanna be a contender.
I'll get back on the track, 'cause this is Raptember, yo!

Time is a-wasting
like the Bloods and the Crips.
I wanna tighten my writin' but I'm coming up zips.
Danny-T threw the gauntlet
And I gotta accept 'er,
Or admit I'm not it when it comes to Raptember, yo!

I ain't got what it takes
to re-master the beat?
I ain't ceding to that reading: 'cause I'm here to compete.
Yeah I know it ain't so
An' I ain't just some pretender
been dreaming of Em-Ceein' since I was a Rapt-embryo!

[Baboons and Pigs]

It's your turn, dawg.

But wait, it gets worse...

1901: Disgrace Odyssey

In a currently ongoing game of Diplomacy, myself (as Pope) and my short-lived Russian ally, having exhausted our political and tactical options, set about a campaign of intimidation in the public press wires, designed to terrify our Austrian neighbour into folding before our combined military and ghetto credentials. And what better way than to rap our oppenent into submission?

Italy:
 On a rest in Trieste where the beaches are fine
 Rehearsin' ma sermons, revisin' my lines
 Don?t go messin' wit' me while I'm watching the surf
 Cause the papa is here, and I'm claimin' ma turf

Russia:
 When the hood's in the woods, well you better watch out
 When my homies are homin' ain't no room for doubt
 Ain't slackin': we packin', and we got a bad rep
 Watch out for the men from the thirty-nine steppes.

Italy:
 Thomassino's the name and Popin's the game
 And mountain assaultin' is my claim to fame
 Silver-tongued asp in a slick armoured car
 That's it from me -hit 'em, D-Tzar.

Russia:
Yo, the popey-posse say that Europe's at war
 Austria's nervous, an' Turkey is more
 Rolling with my armour down Ukrainian hills
 Sayin' 'Sultan/Duke, get out of my (Bear) Grillz!'

Pretty silly and not well executed, I know, but you get the point. As a diplomatic technique, as evidenced by his elimination and my continuing half-existence as a Turkish puppet-state, it leaves a little to be desired, but it set off a yearning to say "Yo" at inappropriate moments and spawned a monster called "Raptember", whose delectable fruit I will share with you in the coming days. It's not exactly high art, but please promise not to laugh at me.

The First Step

...is admitting that you have a problem:

Hi, my name is Ted and I'm a biblioholic. I'm utterly addicted to the increase of my library, by any means necessary. It's been 2 days since my last bookshop splurge, when the friendly but concerned clerk, recognising me and the considerable amount I seem to spend on a regular basis at the Angus & Robertson in James Place, asked "How many of the books you own have you actually read?". He has a point. Maybe I just buy books to impress my local bookstoe clerk, for the smell of fresh paper and the softness of an uncreased trade paperback, or to look intelligent but not actually to read.

When I went home and looked at my collection, and what I saw disgusted me. I don't have a problem, I have seventy-four problems. Some of them partially solved, some of them new and exciting, right across the spectrum from historical fiction pulp to classic SF, biographies and non-fiction, and it's about time that I did something about it. These seventy-four are a not inconsiderable percentage of my entire library, and while I didn't buy them all I've let them get a little out of hand. So...

No more buying books until I've finished the ones I have now.
(This doesn't exclude me picking up free books or books or really, really good sale, but I won't go looking for them).

Some of you are aware that I've tried this before, but it failed the next time I went into a bookstore with money in my pocket (I managed a few times by making myself poor before entry), but this time it's in writing, and as I am a man of my word, I'm just going to have to knuckle down and deal with my problems, all 74 of them. Then maybe I can start on the other bad habits, like picking things up off of the street and putting them in my mouth.

