Large Fierce Mammal

Grim. My personal favourite. And no, I didn’t pose for this.

Abomination Imagery is the name of the internet platform from which the visual manifestations of the nightmarish imaginings of Bahrull Marta are launched upon the world.

Of the Artist himself, his website has this to say —

Photo by Kent Wahlbeck

Bahrull Marta is a self taught artist from Jakarta, Indonesia. His first published work was digital photo editing for metal band Funeral Inception – H.A.T.E album records back in 2008. He started the art journey when he was in college, exploring in various medium and techniques through the years from digital photo manipulation to mixed media painting. His personal artworks are describes as abstracts, dark nuances and distorted figures and portraits that are layered in textures. He is also known as Abomination Imagery for his design studio in heavy music artwork as an album cover artist. His artwork has been published in album covers, art books, magazines and exhibited in several galleries.

From Mr. Marta’s extensive portfolio, tonight’s Dark Sentiment is a selection of some of his work that has particularly spoken to me, drawn from the darkest places of superstition, religion, depravity, and madness. (more…)

Tonight’s Dark Sentiment, Les Liens de Sang (Blood Ties) tells the tale of a family ruled by the deviant sexual demands of a domineering father, a young girl’s birthday, and the gaining of freedom through the efficacy of a wish made at the blowing out of candles.

This animated short film released in 2014 won the Design/Look Development Award at the Animex International Festival of Animation & Computer Games at Middlesbrough in Great Britain, and Best Young Production Award at the Animago Awards in Germany.

Vibrantly animated and rife with symbolism evocative of all that is hidden and horrible, this may take more than one viewing to appreciate. (more…)

Image source https://i.etsystatic.com/12243607/d/il/52ecd0/1314714472/il_340x270.1314714472_8sli.jpg?version=0

“Tare” is the weight of an empty vessel. That should be all you need to know to understand the intent of its use here.

Weighing Out the Tare

By LFM

As day begins, the Warrior doth lay his weapons out,
Then, unaccoutred, stands he there, whilst cleansing soul of doubt.
His code, his tools, he promises, whilst weighing out the tare,
That when again they find repose, no stain will any bear.

~ Dark Sentiments 2015 – Day 11: Weighing Out the Tare ~

The poem you are about to read is a “Rite of Passage” tale, loosely based on personal experience. It began to take shape one day walking and talking with my oldest, then four year old, Son Viktor in our woods in the deep heat of the summer just passed, and only coalesced in recent weeks. (more…)

Much has been written about revenge, most of it absent understanding of its unfortunate offspring — what our ancestors knew as a blood feud. A thing to be avoided, at nearly — nearly — all costs. To avoid such a calamity is to find a way to at least somewhat peacefully absorb an offense of lethal enormity, or kill every man, woman, and child of the transgressing party leaving no one to reply.

To illustrate, some of you may find yourself singing this delightful campfire song that, while delivered within a fictional world, is based on an amalgam of historical events. (more…)

Octavia enjoying some down time, as much as Spiders can enjoy anything. (LFM photo)

Tonight’s Dark Sentiment is a story of rivalry, violence, voyeurism, and post coital carnage.

It began on the night of the first day of September this year when I was entering my porch and a flurry of movement to my left caused me to pause and investigate. The movement was two male “Cross Orb Weaver” Spiders (Araneus diadematus) engaged in what appeared to be a territorial dispute. One was facing up the wall, the other down, and the one uppermost kept charging in only to end up, after a brief flurry of blows, retreating back the way he’d come. The lower spider seemed unwilling to move far from his position and only after observing the attacking contestant making at least a dozen passes at the defender did I realize why — a female of their tribe was hunkered down in a corner under the clapboards not far behind Mr. Stand Your Ground, feigning indifference.

Yes, it was that kind of fight.

The fray showing no sign of ending soon, and having more pressing matters involving the outcome of my own mating pursuits to attend to, I left them to it. By morning, the female was still in the same position, the defender now poised very close to her, still facing out as though standing guard. Of the other contender there was no sign. Victory, of sorts.

You see, I knew something he didn’t know (spoiler >>>here<<<).

And so it came to pass that I found his corpse in her larder a few days later. Not having observed their actual copulation, I have no idea when it got there, but I stand witness to how hard he worked for it. As for Octavia (not her real name), she hung poised and resplendent, head down in the middle of her freshly woven web, the day I formally introduced myself and pointed her out to Mrs. LFM. Her Spiderness didn’t take it at all well, and even with my pointing finger two feet away, the spirited minx canted her body in my direction, raising both foremost legs in that manner bespeaking “GFY” which, for clarity, does not mean “Good For You”.

