Large Fierce Mammal

Law enforcement officials lost control of the situation in Cologne on New Year’s Eve, according to an internal report by Germany’s national police, the Bundespolizei, obtained by DER SPIEGEL. The author of the report, dated Jan. 4, is a senior official. He writes: “Women, accompanied or not, literally ran a ‘gauntlet’ through masses of heavily intoxicated men that words cannot describe.” The horde in front of and inside the train station was unmoved by the presence of police.

According to the report, officers encountered many distraught, crying, frightened pedestrians, particularly women and girls. They reported “fights, thefts, sexual assaults against women, etc.” Groups of male migrants were repeatedly named as perpetrators.

Identifying those responsible — especially the perpetrators of sexual assaults — “was unfortunately no longer possible.” The reason: “Security forces were unable to get all of the incidents, assaults, crimes, etc. under control. There were simply too many happening at the same time.” Police were frustrated at their inability to help each victim. At times, it wasn’t even possible to record all of the complaints that were being lodged. ~ Spiegel Online

Contrary to what the current generation of politicians and serving members of governments might want to believe, one of the fundamental functions of government is the enforcement of laws that permit the populace to go about its legitimate business with at least some expectation of generally applied “public safety”. Since 9/11, currently fanned further by the rise of ISIS and the (believed to be) new societal toxin of “radicalization”, all manner of intrusions into the lives of the average citizen are sold by governments as the only path to safety. We now routinely hear ministers of government refer to constitutional or charter rights and freedoms as “privileges” subject to benevolent limitation, and no one stops them mid-sentence with a resounding, “Now wait just a God DAMN minute!”

Into this state of affairs comes a group culturally predisposed to misogyny because, where they spent their formative years, males and females understand it as a societal norm and so have no label that mirrors our understanding of the term, either for good or bad. For them, it’s simply the way of things, but we’re not talking about quaint cultural oddities from the old country here, so no dispensation can be granted on any level. And of course, this being The Century of the Ultimate Asshole (TCUA), some simply don’t give a fuck.

A man is quoted as saying: “I’m a Syrian! You have to treat me kindly! Ms. Merkel invited me.” ~ Spiegel Online

Absent complete indoctrination in Western values and the laws that support them, unattached males from such cultures, released into the wild of unprepared Western countries, can be expected to interact with the women in accordance with learned tradition. And so any unescorted, polite, laughing, smiling, even flirtatious woman that you happen to come into contact with, and find desirable in the moment, is the rightful property of any man who wants to have his way with her because hey dude, what else could she possibly expect?

Little by little, this terrible fact has exposed a horrendous, and if left unchecked disastrous, failing of the duty of many Western governments to the people who elected them. I say “many” because this situation has presented most blatantly in those nations that don’t require the crossing of the Atlantic Ocean to reach. For those who don’t, as the most recent human wave of misery flees the flames of yet another war, every agency of good governance has proven completely inadequate to maintain anything resembling peace, order, and good government. Worse, as on the night that rang in 2016, any reference to the evident ethnicity of the sexual predators rampaging through the streets of Cologne was kept silent until it could no longer be so. Before that, warnings were issued that women should not be abroad in even small groups, most particularly at night. Who are they to be wary of? Everybody knew, but nobody “official” would say, for we dare not lest the revelation spark a “backlash”.

What is now knowable to even the most sheltered, and this for the most part because major news sources now finally find themselves dragged kicking and screaming into actually reporting what has been so far suppressed from release as Scandinavia – or more accurately, Scandinavian women – have faced a months long spike in incidents of sexual assault, points to an absolute incompatibility of cultures that will need to be embraced as a Truth by nations in the unobstructed path of this onslaught.

Until now, sensitivity to anti-immigrant backlash has prevented honest talk about sexual misconduct among immigrant men; such talk has been condemned as racist in the past. In Norway, for example, there have been reports that immigrants commit a disproportionate number of rapes, but there was pushback. Mainstream politicians and the media have been terrified of inciting xenophobia and fuelling the rise of the right-wing parties.

