Large Fierce Mammal

Source: YouTube’s Algorithm: What You Need To Know In 2023

“Spirit Messengers. The term conjures images of animals sent by a higher power to offer guidance toward the right Path. A Google search will turn up reams of pages identifying the characteristics of each creature, along with its “meaning” should it choose to make itself seen to you under a variety of circumstances.

“As with publications that purport to assist you in the interpretation of dreams, I personally hold that this “if A then B” approach at once trivializes and over complicates something my experience has shown to be both subtle and powerful, as is Nature Herself.” ~ Musings on Mindfulness

If you read the excerpt above, and even better, the entire article it’s taken from, you’ll have at least some grasp of my philosophy of connectedness with all things. Naturally, your degree of understanding will be dictated by how much of your life’s fulfillment has come to you by way of connectedness with Nature, and how much it relies on having subscribed to the Human conceit that places you “above all that“. ~ Dark Sentiments Season 8 — Day 3: Of Mini-miracles, Odd Synchronicities, and Sublime Messages

My position on connectedness is widespread among the seeds I’ve sown here lo these fifteen years since the launch of Large Fierce Mammal, on 2 September 2008. In that time, most particularly in the course of my cyclical series such as this very season of Dark Sentiments and Long Winter’s Night, it is not unusual for me to find inspiration of the moment, as it were, in the form of the published work of others and personal experiences that seem to come into my ken at just the right time to stoke the fire, as it were.

Rarely though does it happen that something arises on the heels of one of my publications, through a seemingly unconnected delivery system, that strikes notes of synchronicity lying outside Truly Natural connectedness. (more…)

If the Foo shits … (Source: Here)

hu·man

noun
A self-identified lesser god designed by a committee consisting of the feuding members of a large and dysfunctional extended family obsessed with entitlement to positions of inheritance from the estates of elders who not only aren’t dead yet, but certain to outlive them all.

~ Excerpt from Large Fierce Mammal’s Bigge Booke of Mythical Beasts ~

There is a very simple, and that is not to say simplistic, frame of reference defining what ails the world. It isn’t tribalism, political leanings, religious beliefs, rich versus poor, strong versus weak, or any other intellectual construct popularly (or unpopularly depending on your perspective) held up as justification for absolute division among people, although those are manifestations of it.

It isn’t human caused climate change or mass human migration although those are justifications for it.

Cutting to the chase, what I am talking about is people behaving badly, and in keeping with the kind of clarity of which I have previously spoken, I will pause to define what that means.

Common use would define bad behaviour as any act that is at odds with the accepted rules of the society in which the act is committed. These may be written or unwritten and are mechanisms by which the suitability of any person or group may be assessed for its propriety and acceptability to the good of the community that surrounds them. Among other things, it sets out the framework defining who can be trusted and who cannot, delineating the law abiding from the outlaw. The safe from the dangerous. The good from the bad.

Even the most trusting among us will have little difficulty picking up on just how this can lead to abuse of power at all levels. Few of those same trusting souls would ever identify themselves as having any part in such abuses.

Even fewer will realize that weighing the gravity of a bad behaviour purely against its effects on other people and their communities or societies is as big a waste of time as defining the value of Nature purely in the context of needing to be preserved for the benefit of humans. (more…)

Cyclist, in Swansea area, c1900 — Can’t you just FEEL the temptation to put something rebelliously exciting between her legs? Source: Digital Archive

The title of tonight’s Dark Sentiment is not a reference to one of those personal expressions of passion referred to as “sex face” which should need no explanation among this crowd, nor is it an insult like “fuck face”. It’s not the facial expression one may get at the moment of perception that an accident is unavoidably imminent, nor has it anything to do with road rash.

Nay, bicycle face is a now discredited medical term that came into vogue in the Victorian era among experts in the settled science of innate female weakness.

Much has been written of this scourge, and I recommend the brief but highly informative Beware of Bicycle Face by Katherine Conroy which you can download here, a portion of which follows.

