ferum_animi

This one has its own orb! >;-)
( Read more... )

Being a werewolf enthusiast, when I spied The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves by Nathan Robert Brown in the metaphysical books section, I had to pick it up. I knew it would be bad, given that the cover boasted a coyote yapping at a full moon when they undoubtedly intended it to portray a wolf howling at the moon. I hoped it would be a funny read at least, maybe something along the lines of the amazing dry wit of The Werewolf's Guide to Life: A Manual for the Newly Bitten by Ritch Duncan. Alas, no. The attempts at levity fall flat, particularly after having finished The Werewolf's Guide to Life: A Manual for the Newly Bitten prior to reading The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves.

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves is a clumsy mixture of Cliff'sNotes type versions of oft-cited historical facts and lore, urban legends, descriptions of a few werewolf-themed movies, books, comics, anime, and games, "Native American werewolves and shapeshifters", relatives of the werewolf, therianthropes of the East, clinical lycanthropy, physical illnesses that may have spurred the idea of werewolves, and two chapters tossed in the mix that are attempts at humor (and boast prominent warnings that they are, in fact, humor, and not intended to be enacted on) -- Chapter 15. Once Bitten... Then What? and Chapter 16. How To Kill a Werewolf. These chapters are jarring, as suddenly it's goofy fantasy sandwiched between non-fiction chapters. I implore anyone who wants the subject matter of those two chapters presented in a skillfully written, witty, and thorough manner, that never breaks character and broadcasts no warnings (because--duh!--it's a parody), please order the amusing and vastly superior The Werewolf's Guide to Life: A Manual for the Newly Bitten by Ritch Duncan.

The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves offers a few references, but not as many as most well done Complete Idiot's Guides do. Is this a book of personal conjecture? Is this a work of fiction? Is this a serious expose of werewolves in history and pop culture? The book vacillates awkwardly between all three. The back of the book states it provides:

A brief history of werewolves around the world.

Beyond-beastly explanations of werewolf phenomena.

A selection of savagely entertaining werewolf facts and stories.

A fascinating look at how humans transform into werewolves.
I suppose it does what it says, but without proper references it's difficult to cross-check. Much of it can easily be discovered on-line. This is why I was dismayed when certain "facts" were offered that can be easily disproved, or at least called into question, if one does a good web search. How hard is a thorough Google search for both pro and con sites for each factoid/myth/urban legend/etc.? I just did so for a few days while writing this.

I could seriously spend weeks nitpicking each chapter and giving references to either discount the "facts" presented or to offer more widely accepted, different, or more thorough lore. Instead, I'll merely address a few things that made me scoff:
( Read more... )

I don't think I'll be placing The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves by Nathan Robert Brown on my shelves of werewolf/shape-shifter non-fiction or fiction. To me it deserves a place of rest among neither, nor will I be lending it out to anyone with an interest in the subject.

Tags: reviews

The green parakeet passed away.

Mom hadn't seen him prior to her afternoon nap, but when she went out in the front yard upon waking, there he lay on the sidewalk by the front door (in the same spot, curiously, as the photos mom took a while ago of both it and the yellow one together).

Mom wrapped it in a paper towel and brought it in so I could see it and say goodbye. The bird looked peacefully asleep. No marks, no blood, no visible wounds. It could've died of old age, for all we know. It took a month or two, but maybe it died of a broken heart when the yellow one disappeared.

I didn't write about it yesterday because it bummed me out. Now I'm in awe of it's survival skills, more than anything; it first appeared in our courtyard platform feeder toward the end of August, and joined the local house finches and sparrows to roost and feed with. Despite deep freezes and snows, he prevailed and exhibited vigor and courage whenever I saw him.

( Read more... )

A pretty cloud reflecting the sunset.
( Read more... )

A baby stroller in the middle of the Southern Platte.
( Read more... )

Heading south on the trail we faced a bright lowering sun...
( Read more... )

Our return was darker, with the rapidly setting sun behind, and to the side, of us.
( Read more... )

It was getting a little dark (and cold!) by the time we left, but we managed to spot this Red-tail in flight.
( Read more... )

Squee, indeed!

