Large Fierce Mammal

One imagining of The Wild Hunt — Click the image to enlarge.

The Winter Solstice occurs at 18:23 Atlantic Time tonight. After that, the nights get shorter, the days longer, and you should curb your enthusiasm because most of the parts of Winter that will kill you haven’t happened yet.

In Elder times this was Midwinter’s Night, and while I understand the meaning, marking the longest night of the year and the start of a long slog toward Spring, from a climatic perspective, my Canadian Winters are saying, “‘MIDwinter?’ Hold my beer!”

This was the night the Wild Hunt went forth, exactly who they were and what they were hunting depending on where and when you were when you asked. We’ll get further into that as we progress through these ten days of A Long Winter’s Night.

To kick things off, here is a suitably raucous poem.

The Ride is Nigh!

By LFM

Hark! The horn! The Ride is nigh!
Hounds and Huntsmen rend the sky!
Sling your hanger! Don your furs!
Join the fray! The night is Hers!

Shun ye not the Elder Way!
Fie!  The hearth’s where cowards stay!
Harken to their raucous call,
Frigg, Odin, Ravens, Wolves and all!

No matter what the hunt pursues,
This night’s for saddles, not for pews!
For quarry brought from chase to fare
A lusty feast for all who dare!

Lee Miller in the bathtub of Hitler’s Munich apartment on 30 April 1945, literally and symbolically washing off the filth of Dachau her boots have left on his mat. Click to improve the view.

“How they set it up. She cannot be shown nude (this is LIFE, not Man Ray); a figurine on the table does the trick. In front of the bath, her combat boots, ‘the dust of Dachau still on them’ according to Scherman. And at the back on the left, the portrait. It is a voodoo gesture, the sort her Surrealist friends would approve of, an all-American blend of sass, violence and sex. Nuts to you Führer! I am naked in your bath with my Jewish lover, we are taking your picture’s picture, we are stealing your life-force. The date is April 30th, 1945. In a bunker under Berlin, Hitler places a gun to his head.” ~ Lee Miller in Hitler’s Bathtub, The Economist, photograph by David Scherman

Elizabeth “Lee” Miller, Lady Penrose, was born exactly 50 years before me, on 23 April 1907. Beginning her career as a New York City fashion model in the 1920’s and ultimately moving to Paris in 1929, she came to realize her gifts and passions lay behind the lens. This article is festooned with links that will aid you, Goode Reader, in getting a grasp of the Life, indeed Lives, of this remarkable Woman, and I encourage you to explore each and every one. (more…)

“The war brought front of mind that sense of patriotism that was fundamental to his nature.

“Cavalcade had been the most overt and sustained expression to date. At the end of it the heroine, Jane Marryot, gives her toast to the Future — as she has done through the decades we’ve shared with her in the play …

“‘Let’s couple the Future of England with the Past of England. The glories and victories and triumphs that are over, and the sorrows that are over, too. Let’s drink to our sons who made part of the pattern and our hearts that died with them. Let’s drink to the spirit of gallantry and courage that made a strange Heaven out of unbelievable Hell, and let’s drink to the hope that one day this country of ours, which we love so much, will find dignity and greatness and peace again.'” ~ The Noël Coward Reader

The song I have for you today was written by Noël Coward in the recovering years following World War II, from the perspective of one who had lived through it and knew its travails firsthand. From my own, it could have been written last week with its applicability unfettered to any particular western nation. (more…)

This picture has been all over the internet lately, purported to be a photo of a Spitfire about to tumble a Vergeltungswaffe 1 (Vengeance Weapon 1), AKA V1, AKA Buzz Bomb, AKA Doodlebug. While it is a perfect depiction of a manoeuvre performed by RAF pilots during those dark times when the V1 “buzz bomb” raids were being launched against targets in England, it isn’t a photograph. Rather it’s a black and white detail taken from the beautifully rendered piece of digital art titled “Tipping Point” by Australian Artist Mark Donoghue. The uncropped original colour image is below.

All this being said, the widespread confusion over its origin does not diminish the Truth of what it represents — an undeniably intrepid moment that was played out over and over at no small risk to those who went cheerfully forth to pull it off. Before going forward, here is an actual period photograph that, while less artistic, is no less dramatic. (more…)

These pumpkins were personally selected, hand carved, and photographed by the incomparable Mrs. LFM. There hasn’t been an evil spirit hereabouts since they went live a week ago!

Well Goode Reader, as we say, it’s been swell but the swelling’s gone down. It’s time for swelling of another sort as tonight marks the 10th anniversary of the blessed Hallowe’en in 2008 when the Whynacht and Kleszczynski Clans merged to build a new dynasty. You should all be grateful we don’t hold with that hyphenated surname nonsense.

