Large Fierce Mammal

Source here. Click to enlarge.

People really need to be careful of the tattoos they get put on themselves. Marking yourself with a character from an Asian language you don’t speak yourself, only to find out too late that it means something embarrassing, isn’t even close to being the worst thing that could happen. Some languages were never meant to be spoken by human tongues.

Who Ate Cock Robin?

By LFM

Dark and edgy, brooding, wafting airs of dark intent,
The way you dress, the words you speak,
Ne’er meaning what is meant.
The books you have on proud display
O’er one apartment wall,
All speak of darksome magicks
And you claim you’ve read them all.
Your fingers gleam with silver
Formed as pentagrams and skulls,
Their light calls to the edgy girls
As rotten fish to gulls.
And further down another mark,
For favoured ones to see,
The tattoo ’round your boyish pride’s
What sent its call to me.
A black cat drinking absinthe’s
How you see yourself tonight,
I see but a kitten that has had its last delight.
I’m that beauty in the corner you’ve been eyeing for an hour,
Now drink up boy and come along, you’ve something I’d devour.

“Society collapses as a group of animals exploit a sleeping pig by connecting a power grid to its snout. Watch as they deplete their resources and keep lookin’ cute while they do it!” ~ Pig

Welcome back Goode Pilgrim.

Tonight’s Dark Sentiment, Pig, is a short film that does what speculative fiction is intended to do — take a known set of circumstances and run with them through a cohesive tale to an outcome that you may or may not resemble. Best of all to my mind, notwithstanding its obvious environmental “to Hell in a handcart” framing, this film carries a stout dose of “fuck around, find out, and not learn a god damned thing”. Because there’s always another pig, right?
(more…)

Origami Demon Heart as presented in Fearsome Origami Devils and Demons (Click the image to enbiggen)

Paper as an element of expression is not limited to a simple passive platform for paint or ink, and tonight’s Dark Sentiment offers two delightful examples from that other fold — Origami. (more…)

Curiosity Shop, NemoArrigo (Source here)

It is a not uncommon experience among Writers to feel as though the words being put upon the page are being dictated from somewhere else. So it is with tonight’s Dark Sentiment.

A nonsense poem of sorts, Dudley’s Shop was written in a state of flow, exactly as you see it here, and while it contains manifestations of old time wisdom, I can offer no other meaning.

See if you can find any.

Dudley’s Shop

By LFM

Dudley runs an antique shop that is exceeding odd,
It has such things as spoiled the child — the very spare-ed rod!
The pot that watched would never boil, it hangs there on a hook,
Emblazoned with a label warning buyers not to look.

On the ceiling hangs a lantern, and the brilliant light it lends
Comes from but a single candle, burning fiercely at both ends.
There’s a peephole in a panel where a favoured few that tries
May find pleasure in the viewing of a sight that cures sore eyes.

Dudley even has a stable down the hallway past the loos,
Where a man to see about a horse awaits as you may choose,
And further back, a pen of swine lies through another door,
Every one for sale complete with pearls to cast before.

The barn cat’s even odder than the beasts it lies among,
Returned by scores of buyers with complaints it got their tongue.
The tree that stands beside the barn calls nearby dogs to song,
And those that do bark up it are invariably wrong.

Notwithstanding its fallaciousness, each dog that deigns to bay
Cries out in joyful knowing that it’s sure to have its day.
The place is built from trees cut five score years ago December,
The axe forgetting in the shed, though all the planks remember.

They creak their tales beneath the feet that come to browse the wares,
Through rooms where discontented men will find no easy chairs,
But discontent’s not Dudley, nor the horse behind the cart
And those rare days of his absence raise the fondness of his heart.

Widowed now a dozen years, the shop to calm his grief,
Dudley lives the promise that he made ere death’s relief,
So as when nothing’s broken there will be no need to fix it,
A promise is a promise however many times he licks it.

Sword, Pistols, and Teacup — James Reeve Stuart (1834 – 1915) (Source here)

“All this to bring us here tonight where no man is of a piece, unless that’s all you’ve left of him.” ~ Dark Sentiments Season 15 — Day 2: Authority

With your blood clearly still up from last night’s Sword Dance, I would be remiss in abandoning the saga of Donald McBane whose early experiments in “take your kid to work day”, examined through the lens of 20-20 hindsight, would be unlikely to win him a Father of the Year Award, in any time and place.

But that being said, we here understand there are times, and places, that fall into the sweet spot lying between “no other options” and “it seemed like a good idea at the time”. (more…)

Portrait of Donald McBane from his The Expert Swordsman’s Companion (1728). (Source here)

Tonight’s Dark Sentiment grew out of two inspirations.

This oft quoted witticism:

“Never give a sword to a man who can’t dance.” ~ Celtic Proverb

And the other, the life of Scottish soldier, prize fighter, Swordmaster, brothel keeper, notorious duellist, and all around self-made sonofabitch, Donald McBane (1664 – 12 April 1732), author of The Expert Swordsman’s Companion (1728).

The fruit of those aforesaid inspirations took the form of this poem …

The Sword Dance o’ Simon MacHugh

By LFM

Of all th’ auld Swordsmen auld worlds ever knew,
None was as fearsome as Simon MacHugh.
No blade ever pierced him
Nor worried him much,
For a blade canna pierce what a blade canna touch!

