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reesertshadow

reesertshadow

Tag Archives: wind

Wind (Forseti)

05 Tuesday Dec 2017

Posted by reesertshadow in Uncategorized

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Forseti, music, neofolk, poetry, wind, winter

#27 is Wind, by Forseti.

The biggest reason I like this song is because the music captures so perfectly the feel of deep winter…where the holidays are over and it’s not fun and festive anymore, and maybe there’s snow, but it’s old snow and isn’t bright and new anymore…or maybe it’s just the grey skies and dead earth. This song puts me in mind of all of that.

I like also that the whole song is a personification of the wind, with the first two parts describing the wildness and destructive power of wind (yeah, the lyrics and the music are kind of at odds here), and the last being about the gentler winds renewing the earth…

In a way, the lyrics are almost more like a poem than a song…but I guess that’s one of the things about some of the neofolk stuff that I came across…the lyrics are less sing-songy and instead are almost chants set to music…I kinda like it, but I haven’t been sold on enough of those songs for any others besides this one to appear in this year’s countdown.

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28 Monday Sep 2009

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Angelina Jolie, Beowulf, books, dragons, metal, monsters, movies, stories, wind

Hello creatures. Today is super windy…I am strongly reminded of the windstorm we had a little over a year ago. Hopefully this time there will not be any power outages though.
Anyway, I guess I don’t have anything interesting with which to make an entry today. Using this shared basement computer is totally throwing me off, too. I need my compoooooter! With my files and things…  😦

I could tell you a little bit about what I’ve been reading though, since Once Upon A Time I mentioned that I might start doing that kind of thing…

Selection:
Beowulf, translated by Seamus Heaney

Synopsis:
If you did your assigned reading in high school (or college) English courses, then you’ve probably encountered this story in some form or another. Beowulf tells the story of a kingdom that is repeatedly attacked by an evil swamp monster and his mother, and how the title character, a warrior from a neighboring kingdom, is able to defeat both monsters and learn things to help him be a good king later in his life. King Beowulf also battles a dragon towards the end of the story, which is pretty cool.

Reeser’s Opinion:
If this were a novel, I would have more to say about it. But, since it’s a long poem…there’s less to say unless we’re interested in writing dissertations here (we’re not). The plot is short and fairly uncomplicated, but I still enjoy reading Beowulf now and then. It’s exciting in the way that a metal CD or a video game is exciting, except that you’re reading Beowulf instead of listening or pressing buttons. And if you don’t like action and fighting and super-macho warriors talking about politics in the mead hall, the story’s monsters are still pretty cool. They’re almost more interesting than the human characters because of the places here and there where the narrator speculates on why the monsters do what they do.
I feel like this is also a good read because there isn’t a whole lot that I think most people would quibble over as to whether or not it’s offensive. Yes, there is blood and gore, and yes there is a lot of Christianese bandied amongst the Danes and the Geats (the two kingdoms involved), so if you’re offended by wanton destruction and beheadings, or if you’re offended by Christianity, then maybe this story is not for you. However, if you like monsters and/or Viking metal, then maybe you should revisit Beowulf.

And by “revisit,” I don’t mean “watch the movie.” I have no idea how they chose Angelina Jolie to play Grendel’s mother when the characters indicate in the poem that they aren’t actually sure if the other monster is even female or not. I haven’t seen the movie specifically because they didn’t make Grendel’s mother very monstery.
Epic fail. For serious, since this is an epic poem.

Anyway, read the story and only see the movie if you feel like you have to.

Cheers.

Reeser

06 Saturday Jun 2009

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Catholic Church, dark, Greek myth, lakes, Little Red Riding Hood, memories, Michigan Dogman, monsters, Rowan London, scary, The Little Mermaid, Virgin Black, wind

Hey all. My last story for a while (don’t worry…I have more. I just don’t want to post them all in one go). This one is about me in the dark. Fun stuff, that.

 

Oh, and thanks to all of you who have actually bothered to read my last two stories. Means a lot to me, that. Hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

 

Story No. 3: Here There Be Monsters…Sort Of.

