a skald in winter

A SKALD IN WINTER

There is a weaving. The patterns translated from the sinawali madness.
I was asked by a buddy of mine who after years of training got into a fight and hurt the opponent badly. He wrote me terrified and I started writing back. He asked my how do I reconcile what I can do with my hands with the realities of the world. How do I deal with the sad culture of text before talk? How do I deal with the catastrophic inequities of power? There have been too many times in my life when it would have been so much easier to confront condescension with barbarism. When the person behind the desk desperately needed their blood spilled as a life lesson. There are too many who never had to shed blood to survive or even eat. There are too many that didn’t risk their health for a paycheck. Normally I live go to “the Flow” and use it to live formless in the moment. I try to be like water, sometimes I am rain to stream, stream to river, river to ocean, ocean to vapor, vapor to rain. I use improvised poetry and weaving patterns of steel. The snow has caught my attention now. I am frozen. I am a creature out of time. The words are exo-skeletal they hold me together with pins and screws scars and stories. The water is converted to steam that pushes what’s left of my body in iron armor. My mind goes back to when I was a brutalized shy kid, then to my cold and cruel guro, then to my past careers. There are only fighter’s allowed here.
The point is always at the opponent’s eyes. I had to ask him. Who are you fighting, the weapon or the person behind it? And aren’t you also behind the weapon. These enemies, they are fiercer than any monster, blacker than any troll, they are subtle and deceitful the one’s that steal your soul. We are and fight the Dreaming shadow in skin. SO with blackest ink I pour out the remnants my soul on to paper, cold and clean like a field in snow. You are also the one behind the pen. There are too many dragon’s to slay without you doing war with yourself. In the end we are all memory. Just be sure you have a good tale to tell, and be on the right side of the blade when Morrigan comes.
We are the shears of the Fates.