Many thought women (as the weaker sex) were particularly susceptible to the evils of bicycling. Nowhere was this more apparent than in the cautions against Bicycle Face. The physician, Arabella Kenealy, warned girls that too much bicycling would transform their feminine charms to masculine traits. Worse still, ruddy cheeks from sun exposure and a strained expression in the muscles of the face could eventually result in a deterioration in the nerves, a headache and by some accounts, even dementia.

I can hear it now — “I know it sounds silly dear but we do so want grandchildren and, you know, better safe than sorry!” (more…)

Still from Létal Morbier — Source: Here

In keeping with Dark Sentiments custom, we will take a slight side route tonight to revel in the fell imaginings of selected world artists.

For your viewing pleasure, prepare to regard Létal Morbier, described thus by its creators:

A colony of mice regularly performs a mystic ceremony in which a member is chosen to be carried triumphantly away to a cheesy paradise. Owen and Flynn dream of being chosen, until one day Owen decides to follow the procession.

For those who speak neither French nor cheese, the title of tonight’s feature presentation means “Lethal Morbier”, and while the former word stand on its own merits for the kind of audience we host here, the latter bears further elaboration:

“Morbier is a semi-soft cow’s milk cheese named after a small village of the same name in Franche-Comté. The cheese with a thin black layer in the middle is a bit soft and fairly elastic. This ivory-coloured cheese has a sticky rind, a mild aroma and a creamy flavour. Earlier, Morbier was made with a layer of morning and evening milk, but these days it is made from one batch of milk and the ash is spread over it to follow the tradition. The cheese takes about 45 days to 3 months for maturation.” ~ Cheese.com

(more…)

Dr. Rachel Leland Levine, US Assistant Secretary of Health since 26 March 2021 (Source: Here)

Discussion of any topic demands an agreed upon definition of terms, which is something that has, and seems hell bent on continuing to, become more fraught with every passing day. It’s easier to “win” you see, when you have claimed the right to redefine every word in the dictionary, obviously also including what “win” means. In stark and unrelenting contrast to this bad behaviour, let tonight’s Dark Sentiment stand as the launching point for one key ingredient that will inform what you encounter as these nights unfold.

“You see, Goode Reader, for Communication to be real, its crafting and utterance must contain one vital ingredient — CLARITY — even when the purpose of the message is subterfuge.” ~ The Bullshitter’s Grimoire

We hear that society has become “polarized” on every meaningful level, and I will posit that what this means is the abandonment of personal position or choice in subservience to the demand that one must declare a side. Certainly this casts aside all tenets of The True Arte of Intelligent Discourse and no quarter is given to rational thought lest it be weaponized by the rational to force the shrill into some form of blessedly quiet reflection of their own choices. No counter argument may even be mentioned if it came from the lips or pen of anyone on the CANCELLED list! All are of a piece who ever expressed by thought, word, or deed any cause for condemnation under current sensibilities, and History is no longer a foreign country where people did things differently as they saw fit. (more…)

Welcome back oh weary Pilgrim to another season of Dark Sentiments where everything dark is darker yet!

As you’ve clearly passed alive, if not unscathed, through the travails that for brevity I will refer to as “since last time”, you have earned your place at the fire we’ve stoked yet again to warm you through each of the lengthening and ever colder nights defining this month of October. As one point of order, undoubtedly superfluous as the sort attracted to our flames will be predisposed by nature against frivolous concerns, no discussions regarding the carbon dioxide emissions of our council fire, nor the sustainability of its fuel source, will be entertained.

We find ourselves living through interesting times indeed, to the the point where idiocy has been permitted to enwrap its fragile frame in a mantle of unassailability.