( Read more... )

Near the parking lot Jay spotted a Bald Eagle in the distance speeding along the Southern Platte.

I love the illusion of this first photo: it looks like the eagle plowed into a group of ducks and snatched one. However, though they're all flying at the same height, the eagle's more distant than the ducks.
( Read more... )

Jay informed me that Evergreens are bi-gendered; the male reproductive organs are at the top, and the rest are the female organs. When the sperm, in the form of seeds, reach the female parts (usually via wind), a pinecone is formed.

Taken beside the parking lot. All are female until the last, which is male.
( Read more... )

Thunder, Thunder, Thunderbeasts, Ho!

Who you callin' a ho?

Er... *ahem*:

Blessedly, the weather was decent enough for the boys and I to freakin' finally go hiking Saturday! After months of being unable to, we visited the 104th Open Space & Bike Trail.

Much squee and glee were had. Jay was uber-photo-facilitator, of course. >;-)

Among the views captured were: A Bald Eagle in the distance! A Belted Kingfisher on a wire and in a tree! Pigeons clustered on a pole and wires, plotting to take over the world! Canada Geese in flight! A Red-tailed Hawk in flight! A Male Downy Woodpecker, er, beating wood(!), Evergreen genitalia (seriously!), mountain views, the sunset at different times, the barely visible first phase sliver of the moon, and, for the first time, a decent Black-capped Chickadee shot! I love chickadees, and they're always around us, yet they move so quickly they're difficult to photograph.

Omegadog one again graced us with his presence that evening, thus leading to another record-breaking late night -- rather, early Sunday morning. I crashed, slightly comatose, around 2:00-ish AM, and Lu and the boys left around 5:30 AM. >;-D

Had to rise uncomfortably early on Sunday to visit grandma in Boulder. Counted birds of prey on the way to and from, which kept me surprisingly awake and alert. A total of 19 this time, and one of those my parents and I thought for sure was an eagle given it's size (it was too far off to differentiate between Golden or Bald). Only four were close enough to tell that they were Red-tailed Hawks. So, once again, it's a fair guess that the others were Cooper's Hawks and Red-tails.

---

Reading: I finished Werewolves: A Field Guide to Shapeshifters, Lycanthropes, and Man-Beasts by Dr. Bob Curran (thank you, Watching!), which was an excellent read. Much of it was a good refresher "course", detailing many old histories and information from other sources I've read through the years. The black & white illustrations by Ian Daniels have a Gothic bent to them that aesthetically appeals to me (and--refreshingly--no stereotypically "Native American"-looking ones). The only word of warning about the book's information: the few statements on Navajo cultural beliefs are wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But that didn't surprise me. The best thing to do (well, what I do, that is), whenever you read a book about monsters or the paranormal that espouses any supposed American Indian spiritual beliefs or superstitions, either don't trust its accuracy, gloss over it completely, or view it as pure camp, fantasy, or personal (IE, ignorant) interpretation. Don't let that deter you, it's otherwise a wonderful book.

Also finished The Werewolf's Guide to Life: A Manual for the Newly Bitten by Ritch Duncan (thank you, Nona!), which was pure delight! This book left me enthusiastically grinning after each reading. The dry lycanthropic humor is right up my alley. I can't recommend this enough for the werewolf enthusiast. The book's website also amuses me. Click here and check it out. >;-)

Which leads me to the steaming pile I'm attempting to stomach now: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves by Nathan Robert Brown. Now, I've purchased other "Complete Idiot's Guide" books that were intelligent, concise repositories of information with a wealth of references. This, sadly, is the opposite of those.
Now, anyone who knows me knows I have a perverse love for the craptastic--campy monster and/or horror films, B-movies, Z-movies, Blacksploitation, etc. This love can transcend film and relate to books as well. The Complete Idiot's Guide to Werewolves doesn't even earn a place in that hallowed hell hole of my heart.
I'm forcing myself to finish it solely for the satisfaction of intelligently shredding it to pieces in an amazon.com review. Yes, it honestly is that bad.

---

Photos coming soon.

Love!