We would like to thank you all for coming and express our sincerest hopes that even the worst of you survives to meet here again for a repeat of the revelries next year.

In the spirit of short and sweet, I’ll leave you with an animation of Mrs. LFM’s handiwork in the form of a GIF she likewise created for your edification on this night of nights. Bon courage!

Enfant terrible Orson Welles was hereby adjudged to be a bit of a shit, but he got over it.

On the night of 30 October 1938, channel surfing took a turn for the dark side. If you were listening to Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy but decided to skip the commercial break by tuning to their rival station, you stood a good chance of landing on the infamous Orson Wells broadcast of War of the Worlds.

Unprecedented at the time, the show was scripted to provide what sounded like standard programming that came to be sporadically and increasingly interrupted by realistic newscasts from ground zero of a Martian invasion. Even better was the sombre address to the nation by a presidential sound-alike. (more…)

You will recall that things veered toward the Classical back on Day 22, and that was so much fun we’re going to do it again.

Tonight’s Dark Sentiment is the story of a young man’s destiny. When Oedipe (Oedipus … yes, that one)  learns it’s to kill his father and marry his mother instead of his girlfriend, the poor lad is beside himself. Literally, as it turns out. The situation is further compounded by the fact he has no idea who either of his parents are. Hilarity ensues. (more…)

“De parabel der blinden” (The Parable of the Blind) by Pieter Bruegel the Elder, 1568. “Let them alone: they be blind leaders of the blind. And if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch.” ~ Matthew 15:14 (KJV)

“To be a Man possessed of Masculinity, experiencing the near daily necessity to engage in social intercourse or commerce with the unschooled males abroad in the land today, is to know the reality in the spirit of the other of what, “… feels inherently unreal ….”. To be unsurprised at a society proclaiming the necessity to “redefine” what it means — or more accurately should mean — to be Masculine when those uttering the proclamation never knew what it meant to begin with.” ~ Masculinity is a Guided Hunt

Tonight’s Dark Sentiment was originally intended to be part of my musings on Masculinity. In fact, I concluded our last conversation on the subject with the quote above, and the promise that my subsequent offering would, “… highlight the first of two, regrettably not so exceptional, examples of Masculinity lost in the wilderness wherein the blind but well meaning were called upon to lead the blind.”

I am, if nothing else, a Man of my Word, but I must tell you tonight that up to now I have been unable to deliver on that particular promise. The reason — it’s hard to write when you’re blisteringly angry. So this is finally being released, as far as I can release it, and while I customarily recommend a libation to pair with my servings, all I can suggest tonight is the thickest oven mitts you have available. Winter, as you know, is coming, and I am far from done with this offal. I therefore beg your indulgence.

So tonight I would present the figurative head of Will Leitch on a figurative platter … the matter of sports writer Will Leitch in his ineffectual travails as the sperm doner in the creation of father of two sons. By now, I would expect that the lower case “f” will not be lost on you.

Will Leitch eloquently turned his confusion at the meaning of Masculinity into an article published to The Cut under the title I’m not sure what to think about what my dad tried to teach me. So what should I teach my sons?

The piece begins, as you might expect from the title, with a recounting of the tale of what happens when a decidedly adult instrument is misapplied in an attempt to orchestrate a Rite of Passage. This is typical when the Mentor comes to the task of Mentoring cognizant of the goal, but absent personal knowledge, or even interest, in the chosen instrument, its application, and its actual meaning in the context of achieving the aforesaid goal. (more…)

I occasionally reveal some aspects of my childhood and upbringing here with absolutely no intention of ever actually explaining myself. As to that, Goode Reader, neither should you lest you find out the hard way that self-justification serves no purpose in a fulfilling Life.

No, I believe it better to leave the Great Unwashed stuck forever in tentative quandary wherein, when it comes to you, they lack the coordinates to find the dividing line between getting kissed or killed.

Tonight we will attend five obscure interviews with an equal number of persons of note, the creativity of whom should be well known to all assembled here. This is brought to us by Blank on Blank, which you should not stop here in exploring to the utmost. When you’re done here, sally forth and plunder their YouTube channel here. (more…)

“Like picking fly shit out of pepper with boxing gloves on.” ~ My Father, Lawrence Whynacht, in describing something that was very painstakingly difficult to do.

Day 10 of Season 6 of this series was titled What Died?, which you can experience by clicking the title. You will learn how the study of human body decomposition presents clues in aid of forensic investigation, and how far those who study death will go to find the Truth.

Tonight though, we’re going to look at another side to the puzzle — whether or not the cause of death is suspicious, mundane, or even identified, there are people charged with the task of finding out who the deceased was in life and who to notify about his or her death. (more…)