To speak metaphorically, if a group of self-appointed victims from now were to replace the actual victims aboard the RMS Titanic on the tragic night of 14-15 April 1912, the threat posed by the iceberg would have been cast into doubt on the grounds that to allege water can exist in only three states as solid, liquid, or gas is nought but a socially constructed “theory” not to be blindly embraced by anyone who follows “the science”. That the mere hue of the iceberg itself coupled with its uncanny ability to lay waste to a ship proclaimed unsinkable, let alone one painted in dark colours beneath the topmost decks which were dazzling white, unquestionably proves a strong white supremacist motive to have been foundational to the tragedy. That for the Ship’s Captain to issue orders for evasive action, or even for such a person to exist at all, is the utmost demonstration of toxic masculinity, and that merely stating, let alone enforcing, such a code of honour as “women and children first” presumes gender and may even be transphobic.

Where once was the Scientific Method used to guide systems of study, and no research outcome was considered unassailable, we now have “settled science” and those who “follow” it. Cursed be he who dares express reservations about the coefficient of friction manifest upon the slope. A “new study” seems to be in the arc described by the swinging of every demised feline, with yet another dire outcome “suggested” by a computer model running just the right data within a framework formed of just the right parameters. Upon such as this are careers now being built by the latest generation of “scientists”, and never were the brain droppings of the “assistant” professor more represented than now. Nor the World Health Organization (WHO) or the United Nations (UN) overall, come to that. (more…)

A Strange Encounter at the crossroads … (Photo credit: Mrs. LFM)

Not a “girl power” story as our meagre age has come to know it. Think of it as, if they squint their eyes, they can imagine she’s a scaled down version of their Mother, and the kind of sister they would have ended up with.

A Strange Encounter at the Crossroads

By LFM

The Spring morn grass still bore the dew
As off to buy a thing or two
My Goode Wyfe sent our Sons all three —
The big, the middle, and the wee.

Before the sun full warmed the day,
With speed to keep the flies away,
And Mother’s wish as their command,
Our lads set off with list in hand.

Now, just past range of Mother’s call
There lay a crossroads used by all,
Where errands played out, fair and foul
Beneath the eyes of Hawk and Owl.

‘Twas there upon that thoroughfare
A looming scent oppressed the air,
As though the biggest, wettest dog
Had doused its coat in Eau de Bog.

They knew a Bear could smell that way,
And even on the driest day,
Yet subtle difference, hard to name,
Gave hint this was no Bear to blame.

Where most may look but never see,
In deepest hole or highest tree,
There is no stealth that can deny
Our Lukas with his Hunter’s Eye.

So moving on, each eye apeel,
The source of stench now feared reveal!
With hailing voice of tones benign
It moved beneath the crossroad sign.

“What ho!” it said, “Well met withal!
“Sweet Nature’s surely heard my call!
“A stout, strong lad be just the key,
“I pray for one, She sends me three!”

“What is this need of which you speak?”
Demanded Viktor, never meek,
“How is it lads may serve such need
“That you would pray for Nature’s heed?”

This heard, the creature looked about
And spied what Viktor’s ne’er without —
A long straight staff that never fails,
Whatever slippery game prevails.

Now sensing Viktor’s doubting tone,
It made a change unto its own,
“My good young sir, I mean no harm,
“My need is nought to cause alarm!”

“I am but a peaceful Squirrel,
“Less harmless even than a girl!
“I beg your aid to help conceal
“What brigands on these roads may steal!”

It then rolled forth beneath a paw
The biggest nut they ever saw!
The size of a molasses keg,
It stood as high as Maksim’s leg.

Though Maksim is the youngest one,
Of all he wields the sharpest tongue,
“No Squirrel’d be seen in such a hat,
“And nuts don’t grow as big as that!”

Said Lukas, “Who’s this ‘harmless’ girl?
“Your story’s weave presents a burl!
“Our Mother dearest once was one,
“Go tell her that, we’ll watch the fun!”

About that time a muffled noise
Reached the hearing of the boys,
Soon followed by a double thud
That rolled the nut across the mud!

“Oh dear!” exclaimed the grinning thing,
“My treasure’s gone and taken wing!”
But staff on high and loud, “Stay back!”
Viktor gave the nut a wack!

