Large Fierce Mammal

Milo on sovereignty patrol, being vigilant even though we’re temporarily paused for a break. Nearly 15, mostly deaf, but everything else still works fine. Even if I have to be his ears, and with no aspersions cast upon the beautifully talented and long lamented Cinders, he’s still the best tracking Dog I’ve ever worked with. Click the picture to enlarge. (LFM Photo)

“Ticks are not new news, nor are they vaguely understood supernatural beings, and why what gets put out there for public education, even from “official” sources, veers more toward being lore than fact has always been a mystery to me.

“Here in Nova Scotia, the predominant Tick species are the Dog Tick, and the Black Legged or Deer Tick, and both are common in our own personal woods and environs. While any Tick is the repository of many a vile microbe, only the Black Legged Tick is known to carry the bacteria that causes Lyme Disease.

“As Spring approaches, the thoughts of those who frequent fields and wooded areas, and particularly of those who travel there with Dogs, invariably go to the dreaded Black Legged Tick. In truth, vigilance and precautions should actually be a 12 month practice. I have personally removed Dog Ticks from my Dogs in February after a day afield that never made it above -20 degrees Celsius (-4 degrees Fahrenheit).” ~ Ticks: Threat or Menace?

The veil between the realms of the living and the dead may thin to permeability on All Hallows’ Eve, but something many still don’t know is that Ticks are out there questing for blood all the year through, and they don’t care about no stinkin’ veils! (more…)

It will come as no surprise to you, Goode Reader, that I grew up with a voracious taste for the horror genre. Something I inherited from my Mother as a personal taste, but as such, a seed planted upon fertile soil. The advent of Hammer Films on the screen of Lunenburg’s lofty and creaky Capitol Theatre. was as a fever inducing anointment of my then still grey but steadily blackening soul. This was my first encounter with such notables as Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, in beautifully framed and bloody vampire tales that stood decidedly apart from the formulaic and, to my mind, tame products of Hollywood. An excellent encapsulation of this new Hammer reality is this by Chris McEneany from his 7 October 2006 Captain Kronos – Vampire Hunter Movie Review:

“Taking a fresh look at the genre and realizing, quite correctly, that Hammer’s vampires actually appeared quite unthreatening — they were extremely easy to exterminate, for one thing — Clemens decided to create for them a new mythology, one that enabled the race to have many varied offshoots. His vampires, for instance, don’t just drink blood – which they probably view as a mere appetizer – they suck the very life essence from their victims, thus ensuring their own youthful vitality.”

The rotating stable of buxom, albeit doomed beauties didn’t hurt either, and my boyhood libido enjoyed each as long as she lasted. There was always that one who was saved in the nick of time, and I admit that my imagination grappled with any thought of Cushing’s stately and deadly serious Van Helsing accepting, graciously or otherwise, any and all gestures of pulchritudinous gratitude in the time honoured genre of, “What can I ever do to repay you?” To the victor go the spoils say I! Who’s with me? (more…)

Ichabod Crane’s last ride. (Click image to enlarge) Source: https://www.history.com/news/legend-sleepy-hollow-headless-horseman

“An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones’s ghostly competitor had disappeared. “If I can but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe.” Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash,—he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind.

“The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master’s gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast; dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses’ hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin.” ~ The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

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What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! By Frederick Simpson Coburn (1899). Ichabod Crane walks home after an evening listening to ghost stories. (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ichabod_Crane#/media/File:What_fearful_shapes_and_shadows_beset_his_path_-_The_Legend_of_Sleepy_Hollow_(1899),_frontispiece_-_BL.jpg)

In this month of months, ancient and time honoured Faith, lore, and legend hold that the veil keeping separate the realms of the living and the dead grows thinner by the hour, its threadbare remnants strained to their utmost by the stentorian gusts that waxing, blow between worlds to crescendo upon the night called All Hallows’ Eve.

Hallowe’en — a night to doubt the senses and deploy graven gourds against things of ill intent. Not to be abroad lest you find your end like Ichabod Crane who was never seen again.

The current era’s pantheon of Hallowe’en participants includes every legendary monster that has ever sold a book or theatre seat. In Truth, what kept our ancestors in of an All Hallows’ Eve had nought to do with vampires, werewolves, zombies, or mummies from far off lands. Faeries though, looking to abduct the unwary by force or subterfuge, and the spirits of departed ancestors, once beloved, finding their way back to places and folk of dim remembering — what fell cravings may have gotten into them in their time on the other side? These were another matter!

It will come as no surprise that these concerns held their greatest sway in the days when to answer the call of nature was synonymous with a sometimes perilous pilgrimage to the outhouse. Commonly a solitary affair, notwithstanding the social nature of the enterprise implied by popularity of the “two holer” which, as everyone knows, was invented to control growth of the stalagmite in winter.

So here is some age old practical advice on Hallowe’en risk management, brought down through LFM family lore from both the Old World and the New. Ignore it at your peril.