As of tonight’s writing, Octavia is still out there, nightly setting up shop not far from the outside porch light that I leave on for her convenience. She’s never there long before something tasty gets attracted by the light into her web. And she’ll keep doing that until she lays her last clutch of eggs, and the frost kills her. Hopefully in that order.

The long nosed hag of legend. (Public Domain)

Most of you will be familiar with the name “Baba Yaga” from the movie John Wick where it’s incorrectly offered as the Russian equivalent of “boogeyman”. As much as we enjoy Keanu Reeves in the title role, if John Wick is your only point of reference in navigating the realm of Slavic mythology, you’re missing a lot, beginning with the fact that, like Eowyn in Lord of the Rings, Baba Jaga (pronounced, and commonly spelled, “Yaga”) is no man. The name of Baba Jaga varies throughout Slavic cultures, but the Polish spelling uses the “J”, and being Polish by marriage, I’ll stick with that whenever I write it and am not quoting anyone else who spells it differently.

Researching the name of Baba Jaga /Yaga will lead the casual observer to conclude that She is a Russian phenomenon, but She inhabits all areas of Slavic influence.

“Baba Yaga is considered one of the most intriguing characters from Slavic mythology. As ambiguous as she is hideous, Baba Yaga has been described by scholars as an anomaly, both a maternal, mother-nature figure and an evil villain who enjoys eating those who fail to complete her tasks. Though the origins of her name are as unclear as her purpose tends to be, it is believed that baba means something akin to “old woman” or “grandmother”, while yaga has conflicting theories of meaning ranging from “snake” to “wicked.” Regardless, even Baba Yaga’s name emphasizes the strangeness of her person, making her an interesting character to decipher.

“The most common portrayal of Baba Yaga is as either one old woman or a trio of old sisters, all of whom are depicted as skinny, with iron teeth, and noses so long that they touch the ceiling when they sleep.” ~ Baba Yaga, The Confounding Crone of Slavic Folklore

This short documentary should serve to introduce our Lady of Mystery. — (more…)

While brilliant, tonight’s Dark Sentiment isn’t quite so uplifting as yesterday’s. In fact, one might say, quite the opposite for some of its characters.

Written and directed by Polish animator, illustrator, and director  Tomasz “Tomek” Baginski, and released in 2005, Fallen Art is set against a backdrop of decrepitude. As described by production firm Platige, of which Tomek Baginski is a Director —

“It’s a war story with a big dose of black humour that required a form lighter in tone, with a more tongue-in-cheek look of the characters and their environments. The music plays a very important role in the short. “Asfalt Tango” by the Balkan band Fanfare Ciocarlia facilitates the transition into the world of weary soldiers inhabiting the abandoned military base. Rafal Wojtunik was responsible for the visual concept of the movie.”

To enhance your viewing pleasure, I would suggest decanting whatever you feel pairs best with the acceleration of gravity. (more…)

Viktor (L) and Lukas (R) cheerfully pose at the end of the expedition that inspired today’s feature. The Ravens declined to be photographed. LFM photo.

“I have always felt a comradeship with Ravens and Crows, and fortunately for me, the feeling appears to be reciprocated.” ~ The Strange Case of the Caller at the Library Window

You may recall that I feel compelled to write about Ravens and Crows periodically. For example, there’s A Choir of Crows, The Strange Case of the Caller at the Library Window, and The Strange Case of the Caller at the Library Window (Epilogue). Tonight’s poem came to my mind almost fully formed one day while afield in the LFM back 40 with oldest son Viktor (5) and middle son Lukas (3).

I had been aware of the presence of at least two Ravens the entire time we were out, periodically glimpsing and hearing them through the forest canopy, and as we were just entering the porch on our return, I heard a loud croak to my left. Turning toward the sound, I saw a pair of Ravens flying in close formation over the trees, and the nearest one, who I took to be the speaker, was looking straight at me.

I did laugh, the striking event coming as it did at the end of a heart filling interlude in Fathercraft. And Viktor did ask me the reason for my mirth. My answer was as you will read below.

The Ravens

By LFM

On Father’s Day, my sons were out
Where boys should always be —
Getting dirt beneath their nails,
And climbing every Tree.

Staining knees and dragging bums,
Scraping elbows too.
Watching beetles in the grass
Where all that’s old is new.

At last the evening wind spoke up,
Suggesting food and bath.
Two dirty, happy, tired boys
Were ushered down the path.