He would leap and then strike and then strike thrice again,
But a woolball o’ death to the enemy’s ken,
He’d dance his sword dance
To the pipes in his heid,
“Til MacHugh stood alone in a circle o’ deid.

Comin’ down to t’day’s this from Simon MacHugh,
If ye’d take up the blade an’ stand fast wi’ th’ few,
Th’ finest o’ steel
Stands nary a chance,
In th’ hand of a Man if th’ Man canna dance!

Now see to your footwork Goode Pilgrim. More on this subject tomorrow!

Found shared upon the internets. Whosoever shall rise up and claimeth credible right of origin shall be duly credited.

“Understanding and being able to recognize and avoid logical fallacies is helpful in everything you do, whether it’s an argument, not being fooled by advertisements or politicians, choosing a good teacher who teaches from a solid foundation, or recognizing whether what you are being taught is what you need to learn.” ~ Maestro Adam Crown, The Four Fallacies of the Apocalypse

At its fundamentals, democracy — exercise of power by direct majority rule — is not what is actually meant when people and politicians refer to, “Western democracies”, “Making the world safe for democracy”, or declare someone/something, “A threat to democracy”. If everything was up to a popular vote, nobody would have time for anything other than making sure they kept an eye on what everyone else was getting up to, lest one day a gang shows up at the door with a line like, “We all decided that Joe’s family would be more comfortable living in your house, but he wants your wife to stay.”

And so we have the version we know and love today wherein elected representatives keep an eye on what other folks are up to so you don’t have to, passing laws to legitimize their decisions, and thus ensuring that if Joe ever does come after your house and wife, he can get it all straight up and legal with justice both done and seen to be.

Now of course I’m laying it on a bit (but only a bit) thick with this example, but recent history highlights how ready people are, as they always have been, to demand level playing fields  and evened scores with a cavalier disregard for such pesky speed bumps as some people are just more hard working, talented, or genetically blessed than you. That rules of evidence, due process, and innocence until proven guilty are even a thing. A slippery slope greased with calls to cast aside the aforesaid speed bumps in favour of unquestioned acceptance of any narrative in which the alleged offense and demographic of the victim come from a select and unassailable subset. (more…)

Moon-phases by livinglightningrod. (Source here.)

There are those who live their lives, and would judge all others, by standards excremental (to paraphrase the Esteemed and Right Honourable Master At Arms James A. Keating).

Their mettle never tested, forever self-excused by the acts of others, their only measure of strength is relative to how far an audience can be drawn to stoop by the millstone of sympathy and misplaced atonement. Be not so base as to find reason in bowing to such is an abdication of responsibility for laying absolute claim to this title — Greatest Living Authority of Myself.

But as in all things, it’s one thing to see it, another to be it.

Authority

By LFM

No wise writ tome rides any shelf
By greater scholar of Myself
Than I, my deeds both foul and fair,
Their scars are solely mine to wear.

My dreams are sweet and ne’er impugn
What acts I’ve played before the Moon,
And choices made beneath her gaze,
She assures were but a phase.

Ignore the clutter. We’ve been busy. (Veritas 2024 by Deviantartist Firehead65 — Source here.)

Welcome back to our fireside, goode and weary Pilgrim, and this 15th Season of Dark Sentiments. Here, by the grim and unflinching Watchstone, we can take our ease, speak freely, and match observations with the utterances of those who would proclaim laws to have it otherwise.

We don’t cater to weakness here, nor do we sow the seeds of Fear except where its cultivation is necessary to yielding the essential ingredient in the Time Honoured recipe for Courage.

The world abounds with the granting — self or by what “powers” be — of unassailability, from which place of “safety” uncontestable “truths” may be hurled. Yet there are real, observable, predictable Truths, tried and tested throughout History, even as the aforesaid unassailable would uninvent the meanings of both, and any feelings you may have or come to have about the bearer of the lips that utter them has no effect on their veracity.

Our dedicated researchers do not shy away from picking pearls of Truth that mayhap gleam upon the slopes of otherwise steaming dungheaps, for they are Truths nonetheless, uncontaminated by the asshole that gave birth to them, even should it be mine. Shunning not the long hours of toil picking fly shit out of pepper with boxing gloves on; and know this Pilgrim, that when the whisky makes its rounds, cursed be he who insults the hand that passes it by wiping  the bottle’s mouth before drinking.

All this to bring us here tonight where no man is of a piece, unless that’s all you’ve left of him.

Now, onward into the darkness …

Our featured Artist weaving cordage from grass fibres in his (equally skillful low tech) element. (LFM Photo)

In these waning hours of September, the last few lengthening nights before the onset of that most blessed month of October, launch of the 15th Season of Dark Sentiments is breathing down our necks.

Eleven year old #1 Son Viktor is a young Man of many skills, and no small amount of self-propelled motivation to acquire and hone them. In but one field of interest, film making, editing, digital animation, and special effects, his powers grow daily. Pause a moment to view this experiment, resulting in a cinematic solution to a closet full of nothing to wear … (more…)