What Gapes Invites to Enter In

By LFM

As sunset comes to hill and dale,
Familiar paths grow grey and pale,
So tarry not ere darkness fall
To sprightly heeding Nature’s call!

‘Tis but a trice from dusk to dark,
The timing’s all, these words pray mark!
Whatever urge may trouble thee,
Thy privy’s not the place to be!

Who nightfall finds in such a spot
Would best be served by chamber pot.
The smell may linger in the room,
But better that than certain doom!

So fill the crock or hold it in,
Cleave to love of kith and kin!
One never knows what darkling soul
May clamber up the privy hole.

What gapes invites to enter in,
What dangles, bait for drooling chin,
Forget not! Things with darksome goals
May hide their musk in privy holes.

Dismiss these words as worthless din,
Be lost for good to kith and kin,
Thy epitaph their only ken —
“Went to shit, not seen again.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, The Rider on the Black Horse, George Frederick Watts (c 1878)

When last we met it was to look at a world in panic at a steadily building sense of dreadful certainty that all would be snuffed out by something that had been noticed to occur at 75 year intervals and that at no point in recorded history had done anything but come and go with not so much as a, “By your leave!”

Certainly its appearance, and that of other celestial phenomena, had been misidentified as being of supernatural origins in times past, and omens for good or ill, but unless you or someone you knew fell down a well and drowned while gawking at such things, nobody had been killed or injured by their occurrence.

Tonight’s Dark Sentiment is a look at an existential crisis of global implication, the impact of which had no basis in how much anyone believed in it. One that had no discernible cause for most, yet plunged much of the world into great darkness, and winter in some places lasting years. A production of Timeline — World History Documentaries, our feature is Why Was 536 A.D The Worst Year In History? (more…)

Halley’s Comet as photographed May 13, 1910, by a wide-angle camera at Lowell Observatory, Flagstaff, Ariz., during the comet’s last appearance. A streak across the comet near the coma is a meteor trail, and not a scratch on the negative. Streaks at the bottom right are the city lights of Flagstaff Bright spot above the city lights is the planet Venus. (Source: https://www.space.com/11552-photos-halleys-comet-images-astronomy.html) Photo Credit: NASA/JPL

The longer I live and write about the experience, the more I find that without prior knowledge of what I was referring to or clues provided in the content, it’s possible for someone to read something I’ve written in the past and believe it’s about what was in the news this morning. For example, there’s this from March of 2013:

“In truth, most people really don’t understand the burden of responsibility they carry for their own safety and survival, and the commonalities that link every threat to life and limb. In truth, most people have accepted the idea that no matter what happens, all you need do is call ‘Them’ and ‘They’ll’ take care of it. If it’s bad, ‘They’ will figure out what to do about it. News flash – YOU are ‘THEM’, because when the shit hits the fan, and you are standing at ground zero, running away may not be an option. The time to get tuned in is NOW.

“Reality remains Reality no matter how angry that makes you, and one doesn’t need to look far for evidence that much of the population prefers to live as though things are actually the way they simply wish them to be. The assumption is that publicly funded agencies and organizations exist for the betterment and protection of individuals, which could not be further from the truth. The list of people to whom you actually matter is very short indeed, and if you’re, ‘… doin’ it right ….’, you know them all by name.” ~ Four Pillars and a Double Standard

And from October of just last year:

“This isn’t one of those bang and it’s over ends of the world like the Cold War going hot into nuclear Armageddon, the Y2K lights out as the last seconds of 1999 rolled into the first few of 2000, or the Mayan calendar running out in December 2012. This is one where even the Great Unwashed are not only blaming ‘Them’ for the problem, but now demand ‘They’ fix it. Or we’re all dead. Real soon.” ~ Dark Sentiments Season 10 — Day 7: You Wouldn’t Know the End of the World if it Bit You in the Ass

This doesn’t come as any surprise me, nor should it be for you. Human history has been fraught with bullshit, bullshitters, and bullshiteaters as long as there have been people to lead, follow, or kill out of the way. (more…)

Source: rustycagemusic.com

In the lead in to every Dark Sentiments season, I look around at the career path of some of the notables I’ve spoken of here to see what they’ve been up to, who did what to whom, living, dead, incarcerated, on the run. Those sorts of things. Tonight’s treat is a result of one of those expeditions.

I’ve previously exposed your indelicate sensibilities, Goode Reader, to the talents of the inimitable Rusty Cage, first in December of 2013 with Rusty Cage – A Brief Introduction with Knives, and again in May 2014 with More Rusty Cage. Tonight we’ll enjoy him again for a dark concert indeed, offered in no particular topical order or chronology.

At the end of the playlist we’ll move into the parts of Mr. Cage’s life and times that fall into the aforementioned, “… see what they’ve been up to, who did what to whom, living, dead, incarcerated, on the run ….” category of accomplishment, directly from the mouth of the horse. (more…)

This picture will have one effect at first sight, and another after you read the poem. Source: https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/486670303469336780/?nic_v2=1a3eMuz3P

Autumn Delights

By LFM

A timeless Autumn pleasure is a simple pile of leaves,
To toss and roll and jump in, filling chilly sweatered eves.

