Greetings! Welcome to the Dragon's studio. Grab a cup of tea and some candy from the shop gnomes' bowl and stay awhile. Find out what we're doing today.
I am thankful for the warmth of the Sun, giving my world warmth, rising each day to drive darkness from our world and giving life to all things.
For some time I have ignored my faith, my spirituality, to devote my time and energy helping someone; and I was successful. They were alive for the sunrise. That gift was freely given, I hope they use it well.
But now is the time for my soul to come home, to become my center fire as the Sun is the center fire for our world, part of our Great Circle.
My gods wait for me, wait for me to do right, to live right, to love right. They want warmth and light for me, strength to do the tasks set before me; I have them and they have me, all of me. I feel the warmth of the Sun on me now, the divine in my life, I feel the gods in my family, in my children. It is good to be warm in the darkness, to feel a hand reach out for you when things are the hardest. When you are fighting for your very life, it is glorious to see the gods at your side, fighting for you as you fight for them.
"Grant me, my gods, what you still have; Give me what no one asks for.
I do not ask for wealth, Nor success, Nor even health.
People ask you so often, My gods, For all of that, That you cannot have, Any left.
Give me, my gods, What you still have. Give me what people refuse To accept from you.
I want desolation and suffering; I want turmoil and brawl.
And if you should give them to me, My gods, Give them to me, Once and fort all.
Let me be sure to have them, Always, For I will not always have the abandon To ask for them."
My soul has stopped slipping, I grip the barbwire tight, unafraid, and I begin to pull, to pull with my gods, to pull with my ancestors to pull as I am. I owe my soul a journey to the sea, to its origin, but not now. The time for that journey will come, and I shall watch the Sun set upon the water...whole.
"Strong is the souls and wise and beautiful. The seeds of godlike power are in us still; gods are we, bards, saints, heroes...if we will."
To be unafraid again, to embrace the light and warmth around me is an astounding thing, to feel life move back into my vessel...I do not fear death, only failure to live.
"To every man upon this earth, death cometh sooner or late. And how can man die better than facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods?"
I am ill, I am sorrowful, but the Sun rose today upon my family, upon my people, that all might feel the warmth and live in the light. Good times come and go, bad times come and go...the Sun will rise.
"Now, remember, when things get bad and it looks like you're not gonna make it, then you gotta get mean. I mean plumb, mad-dog mean. 'Cause if you lose your head and you give up then you neither live nor win; that's just the way it is."
The illness will not beat me. Darkness cannot take me, I will not fail my gods, my Ancestors, my people. I will dance in the warmth and light of the Sun, the Fire at the Center and be not afraid, celebrating all that I have, all that I am, all that life is.
There is something in the air. A half dozen attempts, a handful of "successful" attempts all in the last week. Hell, while I was taking one in tonight that I got lucky to have stumbled across, another couple I know brought in someone who had done the same thing, in the same way. This other couple is vaguely part of some of the same things we all are. It was so weird that I happened across the person I found and it looks like it was in time. I think the one that was brought in at the same time will be okay, too. For three others, known to people I know, there was no one in time. I have a lot of mixed feelings about that whole thing. Did I take someone's "right" away? Or was a higher truth at play? I don't think they meant to do it, but screwed up and got in too deep. It has been along time since I worked my feelings out with words; odd that I do so now. Things are always different after; I have seen it before. I hope nothing will be different on my end, but I have to face that it might be. On the person's end...who knows? Will they want to hide? I hope they will be okay. I really, really did not expect this tonight. I know I have wanted to myself, before. Hard times, fear, the extreme sort of pain like I am so often in these days... Sometimes I have just felt so valueless to myself and others that I thought it would be best. I wonder why everyone lately has done what they have done. For myself, I just keep muddling along too busy to actually do it, or too mindful of others or too much a coward to follow through. I sure don't want to right now, if anything I just want to feel more alive. I am alive, so are a couple others, people that might not be if folks in there lives hadn't cared about them in some way. Do I care enough about the people in my life? Did I almost lose someone because I didn't care? I don't know. I probably will never truly know, because that is the sort of thing you really can't know, can't know if they won't tell and probably can't know even if they do. My children are asleep now. They were worried about me tonight; they didn't hear from me because I was busy dealing with this other thing. They will understand. But will they ever feel like these other people did? Like I have? I hope not. I am glad I am alive, illness and all. I feel a little guilty saying that. Why? I don't know. But I am glad. And I am glad a couple others are, too. One I know well, and another I hardly know... But do we have to know to care. I have never thought so. The Sun will rise tomorrow and I will see it. Maybe its time for me to quit putting off my needed treatments and care enough about those that I might leave behind, the ones who care so much about me. Maybe they see something I don't. If I haven't told you I love you today, I am sorry; I do. I love damn near the whole fucking world and wish I could do something about what a lousy, fucked up mess it is. I don't even know if FB will let me say that. Why can't I do more?
