Large Fierce Mammal

Written words are visual guides to the making of sounds that, when uttered aloud, convey meaning. An example is the word “label”.

A label can be a physical object that, when applied to another object, conveys important information about it. What it’s made of, how to use it, how long it may be kept, and the best means of storage before use or consumption. Things like that. These sorts of labels abound in today’s world and are vital to navigating the perils and pitfalls of acquiring and using the commodities we take for granted to feed ourselves and our families, clean our homes, ourselves, and possessions, and maintain our surroundings. To wipe our bums and blow our noses. Cure a headache.

And then there’s the other kind of label. This kind also abounds in today’s world, but less as a means of conveying important information than as a short cut around understanding. Understanding requires a desire for knowledge, and a willingness to be observant. To think and draw conclusions. Unlike labels of any description, these attributes are not common in the world. If this type of label is applied to a controversial thing – a firearm for example – or worse yet, a person, the label alone comes to replace the true substance of that to which it’s applied. That’s how we get terms like “gun violence” for example, flying in the face of the fact that violence doesn’t come in flavours, and notwithstanding the implement that is used to bring it about, there is only violence, and it springs exclusively from the mind of its perpetrator.

Similarly, there is no “gay love” or “straight love”, there is only love. There is no “gay marriage” or “mixed marriage”, there is only marriage. There are no “women’s rights” or “gay rights”, there are only rights. In not one of these examples is there justification for tagging violence, love, marriage, or rights with a qualifying label branding it as something different from every other expression of it. The term “racial hatred” doesn’t define a special brand of hatred. There is only hatred, and “racial” is the excuse for its existence – a label. The same goes for “religious intolerance”. ~ Wordly Wisdom Wednesday – Beware of Labels

Christian, Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Pagan, Wiccan, Atheist … you name it. It makes no difference what label you apply to yourself, nor even if you apply one at all, for the name holds far less significance than the fundamental and visible expression of your beliefs, and by that I mean the way in which they govern your behaviour. On those rare occasions when someone, learning that we LFMs are not Christians, inquires as to what then, exactly, we are, my reply is usually an iteration of this question – “Why don’t you watch me, see how I treat the world and how I live my life, and then decide for yourself from there?”

On even rarer occasions, when I feel the tone of the query calls for it, I fix them with a look that lasts until they start to seem uncomfortable, and then answer, “Noble Savages.” (more…)

Winter begins today, and those of us who understand the joys of travelling dark forest trails can walk slower tonight, for there is more darkness to enjoy.

As I recall, the last time we all gathered here for A Long Winter’s Night, we were staring down the barrel of yet another ending of the world. Apparently nothing can shut me up, because you’re now invited to follow me on yet another winding path through the haunted wonders of Wintertime, all the way to year’s end. Welcome back.

If you follow us here, you will know that although Mrs. LFM and I come from traditional Christian upbringings – she Catholic, I Presbyterian – our spiritual paths had gone elsewhere before we became One. I won’t speak for my incomparable Wife, but for myself I’ve written a bit about the catalyst of this before:

From an early age I was acutely aware of the perpetual tug of war between reason and primal fear of the unknown. While as a child I was very religious in the Christan sense, something I have since been cured of, I somehow grasped that there were things and forces sharing the universe with me that I could not yet understand or even detect, and that became progressively more obviously beyond the ken of my available stable of adult authority figures the more of them I consulted. Asking a question along these lines always met with an answer lying between a patronizing reply embracing the “we are not meant to know” philosophy on the one hand, and the making of the secret sign to ward off evil on the other. In fact I’m not completely certain that my paternal grandfather wasn’t advocating driving a stake through my heart while there was still time. ~ Musings as Hallowe’en Approaches

However you approach this time of year, and however you express your faith, one thing is certain – you cannot escape being touched by Winter, for even in the glory of Spring, the height of Summer, and the celebration of abundance that is the harvest, all is abuzz with frantic preparations for her coming. Winter, in Truth, rules everything.

To set the mood, today I’m going to open this Long Winter’s Night with a couple of seasonal ditties that may sound familiar, but you will find contain sentiments that harken back to times when spiritual understandings were not so anthropocentric, and Nature spoke Her Truth directly and clearly to the souls of Men. We hope you enjoy them as much as we do.

