• wood-mad

    become the wode
    be as sunspecked stone
    a pond as the frozen
    while antlers tied
    at ribbons red...

    i let turnings go
    hearts carve to spades
    wergeld flows to bone
    our bloodstained hands
    kiss press of oak

    there is only knowing
    when those everythings
    have been known

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    wood-mad

  • we call

    it is of voluntary derangement
    in the where of eyes suture eyes
    and mouth fed on dirt from
    under ash, bone and oak

    dare you the wood at night?

    past the broken homes and
    vast underhalls gone to echo
    where have their songs gone?

    you only have to sit in
    shadow to know and

    we call it other

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    we call

  • casting runes — 23apr26

    nauthiz
    some bonds lack ropes
    no chains nor jailer keys
    a razor's liminal edge
    betwixt a world and me

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

    Today’s rune is nauthiz, which has a core meaning of “need”. Alternative translations have been “hardship” or “constraint”. Among other interpretations, nauthiz is seen as a indicative of a transition or transformation, a period of learning or strengthening of resilience, lacking, change, and impermanence — inclusive of other related concepts.

    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 — 23apr26

  • Angine de Poitrine | Umm?

    Okay, YouTube has been at me for weeks to watch these guys (gals?), so I finally caved and watched the video.

    These folks are off the deep end of the spectrum. Not the most experimental I’ve ever heard for music, because it is still recognizable a rock-adjacent in sound. They do some neat tricks with loops and effects on top of a microtonal guitar/bass combo with polyrhythm drums. The whole, adjusting knobs on the effects with bare feet is an interesting trick.

    And they’ve cultivated their “weird vibe” very precisely between the phallic masks and eye-melting pattern clash. They also, apparently, have their own language for interviews for which their manager “translates”.

    Looks fun. And they appear talented (from what I can hear, but there is an emphasis on disruption and subversion, so I might not be hearing it quite right).

    But.

    For me, it started to sound clever but samey after a point. More gimmick than hook, if you know what I mean.

    I jumped to a song above, but feel free to start and the beginning. Give me your read on this. Is microtonal (other notes than the Western chromatic scale) the future? Do you think they’ll be around in three years? Or just a flash in the pan?

    Seriously, though, they make Zappa sound relatively grounded. Makes me long for Diamanda Galás and her Steak Knives experimental (opera-trained) vocal/screaming routine, honestly. Wait. Maybe don’t listen to that link. It may give you reason to judge me.

    Meh.

    Curious if you think they are good, bad or if you’re indifferent to the whole thing. Drop me a note.

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    Angine de Poitrine | Umm?

  • Campfire Sessions — 22apr26

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    We haven’t sat for a while, them and I.

    At first, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I would go to the usual place, sit down and wait for the fire to light itself. It remained stubbornly unlit. Without fire to draw them, nothing was drawn. I might have taken it upon myself to light the flames but, in the strange rules of the place when it comes to starting fires, I am entirely ignorant.

    (more…)

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    Campfire Sessions — 22apr26

  • Episode 4: Elsewhen, Part 2

    Vengeance, My Heart is a work of serialized fiction. Jump to key story links to read earlier content.

    The dark within was unsullied by Dusk. It stood apart from the twilight standing without.

    The understanding was immediate and absolute. It came before her eyes drank in the faint bioluminescence rising from the stone walls beyond the entrance, casting a faint, ghostly cerulean into a dark that drank in light with a fullness. It came before the smell of water betrayed its location within the hollow space between the stone. The burden that rested on her neck since the shootout at the camp three or five days before, was simply absent. Not lifted. Gone — the yoke had never existed, never had been slung across her neck, never pushed her body to the ground.

    It was in stillness that she stood just within the threshold dividing the entrance between the gloaming and this new, fresh darkness, letting the feeling wash over her in waves.

    She crossed over in fullness.

    (more…)

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    Episode 4: Elsewhen, Part 2

  • casting runes — 21apr25

    mannaz
    with eyes returning
    to campfire's flickering
    old grey relations welcome
    back without performance
    to sit without a word to say

    sharp skull the tap
    wake up wake up
    he croaks today

    A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.

    Today’s rune is mannaz, a rune that translates to “man” in the sense of “humankind”. The rune is associated with family and the social order, and in trusting the intuitive process or seeing clearly — both from within and from without. Mannaz influences relationships of all kinds, including those of a romantic nature, and encourages compassion, for oneself as well as for others.

    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 — 21apr25

  • stones become doors

    strange days when a fiction
    confirms a reality and
    stones become doors in
    the heather on the heath
    and ravens give to crows
    on the edge of bedsheets

    there is not-song in head
    and not-fire between
    and everything's burning
    at the crux of the seams

    blink becomes stutter
    we give fat, we give bone
    we skin give to we

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    stones become doors

  • Episode 4: Elsewhen, Part 1

    Vengeance, My Heart is a work of serialized fiction. Jump to key story links to read earlier content.

    It was with an explosive frantic fluttering that the quail broke from the scrub, barely registered before the gun’s thunder broke the twilight calm, before any thought of the bird came to the fore.

    Only after the bird had dropped to the twisting shadows of the mesa, had the stranger known she had made a kill. There was no magic in the act, although it might have seemed so had anyone witnessed the event.

    (more…)

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    Episode 4: Elsewhen, Part 1

  • box

    too simple for words, and so
    i point towards the moon
    before gathering my heart
    folded into ink-etched bone and
    send it in a ribboned box
    to her

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    box