 

 

My memories of our dock are fragmented. I know that I go out there to sit in the dark—usually when I know I’ll be able to watch the moonrise over Lake Bellaire—but I don’t remember when I started taking those late-night excursions. When I picture myself out there, the wood beneath me is a splintery, bleached silver. At some point the old dock was replaced with a new one, its planks smooth and greenish-tan, but I don’t remember when that happened either. Was I still in high school, or already in college? Even when I picture my more recent memories, the boards are unfailingly old and warping at the edges. I guess my memory is that way, too: a little warped at the edges.

 

I remember the various colours of the moon much better than I remember the dock. Usually it’s grey, and other times it’s the rusty colour of dried blood. Once, it was gigantic and neon orange, a colour I had previously only seen on poisonous frogs at the zoo.

 

In my most intact memory, the moon is a pale, vegetable-spread yellow (we don’t use real butter at our house) and rising, it fades to the colour of powdered sugar. It’s like a floating doughnut hole. It was windy that time, and I was wearing a hoodie. A green hoodie. My arms were prickling with cold, but I was in a bad mood and felt like I would stay outside anyway, just to spite the cold wind.

 

As if I could spite the wind! I once took a class on mythology, and a particular myth cautioned against spiting the wind.  That myth also ruined my favourite flowers, telling me they sprouted out of an ill-fated, gay love triangle:

 

In one version of the story, a prince with a terrible name—Hyacinthus—spurns Zephyrus, a god of the wind, and goes off with Apollo instead. Everything’s fine until Zephyrus uses an ancient stone of a frisbee to crack open poor Hyacinthus’ skull. Then Hyacinthus turns into a plant. One of many morals to the story: don’t underestimate the wind.

 

I don’t believe in wind gods, though, so I thought I could afford to be spiteful. There were no hyacinths around the dock to warn me, either, just sticker bushes and sweet pea vines, heavy with pods and purple or white blossoms. They grew all over the hill beside the crumbling concrete stairs that came down from our yard, and during the daytime they would have been full of glimmering green and black hummingbirds. It was all very happily-ever-afterish.

 

But at night things were less fairytale-esque, unless you take into account that the original versions of fairy tales tend to be dark and depressing. For instance, in some versions of the stories, Red Riding Hood’s wolf is actually a rapist, Mother Hubbard’s dog is actually dead, and the real Little Mermaid didn’t have a soul and killed herself—thank you, Disney, for softening these stories up for modern kids!

 

Disney aside, it’s true: fairytales were originally morbid things, and in original fairytale fashion, the dark, stealthy things would steal out of my imagination to take over for the sweet peas and birds when I was on the dock at night.

 

I didn’t like listening to the rustling noises from the wind, and I hated that they made me nervous…so I had my iPod playing. In my green-hoodie-clad memory, I was listening to a band called Virgin Black. Having Rowan London’s voice for company made me feel better, although I confess the music was faintly creepy. A melancholy blend of opera, violins, and electric guitars, it made me think of vampires, and big empty Catholic churches.

 

We’d been Catholic when I was younger, and the church always creeped me out those times I tagged along with Dad while he did some late-night maintenance. But for the two of us, the sanctuary would be empty, and most of the lights off. Votive candles threw flickering, Halloweenish light over the statues of Mary and Joseph, and the white communion rail. Everything echoed, and I’d been terribly afraid of bogeymen lurking in that dark, echoing church. They could easily hide between the dozens of darkened pews. Even the most sacred places weren’t safe, as I figured monsters could hide beneath the marble altar, and spy on us from behind the stiff white altar cloth.

 

What kind of bogeymen would haunt churches, anyway? I didn’t know, but I remember thinking about it as I sat on the dock that night, watching the moon and listening to Virgin Black.

 

I recall hugging my knees and burying my face in the crook of my elbow. That way, my nose wouldn’t get too runny from the cold. I’ve always hated a runny nose. Out on the water, I saw a little green light moving steadily to the right. Soon, little waves from the boat’s wake were splashing against the dock. I watched the moon’s silvery reflection break into bars and drift to the shore. It was very pretty. So were the violins, and Rowan’s deep, sad voice…

 

And my iPod died.