Perfumed with pine and forest loam,
Infused with woodland lore,
Their happy chatter never ceased
Up to and through the door.

And just before I followed them,
A deep familiar cry
Came down the breeze from high above —
Two Ravens drawing nigh.

I paused, one foot inside the door,
And watched them as they came.
One croaked again, and strange to tell,
It sounded like my name.

Just then both boys were back outside
To see where Dad had gone,
And there we stood just watching
Those two Ravens from the lawn.

As though the boys attracted them
They circled back around,
And came to orbit over
Where we stood there on the ground.

Seeing us all standing there
With eyes upon the sky,
My Wife and youngest babe came out
To learn the reason why.

The Raven spokesman croaked again,
The pair came closer still,
It seemed the speaker had
A parting word upon its bill.

And this was spoken straight to me
As briefly, eye to eye,
The Messenger sped overhead,
Ere mounting to the sky.

As we watched the pair depart,
I laughed and shook my head.
“What’s funny?” asked my oldest son.
“A thing the Raven said.”

Turkish film maker and animator Gökalp Gönen created the short film you are about to see over approximately a one year period, releasing it in 2015.

Golden Shot has won over 25 awards and tells a tale of ill considered faith —

“Rusty machines living in their small houses, imagine that the sun will come and take them to the sky someday. A small light, keeps them alive and dreaming. But one of the machines wants to see the sun itself and he has a plan for that.”

If there ever was a story to illustrate why you shouldn’t start vast projects with half-vast ideas, this is it. Get comfortable, pour yourself a shot, and make it golden. (more…)

Depiction of the fifth circle of Hell, by Stradanus (1523 – 2 November 1605) — https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stradanus

Anxiety, like feeling stressed, depression, anger, boyhood, and a plethora of other ordinary human conditions and responses to the tides of Life, has been deemed in this age of ours “not wanted on voyage” and thus consigned to the lists of treatable pathologies. In the old days, by which term I have come to refer to most of my life up to now, we reserved such a branding for cases in which the condition has come to preclude the victim from any meaningful participation in the society that surrounds him or her. An impairment of engagement in what, at any given time, might be referred to as “normal” life, but now rejected wholesale as being too normalnormative. In such cases, hope only lay in seeking the counsel of clergy, later professional psychologists, and of course, there has always been suicide.

Decant your favourite mood enhancer, Good Reader, and relax while tonight’s Dark Sentiment examines the matter.

Anxiety

By LFM

Anxiety’s a nasty thing
Of thorny claws and poisoned sting.
It feeds on joy and shits despair,
Is hard to kill and far from rare.

It crawls inside its victim’s head,
And fills the place with turds of dread.
It pisses on each happy spark,
Then giggles in the hopeless dark.

But though the thing is hard to kill,
There is this little poisoned pill
That some have found to be a cure,
But only if the drug is pure.

The drug is Truth, and truth be told,
This bitter pill, quaffed down with Bold’s
The one known cure to end the reign
Of cloying doubt and self-disdain.

I will admit it’s hard to find,
This bitter Truth I’ve here defined,
So let me offer this wee guide
To clear the path to joy denied.

To sweep away the clouds of doom,
For that you’ll need a bigger broom,
A shovel too, that’s stout and wide,
To clear the shit against the tide.

When all your joie de vivre has fled,
So dooms and failures fill your head,
And on bad outcomes you would dwell,
You swim the fifth-most arc of Hell.

Hell’s not exclusive to the dead,
It’s but a choice you make instead
While you still eat and draw a breath,
So every day’s a living death.

Both good and bad will come along,
And either one is worth a song.
Their balance though, that’s up to you —
Your choices made, and things you do.

You only know the things you know
And more, the further on you go,
Fear not to act, don’t hold your breath!
In stillness you’ll find nought but death.

So live, and learn, and be fulfilled,
Up to the day your heart is stilled.
Don’t let your joy of life depend
On vague despairs it all will end.

Of course it will, but while it lasts,
Why let small sours spoil repasts?
Or dim the flavours of your joys
To feed a thing life’s joy destroys?

For in a life of any length
Some days will be a test of strength.
Know you may win or you may fail,
And even winning, not prevail.

But dazed and bloodied, don’t forget,
To show the foe you’re not dead yet.
Seize the day with all its toils,
Don’t doubt you’re worthy of the spoils.

Anxiety’s a nasty thing
Of thorny claws and poisoned sting.
It wants to make your head its lair —
Go hunt it down and kill it there.