Large Fierce Mammal

Shit Storm (Source: Linkedin.com)

I long ago adopted the policy of placing gravity on outcomes and not on what people say about their involvement in them. I recommend you start doing that too.

Another thing I adopted long ago was a sensitivity to how often I’m provoked to say, “Welcome to Canada — The country where nothing is ever settled”

This season of Dark Sentiments finds us in the midst of some inquiries into assorted Federal Government shenanigans. The inquiry into the 2020 mass murder of 22 people here in Nova Scotia, another into what level of justification or legal authority the Federal Government had to invoke the Emergencies Act as a measure to clear elements of the Freedom Convoy out of Ottawa, and of course review and public testimony in the leadup to the vote on Bill C-21 (the Liberal government’s much hyped “update” to the nation’s firearms laws).

A Liberal preacher of doom
Took a gun owner up to her room.
They argued all night
As to who had the right,
To do what, and with which, and to whom.

By all appearances, the propensity of this Federal administration to act as though keeping the hooples in line is the primary purpose of government, leveraged by law enforcement both willingly and unwillingly, is at the root of all three processes, and runs the risk of not casting anyone involved in any official capacity in a particularly favourable light. A rolling buck gathers no blame. (more…)

Lunenburg Academy near sunset in Autumn 2012 (Mrs. LFM photo)

“I attended elementary school at Lunenburg Academy, a massive, brooding, castlesque pile completed in 1895 on a windswept hilltop in Lunenburg, Nova Scotia. The school grounds are bordered on two sides by the Hillcrest Cemetery, and my walk to and from school passed first in front of the local funeral home before following another two blocks along the border of the oldest portion of the town’s largest burial ground. Once at school, for a child with a powerful imagination, a simple trip to the bathroom was an adventure rivaling anything Tolkien wrote about taking place in the Mines of Moria, the washrooms lying as they did deep in the lonely creaking bowels of the Academy’s basement so far from any hope of salvation.” ~ Musings as Hallowe’en Approaches

Lunenburg Academy retired from being an active school in 2012 to pursue other ambitions and generally spend more time with her family.

Lunenburg Academy

By LFM

The Lunenburg Academy
Stands tall on Gallows Hill,
And at its feet lie all the graves
The town has come to fill.

A solemn place as graveyards are,
But not a silent one,
For graves that watch the schoolyard field
Where children play and run.

A lovely balance, I believe,
To start and end a story,
Where children take their lessons by
Their own memento mori.

The concept of Armageddon isn’t an invention of nuclear armed modernity. For those of us whose formative years were incubated in the warmest parts of the Cold War, Armageddon in those days looked like a short, sharp, war not unlike the one so recently ended back then, but that played out not in the span of six long years but in hours. Here in Canada where no family was untouched by the horrors of World War 2, the man-made geography of bustling cities, limitless black ribbons of highway and railroad spanning the country coast to coast, pristine homes and gardens, had weathered the storm of the conflict unmolested by enemy action, even as the population swelled with returning soldiers, sailors, airmen, and assorted other Canadians called abroad who knew first hand what post-war Europe looked like. Sounded like. Smelled like. Felt like. Everybody knew what had happened twice in Japan. They also knew that the means to that end was in the sole possession of the Unites States of America.

Nobody in the game thought that imbalance of power would last forever, or even particularly long, and even after the Soviet Union got into the business, the general belief was that even a nuclear war would be winnable in the traditional sense of granting overarching supremacy to the victor. (more…)

Source: Tasting History with Max Miller

Cultures the world over have funeral customs involving food. Food for the dearly departed to take on his or her journey into “the afterlife’, and of course food for those left behind.

Relevant recipes abound and some funeral services will even provide suggestions for the menu.

