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Blind Man’s Elephant

Blind Man’s Elephant

You mortals amuse me.

Watching as you navigate the waters of your petty lives is like watching blind monks squabble over defining an elephant.

Six monks who were born blind were led one day to an elephant. Each of the monks approached the elephant from a different angle.

The first touched the elephant’s side and claimed that it was like a wall. The second touched the trunk and claimed that an elephant was like a snake. The third felt the tusk, and claimed that the elephant was like a spear. The fourth touched the leg and claimed that the elephant must be mighty like a tree. The fifth touched the elephant’s ear and claimed that it must be like a fan. The sixth touched its tail and scoffed that it was merely an old rope.

Each of the blind monks knew of his own experience, what he could touch and imagine. He knew that what he was experiencing was right.

So they squabbled, neither agreeing with the other about what the elephant truly was.

You, Simon, have always been kneeling at your own elephant. You’ve always felt away, trusting your own experiences and knowing that you were right.

For you’re the man with the plan, after all.

You’re one of those lucky monks that get to touch the elephant of life, and decide for yourself what it truly is.

And in your mind, you know.

You, in all your charisma, have convinced the world that what you see is to be believed. That you are one step ahead of the game. You’ve convinced everybody that the elephant is merely a bundle of worthless old rope.

For such is life to you, such are your alliances and friendships. Ready to be tossed aside at a moment’s notice. Jet Set Radio trusted you to guide them through life. They saw you as their mentor, but all you showed them was how blind you are. All you convinced them of was that the elephant of their own lives was worthless.

Nothing but an old bundle of rope.

Wiz believed you.

Until that rope was slung around his neck.

You see, Simon, you may be one clever monk who has everyone convinced that you have the master plan, but you are still a mere mortal, playing God in a game that mortals should dare not touch.

For every one of those monks had the same fatal flaw. They were all blind.

None of them could see that they were merely a part in a greater scheme.

As are you, Simon.

You’re a pawn in the great plan.

Put in place to create destruction and chaos, and you do your job so well. For every ounce of destruction your plans create fuels me. Your chaos gives me strength.

If the elephant is merely a rope to you, hang yourself with it.

For I am the architect, Simon.

I am the one that leads the blind monks to the elephant.

You are simply a player in the game.

I control the board.

Wake up and see the whole elephant.