It’s no secret that I like big knives, but this isn’t what I mean when I use the reference.

Nevertheless, we’d accept one of these for review, but pending that I’ll let this ad speak for itself.

Image courtesy of The Swordmaster’s Grimoire.

“‘In ferro veritas” means “in the sword is truth,’ or, more loosely translated, ‘studying the sword will smack you face-first into a lot of truths you’re not going to like.'” ~ Adam Adrian Crown, The Swordmaster’s Grimoire

Every now and then, I experience the sheer delight of learning that someone whose work I respect and enjoy has similar feelings about my own. This happened most recently last Wednesday, and came in the form of an e-mail from the Esteemed Adam Adrian Crown whose words, and motto adorn the top of this piece. That’s right – his motto. Permit me to elaborate. (more…)

Today was beautifully clear and cold, and tonight’s full moon will cast its radiance upon the pre-Solstice snow of a significant date, for it was on this day a year ago, as I sat writing in exactly the same place, at the same desk, and sitting in the same chair I am now, that I heard what sounded like a combination of sobbing and joyous laughter coming from the part of the house where I knew Mrs. LFM to be. Racing in a swirl of excited Dogs to the top of the stair, I met her coming up with tears in her eyes and a positive pregnancy test in her extended hand. I have never been so happy to accept delivery of a peed on artifact in my life.

After all that had passed between us in the five years since our decision to embark on the path of Parenthood, much was now revealed. Nature had spoken, and Her message sits cooing in my lap as I write this.

Another wondrous anniversary for a Clan blessed with them.

Going Postal

By LFM

I killed a man the other day,
He’d just himself to blame.
First my patience emptied
Then my pistol did the same.

Disposing of his carcass
Was an easy thing to do.
So simple that you’ll wonder why
It never came to you.

I bubble wrapped and boxed him up
And sent him through the mail.
No surer way to lose a thing,
And never known to fail.

That’s why I always snicker when
I watch the news and see
Yet another one “went postal” –
It’s just not the same to me.

~ Dark Sentiments 2012 – Day 25: Going Postal ~

Canada Post to stop door-to-door delivery, convert to community mailbox delivery is the title of an article by Lee Berthiaume posted today at National Post. It chronicles the latest developments in the downward spiral of the train wreck that is what the Canadian postal service has become, and what follows are a few observations of my own. (more…)

On his YouTube channel, Florida Musician Rusty Cage describes his music as, “Where occult meets folk.”

On the subject of the man himself, his professional website further elaborates:

Sometimes crime does pay in ways you least expect.  In the case of Florida musician Rusty Cage, a 6-month stint on house arrest pushed him from a life of hoodlumism and into a life of songwriting.  Rusty Cage manages to fuse the authentic feel of American folk and blues to the modern vibe of Indi-rock and hip-hop. With their witty lyrics and macabre themes, Rusty’s songs tell stories of love, religion, and the struggles of society in a manner that screams, “This is just the way life is, for better or for worse”.  Whether it’s an upbeat song describing a bloody massacre or blues embedded with a hip-hop rhythm, his unmistakable sound resonates positively with the hearts and ears of listeners around the world.

I’ve been following young Mr. Cage for quite a while, and am an unrepentant fan, but all of that I’m leaving for another day. Right now, I want you to tap a toe or two while watching him in action on a very specific point – the “knife game”, once played during recess in school yards everywhere. Well, all except for the liquored up part. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Rusty Cage and The Knife Game Song.

This version comes with lyrics and a disclaimer that says the video may not be appropriate for some viewers. They ain’t kiddin’.

AND as if it couldn’t get more exciting, there’s this latest, faster version!

Souce: http://www.theatlantic.com/infocus/2013/12/krampus-saint-nicholas-dark-companion/100639/ – with thanks to Jim Keating for the find!

In the wake of my 5 December 2013 reminder of Krampusnacht, I dedicate today’s ever so timely homage to my Esteemed forensic investigator Friend Martin. He, and you, will understand why when you get to the end of the poem, and I’m sure he, of all people, will consider this good advice indeed.

Krampusnacht

By LFM

The Sun no longer lights the sky,
And night has come at last.
Late Autumn’s Moon stands vigil
As a swirl of stars sweep past.

The frost has cast its gleaming crust
Across the darkened land,
To lie in such perfection
As belies a random hand.