In these parts, and setting aside the still uncommon but growing interest in wakes, a traditional funeral involves a viewing of the remains combined with personal extension of condolences to the bereaved, attendance at graveside for the interment which may or may not be restricted to immediate family and persons of special significance, and at the end of it all, a reception. More recently, this has undergone a slight change with the funeral attended only by family and invited guests, followed sometimes weeks later by a “celebration of life” where people talk to the assembled guests about how the deceased person affected their lives (always for the better in such a public venue) and otherwise tell entertaining tales about them. Both the traditional reception and the celebration of life share one commonality — That’s where the food comes in. (more…)

Der lästige Kavalier (The Irritating Gentleman), 1874, by Berthold Woltze

It was long enough ago that I can’t remember when I started referring  to them as “Fruit Flies”, but it’s become part of the LFM family lexicon. They’re males, generally older but on those occasions when not, youth is mixed with social ineptitude yet no lesser amount of self-entitlement, and I commonly find them buzzing incessantly around attractive women, working alone, who find themselves trapped behind the counter of a convenience store or gas station. Merrily equating politeness with interest, they step aside when a customer comes in to pay but in that way suggestive of merely temporary disturbance from their rightful perch. I have put the run to a few over the years. (more…)

“The Hatpin Peril” Terrorized Men Who Couldn’t Handle the 20th-Century Woman ~ Smithsonian Magazine

“The thorn defends the rose, yet it is peaceful and does not seek conflict.”

As you will surely know Goode Reader, I make little attempt to keep my appreciation for cold steel and those who deftly wield it any kind of a secret around here. Tonight, please join me in revisiting a representative rhyme from years past to season the pan, as it were, for a lively ditty from none other than Elsa Lanchester. (more…)

“The Watchstone” (LFM Photo — click to enbiggen)

In the spirit of Stonefall, tonight’s Dark Sentiment reflects on another case involving rocks moving around with outside assistance, mixed with a little imaginative historical interpretation.

The actual stone on which this is based, pictured above, is the largest of a small cluster of “glacial erratics” — stones picked up by advancing glaciers in the most recent ice age and later dropped when melt released them as global temperatures warmed. Depending on the type of stone and its resistance to rough handling, “The distance of transportation may range from less than 1 km (0.6 mile) to more than 800 km (500 miles)”. These erratics can be quite enormous, the one in the picture standing approximately 2.4 meters (8 feet) at its highest point being far from the largest I’ve seen.

Now, oh learned and Goode Reader, mindful that when you watch the stone long enough, so too does the stone watch you, I invite you to consider tonight’s offering.

The Watchstone

By LFM

By a ruined road through forest lands,
A boulder called the Watchstone stands.
Who named it that is lost to ken,
In all the years to now from then.

Now solemn Hemlocks hold their sway,
They know the tale but cannot say,
The oldest crone is far too young
To understand their Hemlock tongue.

Who stood this watch that named the stone,
O’er bawling ox and cartwheel groan,
Along this road now gone to dross,
Long overgrown and claimed by moss?

But men forget how short their day
To stones that came from leagues away
In icy age now long agone
That knew the mighty Mastodon.

No answer carries on the breeze
From stones that came before the trees.
The oldest crone is far too young
To understand their granite tongue.

Source: exurb1a

About Exurb1a

Exurb1a likes fiction with a metaphysical backbone. He enjoys trying to write that kind of stuff himself.

He also runs a subpar YouTube channel of the same name.

His words, not mine.

We’ve previously met our feature artist only yesterday in Thoughts From Your Deathbed. Tonight we’re going back. (more…)

Persistence of Memory, 1931 by Salvador Dali

Money’s like a crop that can
Be sown and reaped anon.
Time is as a bottled dram,
That, once it’s drunk, is gone.

~ Waste Not Your Dram ~
(Excerpt)

Pissing your life away and regretting it in your dotage is a recurring theme in both art and life. (more…)

Mrs. LFM photo

In past seasons I have written here of such Dark Sentiments as True Love, how to tell when it is, and its perils when unrequited. You can roll around in some samples from this list of links:

• Dark Sentiments – Day 28 (True Love)
• Dark Sentiments Season 9 — Day 21: When is Love “True”?
• Dark Sentiment Season 9 — Day 25: Unrequited Love

Even as these are essential reading for the budding Men Mrs. LFM and I are rearing, I posit Fathercraft to be a Dark Sentiment in a realm of its own as it contains all the aforesaid elements and such other non-trivialities as previously spoken of in Dark Sentiments Season 7 – Day 16: The Magick of Words, Dark Sentiments Season 11 — Day 30: Immortality, and Courage, to name but a few. (more…)