With nothing but a rake or two, construction is a cinch,
The higher heap the better, made more joyful by the inch.

A heap of leaves is pleasure pure to brighten and beguile,
Until some little bastard hides fresh dog turds in the pile.

Source: https://www.wbcsd.org/var/site/storage/images/wbcsd-covid-19-response-program/return-to-new-normal-employee-health-and-business-recovery/142911-8-eng-GB/Return-to-New-Normal-Employee-Health-and-Business-Recovery_i1140.jpg

Every societal upheaval gives birth to period specific terms. This is most commonly brought to the fore when soldiers return from war, and every major conflict births a dictionary all its own. But it doesn’t take a war. for as we will discuss today, the current world wide pestilential unpleasantness is societal upheaval enough for the principle to make its effects known.

Most of these have been previously little or unused constructs built of common words, and of these we now have “self-isolate” and “social (or physical) distancing” as commonplace examples. Some are initialisms like “PPE” meaning “Personal Protective Equipment”,  previously little used outside health care institutions and construction sites. And then there are insidious ones that speak more to social engineering than any motive to improve understanding. I posit that the most dangerous of these to enter into common usage in these troubled times is “the new normal“.

In its basic interpretation, this would refer to one leg of the Tripod of Life that governs all living things faced with a change of environment:

1. Adapt in place;
2. Migrate; or
3. Die.

Animals that are too perfectly specialized to their environment will only be able to adapt to changes in it when the changes are sufficiently gradual to favour an organism’s pace of adaptation and, ultimately, mutation. Too sudden and you get what happened to the Dinosaurs and entire Human cultures. Those creatures equipped to thrive as they range in the extremes common in northern climes will be seen to employ a variety of time tested methods ranging from food hoarding to being omnivorous, as well as growing a more comprehensive coat as a hedge against cold weather, and shedding it in Spring.

In Nature, we have animals and Human cultures whose existence is predicated on migration driven by cyclical changes in environment. Dry season to rainy season and back again. Summer through Winter and back to summer. All driven by predictable seasonal development of unfavourable climatic conditions bringing an attendant dearth of necessary consumables. A variety of this reality includes migration to the Land of Nod in the form of hibernation and other forms of cyclical dormancy.

And then of course, if you can’t do either of the first two, the third option is always open for business and speaks for itself.

In its current application, “the new normal” is anything but a realization of change with its attendant Natural imperatives. Rather, with the abrupt displacement of what was benignly endemic with a cacophonous pandemic, the term is a demand for acceptance in  perpetuity of a declared state of affairs, and as such flies in the face of the Natural drive of any animal, Homo Sapiens included, to not merely survive, but to thrive.

Modern society is not Nature so much as it is an intellectual construct loosely based on Nature with the sharp edges rounded off for a price. Its inhabitants, though, are demonstrably resistant to domestication, their brains and instincts, though slowed through disuse, little different from their cave dwelling ancestors for whom choice of response to a threat was governed by flight, fight, or an end in sight. Applying the laws of man to limit those options can lead to nothing sustainable, and anyone who holds a position of such empowerment as to take the helm of such a ship of fools and believably steer her to the Promised Land had better keep that in the forefront of his lizard brain.

Hop o’ My Thumb fools the Ogre into killing his own daughters. — Gustave Dore, Les Contes de Perrault, 1862

Hard times bring some to self-justify the most heinous of acts. A few even pre-position themselves for it as I have chronicled in the matter of a young technician I was once called upon to mentor:

“… in the midst of the long hot summer of 1981 the Halifax Police Department went on strike and night time in that city was a war zone. Anyone involved in any sort of security service was working round the clock, and in the course of the mayhem, a conversation occurred between my young friend and me about how thin a veneer civilization actually is. It was as we spoke on the subject that day that he revealed something of himself to me – that faced with not just a police strike, but a complete breakdown in all systems of government, law, order, and economy; removed of his access to work that might earn him an income as Canadians have come to know it, he would stalk and prey upon other people. He would take what they had as his own, eat their food, and if they had none then their pets, and if they had none of those, then he would eat them. It was clear to me that he had given much thought to this agenda, and revealed it to me with complete sincerity, clarity, and sobriety.

“I applauded his candour, and silently added him to my list of those who are to be killed on sight should the shit hit the fan as he described. Friendship, after all, can only be carried so far.” ~ Dark Sentiments 2014 – Day 20: An Aside About Cannibalism

Lore and legend abounds with tales of parents abandoning their children in forests as an alternative to watching them starve, and the apparently exceptional probability of the waifs encountering cannibal witches and man-eating ogres along the way. The work of grisly art that tops this very piece is one of the eleven Gustave Doré illustrations for Charles Perrault’s Le petit Poucet (Hop o’ My Thumb) as they appeared in the 1862 edition of Les Contes de Perrault (see HERE for more samples and a synopsis). (more…)