this is the anthem

this is the anthem

this is the anthem

I can go from Journey to Foreigner 4 to a vertical Mesolithic burial to a coveted sword, the steel iron and carbon content shifting as you reach the tip - the infinite flexibility and form of a rope - like all line - the tie down and the thing it secures - which can be anything - to thinking of minecraft - exploding the concrete of New York City in my head, starting with the humdrum homoegenity of the dreaded Grecery Store. Put me half naked tending to a rabbit on a spit, bound to a stick, rotating it with my wrist - that is happiness - you get to eat it at the end! Anything but the Grocery Store - the passive thing that resembles life, resembles a non space not even liminal - to all things unknown and strange but deeply riveted, and riveting, these two go together. That's where you'll find me. The iron workers doing their I-beams in the sky I am with them, because to do that takes your full weight, anything that you have to push your full weight agianst, to move, is to understand. There is much I can do with my hands, my fingers, how they relate to the rest of my body, how I am able to throw it around and make stuff happen, in space, this comes back to me as an understanding of space. Whether air, water or land. It is all legitimate.

There are cowards out there. Beware. This used to depress me. As if I could solve cowardice. Cowards will die cowards, spinning a narrative of glory that is not played out in life but always - only - in their heads.

Super awkward woo moves on the part of the Original Tribes (no Christianity yet) - gotta love that this survived - thank you scribe monks of a latter era!

"One day one of their women, Eriu the daughter of Delbaeth, was looking at the sea and the land from the house of Maeth Sceni; and she saw the sea as perfectly calm as if it were a level board. After that, while she was there, she saw something: a vessel of silver appeared to her on the sea. Its size seemed great to her, but its shape did not appear clearly to her; and the current of the sea carried it to the land. Then she saw that it was a man of fairest appearance. He had golden-yellow hair down to his shoulders, and a cloak with bands of gold thread around it. His shirt had embroidery of gold thread. On his breast was a brooch of gold with the lustre of a precious stone in it. Two shining silver spears and in them two smooth riveted shafts of bronze. Five circlets of gold around his neck. A gold-hilted sword with inlayings of silver and studs of gold. 17. The man said to her, "Shall I have an hour of lovemaking with you?" "I certainly have not made a tryst with you," she said.

End of Story. Nah - it goes on from there...

It's not the long haired dude stepping off the water. It's centuries of damp celled harry potter monks interpreting misinterpreting and transcribing heard, said and re-written word. By the time it got into the hands of the scribe we are reading now - at a point where Christianity was already on its life mission to separate the realness and worth of the body from its own temple - at a time when this vague but separate notion of "spirit" vs. "flesh" was firmly implanted in the self abnegating, hyprocritical hands of a religion where Bishops had armies - conquest and power fused as one with hatred and denial of the flesh (thereby excusing the mutiliation and torture of the flesh of others) - one that simultaneously and dutifully documented the so called heathens with a certain reverence in their fascination. The Viking laugh at "taking a bath" that referred to the rite of baptism. In a realm where there was so much more - grand elaborate burial schemes would take an small and super orgnaized army of hands and knowledge to build - many bodies, heads, horses, grave goods simply to honor one - how did the concept of "one hour" and "lovemaking" really come to pass? My wish: to understand what was said and intended in the time that this was told. What significance, what weight, with what texture did this unfold where it made sense and no words were changed to be something they were not?

In other words - what is badass, is badass.

"The poems are in a form called rosc or roscaid. This is a very archaic, non-metrical, non-rhyming form of poetry which may date back further than our written record of the Irish language. Its most consistent feature is connective alliteration, where the word or words at the end of one line alliterate with the word or words at the beginning of the next line. This forms a kind of conceptual chain, where the image of one line is shifted to produce the image of the following line. Rosc can be notoriously difficult to translate, as there is a scarcity of verbs, a lax attitude to syntax and many archaic and obscure words preserved in the poetic form." ISOLDE ÓBROLCHÁIN CARMODY 23/06/2016
The Morrigan Speaks

