perfect, the rain day falling
over flint and cast as steel
coffee steam rising and
a wish of your here
— and knowing your why
whisper water on pavement
hush, don’t wake up the us
slumber undercover and
d r i f t o f f —
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.
tagged:
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
Hei, skogkatter — 27aug26
For the time being, it appears we have cooled down in Minnesota (yes, the “land of snow and ice” often has temps around or warmer than the 90°F/32°C range with tropical humidity to go along with it during August and July). Summer’s not done with us for at least two or three more weeks and I’ve seen August levels of heat in October in my life. At least once in November.
If you don’t like the weather in Minnesota, wait fifteen minutes, as we like to say.
Anyway, yesterday evening was fairly cool (closer to 75°F) and so I decided to experiment with the Norsk skogkatter kittens. I pulled out the fancy and schmancy backpack carrier and simply opened it up. Grendel, who actually likes carriers, hopped right in — he’s explored the backpack in the past and saw nothing that warranted concern. Grímnir was not terribly interested in sharing the smaller space with his brother and went to explore other things in the house. I zipped it up (a first) and that didn’t seem to bother Grendel.
Then we went outside into the backyard. And just sat.
(more…)tagged:
hei skogkatter, leash training cats, norsk skogkatt, Norwegian Forest Cat, outdoor training cats, skogkattfiled under:
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Hei, skogkatter — 27aug26
casting runes — 27aug26
raido a roads are wont to do
this one turned in of itself
back out and wended 'round
so tangled as to tie in knots
with eye turned inside
the road returns constraint
set on a winter path
cluttered in the palest birch
a phantom passing through
the moonlit woodA poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is raido, which has been translated as “ride” and the implied “journey”. This may be spatial and literal in practice (a physical journey), or it may be more figurative (an inner/shamanic journey, i.e., útiseta). The rune is associated with cyclic motion and the movement of the sun. Some consider the journey represented by raido to be that of returning.
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 — 27aug26
him, caught in barbed wire came
chickenwire fox got him
caught in barbed wire
came barking top
there yonder hill
where still the
bonefires still burn
in that iron night of
overcast skies waiting
on for drizzle to
cast off like it do
ungreased axels turn
on the world g’round
have you heard?
have you heard?
an eye for an i
a tooth for the truth
goin’ to set that
barbed him wire to burn
peat dusk, with
flame all but shrieking
set embers on the dawnTo like, click comments or:
him, caught in barbed wire came
kissing kittens
kissing kittens
because who can
resist kissing kittens?
i tell them they
are good boys
though both rogues
through & through
because they rarely
scratch & never
bite & the worst is
they are ghosts that
go boop in the night
besides, who can
resist kissing kittens?To like, click comments or:
kissing kittens
awake lies dreaming
my sad is dreaming awake
clutching fingers grasping
for threads gossamer away
web memories tangled
of us in winter again
i grew cold since then,
you see, cold left standing
of hollow of tree seeking sleep
when all my awake lies
dreamingTo like, click comments or:
awake lies dreaming
