It often feels pretentious to talk about my thoughts around my path towards rewilding. I mean, who do I think I am to turn away from the norms and follow the trail deeper into the woods?
It is also difficult to do so because I have rejected most of the labels people use.
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i river waiting for
flutter you feather
polishing stone for
night long coming
wrap hair ebon
undress in longing
so sacrifice to own
to you of you and
lay out autumn
there between
the river bare
to take me pale
before the blood
before
Here’s another of my stumble-on bands while listening to music discovery nominally inspired by a resurgence of 1980’s-era post punk and bands like Kælan Mikla, Mochat Doma, as in addition to older bands such as Dead Can Dance.
Another criteria for inclusion is a preference for bands that use a language other than English for their songs, although that is not an absolute requirement. I am more interested in discovering music that I would not have otherwise encountered save for going where the labyrinth leads me.
If you want to listen to other bands that I’ve found, you can follow my YouTube station (all ad revenue goes to the evil overlords, not me), or hit play in the embed at the bottom of this post.
I did not expect it to take me to Аметистовые Вены (translation: Amethyst Veins), a Russian band (specifically, from Naberezhnye Chelny) that popped up in my feed.
when at wanders
listen moon
listen night
crossroads gather
feather swoon
feather flight
we are we are
we are of
stormriders
tonight
Oh! The trials and tribulations…
Can you imagine my surprise when I was denied access to this site this morning?
The error message I received from Firefox and Chrome were similar and made it sound like I might have been hacked. “Lithuania”, “geoblocking”, “security certificate invalid”, and all kinds of unsmiley indications (including a spam contact message overnight).
(more…)of godless ways wandering
between gallows gone to grey
the rocky shore's blackwater
framed in deadwood propped
in seaweed and broken oar
waiting for the sluagh's arms
to embrace a heart of coal
the company of ravens and
a host of crows waiting
waiting
waiting
for snows to fall
There’s something appealing about taking up fasting again. I laid awake at my normal lay awake time last night (2.45am to at least 3.30am) contemplating taking up fasting. Not the hardcore fasting where you go for days on end. I’ve already proved to myself that I have that kind of willpower that it takes to pull that off. I lasted 7 days, or maybe it was 10 — I forget — when I was much younger. I actually needed to will myself to get back into eating after that period of time, whichever duration it was.
No, what I’m talking about is something closer to intermittent fasting. I haven’t thought out the details, but I can see limited fasting as a mental and spiritual exercise. Besides, I’m starting to have a hate side of the love/hate relationship with food emerge again.
Or maybe it was the thinking about that summer and autumn in Seattle before returning to Minnesota. Those days, I had to remind myself to eat. Some days I didn’t bother. I was definitely on a “I hate food” binge at the time. Coffee was good. I drank a river of coffee during that time. Smoked quite a few smokes too.
That was all fine and dandy when it was just me living out on my own, but the family would worry about my mental state and health if I approached things that way now, so it would be better to just limit and eliminate some of my food consumption rather than all-out, hardcore fasting.
I’m not sure what I would want to accomplish. I’ve got my eigengrau moods that come more often than they go. And it wouldn’t hurt to rewild my spirit a bit. A touch of hunger has a way of bringing out the feral.
Maybe I can fast out the funk?
There, a title for this post — catchy and topical. Just the kind of thing SEO managers love.
Have you fasted? Any particular reason for doing so if you have? Do you think it is weird and unhealthy? Comment away!
hands stained in alder
scarlet against the driven snow
this blood runs to stone
scattered over the path of fells
heather rimed in white
her sun rimed in snow
below and now she rises
blood on fell and stone
I walked the beaded hallways red with you and you did not see, not really. Yes yes that’s very beautiful you said as we walked not the beauty of buckskin and ruddy skin. You saw only the patterned beads.
You did not hear the heartbeat drums causing the red hallways to thrum and pulse as you raced towards the light, making sure you could say you had experienced it all for yourself, but you did not hear, nor see.
You did not feel their blood on your skin, nor the sweat, nor the tears. You said you knew it all, had read it in a book you couldn’t recall the title of, nor author. And you pulled me along, not letting me linger to “feel the feels”. You told me you would find the book in the library for me so I could feel.
I reached for the medicine up in the night, but you bound me to prevent “my escape”.
I spoke to ravens and stones.
You just stared at me.
I miss the Market today.
It would be closed by now, of course. But I would have skipped out of work early and spent the afternoon window shopping comics, trinkets, maybe some herbs or incense. Walk down to the pier, although it was a stranger the last time I walked there because of the missing viaduct.
I’d buy a couple of börek to take back to the apartment, reheat for dinner, salad or quinoa with tahini dressing on the side. I was never a very good vegetarian back then — I couldn’t give up my cheese or butter, but I rarely ate meat when I could visit the Market. Honestly, I rarely ate at all.
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