I recently wrote this poem for Nos Galan Gaef, Samhain, Halloween, Third Harvest, etc. I don't really know what its reception has been so far but here it is:
“Thins the Veil”
The ever-fading embers glow, As the long cold nights colder grow. Each day, once given, now is sold, Once more our aged year is old.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
Summer’s warming passes from us. Autumn’s fires dancing vigorous. Winter’s chill coming quick as frost. Season’s now a bridge to life’s loss.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
The People roast the gathered corn, In the sky, the approaching storm. So much gained, this harvest we had, Bountiful plenitudes so grand.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
The winter’s crisp bitter wind speaks, Each weakness of our hearth it seeks. We embrace warmth closer and dear, Gnawing, nipping at us comes fear.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
Again, into this endless night, The moon rides without hope in sight, Great and swift rose the Heroes’ time. Wheeling, wheeling, count the crows climb.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
Feasting now on the wasting wealth, Leading later the slow death felt. As the year fades and the sun dies, Our labors and loves slow the cries.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
All our good work and hard won life, Clan and Family, Elder and Wife, Gathered here against the dark, Our trees’ and fields’ emptiness stark.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
But on this long night, now not alone. We have endured and will, as stone. Here we stay, this day and always, Waiting strong for the coming days.
The dark, cold and cruel, the flames pale… Between our two worlds, thins the veil.
The Time of the Hero is halfway done, with much of it seeming to be more the Time of the Villain for some. Good things are happening, as are bad things, which is often the case. I have found it hard for a long time to see the good things consistently.
I don't pray to the gods, nor thank them, for our belief is that only the selfish deities would want such a thing. But I have had the urge to at least acknowledge all that they do for me and my purposes. What they provide...
I am also grieving of a loss I can't explain. How the loss occurred, why I can't "suck it up...
I wrote my first inspired (not planned) poem in a really long time. Here it is:
Bottle of Blue
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, My cup filled again. Add ice and stir, A drink sweet and bitter.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. A dead man sings, Of lost love’s sting.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. Drowned with this drink, All hope sinks.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. As the bottom nears, Falls joy, only fears.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. The wheel turns, Gin and grief burns.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. I did not know, That was the last go!
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. Alone here in the dark, A canyon wasteland stark.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. Cold without flame, A life went before it came.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. So here I wait, Struggling with my usual fate.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. Tears in my eyes, Loud and silent I cry.
Bottle of blue, I sit with you. Green tea and gin, Fill my cup again. Bottle of blue, I sit with you.
I started on Facebook today. I have had the account for a long time, but started today to help support a cause I am involved with. There is a lot happening. I feel silenced about it all here.
In honor of a recent experience of one of our guys, I am making a list of catch-phrases and stupid statements of the season:
"That is soooooo Durango." Spoken in observational approval of a woman wearing cowboy boots with spandex pants by one of her peers.
"I am not playing any games with (fill in the blank.)" Spoken about every single thing that came up for a carpenter at the Mancos RenFair.
"We have a zero tolerance policy." Nuff said.
"Oh Geez, they have a little black kid on the team now." Spoken of Draco's first day at T-ball practice by another parent. FYI, Draco is not black.
"She speaks English, right?" Spoken of my 13th generation American wife whose only other language besides English is Classical Latin. She is working on a few others. She also teaches High School Math.
"So Draco is your black love child, right?" Spoken to my wife at the Las Vegas Ren Fair by a member of the guild we were sharing an encampment with.
"Are those Civil War flags? ...Tea Party Flags ...devil-worship flags, etc." The most modern flag we fly is from 1834, the rest are much older. Where can I find a devil-worship flag?
"You are from Delta? You know there is a Tea Party rally there today, right? Must be pretty important to you, right?" Spoken to my wife while we were at Crested Butte for a re-enactment, about a three hour drive. If it was so important, why were we where we were?