The tips of branches scrape the glass
Like fingernails on slate,
As chill dark winds remind the house
The hour is growing late.

The children now are tucked in bed,
Their minds all far from sleep.
They know tonight is Krampusnacht
And none dare make a peep.

Tonight they know Saint Nicholas
Will travel through the land,
With sweet rewards for goodness left
By his approving hand.

But those of them who’ve disobeyed,
Thrown tantrums, fits, or lies,
Will find it hard this night of nights
To close their little eyes.

For these ones know another thing
Will also come tonight.
A thing of purest punishment,
And blackest, purest fright!

It brings its gift of horror and
Their peril’s at his whim,
For to walk the path of insolence
Will bring you straight to HIM!

Good kinder wake to find their shoes
O’erflowed with wonders sweet.
Those not so good are simply glad
The morning sun to greet.

To find your shoes o’erflowing
With cold ashes, thorns, and dung,
Is far better than a birching ere
To Krampus’ sack you’re flung.

Thence to his dark and frightful home
From whence there’s no respite,
To flee his birch forevermore
Red lit by fire light.

And now to you, my little Son.
Embrace this as your guide.
For Krampus turns his mind on those
Who SHOW their darker side.

You needn’t be a saint my son,
And here’s the thing to do –
No matter what your mind, be sure
That none can prove t’was you.

For in the end, the only one
That you must n’er defy
Is that one inside the mirror
Who will judge you, eye to eye.

Today’s title comes from something once said to me by my all time favourite plumber; Wilson Richards of Lunenburg, Nova Scotia: “I don’t get why people want a canopy over their bed. I have a can o’ pee under mine.”

As an only slightly related aside, there’s also this from the Helm Forge blog on the subject of the perils and pitfalls of pronouncing pecan: “Real Texans know that it’s pronounced puh-KAHN. A PEE-can is something that goes under the bed and empties out the winder.”

But as usual, I digress.

Bedroom tents helping South Koreans keep warm this winter is the title of an article by Scott R. Dixon that was published on the Rocket News 24 website earlier this week, and unless stated otherwise, is the source of images that appear here. It speaks to strategies for keeping warm in a country that understands Winter is coming, and sources of energy that don’t come from the body heat of living things must be considered both finite, and beyond the control of the individual.

This isn’t a new idea. In the days before central heating, a heavily draped bed was a solution to getting through many a long winter’s night, and considering that sex is a marvelous way to generate heat, their existence is probably one reason we’re all here today.

That, and the wondrous opportunities for entertainment afforded by the four stout corner posts that support your canopy. Yes, I know there’s no canopy here, but with a little imagination, you’ll see the possibilities for generating heat (and no small amount of noise) are … boundless! (Source: http://www.teamhomemissions.com/bedroom-ideas-canopy-bed-for-simple-and-romantic-design.html)

Aside from creating a cocoon of warmth, a roof over your head that’s under the actual roof also keeps slip footed members of the Insects and Arachnids that hunt your ceiling at night, plaster dust, and assorted mung, from dropping into your gaping maw as you snore your way to morning.

We’ll be investigating this and related ideas in future Winter articles here as we make our way to spring. In the mean time, sleep tight.

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. (Source: http://horrorhomework.com/blog/2012/12/krampus-the-dark-origins-of-christmas/)

Tonight, even as Swiety Mikolaj (Saint Nicholas) bestows his annual sugar buzz on the Children of Poland, Krampus stalks the land on his annual punitive expedition, hell bent on plying his own particular brand of “teaching a lessonry”. Nothing like a good birching among fiends!

I’ve written of Krampus in past episodes, and for clarity, before going forward, you may want to fill your boots, as they say, by revisiting these titles from our archives:

• A Long Winter’s Night – What’s a Sibling For?
• A Long Winter’s Night – Hell’s Seasonal Contribution to Child Rearing
• A Long Winter’s Night – Dark Creatures for Dark Times

Surely a lot more fun than what fell out of the late unpleasantness of the Zwarte Piet (Black Peter) affair!

But more on all that when this year’s incarnation of A Long Winter’s Night kicks into high kicking gear. I can’t be stealing my own thunder, so in the mean time, let’s get back to Krampus. Tonight’s HIS nacht!