what does this stormwashed beach offer? let us toss bones, rattle teeth, carve our skin & slip with the undertow; what treasures we may find...
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is pertho, which has a disputed meaning and there is some indication that any proposed meanings might be based on a corrupted interpretation. The general consensus is that there is likely some relationship to ørlǫg (fate/destiny), luck/gambling or perhaps hidden knowledge.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
An interesting word came my way recently (I “collect” interesting words) and, while I understood the concept outside of the actual word, I didn’t know what it was called.
That word is “aphantasia”, a condition in which a person cannot visualize mental images, and it impacts up to an estimated 5% of the population. When you say “tree” they cannot conjure up a mental image of a tree when they close their eyes.
There is actually a spectrum of how well people can mentally visualize things:
She covers me in twilight aching, as filtered by summer leaves. Shadowed within shadows gloaming slips down, descends, pours over me.
Blind to consequence, she moves through the weald seamless, with feet drifting on wraith. A kiss on my grey lips passing, breath crisp to the taste and pale fingers linger mists on cheek before she wisps away.
I am wicker-bound by convention though the distance moves well beyond time.
Flint for my eyes, sharp, though always blind I must be. They scrimshawed my bones to mask the words from me. Lips set to suture, to trap my voice to me.
Waiting on the fires, mists’ kiss watching, twilight aching over me.
Now, Billy Bragg is a folk musician I do listen to. He wrote a classic tune for Minneapolis in the past few days as well. If you haven’t listened to Billy Bragg before, I recommend you remedy with that below.
When they came for the immigrants I got in their face When they came for the refugees I got in their face When they came for the five-year-olds I got in their face When they came to my neighborhood I just got in their face.
I will bear witness to terror I will bear witness to tyranny I will bear witness to murder I will bear witness to fascism.
For reference, a five-year-old was used for bait by ICE to arrest his father. They wouldn’t let the young boy go into the house, and then they took him to Texas with his father against judge’s orders.
An excellent, extremely talented WordPress writer that I am honored to number as one of my good friends is encountering some major hurdles involving her health and a radical, unexpected life change, both of which are increasing the symptoms of her chronic illness due to the related stresses.
If you have a moment, please go to Jenn’s site and read about some of the details of what she is going through. I know more about the details of the unexpected life changes that she is experiencing, but it is not my place to share that information.
She could use a crowdsourced solution if one is forthcoming, so if you know anybody who could help Jenn with her growing crisis or know where she might be able to find some assistance (funding, assisted living solutions, etc.) please leave your thoughts in the comments below (comments are turned off on her post, with good reason).
Please limit suggestions below to those “outside of the box” and please don’t offer up unverified “guesses”, no matter how well-intentioned. If you have solid answers those are always appreciated. She’s already tried to seek help from the more obvious and even some of the less obvious options, and has come up largely empty-handed.
Please feel free to reblog this post if you think your audience might be able to help out Jenn. The more people who know about what she is dealing with, the more likely a solution will present itself.
burning on the inside seeking cooling ground to draw this feverdream from head to stone
A rune poem, based on an Elder Futhark rune selected at random.
Today’s rune is kenaz, which has been translated as both “torch” and “ulcer” . It is conceived as symbolic of flame, which is the illuminated creativity as well as the source of purification/healing/cautery. Fire is a a source of transformation and unmaking as well as heat, passion and light. As an ulcer, kenaz can be associated with a fever or inflammation, perhaps a wound which requires healing.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
Just to provide a very short update as to the situation in Minnesota, nothing has meaningful changed here on the ground with the switching of leadership (sic) personnel. The only cool-down we are witnessing is the cool-down of rhetoric from a corrupt administration realizing they made an unforced error by demonizing Alex Pretti, who was murdered in cold blood at the hands of masked thugs in flak jackets and carrying military-grade hardware for exercising TWO of his Constitutional rights (freedom of speech and the right to bear arms, the second of which, mind you he never removed from the holster and was never in his hand during the altercation). And that rhetoric is even ramping up again. Why? Because the Trump minions (and toddler in chief, Dotard Donnie, especially) are incapable of keeping their mouths shut when the best thing to do is just shut up.
Don’t believe the hype when they say that they are trying to bring down the temperature. That’s bullshit. They’re doing anything but.
I feel like being more lighthearted today. Rather than write all kinds of serious words about my thinking on something, I am deciding to post a “just-for-fun” question to see if anyone is interested in a little mock game of truth or dare. Use one of the off-the-cuff examples below to answer my relatively absurd question, or come up with your own response. Please note, they are all not obviously standard responses to the question. Try to keep it in that spirit if you come up with something different.
Which is sexier in your mind?
A tome of dusty old words largely lost to the vagaries of time?
A score tucked into a sealed plaster wall from a dead composer that was never recognized for their genius?
Petals floating by on a slow-moving stream in a snow-covered landscape?
Poetry whispered into a dark room with an audience of one lonely ghost?
Fangs of a vampire resting on your skin, but not quite breaking it?
Or something entirely different from the above? Be creative, be nonstandard.
Just curious what folks decide and come up with/decide upon. There is absolutely no motive aside from that. The only condition is that it must actually appeal to you when you post in the comments if it isn’t one of those suggested.
Either admit one sounds appealing (Truth) or propose your own. If you Dare.
