• returns

    muscle memory returns, slow 
    fingertips shredded to ribbons
    a smile on my face

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    returns

  • we stone

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    here we stone
    under her sun
    & feverwarm

    here we loam
    ruddy that leaf &
    deadwood

    here we stone

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    we stone

  • Brief and bass lives

    Bass and electric guitar
    Photo by Juan Montana on Unsplash

    I have been doing that dangerous thing called thinking and it revolves around getting back into making music again after a long spell away. All of this listening to postpunk/darkwave/synthwave/coldwave has gotten my brain tick-tocking (with the occasional disturbing click) and I very tempted to go out and buy myself a new, not piece-of-shite, bass guitar, lay out some drum machine tracks and go to town on writing a couple of new songs in that vein.

    Although I don’t know how many folks remember the Neddies (Ned’s Atomic Dustbin), but the thing that made them interesting is that they used two (2) bass guitars for much of their music. While I’m not looking for that Midlands 90s sound, I think it would be fun to steer things in the direction of old school postpunk with double bass guitars, one playing rhythm and the other playing the melody (think ol’ Hooky, especially with New Order where he played the melody while Bernie or Gillian sequenced the rhythm bass).

    I’m just realizing that the above two paragraphs might be complete nonsense to the uninitiated. But think! Think! How cool that might sound as long as you got the sound punchy enough so that both bass lines didn’t end up in the mud!

    Now plotting how to add a “good enough” electric bass to my collection of instruments…

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    Brief and bass lives

  • blind eyes close

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    gazing hand & shadow
    this bone, this muscle
    untouchable & tiring
    skinstained with night
    painted to stars myrkr
    heavy, they anchor
    a heart sent to slumber
    under wood & gloaming
    a kiss to blind eyes close

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    blind eyes close

  • sleepless

    sleepless hands crab & 
    clutch at taut muscles
    frozen long nights
    eyes seeking skies for
    the host on the ride

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    sleepless

  • Rewilding: An Inquiry

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash

    When I think too much, these are the kinds of thinks I think about. I would not blame someone for stepping slowly backwards after reading this blast of questions. [MR]


    What is the purpose of ritual? What makes it an apparent requirement for spiritual practice? Is it an actual requirement or is it perpetuation based on tradition?

    What is the purpose of ritual tools? Are they actually necessary to evoke/invoke spirits or deity? Again, are they perpetuated due to that hobgoblin, tradition?

    When you practice your beliefs (faith, if you prefer), to you go forth or call in? Do you seek to empty, seek to fill or is this a null question with a null response?

    Is it faith? Or is it gnosis?

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    Rewilding: An Inquiry

  • smudging space

    sage bundles in a pot for smudging
    Photo by Ginny Rose Stewart on Unsplash
    i smudge space most days
    inviting spirits to my smoke at
    campfires within indoor plains
    for no reason at all
    but to give them space to
    rest their weary before
    they carry on & then on

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    smudging space

  • A mercuric lake

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    I have many thoughts trapped inside my head. I cannot free them because they are thoughts without words to go with them, or the words that might go with them are inadequate to express those thoughts. Trying to express those thoughts feels too much like, as Alan Watts would have put it, trying to bite my own teeth.

    If I managed to construct those thoughts into something that could be understood, if I could find the words and unstop this mute mouth — would anyone read them anyway? I mean, really read. I am fairly certain that they cannot be words that can be heard, so I do not dare speak.

    I have for a very long time tried to personally touch these thoughts, hoping to better understand people who struggled in much the same way as I do now to express inexpressible thoughts. Now that I am on that path, I understand their struggle. There are no words, we need a new language altogether to get at the words needed to explain explain explain. Maybe, I think these thoughts can only be expressed sideways, with a slipstream sense.

    After I slip into the wilds, do you think you could find me? Would you want to?

    The buzz of insects over a mercuric lake…

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    A mercuric lake

  • two-twenty

    sunlight shining through old growth woods
    Photo by Simon Wilkes on Unsplash
    my body is my drum
    humming at two-twenty
    thumps per minutes
    from my thumb, terraforming
    my world before my eyes
    turning inside to see
    where everything is
    leaves and evergreens
    with buzz wing dragonflies
    dancing pastel skies
    slumbering in dream
    under a springtime sun

    hanging words on oak
    my heart bursts wide

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    two-twenty

  • hear her

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    fever head her
    birch song wind
    russet leaves dead
    sleet ticktaps pines
    as she stands strong

    hear her, hear her
    under the wood
    alder sap & painted
    hear her, hear her
    underdark
    underwood
    shadowsonged

    fever head her
    blackthorn pricks
    stone the river run
    river under ice
    and brambles strong

    hear her...

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    hear her