Author: michael raven

  • ICE = State Sponsored Terrorism

    I cannot believe I am posting that another civilian was shot to death this morning in Minneapolis by Border Patrol or ICE. Details are scant at this time and I reject the official DHS account because they have been so willing to lie and manipulate the truth about so many things in the past 18 months.

    The current credible account is that the person had a 9mm with two loaded magazines. We do not know if he was acting violently towards anyone or not. We have conceal-carry laws in our city (with permit) — it is not known if he had that permit. DHS officials claim they were conducting a “targeted arrest”, but did not disclose if this person was the subject. In the past, those words have been described to account for detailing and arresting racially profiled people and an excuse for demanding citizenship papers.

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  • Are we there yet?

    Today, I am the child sitting in the back seat of a car on a journey to a place undisclosed by the driver. I jitterbug my legs, anxious to be set free from the confines of the speeding steel box hugging the blackened asphalt curves wending round oldgrowth pines, oaks, birch and aspen, the double yellow lines in the center of the road intermittently broken on one side of the other to indicate where a driver might pass.

    There are no other drivers to pass or following the road in the opposite direction. That give some allowance to cut some curves, bisect them as we speed forward to places unknown.

    But I just want to arrive.

    ”Are we there yet?” It is not the first time or last time the question has been asked. I wince, dreading the question as it is uttered, for I hate hearing it as much as I hate asking it.

    No one replies. There is no one to reply. The car drives on.

    I wish we could just arrive, for I am tired of this drive and am torn between wanting to run and laugh at the other end and just wanting to find a soft place to rest my head and cry. Boys don’t cry, so I will hide the tears as gemstones buried into the folds of the soft space and pretend those are treasures that will find refrain on your lips when you discover them after I am gone.

  • Carving

    Photo by Samuel Quek on Unsplash

    Black sands and dragging blades… Darkstone scattered with bright ice standing. The skies cast grey and still I drag heavy steel, carving sigils through the wave-rippled beach between tides. Some even recall a something of you and your laughter when you forget it should be broken, but the carrion drown out the song with their raucous calls, and so I must strain to hear.

    “You should leave those birds behind,” someone suggests and I remind, “Then there is only spiders, and spiders weave different signs than these.

    “And a fox, when they are so inclined,” I add, an afterthought. That fox has decided to be less inclined of late. So I hesitate.

    Back to: drag and recall, carving both glyph and secret names in those small hours when most are asleep.

    I should be lost, I think. Let them shibari my wrists in wire, lift me on wave and bury me deep. Our heart heavies this hurt just so.

  • casting runes — 23jan26

    isaz
    quenching raging flames to
    let passions give to slumber &
    burn low with eyes half-closed
    embracing winter beauty as
    ephemeral as the dream

    A rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.

    Today’s rune is isaz, a rune that is translated as the word “ice”. Sources associate isaz with a calmness, present moment or stillness. As ice, isaz is sometimes associated with standstill, stagnation, stasis or contraction; even at times as pristine beauty with seductive qualities.

    Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.

  • yes, Virginia…

    It is damned cold out there… (That’s in Fahrenheit, BTW).