My organizations of choice to donate to:

Yéle Haiti. Text YELE to 501501 to donate $5.

Here's information on the grassroots organization:

( Read more... )

---

Doctors Without Borders.

Information about the organization:

( Read more... )

Only joined facebook because my friend Monica invited me several months ago.

In that time I've learned that if you're on dial-up like me, most of the site's features either don't work, or intermittently work. It's so frustrating it's not worth using, except to sporadically keep track of friends who don't use LJ or DW.

Anyway, if you're a facebook user, that's why I seem so quiet/unresponsive there. It's not for lack of trying.

Feeling Sorry for Myself

I start with a groan, swelling to a moan,
rising to a keen, ascending
to a shriek that tapers off in a thin wail.
I hug myself and, whimpering,
rock back and forth on my heels.
No one has ever known such sadness.
No one can grasp how I feel.

I smash an egg over each eye.
I smear my face with coal and pepper.
I wear a paper bag soaked through
with spoiled watermelon and pork grease.
I shred my happy past - my books,
pictures, and poems, published or not.
I'll never fly fish again.

I'll never make love again.
I'll never sit outside and watch night
stretch its starry tent over the sky.
There will be no more metaphors.
I am more sorrowful than a sorrowing man.
Life has no more meaning to me
than a life without meaning.

My heart slows. My blood congeals
to brown, vein-clogging mush.
My stomach goes on strike; my colon
bars its door. People assume
I'm terminal. They imagine what
would make them feel the way I look,
and project their paltry problems onto me.

As if they could fathom my misery
by waterwinging over its abyss!
My pain is too heavy to lift,
too vast to measure, too ineffable to name,
and incalculably too precious to share.
I dig my grave in a landfill, and topple in.
I rub dirt and dog droppings in my hair.

I've sunk so low it's funny; so I start to giggle.
Then to chortle. Then to roar. Mothers
clutch their bleating kids, and rush away.
Gangbangers dash to the far side of the street.
I crawl out of my grave, strip, and shower
with a gunk-filled water hose.
I shake and shiver, grinning, in the filthy air.

by Charles Harper Webb

So many clamor of hating each year. So many waste time and energy on loathing their lot in life, in singling their suffering out as greater, more substantial, than anyone elses.

Everyone has trials. Everyone suffers. In that, we are all equals.

Every year one survives is a good year. To continue, to keep moving, to keep dreaming, not to surrender despite what one faces, is to clutch to hope with stubborn ferocity. That stubborn ferocity is the spirit of the Wild, the energy, the ebb and flow of Nature, of Life.

With hope there is the will to go on. Joys abound unexpectedly when you look, and don't expect.

---

2009 has seen the transformation of some dear relationships. Initially I lamented what I perceived as a personal affront, an insult, and a loss. I now know such things are unavoidable with growing, changing, living beings.
On a related note, I've become much less tolerant of what I perceive as immature behavior in adults, and I've grown into my hermit lifestyle. I am picky and elitist with who I'll allow into my space. That definitely narrows my social circle, yet it's ultimately a good thing. I'm finally realizing that.

Without further ado, happy new year!

Finished the brilliant, nostalgic Child of Man by Kristina Tracer (thank you, Kristy!), and will soon, probably by Friday, finish the utterly delightful (yes, I'm weird) and engrossing Werewolves: A Field Guide to Shapeshifters, Lycanthropes, and Man-Beasts by Dr. Bob Curran, enhanced by gorgeous b&w illustrations by Ian Daniels. This book is everything I love, obsess over, and grow excited about; yet I can never find words to properly explain why such subject matter moves me. Regardless, I recommend this whole-heartedly to any fellow lycanthropy lover and shape-shifter aficionado. Thank you a thousandfold for this, Watching!

Next up: The Werewolf's Guide to Life: A Manual for the Newly Bitten by Ritch Duncan. Thank you for this, Nona! I've skimmed through it briefly, and oh my! -- it is my brand of lycanthropic humor all the way. I'm afraid there won't be much audience for it, many who won't get it or the references, but I do. And boy, do I appreciate it. Makes me feel all warm an' fuzzy. >;-)

Then it's the new Charles de Lint collection of Newford stories, Muse and Reverie. Thank you, Tornir!