Afraigid rig don cath
Kings rise to the battle
rucatair gruaide
Cheeks are seized
aisnethir rossa
Faces declared
ronnatair feola
Flesh is decimated
fennátair enech
Faces are flayed
ethátair catha -rruba
Weapons are seized
segatar ratha
Ramparts are sought
radatar fleda
Feasts are given
fechatar catha
Battles observed
canátair natha
Poems recited
noatair druith
Druids are celebrated
dénaitir cuaird
Circuits made
cuimnitir arca
Bodies recorded
alat ide
Metal cut
sennat deda
Teeth marks made
tennat braigit
Necks broken
blathnuighit tufer
Cuts blossom
cluinethar eghme
Screams are heard
ailitir cuaird
Battallions broken
cathitir lochtai
Hosts give battle
lúet ethair
Ships are steered
snaat arma
Weapons protect
scothaitir sronai
Noses are severed
At_ci cach ro_genair
I see all who are born
ruadcath dergbandach
in the blood zealous vigorous battle
dremnad fiach lergai fo_eburlai
raging raven-battlefield blade-scabbards
Fri uabar rusmebat
They attempt our defeat
re_nar_már_srotaib sinne
over our own great torrents
fri fur fo_abad líni Fomoire
Against your attack on the full of Fomoire
i margnaich incanaigh
In the mossy margins
copraich aigid fiach
the helpful raven drives
dorar friarsolga garuh
strife to our hardy hosts
dálaig formdesigter rodbadh
mustered, we prepare to destroy
samlaidh dergbandaib dam
To me, the full blooded exploits are like
aim critaighid connaechta
the shaking of hound-kills
sameth donn_curidh dibur fercurib fristongarar
goodly decay of muddy warbands, your violations are renounced

Sith co nem

Peace to the sky
Nem co doman
Sky to earth
Doman fo ním,

Earth under sky
nert hi cach
Strength in each
án for_lann
Cup on a plate
lan do mil
Full of honey
mid co saith
Mead to satisfaction
Sam hi ngam
Summer in winter
gai for sciath
Spear upon a shield
sciath for durnd
Shield upon a fist
Dunad lonn_garg
Blade bristling fort
longa tromfoíd
Consumption of solid earth
fod di uí
Rights of the descendents
ross for biur
Forest on a point
benna abu
Horns from a cow
airbe im_etha
Encircling fence
Mess for crannaib
Mast upon trees
craob do scis
Weary bough
scis do áss
Weary from growth
saith do mac
Wealth for a boy
mac for muin
Boy on a neck; food enough for a free person
muinel tairb
Neck of a bull
tarb di arccoin
Bull from a watch dog
odhb do crann
Knot on a tree
crann do ten
Tree for fire
Tene a nn-ail
Fire from a stone
Ail a n-uír
Stone from earth
uích a mbuaib
Young from cows
boinn a mbru
Cows from a womb
Brú la fefaid
Riverbank with birdsong
oss_glas iaer errach
Grey deer before spring
foghamar for_asit etha
Autumn where grows corn
Iall do tir
Flock of birds, warriors for the land
tir co trachd
Land to the shore
la feabrae
With sharp edges
Bid_ruad rossaib síraib rith_már
The great run to the eternal woods / the promintory will be fierce
‘Nach scel laut?’
“Have you any story?”
Sith co nemh,
Peace to the sky
bid_sirnae sith’
It will be eternal peace

Ni accus bith no_mbeo
I do not see a world of the living
Baid sam cin blatha
Summer will be without flowers
beti bai cin blichda
Cows will be without milk
mna can feli
Women without modesty / generosity / pudenda
fir gan gail
Men without semen
Gabala can righ
Conquests without king
rinna ulcha ilmoigi
walls of spear-points on every plain
beola bron
Sad mouths
feda cin mes
Forests without mast
Muir can toradh
Sea without fruit
Tuir bainbthine /// Tuirb ainb thine
Tower-wall of white metal /// A multitude of storms
immat moel rátha
around bare fortresses
fás a forgnam locha
Empty their dark buildings
diersitir dinn
High places cannot endure
atrifiter linn
A lake has attempted
lines sechilar flaithie
to flood past a multitude of kingdoms
faoilti fria holc
Welcome to its evil
ilach imgnath
Howling occupies
gnuse ule
every face
Incrada docredb
Great unbelievable torments
gluind ili
many crimes
imairecc catha
Battles waged everywhere
toebh fri ech delceta
Trust in spiked horses
imda dala
Many hostile meetings
braith mac flaithi
treacherous princelings
forbuid bron
A shroud of sorrows
sen saobretha
on old high judgements
Brecfásach mbrithiom
False maxims of judges
braithiomh cech fer
Every man a betrayer
Foglaid cech mac
Every son a brigand
Gignitir cen_mair
Many will be born without surviving
olc aimser
Evil time
immera mac a athair
in which the son will derange his father
imera ingen
In which the daughter will derange…