Category Archives: Uncategorized
So…Antifa garbage is now targeting the military dead. There are apparently plans for burning flags at Gettysburg on July 1 and pissing on Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall.
Exactly what is wrong with us when we think it ok to demean, pollute, and desecrate the resting places and memorials to our dead? We are a civilization that deserves to fall.
As my friend T. said recently, “These people were someone’s brother, someone’s father, and someone’s son. Their children and their mothers cried over those graves. Those children grew up fatherless because they fought for this country. Would you piss on their sorrow and the orphans that grew up without them?”
Don’t dishonor the dead used to be a universal tenet of healthy, functioning people. Obviously, not anymore.
An interesting post on moon Deities. I have never been able to form a relationship with Selene, precisely because of having such a deep devotion to Mani. I know the Gods are more than capable of sorting it all out but I found this a lovely meditation nonetheless.
Diana and Endymion by Pier Francesco Mola, c. 1660 (Switzerland)
When I visited Rome in 2006 (I think it was), I had not yet made the paradigm shift to Hellenismos. I was a fairly eclectic polytheist keeping a few shrines for a few different goddesses from different pantheons. I had had feelings for Athena that were not reciprocated, yet She was present in my life. Everywhere I went in Rome, I encountered Roma, the goddess of the city, and I remember being very frustrated because all the images I saw of Her looked to me like they were really of Athena or perhaps Minerva. I kick myself now for the gorgeous paintings, statues, and temple remains to Apollo that I must have missed, but I was very focused on Athena during that visit. It was only on my trip to the Capitoline Museum that my attention was torn away by…
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He is so many things to me… words are weak in His presence and weak on this page as I struggle to shape them into something approximating His power.
He is a maw. That’s what started all of this, another poet calling Him a maw. And He is and we are ever being devoured in it. The whole initiation process into Him is a crushcrunching down between His predator’s jaws. It’s a good way to live, soaring within the storm. It sets a certain stage and we can run with that for now.
Endless shrieking hunger. Cold, calculating, yet searingly passionate in His focus. I hear it all the time, when He is near, that roaring in the brain. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a fool
Or has not learned how to listen.
He sees farther than we can ever conceive. He sees us too and our potential.
I know what it is like to be hunted down like prey. I know what it is like to fight a killer but I don’t know what it is like to walk away. Some knowledge isn’t worth having.
A vicious, beautiful Bastard and I love Him for it and sometimes I hate Him too but I never, ever forget the stench of my own fear in the woods when that first Hunt began or when His corpse creaked high in the Tree above me. I’ll never forget how He treasures my viciousness either.
a frenzied ravening Beast who has learned to wear a pretty mask to court the ladies (and some men too). He is brutal and wondrous and the ironsharp tang of His presence a joy my heart can barely hold.
the sovereign Power that has drenched the earth in blood and glory, the wailing wisdom of poets, the shivering terror of bards, and the enchantments that hold it all together swallowed and spat about by His flock of charmed women with razor tongues.
The Force that will use those women up until they seek any crevice in this world to avoid seeing into His.
Ho, ho, ho,
Who, Who, Who
But a God who knows the secrets found only in madness would do that? Let’s see which of us will be the last one standing, oh my darlings. Go ahead. Run.
the Architect of Worlds who loves His people and the pristine symmetry of the cosmos and will spit us all on a spear to see that it does not burn.
While we bicker and scramble and piss away our charms where the grass is green and blood runs blackest in the streets, He snakes His way ahead to keep it all from curling back into the Gap.
Devastation. Another poet warned about things like this: “Love comes with a knife, not some shy question” and so it is and so it was and if I’m lucky, so it shall ever be.
He is the frenzy that drives me and His the calloused hands that pick me up when His work drives me to my knees and I kiss the ground in exhaustion. He is the frenzy that inspires me, and with Him at my side I have seen I have seen the birthing of worlds and wonder. He is a monstrous Glory and He is my Salvation.
It is enough that He is.
Someone asked me once
if i could sense by scent
when You are near.
They wanted to know,
what the musk and aroma of a God
I had to stop.
How to put these things into words?
The vocabulary has not been invented yet.
You are so many things:
the smell of a place where many have died
the darkness of mystery – dank and bloodwarm,
the tang of the sky at the peak of a storm
and the howling of its winds if such sound
could carry with it keen-sharp scent.
You are steel in the cold,
the silent winter’s night
when not even the fiercest of beasts
but all watch
with glittering eyes from their lairs:
They too are wary of Your passing.
Yours is the smell of savagery
cunning, and an ecstasy
worlds were born
in the wake of its devastation.
I cannot hold it,
not even to craft a drop of its essence
You are the presence
on the battlefield
a century after the last man fell,
the savor of remembrance
the shattering laughter,
a roar in the void,
and the echo of its silence.
You are fury,
oh that monk was right:
you indeed are fury
the glorious, joyous savagery
at the moment two armies meet in battle
at the moment you penetrate hidden power
at the moment you seize the trail of your prey
at the moment, every moment
when that which is in you bubbles over
and burns into those who raise their lips
in adoration to You
and we drink
You are Master of the Hunt
and we are all Your prey
if we are fool enough
to stumble in the path
of Your desires.
As to scent,
forget what I have written here.