Followed by Palimpsest by Catherynne Valente. Thank you, MissLynx!

Tuesday, fairly early in the morning, mind you (8:30 am), my parents and I left to visit grandma at Boulder Manor again.

Holy cow! 20 birds of prey yesterday. 8 of them between my house and the post office on Old Brighton Road alone. Lots of red-tails close-up again, but many had their backs turned so I couldn't tell what they were, besides dark (brown? Gray? Probably various shades of brown.) An awesome puffed-up kestrel was in the same area as the two on Sunday, perched on telephone wire, intently scrutinizing the field below.

When we paused at the post office to collect our mail, on the way to Boulder, I was surprised by a sneaky, sudden flyover of some manner of bird of prey. My initial impression was of white. All white? White underbelly? White under the wings? I didn't have time to study it, so I'm not sure. I thought the wing tips curled up slightly -- but again, these were quick impressions. It swooped right over our parked car and landed in the next yard over. Unfortunately brush and trees blocked further view of it.

Dad returned with Swift's box in tow and talkstowolves' card.

Thank you for the kind words and lovely card, talkstowolves. And I completely agree with your assessment of the new Sherlock Holmes film. My parents and I saw it on Christmas and loved it very much. >:-)

Swift! Oh my goodness. The card, I take it, boasts one of your photographs?
It's gorgeous. A happy tree. The candle -- wow. I don't want to burn it because it's too cool looking. It smells really, really good. I love it so much. Thank you, m'dear. >:-)

Driving the back way to Boulder to visit grandma at Boulder Manor today served to amplify my cabin fever. It was cold yet bright, encouraging ice on the roads to melt while snow on the ground remained seemingly untouched.
Between our house and our destination, I counted an astonishing fourteen hawks, one golden eagle, and two kestrels! Even my parents were enthusiastically keeping track with me on the way back.

Of the fourteen hawks, most were probably red-tailed or Cooper's, as they're the default hawks of the area (they tend to be the most common). There were four red-tails that were close-up, perched on bare branches beside the road. Two close by were Cooper's, sitting atop telephone poles beside the road. The kestrels were on a telephone wire by the road, and one took off gliding low over the field. The golden eagle was off Old Brighton Road, not far from downtown Henderson's tiny post office. In the same spot, on the way home, two red-tails perched together on the same branch.

And the moon! We followed her home the entire return drive. Gorgeous. Simply gorgeous.

Made me entirely keen to bust out and immerse myself in a local nature foray with the boys and take many a photo. It is my desperate desire for this coming Saturday to be warm enough to venture out.

---

Would anyone like a DreamWidth.org invite code?

---

Mad loot roll-call:
( Read more... )
Much love to you all! Dream sweetly.

(from: www.religioustolerance.org/winter_solstice.htm)

Note:
For the first time, thanks to a clear sky and the efforts of many individuals, the 2007 Winter Solstice illumination at the passage tomb at Newgrange in Ireland was broadcast live on the Internet. The 60 minute broadcast has been archived and is available at: www.heritageireland.ie/ The passage and chamber at Newgrange was illuminated by the rising sun on 2007-DEC-21 between 08:57 and 09:15 GMT.

Overview:
Religious folk worldwide observe many seasonal days of celebration during the month of December. Most are religious holy days, and are linked in some way to the winter solstice in the Northern Hemisphere. On that day, due to the earth's tilt on its axis, the daytime hours are at a minimum in the Northern hemisphere, and night time is at a maximum. (In the southern hemisphere, the summer solstice is celebrated in December, when the night time is at a minimum and the daytime is at a maximum. We will assume that the reader lives in the Northern hemisphere for the rest of this essay.)

People view other religions in various ways, and thus treat the celebrations of other faiths differently:
( Read more... )

(all lyrics written 1992 by Jacob Williamson)

I'm Dreaming of a White Werewolf
(Sung to the tune of "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas")

The Pack's arriving, the moon is high,
The Alpha male's come to play,
but why do I have to stay
With ebony, tan or grey?
Though many fine wolves are near,
There's but one werewolf I want here...

