Woden

An autobiographical devotional. A prayer to the love of my soul.

Writing to the void, I scribe runes upon lintels of doors, my windows covered in occult equations. I seep deep of my blueberry melancholy, wondering, 'Where are you, hunter of my soul?'. I miss my wandering god, the wild huntsman who used to pursue like the shrieking tempest. I sit in bathroom uhtisetta, zen meditations upon porcelain thrones. Pipes groan and my inner-works respond in kind.

 

Midnight reveries of silent isolation, walking alone amidst crowds, swathed in a nimbus of blue cigarette smoke. I roam and and I seek, smiling at orphans and handing molding bills to beggars who reach out lustily. Coins rattle in a cup and for a moment my god overshadows the reeking piece of human refuse. I hasten to this divine street hobo, then weep in frustration. He has left this grimy man, leaving a confused drunken shell. I pour the last of my change into his cup, and I wonder on.

 

How far must I wander, Vegtam the Wanderer? How long must I hunt, Wise Huntsman? You know I shall trek to the ends of the earth, where the seas fall into the shrieking pits of dreams and I do.  Yet I find more emptiness and doubt.

 

Anger rises, neon rage. I scream ink black imprecations into the blacker sky, only the stars wink mockingly. Even your eye has left the Well of Sky. Blood pounds tense in my temples, like the blood once flowed in your Temples. Is this what you desire, oh vampiric lecher? Do you long for the days when bulls hung from your holy trees? Must I placate you with sacrifices of goats and men? No. You have lost your taste for such things. You feed upon different things now, most holy Hanged God.

 

I sit by the slurping sea, watching it make shameless love to the shore, lapping at Earth's intimacies with lustful abandon. My heart beats in my chest like a ticking time bomb, each pulse counting on my mortality. Then, in the white noise pollution of a polluted city I hear my blood speak. I know then that I may search the world and never find him, though I inspect every hollow and untainted grove. For if that which I seek I do not find within, I shall never find it without.

Reviews

[Wolfhilde]

This one is very interesting. It almost read like a poem. it is intens and also sad. I loved it.

[Pax Analog]

This reads like a more poetically on-fire section of Neil Gaiman's American Gods.

And after the mesmerizing spell of language reaches a relative conclusion, you cannily make the narrative about the retraction of objectified myths into lived inner qualities -- like an arousing Joseph Campbell primer.

You do what I like to do, in our distinctive ways: invade narrative prose with poetic language roil. Thereby, the story is always simultaneously about its narrative components and its echoes, and the story of language itself, deployed through this particular poet, in this particular time and place.

Because I'm so fond of collage convergences, it's easy for me to see this piece as a "panel" in a larger structure as well, at least as an option.

Continue invading prose with poetics, and also ask yourself questions re poetics of structure and narrativity. Really, expanding the full bore range of applied poetics avails the artist and the world best.

Strong work.

[RAWR!]

i confuse myself in your symbols,
but the raw content, is filled with gems.

[Kayla]

I love this piece because I understand it completely. This describes the dilemma of the Odin priest perfectly and my heart hurts with the portrayal of our beloved god in this way.
Love it babe
Awena

[Amant Cache]

It's a very human thing for us to search so desperately for something bigger than we. There's an alluring beauty in your hero, hunter, wanderer- though he/she is immortalized on paper, in writing, their beauty is that you humanized them.

I love how raw your writing is. It's very expressive of who you are as a person.

[Angelic Darkness]

This is intense, and feels sad to me. Like searching for something you
will never acclaim. You really put yourself in your words, your intimacy,
your longing.

I love this line: I sit by the slurping sea, watching it make shameless love to the shore, lapping at Earth's intimacies with lustful abandon.

This is a very visual, sensual line.

Thank you for sharing...AD