"Goddamn Mexicans... Look at that Mexican girl ... Stupid Latino, etc." We have not a single Mexican or Latino in the family. Not that it is a problem, we just don't.
"The Native Americans all spoke the same language and had the same customs." Nuff said
"Goddam red-n!ggers got their come-uppence and will again if they keep being uppity." Spoken to me as my wife approached our camp at an event. My wife is a quarter Lipan Apache. Speaker left quickly upon putting the proverbial "2+2" together.
"De donde es el un bano?" Asked of me by a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Liberal.
"You are not holding that bow right." Spoken to me after making three bullseyes in a row at a range of 40 yards at a turkey sized target, in the rain, with a longbow.
"I bet you look even better dancing without any clothes." Spoken to a couple of my girls by a man in his 50's after a dance performance at an event. Ultimately we let him live, if only so as to not have to fill out all that paperwork.
"Do you sleep in those tents?" Nah, we just store sleeping bags in them.
"Is that marijuana?" Asked innumerable times while we smudged with sage and cedar.
"You are all hippies, right? Got any grass?" Sweet-grass? Yes, I keep it with my guns, knives and cannon.
"I need to go feed my cat." See the recent blog.
"Is this a yard sale?" Asked of us each time we host a Home Festival
"Are you guys doing another event?" Asked of us when we actually put out signs indicating we were in fact having a yard sale.
"I am going to hide behind the target and pretend that I got shot." The arrows are 32", the target is 18" thick; good thinking there, David.
"I don't know why (member of the group) is mad at me." Burning gear, broken weapons, spoiled food, abandoned vehicles, drunken debauchery, cornering women in the dark, etc. Frankly, I have no idea why anyone would get pissed at any of these things.
"That booth camp over there with that woman that is selling something I think I can't remember the name I am supposed to say something nice about." Spoken while our crew and camp were being honored by the SCA "royals" (sweatpants and plastic crown, really?) at the Mancos Ren Fair.
"He doesn't know how to sword fight." Spoken of me after winning a series duel of twelve duels without being touched a single time, and after having defeated the speaker right-handed, left-handed, and then finally just disarming him and striking with both hands.
"This radio doesn't work." To which I replied, "Try holding the button down."
I actually might have something to write about today. If asked Friday night, it would have been a desire to relate the snobbish absurdity that was a paganny-bourgeois "artist's" reception and event. My girls danced, which was cool, a couple other performances were very cool as well. But, my goodness, the rest...
The "art?" Sure, a man killing a unicorn is nice and "dark," but is that the sort of "dark" meant by "dark." My understanding of English says that "suggested donation" means something optional and an assessment of what seems fair. Alas, I think that it is more of a Leftist vocab statement in which something doesn't actually mean what it means. Or, as Inigo would say, "I do not think it means what you think it means." The reaction from one attendee (all of which were white, expect me and two of my girls. We are not Mexicans, BTW) was, "Oh, jeez, look at that Mexican girl trying to dance." That gothapotamus was on a leash, thank goodness (and blind to boot, as all my ladies did great!) The favorite song of the evening was one exulting in having a "demon lover." Some of these things made me wonder if maybe the pentecostal thumper out front condemning us to hell may have a point. Of course, his understanding of his own faith, including the assertion that once you are "born again," you can never sin again, even if you rape, murder, etc, seemed a little stupid. No confession, penance or apologies required. All things being equal, he was less of a dick than the paganny people inside.
I could go on about bad art, worse poetry and everyone's Tim Burton group-grope fantasies but I have more important commentary. But on the poetry... according to some quarters, my poetry is garbage. But I ask this in return: is it better to be garbage, or brain diarrhea? Maybe from now on I can just write random "dark" babble down and actually be treated with just a little respect as an "artist."
I am glad I went to the event, despite being deep in the middle of my own event. I am glad the girls enjoyed it for what they could get from it. More power to the people holding the event, But $1500.00 for an Obama painting? Really? If you painted it because of a positive view of his election, why charge? To keep some poor redneck from buying it? All the "art" prices were stupid like that. That was a special kind of stupid.
Now it is time, however, to get back to what this day's blog is actually about...
We had an event, and it went pretty well. Lots of quality as opposed to quantity. Of course, we offer these festivals free of charge, no donations accepted (maybe a "suggested donation" shtick would up attendance numbers) and definitely not a potluck.