I'm dreaming of a white werewolf,
Just like the one I used to know--
With fur, soft and pale,
A proud, noble tail,
And eyes with a strange blue glow...

I'm dreaming of a white werewolf,
With every passing full moon night.
Though the pack hierarchy is tight,
May the pelt of the next lone wolf
Be white.

( Read more... )

(From: //ilovewerewolves.com/)

Do werewolves celebrate Christmas?
Werewolves have a human side to them, and do not lose that when they find out they are werewolves. Many still celebrate the holidays and traditions they grew up on when they were humans. If when they were only human they celebrated Christmas, then they are likely to celebrate the holiday when they are werewolves as well. But if they didn’t believe in Christmas at all, then they still don’t believe in Christmas. In other words, being a werewolf does not necessarily effect what holidays you celebrate.

Christmas Werewolf Superstitions
Humans on the other hand are very superstitous about werewolves and Christmas. Some human cultures believe they are more likely to spot werewolves around holidays like Christmas. One good example of this is the country of Romania which has a custom called Colinde, or Colinda which are traditional Romanian Christmas carols. This Romanian custom is a big event, where groups gather and are led by a leader door to door singing Christmas Carols. Colinde used to be a ritual themed around things like hunts and animals, and ocassionally involved dressing up as animals. Original superstitions surrounding this ritual included the belief in werewolves (vârcolac).

Romania is not the only country that has superstitions surrounding werewolves and christmas. Other countries like Russia and Italy also have folklore which says that humans born on Christmas Eve are likely to become werewolves.

---

(From: http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9B06E7DC1731E733A25750C2A9649D946797D6CF)

The "Twelve Days of Christmas"; The Terrors of the Long Dark Nights---The Wild Huntsman and the Werewolves---"The Madonna of the Heathen North" Who Breaks, the Evil Spells
By Maud Going
December 23, 1906, Sunday

ONCE there were giants on earth, valiant in work and play. Our heroic forefathers rose before the sun, well-nigh garroted themselves with fearful neckwear, and breakfasted on beef and ale. Our intrepid foremothers, after a strenuous day spent in superintending the spinning, weaving, baking, brewing, and candlemaking of a complex household and the training of a dozen children, could lace themselves into appalling corsets and dance till cock-crow. [ END OF FIRST PARAGRAPH ] (download the full article in PDF format at the website. It's cool in its antiquated style.)

ArrrrrOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo!

© Copyright 2002 Montague Whitsel, All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis: The Winter Solstice has long been associated with ghosts and sprits in Pagan as well as Christian Traditions. “Christmas” has its ghosts, as does the Yule; when there are spirits behind every door and in every closet as well as dancing in the flames of candles and hearth-fires. What are these spirits and who are these ghosts, and why are mortals haunted in the tides of Winter’s Solstice? In this article we will explore these questions, becoming acquainted with some of the more traditional Yuletide ghosts in Celtic traditions as well as reclaiming one of the more well-known spirit entities in our secular western “December Holiday” celebrations.

We are all familiar with ‘Christmas’ ghost stories – from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol to Tim Burton’s “The Nightmare before Christmas.” I have often been asked, though, why there should be ghosts and hauntings at this time of the year when many people want to be focused on family, the return home (either actual or in their imaginations) and deeper quests for personal and spiritual renewal. “Isn’t Samhain (31 October) the night of haunting?”

One answer – at least from the perspective of Celtic mysticism & mythology – is simple, and has to do with the nature of the Winter Solstice (21 December). This festival – called Alban Arthuan in Druidic traditions – has long been thought of as a time of death & rebirth when Nature’s innate powers and our own souls are renewed. This event – which marks the moment in the spiral of earthen time when the Old Sun dies (at dusk on the 21st of December) and when the Sun of the New Year is born (at dawn on the 22nd of December) – frames the longest night of the year. The birth of New Sun is thought to revivify the aura of the Earth in mystical ways, giving a new ‘lease on life’ to spirits and souls of the dead.