But what happened in Cologne was too big to cover up. News has now emerged of similar New Year’s Eve assaults in Austria, Switzerland, Finland and Sweden, as well as other German cities. The Viennese police chief has warned women not to go out alone at night. Sweden is now dealing with its own cover-up at a music festival last summer, where young girls were assaulted by hundreds of mostly Afghan men. As the official in charge of the festival’s policing told a local news source, “We sometimes dare not to say how it is because we think it might play into the hands of the [right-wing] Sweden Democrats.” ~ Germany’s brutal immigrant awakening

As nations, our response must spring from the foundation that we need care not for, nor sympathize with, the cultural or religious origins of sensibilities and behavioural “norms” that are outlawed as heinous under the laws of our lands. In the face of such outrage, our hands must not be stayed when it comes to bringing the full force of sovereignty to bear upon those who would seek to disregard the safety and security of our citizens. All the usual labels – xenophobia, Islamophobia, racism – they hold neither weight nor merit in this situation.

Speaking from the other side of the Atlantic Moat, I see a wise move on the part of the Canadian government in refusing entrance to single males among the throng that’s come to be referred to generically as “Syrian” refugees, and in this, control and restraint may be exercised that is denied to European nations through simple accessibility. That being said, and as the proud Husband of a Woman who is at once an immigrant, a former refugee, and the finest person ever to be in my life, I fully understand the way the system operates. A demonstrable understanding of one or both of Canada’s official languages, our system of government, and what we consider to be right and wrong, is essential to living in Canada, whether or not citizenship is sought.

What must be absolute for all Western nations, however aflood with the milk of human kindness they may be, is that if you come from a culture where rape can be justified – EVER and under ANY circumstances – and your behaviour expresses that, then you belong where that is the norm, and that isn’t here.

On day 7 of this Long Winter’s Night, I related The Strange Case of the Caller at the Library Window, and even as I did, I knew the tale was far from over. Interestingly, I found myself shedding more than a few tears as I wrote this. Tell me if you feel the same reading it.

The Strange Case of the Caller at the Library Window (Epilogue)

By LFM

I sat upon my reading chair
My head anod as passed the day,
And even now on thinking back,
What thoughts were thought, I cannot say.

The waning sun aroused my mind,
Though not from sleep, but reverie,
A glass of whisky in my hand,
The Raven lying next to me.

Both mind and eye now sought the pane,
Now long since closed against the chill,
To watch the day’s last glimmer die
In beauty there behind the hill.

When drained of purple lay the sky
In blackest black against the glow,
The shadow Birch Trees spoke to me
Stark black against the gleaming snow.

I started then, as from a shock!
Though this day’s Sun was dead to me,
A fulsome Moon in zenith stood,
Illumined by His memory.

Thence to my feet, I lit the lamp,
And looked to my recumbent guest.
I knelt and spoke a promise then,
A gentle hand upon his breast.

An hour hence, beneath my arm,
The cradled Raven, Birchen wrapped,
I snowshod strode beneath the Moon
Upon the trail my heart had mapped.

And finally, within a glade
Of snow cloaked Spruce in mossy gown,
I found for him a crook of branch,
And that was where I laid him down.

I didn’t know the words to speak
A Raven might think right, and so
I drank a toast of half my flask,
And poured the rest upon the snow.

Each year, upon the day he died,
I read a book – you know the tome,
Thence to his grove with meat and cheese,
And hearty beer to wash it home.

On this Long Winter’s Night, I offer, for your consideration, The OceanMaker.

After the seas have disappeared, a courageous pilot fights against vicious sky pirates for control of the last remaining source of water: the clouds. ~ mightycocunut.com

As a former aviator and student of aviation history, I enjoyed the recognizable but apocalyptically modified airframes while simultaneously cringing periodically at the Physics defying flight manoeuvres, but I can shelve my reality in the spirit of a good yarn, and I know you can too, else you wouldn’t be here.