Not hosting a potluck is two fold: one, it is tacky and cheap, for Christ's sake just host the fucking dinner you cheap bastards out there. Two, people can't fucking cook, period. They make these cold, pasta, potato salad, taco plate, glop garbage that looks, tastes and smells like garbage. They may have raided several garbage cans on their way here and put the "treasure" in a bowl. People can't bake, they can't present, they can't fucking cook. In their arrogance, they of course can, because all special, intelligent people can cook, right? Yup, and everyone gets a gold fucking star, too. Stop trying to cook, just bring a bag of chips you kitchen hacks. Better yet, come to our events and you don't have to cook.
We can cook. The proof is in the pudding: what we cook, bring to the cheap-ass potlucks of others or otherwise put in front of people, gets eaten. A lot. No pudding left for me the next day.
But I need to get to the point of all of this.
If you are reading this, or looking at an event notice on a website or shopping one of our listings, you may have noticed something; you are using a computer. These are nifty contraptions, and with the internet, which come to notice it, you must be using as well if you are reading this, they become powerful purveyors and bearers of information. Stuff like dates, times, driving directions and more. They have things called clocks and calendars. Now, the down-side of these clocks and calendars, is that like the cell phone, these resources use a rigid structure of regular time awareness.
I would like to talk briefly of what is know as Pagan Standard Time, also know as Ren-Fair time or SCA time. Pagan Stupid Time makes no silly mundane use of an rational understanding of time, it simply requires doing stuff and meeting schedules when you "feel like it." Must be nice. However, myself and about 5 billion other assholes have shit to get done. Even if we don't use a clock or calendar, we know what tomorrow at sunrise means, right?
So showing up to an event 24 hours late means what? We changed the schedule? So it would seem and we are bastards, according to Pagan Stupid Time. Course the nifty thing about the non-violent paganny people is that they are so delightfully passive-aggressive in their behavior. Their faults are, as we all know, YOUR fault.
Pagan Stupid Time aside, assuming that we are bastards for not putting our event on a day convenient to the full-on Gardnerian (or worse an r-alexandrian,) when you RSVP for the correct day, you would think that indicated that you knew what you were doing. Such is apparently not the case. We are still bastards, we changed the day. It gets worse, for our already questionable reputation...
After going to the trouble of attending on the day of their choosing, gracing and blessing us with their presence, making an hour drive to come here...
When we pointed out that we had food, a fire still burning and activities going, things that they were welcome to go ahead and do despite blowing off what we hosted the day before that they had RSVP'ed for...
They had to leave 5 minutes after arriving, because they needed to go home and feed their cat, anyway.
They drove an hour one way. Took umbrage at our "changing" the schedule. Spurned our hospitality and ongoing, scheduled events of the day they actually showed up on...
Because they had to go feed their cat.
Feed your damn cat, before attending an event an hour from home, an event scheduled to take several hours. Feed your cat, first. It only takes a minute. Sure, it removes from you an option of probably the lamest passive-aggressive excuse I have had the misfortune to hear in recent time but the cat appreciates it and you sound less like a moron if you don't use feeding the cat as an excuse.
Just tell me you grandmother died, again, like you do when you call off for work six times a month.
Segregated by gender lunch and recess times at the Delta Middle School, because my children are too immoral to have friends or associations with, members of the opposite sex without turning into sex fiends.
Girls have to clean up the lunch room after the boys eat. I understand that amongst the bible-thumpers, the boys have no idea how to mop or wipe tables or take out garbage. I guess it is important to not over-strain their fragile little egos. Besides, girls are practically living trash anyway, right? Same reason they have to be kept away from the boys; they might corrupt some little mama's boy, just like Eve did.
Strangely, the teachers at Delta Middle school are some of the worst statist ilk, indulging in leftist propaganda programming. You think it would be one or the other.
It is in fact a crime to ride your bike, but only if it is to work and you are brown.
It is a crime to be brown, and it is obvious that you also can't speak English.
Most stores are happy to bump a white person up in the line ahead of a brown one.
Firewood costs $300 a cord, but only if you are brown and/or they don't know you and/or you are not their brother-cousin.
Customer service is only for white people, you only have to be friendly to white people and prices change based on your race and or creed.
People not from Delta bad-mouth the place, while doing exactly the same things to non-whites when they visit here. It must be in the air, because we all know Liberals are such tolerant people.