Just on the off chance that you're interested, the list is:
Aitken, Johnathan. John Newton: From Disgrace to Amazing Grace (birthday present 2010)
Asimov, Isaac. Robot Stories. (bought this weekend)
Austen, Jane. Emma (deceased estate 2008, deceased smoked a lot)
Blainey, Geoffrey. A Shorter History of Australia (free box at work)
Bryson, Bill. A Short History of Nearly Everything (bought early 2010)
Bunyan, John. The Pilgrim’s Progress (inherited)
Burgess, Anthony. A Clockwork Orange (bought 2009)
Chaucer, Geoffrey. Canterbury Tales (2009)
Christie, Agatha. 4.50 From Paddington (inherited)
Christie, Agatha. Mrs. McGinty’s Dead (inherited)
Christie, Agatha. The Mousetrap (free box)
Christie, Agatha. They Came to Baghdad (inherited)
Christie, Agatha. They Do It with Mirrors (inherited)
Clarke, Susanna. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell (bought this weekend)
Cornwell, Bernard. Sharpe’s Revenge (op-shop 2010)
Courtenay, Bryce. The Persimmon Tree (early 2010)
Cupp, Bob. The Edict (early 2010)
Currie, Ron. God is Dead (A&R crazy sale 2010)
Dahl, Roald. Going Solo (2009)
Dickens, Charles. A Tale of Two Cities (birthday present 2010)
Dickens, Charles. Hard Times (deceased estate 2008)
Dickens, Charles. Nicholas Nickleby (deceased estate 2008)
Donaldson, Stephen. The One Tree (free box)
Donaldson, Stephen. The Wounded Land (inherited)
Donaldson, Stephen. White Gold Wielder (inherited)
Durrell, Gerald. My Family and Other Animals (2009)
Eliot, George. Middlemarch (deceased estate 2008)
Flanagan, Richard. Wanting (A&R crazy sale 2010)
Gaiman, Neil. The Graveyard Book (early 2010)
Gibson, William. Burning Chrome (free box)
Gibson, William. Mona Lisa Overdrive (free box)
Gibson, William. Neuromancer (free box)
Hoban, Russell. Riddley Walker (inherited)
Homer. The Iliad (op-shop 2010)
Homer. The Odyssey (gift)
Joachimsthaler, Anton. The Last Days of Hitler (mid 2010)
Keneally, Tom. Australians – Origins to Eureka (last weekend)
Kennedy, GA Studdert. The Unutterable Beauty (op shop 2010)
Kipling, Rudyard. Limits and Renewals (inherited)
Lehmann, Darren. Worth the Wait (2009) - Read September 2010
Lewis, CS. Out of the Silent Planet (deceased estate 2008)
Lewis, CS. Perelandra (deceased estate 2008)
Lewis, CS. That Hideous Strength (deceased estate 2008)
Martin, GRR et al. Songs of a Dying Earth (last weekend) - Read October 2010
Milton, John. Dramatic Poems (op shop 2010)
Mitford, Nancy. Love in a Cold Climate (inherited)
Nabokov, Vladimir. Lolita (2008)
Orwell, George. Animal Farm (deceased estate 2008)
Owen, Wilfred. Poems (op shop 2010)
Peake, Mervyn. Gormenghast (free box)
Peake, Mervyn. Titus Groan (stolen from co-worker 2009)
Robertson, Geoffrey. Crimes Against Humanity (early 2010)
Salinger, JD. The Catcher in the Rye (inherited)
Selby-Montefiore, Hugh. Enigma (early 2010)
Shatner, William. Tek Lab (free box)
Shatner, William. Tek Vengeance (free box)
Shaw, George Bernard. Three Plays For Puritans (free box)
Stow, Randolph. The Merry-Go-Round in the Sea (early 2010)
Sutherland, John. Curiosities of Literature (birthday present 2009)
Swift, Jonathan. Gullivers Travels and Other Writings (free box)
Thackeray, William Makepeace. Vanity Fair (deceased estate 2008)
Tolstoy, Leo. War and Peace (2009)
Twain, Mark. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (2009)
Waugh, Evelyn. A Handful of Dust (2009)
Wilde, Oscar. A Picture of Dorian Grey (2008)
Wilde, Oscar. Complete Short Fiction (2009)
Winton, Tim. Breath (2009)
Wodehouse, PG. A Pelican at Blandings (free box)
Wodehouse, PG. Jeeves in the Offing (free box)
Wodehouse, PG. Much Obliged, Jeeves (free box)
Wodehouse, PG. P. Smith in the City (free box)
Wodehouse, PG. Ring for Jeeves (free box)
Wyss, Johann. Swiss Family Robinson (deceased esate)

Now I've got to read the suckers.

The next step is coming to believe that a higher power can restore me to sanity. I have a feeling that that one might take a while.

Wednesday Quiz In Exile I: Cover Versions

It's not the famous Wednesday Quiz, which has been viciously killed off before its time, but it is almost the next best thing, the Wednesday Quiz's Australian Cousin. Like all good Australian things, it's just a home-grown version of things stolen from other places with a touch of rabid nationalism and an undercurrent of xenophobia, but at least it beats looking at boring postcards (unless you like that sort of thing, I guess).

This week's quiz is on famous books by Australian authors. Identify the missing titles on the Australian covers of these dozen Australian "classics" to win yourself respect and reknown amongst the huge audience of this here little portion of the internet and to score points towards receiving a choice of prizes as yet to be determined. Those who look up, consult with others or otherwise cause their answers to come from somewhere other than the depths of their long-term memory banks will be scathingly lampooned by generations of Australian fictioneers.

Name these books
Warning: This quiz is obviously harder than I thought it was, even for Aussies. Don't get discouraged.

1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.

Please leave your answers in fine literary style in the comments. The best way to do this without looking at anyone else's answers if to type them out in a word document or scribble paper first.