Karl (louderback) wrote,

The Green Pasture, Jotunn, Melodic Death Metal

Today's Lyric:
Beneath the Mountain's arm
Within the wizard's vale
A great ring-wall of stone
Like towering cliffs
Stood out from the shelter
Of the mountain side
Through years uncounted
Had stood that ancient place
That man called Valhall

Welcome, my lords, to Valhall...

From the north we came
To a battle we ride
Hold high our hand
With Odin on my side
With axes of steel
And bloodred swords
Killing the enemies
In the name of the Gods

Recently Played Songs:
         Today is another slow day. I'm listening to "melodic death metal" again on Last.fm and getting a lot of "Viking Folk". I love the lyrics for these songs. Some of them are notably anti-Christian, but this in no way offends me. Many of my ancestors were notably anti-Christian. Quite a few Christians were "anti" my ancestors, too. It has inspired me to do a bit of reading and research on Norse Mythology and related things. I had forgotten how many gods there were and how interestingly like every other creation myth the Norse beliefs were. That sounded some how deprecating, but was not intended so.

         I've been fascinated by the Jötunn of late. I learned years ago that they were giants, that they lived in frozen places, and that Thor had a problem with them. I pretty much left it at that until the last few days. I've recently learned that there are fire giants and frost giants, that the gods didn't exclusively hate them, as they had a tendency to mate with giantesses. I've been able to find the name of 29 giants. I would imagine there are more. At the moment I'm trying to find out how they fit into the creation mythology. It would appear that they bear more than a casual resemblance to the titans or nephelim and are the source of lots of troll legends.

         This morning I watch "The Green Pastures" in the 1936 version. Despite being politically incorrect, I found the picture very interesting and more than a little entertaining. It would be impossible to make a modern equivalent of this movie. A remake was done in 1957. I would like to see that to see just what they did. I would love to be able to plumb the mind of those who created this movie to see just what was their purpose in making an all-black movie of that tenor and with that story at that particular point in history.

         A moment of self—reflection… I've discovered in my writing, particularly while composing, a tendency toward misspellings and interesting incorrect usages. I tend to spell phonetically and to use one variant of a word for all instances of the word. Their, they're, there, all become there unless I concentrate on it. To, too, two, becomes too. Do is spelled doo. Meet is meat unless I am careful. Screen becomes screan. I don't know what is causing this. I wonder if it is a function of my vision. I have long maintained that drivers do not get worse as they get older, they simply lose the reflexes and mental acuity to compensate for their bad driving habits. I wonder if something of the sort is happening in my writing. Was I always a bad speller while composing, and no longer have the visual feedback to compensate?

The Room
I did not recognize the place in which I woke. I was in pain. I was in considerable pain. My legs did not work and though I saw no evidence of severe injury, they afflicted me with pain that felt like broken bones and crushed or lacerated flesh. My arms felt better, but every joint from shoulder to fingertips felt as though it had been stretched to its breaking point. My breathing was labored, the ache with each intake of breath told of broken ribs. It took a considerable time for me to take inventory in this fashion and it was only after that I took stock of my surroundings. There were walls around me. At least I could not see any great distance and there was no visible horizon. If I seem questioning on so elementary a matter, accept that my eyes were blurry and that the walls had no visible joint with ceiling or floor and exhibited nothing resembling a corner. The boundaries I was experiencing were nacre-like in that they had that mother-of-pearl sheen and pinkish rainbow of iridescence. They were, however, of a …well, stolid nature. One cannot look at the surface of a wall and determine its thickness, but looking on these walls one knew, beyond doubt, that they were solid— dense and impenetrable. The floor, ceiling, and walls were identically featureless and the sloping smoothing of the edges (appreciated manually, as I was lying near a wall) left me with a somewhat dizzying and disorienting discomfort around the eyes when I tried too hard, or too long, to focus.
Tags: freewriting, melodic death metal, movies, music

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