 

Grumbling over the ruined moment, I wound up my earbuds and held tightly onto the little gadget. I was afraid of dropping it into the lake and having to do without music for the rest of my vacation, while little fishes poked at and nibbled my iPod’s leather case.

 

The wind blew again, long and cold. I shivered. Behind me, the sticker bushes and sweet peas rattled in a most sinister way. I thought about the deer that sometimes dashed through our sandy yard to come down and drink from the lake, and I wondered what other animals might come down at night. I thought about foxes and coyotes, and the bear that my brother and sister had once seen.

 

I thought of the folk story about the Michigan Dogman, a werewolfish creature who finds its way into the smaller papers now and again, usually in relation to attacked pets and livestock, or in the words of some poor soul who claimed to have seen it. Some clouds drifted across the moon, and everything was much darker. What was that about Little Red Riding Hood?

 

Now, I knew that the rustling on the hill was probably just the wind, but my imagination isn’t always so reasonable. It’s like a small child, and I must often be stern with it. I refused to let it turn me around, and have me scan the hillside for monsters that I knew weren’t there. Staring resolutely out at the deserted lake, I pulled out my cell phone and called the house.  I asked Mum if she would, pretty please, turn on the floodlights.

 

I just didn’t want to walk back to the house in the dark.

29 Sunday Mar 2009

Posted by reesertshadow in Uncategorized

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bad days, college, graduation, internships, jobs, presentations, rain, rehearsal, Shakespeare, Sigma Tau Delta, theatre, Voltaire, wind, wisdom teeth

Well, today is a bad day. Was. It was a bad day.

 

The wind is howling, and has carried on like this since I went to sleep at about 4am.

It was grey and rainy.

This is my last day of not running around until some undetermined time in the future.

This is a terrible song.

There are other things, but what would be the point in reciting them?

 

 

I finished that collection of Neil Gaiman’s dystopian mania, and started that crazy sounding book about chocolate bunnies. The writing is really weird. I mean, I like humor books…but this one…I think the author is taking it a little bit too far. I got through the first few pages and thought that the convoluted style would dissipate, but nope. Chapter 6 and it’s still going. How can one write that way and sustain it for a whole book? Crazy…

 

 

What else? Hmm…

Well, I have to start going to rehearsals for the play tomorrow. So that annoys me a little bit. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore because the director took my job away because I told her I couldn’t do the Saturday afternoon show that got added at the last minute. But she told me to come anyway and they would think of something to do with me. I guess they will  *shrug*

The play starts Thursday, ends Sunday afternoon and then I have to stay for strike. Then that’s over and I get to move on through another week and start my term paper for Shakespeare and be short tempered with everyone.

 

And then maybe on the 9th or 10th I will have my wisdom teeth removed, but probably not because any time I need anything, my parents defer it indefinitely. Maybe I will get an infection and die and they’ll feel bad. Probably not.

 

Then there’s the convocation and symposium that next Wednesday. I haven’t started preparing my presentation yet. I also have to make up a presentation about my internship for that Friday, and then the Sigma Tau Delta induction ceremony is Saturday…and that following Thursday Mum and Katelyn and I are going to see Voltaire, and then I make up my last radio shift that weekend and then it’s exams week and I graduate and don’t have a job. The end.

 

 

I hate April.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reeser

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kerri: There’s a picture of a dead cat on the side of the road and someone put up a sign that says “free cat,” with an arrow pointing to the dead cat.

Reeser: Aaw… poor kitty.

Kerri: Yeah, yeah, poor kitty… I like the sign.

Reeser: My kitty is offended… or, he would be if he were here.

Kerri: *laughs* Rawr! Woof, woof!

Reeser: *barks back*

Kerri: Meooooooow!

Reeser: *grrs*

Kerri: Beep, beep!

Reeser: Click.

Kerri: Chop, chop.

Reeser: Slice!

Kerri: Wa-bang!

Reeser: Ker-flop.

Kerri: Splat!

Reeser: Gloop-gloop.

Kerri: Dunderford.

Reeser: Umm… I got nothing.

Kerri: *laughs*

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