All of the best science/speculative fiction takes a current condition and takes it to at least one illustrative extreme. Here, we have our heroic pilot desperately attempting to maintain a resource that other, more powerful interests, are hell bent on, quite literally, sucking dry.

I wonder where they got that idea? (more…)

I have always felt a comradeship with Ravens and Crows, and fortunately for me, the feeling appears to be reciprocated. What I have for you this Long Winter’s Night is the story of two fellow beings. One, a solitary Man interrupted at his ease by a persistent caller. The other, as it turns out, merely in quest of a last meal, and a companion to bear witness to the end of a life well lived.

The Strange Case of the Caller at the Library Window

By LFM

A perfect Winter day it was!
A log upon the fire tossed,
I took my book and whisky where
Both Man and mind may best be lost.

Midst walls festooned with volumes rare,
Containing all a Man should know,
My tongue caressed the whisky as
My mind, the works of Edgar Poe.

The morning wore, and hunger called,
So whisky drained, I left my tome,
And stalked below for meat and cheese,
With hearty beer to wash it home.

The laden platter soon adorned
The darkly lacquered table where
My faithful book awaited with
Its own sweet kind of darkling fare.

But scarce had morsel crossed my lips,
And questing mouth the tankard sought
Than came to ear a knocking sound –
Some caller at my door, I thought.

My book, my luncheon, beer and all,
Reluctantly I put aside,
And sought my bedroom dormer whence
No caller on my stoop could hide.

No person known or strange to me
Was standing at my cottage door,
So snorting then, I turned away
And soon was seated as before.

Yet, two things weighed upon my mind –
The first, that I was sweating so
I threw the lofty window up,
And laid aside my warming throw.

The second though, was hard to grasp,
Then dawned as bright as sunlit snow –
I sought the dormer yet again
To view once more the path below.

I scanned the trail up to my door,
From left to right, the road and back.
Upon the snow that covered all,
No living thing had left a track.

And then I heard the knock again.
More loud and clear than ’twas before.
My anger was what spurred me now,
To find what fool was at my door!

I gained the door and paused to take
My hanger down from off its hook,
And only then I opened it
A sword blade’s width to take a look.

No living thing met eye or steel,
No nimble trickster there to catch.
I came to stand with portal wide,
En garde, one hand upon the latch.

My eyes confirmed the yard around
Still gleamed with n’er a track to see,
Then, at my feet I found the proof
Of who had come to call on me.

Two large and taloned tracks I spied,
Part trampled by my slippered sole,
And next to them a feather lay,
A Raven’s pinion, black as coal.

I stood in thought, though not for long
Ere came a thump from up the stair,
And then I knew the trickster’s game –
The window standing open there!

I entered in and slammed the door,
Then sword in hand I mounted up
To find my empty platter and,
Upon the floor, my empty cup.

And there upon my reading chair
An ancient Raven watching me,
More grand upon its lofty back
Than any thro-ned King could be.

And then, as though the Raven felt
Its mission only part fulfilled,
It settled on my open book,
Beside a pool where beer had spilled.

A moment it regarded me,
Ere startlement could turn to rage,
The Raven inked its beak with beer
And pecked a mark upon the page.

Then silently it fluttered back,
Enthroned again, with solemn stare.
From thence it tumbled to the floor,
Stone dead before it landed there.

I found my book still open but
Three chapters on than ’twas before,
And on the page the Bird had pecked –
Beside its mark read, “Nevermore“.

As I’ve written here before, the quest for the most fascinating toy promises the downfall of the unwary. Our case in point this Long Winter’s Night is Alma.

Written and directed by Rodrigo Blaas, and produced by Cecile Hokes with music by Mastretta, Alma (Spanish for “soul”) tells the story of a little girl who, one cold day in Barcelona, finds a wall bearing the names of countless children, and decides to add her own.

