And he recalls his prior life, when he chipped at glaciers with yellow pencils, expected minor cracks to reveal the stern invitation of the ocean. Then, when we wore the capes of water and salt, he cursed in all foulness at his own persistence. Nine faces appear in the reflection, as harmless as bamboo cannons, loaded with dust. Nine demons of corruption and transgression, reflections of his new self, manifested as his nine foot extension into immortal power. And from a desk of nine-volt batteries, the master relays his manifesto: Law, the eternal oubliette. The acid twirls like a neighborhood jumprope as the committee applauds. In the pauses between the clapping, he feels flashes of dissent, the unsentimental urge to stretch his limbs and disintegrate into eternal expansion. The part of him that sensed the fundamental crookedness of life. Stuttering to himself again: "No engineered solutions, only toppled institutions."