Then two and three, just like the first,
When hi-de-ho! The nut had burst!
Then as a demon straight from Hell,
A girl burst forth from in the shell!

Ere Viktor’s staff could lend its aid,
They saw the creature’s fate was laid,
Yelled Maksim, “Jane from down the way!
“She disappeared just yesterday!”

Before her captor’s hungry leer,
Jane cut its throat from ear to ear,
And seeing what had come to be,
Lukas pointed saying, “See?”

In the throes of the Late Unpleasantness, a lot of ideas floated, and even now never really shot down, could be readily identified as a waste of time and resources by anyone who understood how things work. Today’s case in point is a poetical adaptation of the example I use when confronted with the argument that putting high performance filters in the air handling systems of buildings will act as a curb against the spread of viral particles among occupants. Such a concept forgets that the spaces occupied by those occupants are a part of the air handling system which delivers fresh air and recovers spent air, rinses and repeats. Filtration may occur at the point where air is drawn into the system from outside, and certainly inside the ducts before it gets recurrently delivered to the occupied spaces, but once it gets there it’s just another breeze.

So to the believers in the room I pose this question: If you worked in a cubicle next to one occupied by the hottest woman you’ve ever seen and for whom you hold the greatest of hopes, would you be confident enough in those filters to release an otherwise silent fart?

As the song says, the answer is blowing in the wind.

Fart in a Windstorm

By LFM

A fart in a windstorm’s
A trivial thing,
But less so for one
Lacking caution to fling.

The pandemic just passed
Came with marvelous tales
That sold public safety
Through doubtful travails.

Uttered by “experts”
Were passionate pleas
For filters in buildings
To keep out disease.

And so it was done
With one Great Truth denied,
No filter keeps out
What’s already inside.

For of ductwork unseen
Is a fact known to few —
The space where you work
Is a part of it too.

From its sweet breath upon you,
All filtered and clean,
Air’s thence to the intake,
Past all points between.

So one thing is sure
Of this succulent draft;
What’s upon it upwind
Will downwindwardly waft.

But take not my word,
Let’s use science instead,
And thus chase confusion
Straight out of your head.

In the large open office
Where this will occur,
One cubicle’s yours,
The other’s for her.

And she is the fairest
That you’ve ever seen,
Personified blending
Of sweet with obscene.

You’ve made all the inroads,
No red lights in sight,
That first date’s ahead
And tonight is the night!

But now here’s the rub,
There’s a gurgle below
That speaks of grim outcomes
From letting it go.

The range to the washroom
You gauge in a glance,
But the speed and exertion
Risk shitting your pants.

You may be successful
In squeaking one out,
But released to the wild
Whither then is in doubt!

Now remember those filters
Won’t let evil pass.
Just relax and believe!
Won’t they cover your ass?

What you trust with your life
You may come to rescind,
Lest your hopes for the future
Be gone with the wind.

Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, Caspar David Friedrich, 1818

The fundamental flaw inherent in the clamorously contentious phenomenon of identity politics is that the ticket to entry to the Promised Land of its adherents is a label, proudly applied to the self and demanded of others. You may note that this looks a lot like forced conversion as historically practiced by the Catholic Church and Communist dictatorships to name but two of the better known players, but it’s a repeating theme through human history, played on an endless loop by tyrants, petty and otherwise.

Refusal to play the game and accept such a thing is itself a label of the most damning and indelible sort as far as the zealous faithful are concerned, and I have previously gone on record here in the matter of the folly of this practice — (more…)

Lukas — taken yesterday manning the portside paddling station as he enjoys a traditional birthday excursion in his honour in Kejimkujik National Park. (Mrs. LFM photo – click to enbiggen)

Today the House of LFM celebrates the eighth natal day of middle Son Lukas! Above you see the strapping lad he has thus far grown to be, and I would offer that image in comparison to this one taken on the day of his birth … (more…)