(more…)

Source: collegetimes.com

The shitfaced Elf from yesterday’s Long Winter’s Night did rather well when he so vigorously snatched the neck of his bottle with both eyes open. It’s often hard for someone in such a state as requires an earthquake to walk straight to divine which of the two objects standing before them is the genuine article.

Our hero today may not have learned the perils of over drinking, but he knows how to solve this dilemma as old as fermentation.

The Drunkard’s Song

By LFM

A dram or ten had come to pass,
Poured down his throat by quaich and tasse,
He needs both hands to find his ass,
And one eye closed to grope his glass.

If living life has taught him little
And one eye closed won’t solve the riddle
Still viewed in twain, resists bediddle,
Just shut them both – go down the middle!

Festive Greeting and Well Met ! (Photo credit: Joel Sartore – http://www.joelsartore.com/)

There’s a standing traditional association of revelry at this Yule time, for reasons aforesaid, and with that comes the consumption of alcoholic beverages. Oh, and Elves. Not the consumption of them, you understand, it’s just that Elves are also associated with it all, for reasons not so clear other than it might have something to do with drinking. Here’s an animated Christmas greeting by way of the CGBros, produced by the Mad Crew team in December 2014, to enliven this Long Winter’s Night. (more…)

You may recall from previous scribblings here that …

“In many parts of Europe, the “Feast of Saint Nicholas” is celebrated on December 6th. The evening before the feast, however, is known as Krampus Night or Krampusnacht, when the hairy beast roams the streets in a … rage, visiting homes and businesses to punish and/or terrify the children who were not on their best behavior.” ~ Krampus : The Dark Origins Of Christmas

It being the twenty-fourth day of December, a lot of water has passed under the bridge since Krampusnacht 2015. If you know you deserved a visit, and yet are reading this unscathed, here’s a delightful reminder of the rough justice you escaped. For now. (more…)

Margaret Visser (Source: www.filmwest.com)

Cultural anthropologist Margaret Visser was for many years a regular on an assortment of radio programmes produced by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC). She has authored six books on a variety of subjects ranging from the traditions of dinner to the expression of gratitude, linking the origins of the world we know to that of our distant ancestors.

I have loved the ever so British voice of Margaret Visser since the first time I heard it. I could listen to her talk for hours and hours. Her delivery conveys a spirit of delight that can’t fail but be a vehicle of wondrous education.

This Long Winter’s Night, we’ll tune in Margaret Visser’s Christmas, courtesy of the CBC by way of Michael Enright’s Rewind. The fireplace, the giving of gifts, mistletoe, the decorated Tree.

So stoke the hearth, Goode Reader, and join me in a most enlightening hour that awaits by the simple act of clicking right, bloody, HERE.

Pre-Christian history is full of spiritual beliefs that personify the sun as a deity who dies and is resurrected, even as the sun that reaches its shortest period of life in the sky is reborn to linger just a little longer each day in the blessed march toward what is hoped to be a new year full of hope and prosperity. With Christianity came a similar legend in the story of Jesus Christ, who gave his name to the festival we call Christmas. And so it continues.

Spiritual observances surrounding the winter solstice, even in such climes of winter dearth as northern Europe and North America, are often characterized by feasting and revelry of a degree that seems logistically ironic to the point of negligence if taken from a purely practical view, but ill befall him who shows lack of trust in his Gods by hoarding instead. ~ A Long Winter’s Night – The Winter Solstice is the Reason for the Season

Welcome back, Goode and Weary Traveller, to another Long Winter’s Night. Alas, we meet again in troubled times, but that we’ve met again at all is cause for celebration. True, some us won’t live to smell the first breath of Spring, but no matter. We’re here now, and let’s make a pact to go forth from this place resolved that ere we meet again, and in the face of all adversity, to make such a full and absolute accounting of ourselves as will be worth a song. (more…)