some strange feelings
come with that fragment
a song not heard since
the late 80s
part is loath to stream it
knowing that moment
of remembrance will
be ruined
the other part wants
to let it play loud
until the kids tell me
turn it down
in the meantime
i fidget with the memory
trying to recall what it is
i think i recall
sin
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sin
Going to the chapel…
Another four prompts from Jolene.
Another absurd little tale. Okay, maybe not that absurd.
The prompts:
- laundromat
- shocking announcement
- person who takes shortcuts
- person who needs to remove a tattoo right away
Gee, I really love you
And we're gonna get married
Going to the chapel of loveThe sunlight was more blinding than it had any right to be, piercing even eyes closed tight against such insults and it sent my head spinning. Or the room spinning. Or, the whole world had become a giant tilt-a-whirl and I fought the urge to vomit up all the liquor I had consumed at the—
Umm. Record release party on the Strip. That sounded right, the answer hiding just behind the pounding on the inside of my skull by some wee gnome with a steel hammer.
After which, I think it was followed by an an after-hours rave.
I think. Things went all wobbly right after hailing the Uber with Jessie and that producer she had the hots for that we were chatting up at the release party.
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Going to the chapel…
casting runes — 31aug26
kenaz ash remains... a smudge over each eye to wipe away a pale veil that lies, hidden of shadow & fey burning brands to light the way
A rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is kenaz, which has been translated as both “torch” and “ulcer” . It is conceived as symbolic of flame, which is the illuminated creativity as well as the source of purification/healing/cautery. Fire is a a source of transformation and unmaking as well as heat, passion and light. As an ulcer, kenaz can be associated with a fever or inflammation, perhaps a wound which requires healing.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
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casting runes — 31aug26
thunder rumbles through
'the weather is changing,
i can feel it in my joints',
sounded so cliche & quaint
until it became a song i sang
for my own
have you ever just sat with
your pain? talk to it?
embrace it? hold it?
sometimes you can
befriend your pain as
thunder rumbles through—To like, click comments or:
thunder rumbles through
undrifting
a hell-shackled drifter
with hot poison words
burning at the tongue —
were silence always
mine to own
but fire burns in veins
drenched in sweat i
try to sink heat down
ground out the fever
in the name
an exchange in only
shadow, puppet & flame
searing flesh with
each pass of the torch
under my skinTo like, click comments or:
undrifting
Dear interwebz
Kindly recall the following guidance:
- If you like 20 posts of mine that took several hours to write within 20 seconds, I will treat you like spam (seriously, I watch some people click the stars in rapid succession). I will not follow your stupid blog. Even if it is not a stupid blog. But it probably is.
- If you write “Interesting post” as your sole comment on posts on my site (and on others’ sites), I will not follow your stupid blog. Your stupid blog is probably not interesting if that is all you can say about my posts (or others’). Bonus: I will mark it as spam.
- If you like multiple posts of mine and don’t fall into the category of the first bullet and I hover on your site and see it is for gambling, crypto, property, travel, sports or scraped material — you guessed it — I will not follow your stupid blog. If you comment, I will assume it is spam.
- If I happen to click on a link to your stupid blog and my screen is suddenly awash with ads and flashing things or popups, I will not follow your stupid blog. I will also mark all comments you make as spam. Yay you!
- If you start preaching to me about religious matters or give me sermons in comments that are entirely disconnected from the conversation at hand, I will not follow your stupid blog. 9/10 times I will also mark you as spam. Based on the content I receive from people in this vein, you need to go study your own religion more before you should try to preach to someone about something you apparently know nothing about.
- If your comment matches the content of your site, I will not follow you. Especially if it is the sermon you just posted as comment-spam on my site. And your blog is stupid.
- If you do any kind of feed scraping to populate the posts of your site, your site is, by definition, stupid, and I will not follow it. And I will issue takedown notices if the content is mine and request your stupid site be shuttered.
- If you are rude to any of my visitors and I do manage to follow you, you are stupid and I will unfollow your stupid site.
- No. I am not interested in your widget, even if you make the best widgets in the whole wide world. Even if they have nifty images of Bettie Page endorsing them for you. Your widgets are stupid, as well as your site. And I will not follow you.
These are just a few examples of things I expect out of the folks who visit Ravensweald. It does boil down to a simple, single rule:
Don’t be stupid.
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but i don’t want ANY spam, spam spam eggs bacon and spam, spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam, spamalot, ugh — spamfiled under:
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Dear interwebz
then, fade
tucked between birchbark light
and gathered by the bramble
wire-bound his bone heart waiting
lichen keeps no tick-clock and so
the world waited on granite time
before blood was to crack the flow
no gate, nor thorn
no gate, nor thorn
he wound thread taut
around twin thumbs
by which he was
to remember
then, fade andTo like, click comments or:
then, fade
Partytime — The Jazz Butcher
My tastes in music run fairly eclectic. It’s quicker to say what I don’t usually care for than to list off the things I do care for. Fewer caveats that way.
So I was sad to be belatedly notified that Pat Fish died a few years ago in an off-hand manner by a DJ on a radio program dedicated to “alternative before there was alternative”, but mostly plays music that got decent airplay and the acts/songs were not all that “alternative” or edgy when you get down to it (Ramones, Tommy Two Tone, “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, etc.).
Apparently, it was worth mentioning because it is around the anniversary of Pat Fish’s passing. Not that absolutely anyone aside from myself who was listening (and only listening to it because of the occasional “oh wow” moments while driving) would know who the hell The Jazz Butcher was.
I played Pat/Jazz Butcher a bit when I worked at a second-hand record store “back in the day” (which is a fancy way of saying that I would rather not mention just how far back that day was) — their records never seemed to sell and I should have bought them myself, but why do that when I could listen to it while working and afford to upgrade my meals to PBJ sandwiches instead of ramen for my decision.
Always a bit tongue in cheek, Jazz Butcher were a fun act to listen to.
In case you haven’t run into them before (and I’d honestly be surprised if most of you have) and want a gander, here’s a good specimen for your ears (but not your eyes). It might surprise some of you, as Jazz Butcher is fairly tame and most of you are used to my exotic listens being shared.
As always, leave some comments if you have them.
[...T]his is partytime
And you've got to say its better than a war
This is partytime
And its better than a cold bath with someone you dislike
This is partytime
And its good to drink for free when you haven't any money
This is partytime
Oh, she might just possibly take me homeTo like, click comments or:
Partytime — The Jazz Butcher
Down by the wyching tree
I toed off my shoes all mouse quiet to avoid the verbal hiding I was about to receive, but that weren’t gonna fool him. The man was like one of those psychic kids from the Stephen King books. The early ones. Those good ones left all beat to hell in the library cos so many hands have held them they are permanently fanned out with especial gaps where the good parts are. The scary parts. Sometimes the sexy parts.
It weren’t the well-oiled hinges that betrayed me, but the gust of autumn wind come raging through the open I had slipped through on my way in tattled by way the flickering of the candle light dancing shadows as it rush on past.
“Where you been.” It weren’t a question.
“Out.”
“Out?”
“Out.”
I didn’t bother hiding my footsteps no more as I walked down the hallway, didn’t skip that creaky part right by the picture of my ma when she weren’t much older than me.
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Down by the wyching tree