You will know when He comes
how poorly the senses translate
the vast joy-terror of His passing.
You will know
when you too
are marked with His scent.
You will know
when it is far, far too late
(by G. Krasskova)
When they paint their nails
And gush about how sweet He is
And how He looks like that movie star
(you know the one)
how He soothes their egos
what pretty little snowflakes they are
that He stood with His brothers in that gasping gap
and slaughtered his own ancestor,
a sleeping giant who never did harm to anyone
(never did any good either, or so I’m told).
(tumblr makes forgetting easy)
that this is a God who rolled up His sleeves
whet the point of His spear,
took an ax
with forty whacks,
helped hack old Ymir up.
He split that oafish bastard’s skull
And sucked the marrow from His bones
and went about the bloody work
of making the worlds run.
When He was done,
He licked that ancestral blood from his lips
With a hearty smack.
People forget that.
They forget to Whom He is bound–
One –Eye bloods Himself for no one…
Save One as ruthless as He.
But Loki is pretty
And can be tender
And seduction is …
an entertaining pastime.
Gods wear masks.
It’s only when They remove them
That true devotion starts.
In terror and blood
In awe and trembling
Ecstasy is a crawling spider
Pouring wyrd from its ass
With glittering emerald eyes.
Tattered mask held in its claws.
Glamour is a game
Especially for this God
This Poison Eater
And one day
He might just show you
All those things You forgot
While buying tickets
To the next Marvel show
Or Spielberg wonder,
And gushing over
How beautiful He is.
Beauty is as beauty does
And Loki’s beauty
Is like a poisoned ax.
It glitters and cuts
And sears and burns
And through it all
I’d murder my own ancestor
To hear its cadence.
(but you won’t see me posting about it
(by G. Krasskova)
This is a collection of my writings to date on the topic of miasma and pollution. This book also contains essays by Kenaz Filan, Markos Gage, Virginia Carper, and Sannion (y’all will get contributor copies. I’m waiting for them to arrive).
Here is the blurb from the back of the book:
“Miasma, or spiritual pollution, is a frequently misunderstood concept within contemporary polytheism. While recognized as vitally important to guard against and treat in most traditions, it is nonetheless often ignored or even dismissed as a concern today.
And yet, everything good and solid in our practices begins with purification. It is what prepares us for devotional engagement, for encountering the Holy, for developing discernment, for being a practicing and devout polytheist. We can never hope to properly approach our Gods without taking into account the need for cleanliness in our work.
This book examines the nature and causes of miasma, sets forth the arguments for taking it seriously, and discusses simple and effective methods of cleansing the body, mind and spirit for both ritual and daily life.”
Be sure to check out my other sites:
Wyrd Curiosities at Etsy
My academia.edu page
My amazon author page.
Walking the Worlds Journal
My art blog at Krasskova Creations
My blog about all things strange, weird and medieval.
And if you like what you see, consider becoming a sponsor at Patreon.
I have two new prayer cards that should be available next week:
Anpu (Anubis) by Ptahmassu Nofra-Uaa
Ptah-Sokar-Ausir also by Ptahmassu Nofra-Uaa.
Check out his interview here to learn more about this amazing polytheistic artist.
Most Cruel of Fetters
by E. Blakely
I know that I lay upon rough-hewn rocks
Held fast by the most cruel of fetters
In a place where Time is measured by the drop.
The sound – a jarring ‘plink’
Deepening to a ‘plank’
Then a deep-throated ‘plonk’.
Full once more…and She is gone.
The terror returns…
Is She safe?
Will She return?
Will I hear Her shriek and call My Name before Her Step-Daughter comes to claim Her?…To restore Her to Our Youngest?
Does He run into Her arms, tearfully joyous, crying ‘Mommy, Mommy’?
Wolf-Son, if You lurk outside, waiting to greet Your Mother, please greet me as well.
Without the Love-of-My-Life, this torment holds no power over me.
Let it end.
By S. Hintz
Loki, I love your daughter Hela
And it was her association with me
That first piqued your interest
In my humble doings
Flame hair, you watched witness to struggle
I underwent with the shadows
Of Christianity cutting bindings
Long rotted away
Sorting meaning from unmeaning
Seeking truth from lie finally burning
To ashes those things withholding me
From the inner fires
Sated I sought in seeking found
My family of Gods Woden in the wood
Compassion in the heart of the Death Goddess
Wondering I wander
Idea to idea never quite still
Mental restlessness sympathetic to your own
Until Gifu in kindness you gave
Me to meet Sigyn
Sigyn told me of the dance of light
On the waters the dance of shadow
Within the wood until I remembered
To hold my balance
Between extremes light and dark the polarity
Things you learned in the wandering days
With Gangleri in the wood of the world
Brothers galdr kin glad met
Tonight I sit in struggle forming
This poem no poet I yet expression seeking
Gratitude for the Trickster tricking me
Into right relationship
With self in the world I have come to love
Sigyn’s Beloved first loved by Angrboda
In the Ironwood Laufey’s son
Dancer of forms
Wise in experience Nimble of thought
Bringer of troubles remover of obstacles
Once the lesson learned has made person
Loki, I pray to remain ever humbled
By the great truth of the ordeal suffered
You and Sigyn endured worm venom
Stronger together than apart.