There are so many more, but I will stop with this one: it is not okay to be different here, even if you are a law-abiding taxpayer, friendly and helpful. It is however perfectly acceptable to be a violently disturbed old crank religious zealot who can physically and verbally accost anyone at anytime, anywhere.
Why live here? I could be sarcastic about this, but the fact is, it is about 1% better than the rest of the country. And I like the climate.
Music:Adagio in D minor, Bombastic Version, Sunshine
This is my first poem in about three years. Thus far it has been poorly received, but I have chosen to stand by it, on many levels. It is what it is. I added a couple verses and a proper ending, but it is pretty much what it was before, so I expect a similar reaction. It was, and still is, worth writing, and while it may not be of much value to others, it seems to have a very positive effect on me when I work on it or read it.
"They Come in Threes"
They come in threes, Forcing you to your knees. Matrons, Maids, Daughters of Death, Tearing from you your very breath…
They come in threes, The Lost Ladies, the Furies!
On the wings of ravens, Seeking dark blood, their craving. Coming now, coming fast, the flickering Flame, Ever wronged and never the same…
They come in threes, The Lost Ladies, the Furies!
Heads thrown back, sounding their screams, These haunting harridans more than bad dreams. These winged heralds of battles fought, Death songs in ecstasy, caring of naught…
They come in threes, The Lost Ladies, the Furies!
Servants of Morrigan, come these Ladies, Dancers of death, fierce guides to Hades. Every cut, every stab, blades darkened in glory! And the blood flows, lustful rage is this story…
They come in threes, The Lost Ladies, the Furies!
Striking fast, a tempest in the night, They feast on suffering, their victims’ last sight. Reveling now in the rising gore, The killing celebration warms their core…
They come in threes, The Lost Ladies, the Furies!
Embracing their rage and filling their need, Drinking their agony, this drink their mead. Their voices rising with destruction, Lost innocence bathing in full passion…
They come in threes, The Lost ladies, the Furies!
Cruel they dance, here with the Devil, Suffering once, now suffering’s call. Dancing this night to rend, bite, and tear Over the unrighteous they will fill the air…
They come in threes, The Lost Ladies, the Furies!
Know now why you fear the night, Why these terrors fill you with fright. In the darkness travels this pain, Suns not risen, never rising again…
They come in threes, The Lost Ladies, the Furies!
From the distance comes a tortured cry, The last thing heard before you die. They come not to me, only to you, Those whose punishment must ensue.
I was busy with wedding stuff, then had an illness setback, but I will do a little here today.
The wedding was the wedding, I hope I didn't do too bad of a job. Further comment on my part is not really relevant. I do care very much for both the bride and groom and hope goodness follows them all of their days.
Abby also had her birthday. which I hope had something special from her point of view.
We are working on the Home Festival coming up this weekend, making adjustments for the inclement weather. Abby, along with two of the other ladies, has a dance show at the end of the week.
Other than struggling with the illness, that is about it. I am going to submit an additional entry today, a poem, the first I have written in a long while. It was poorly received in other quarters, which forced me through some soul-searching concerning my art. I had destroyed what I thought was the only copy, but it turns out that it was saved by someone. I still destroyed it, but a copy was given to me. So I will post it, it is what it is.
Music:Adagio in D minor, Bombastic Version, Sunshine
I will miss tomorrow most likely, as I have a trip to Denver to deal with M&C withdrawal from the school there. Yesterday I went 22/35. Most of the day was pretty rough, but I finally sucked it up and put my grief and pain, morale-wise, away inside and turned the professional side on. I urge most people to make sure they externalize their pain, letting others share it to make it lessen. I wish the same were true for me. It just seems to work better for others if my pain is not noticed.
We had a rump session for the Guild and Temple councils, discussing the coming events, projects and next season. Turns out the info emails I send out just aren't read, so I may stop doing that.
We practiced the pike and shield drills in the front yard, freaking out the straights, including the caterer for the wedding who had to come by to get a phone number. I think he regrets doing a pig roast at the "place wit' all demms tents." The went well considering it was the first time for everyone who participated except Maddy.
I hate typing on this little keyboard on this laptop. I haven't heard from the computer place about my old terminals hard drive conversion. I will check next week if I haven't heard from them.
All this that I have been writing is trivia. Looking back at this and other blogs I have written, I think that there were moments of actually interesting writing. Part of that is writing when I felt like it, part of it was before the illness got worse, along with the worsening morale. Everything seems like ash in my mouth.
Maybe the day will bring some warmth and light to my darkness.
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