As such, Yule is probably the second most haunted time of the Celtic year, Samhain being the first. The haunting begins in early December, as if in anticipation of the rebirth of the Sun’s powers. Spirits become more animated in the days leading up to Alban Arthuan (from the 6th to the 20th of December). As practitioners of earth-based spiritualities light fires in their hearths and decorate their huts of dwelling for the advent of New Sun, spirits and the deer come near, communing with us as we prepare ourselves for the death of Old Sun. These spirit-visitants gather with us near fires in the hearth and around the Yule Tree. They haunt us in the glow of the Yule’s festivities.
( Read more... )

My current read, by a longtime friend and old school AHWw packmate!

Here's the product info as a teaser:

As long as Man has seen himself as separate from nature, there have been those who sought to understand both, to help explain each to the other, and there have been those who wished to sever all connections between the two. When a disaster threatens to kill one of the few remaining Children of Nature, the rest must turn to a Child of Man to save him.

Kristy dedicated it to Bobby (reemul) which made me smile. I'm only a few chapters in, so I can't review it--but I can plug it.

Werewolves, a werebear, and a wererabbit figure prominently thus far. The were-animal as a spiritual and physical steward to an area of land is a cool concept, and one I identify with on a spiritual level.

Be sure to give Kristina and Jessie Tracer's Child of Man a try.

Between Queer Wolf and the Book of Santa Claus, I devoured Peter & Max: A Fables Novel by Bill Willingham.

Now, everyone knows (or should know by now) I'm both an addict and a pusher of the exquisite Vertigo-brand comic book series, Fables. When I realized Bill Willingham was penning a novel based on the comic, I pre-ordered it awhile back.

I won't give a shred away. I will, however, make this statement: This was within my top five of the greatest books ever written. Well, the greatest books I've ever read, that is.

From Publishers Weekly:
Understanding Willingham's new novel (the first from comics house Vertigo) doesn't require knowledge of the comic it's based upon, but it certainly helps; Fables follows a population of fairy tale characters seeking shelter in our world after their enchanted lands were conquered. Familiar figures like Snow White, Rose Red, the Beast and Belle, the Big Bad Wolf (a human PI in the mundane world) and others fill out a cast led by Peter Piper and his brother, Max. Sibling rivalry, magical flutes and, yes, pickled peppers factor in the clever, adventurous plot that sees Peter pursuing Bo Peep. Fans will find all the charm and in-jokes of the Fables universe intact; like Neil Gaiman, another acclaimed comic book author, Willingham writes without the help of thought bubbles and keeps everything clear enough that readers new to the series won't be confused for long. Though it toys with notions of mythology and its origins, this work still keeps true to the spirit of the Brothers Grimm: dark, fast-paced, moving and entertaining, with a few surprises along the way. (Oct.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Curiously, I'd never read L. Frank Baum before. Most are familiar with the name as the author of The Wizard Of Oz, and after watching the movie growing up, I was so annoyed with the cowardly lion that I had no urge to read the book.

In the last Jack Of Fables graphic novel, there was mention of the original, unrevised L. Frank Baum series that the film was based on. In the original tale, the lion was not cowardly; he was fierce and impulsive, looking for restraint. That, to me, is a much more important lesson to learn than the cowardly/courage bit.

I digress. 'tis the season of my goofy, innocent, beloved old Rankin-Bass stop-motion animated Christmas specials. There's one they no longer air, no doubt because it exuded aspects of Paganism in a positive light.
Naturally this was my favorite of the slew of specials. It featured the Great Ak, Master Woodsman Of the World, who wore his beard long and white and brandished a rack of antlers upon his brow. He resided over the forest of Burzee, where nymphs, fairies, gnomes, and other immortals dwelt. I won't give away anything else, save for one of my favorite points: The young Claus was nursed by the lioness Shiegra.

I remembered the special was based on a novella by L. Frank Baum. A month ago I searched amazon.com for the book, and found it! I've since read it and recommend it highly: L. Frank Baum's Book of Santa Claus: The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus & A Kidnapped Santa Claus. Baum's writing style is ultra-vivid, and I wish more authors wrote with such antiquated grace. No talking down to children here; the philosophy is to the point, deep, and moving.