Fencing Bear at Prayer

For a CHILD IS BORN to us, and a son is given to us, and the government is upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, God the Mighty, the Father of the world to come, the Prince of Peace. — Isaiah 9:6

  About that livestream... The Most Accurate Image Ever Posted on the Internet I really cannot believe that I have people reading my Telegram channel who don’t get what Ye just did [in his interview on Thursday ], so let me pretend it is possible to break a rhetorical effect down dialectically so that you can feel smart again. I doubt it will work—I tried for years on my blog to describe why Milo did the performances he did, and I STILL have colleagues in academia convinced that a) Milo is nuts, and b) I am nuts for defending him—but, as my mother always loved saying, I am Missouri-born and therefore stubborn as a mule, so take this as DONKEY WISDOM about Ye.  What is the greatest taboo in our culture? Is it saying, “I love Satan”? Is it saying, “I love Judas, I would have kept the 30 pieces of silver”? Is it saying, “The Trinity is a nonsense doctrine invented by Rome/Saul-the-Fake-Apostle/paganism”? Is it saying, “Jesus was a fraud who is now in hell burning in excrement and I would

Prayers for my little black cat Sophie as she makes her way across the great river. She has been hanging on valiantly for over a week, clearly not wanting to leave. Her passing is making me thoughtful about how we rush death. She is 18, long-lived for a house kitty. My dad gave her to me, when his farm cat had kittens. She has been with us since a year before he died, much too quickly, of a blood clot. He died very quickly, so quickly I wasn’t there for him. She is teaching me patience as I sit with her now. I keep looking at her and thinking, “Should I do something?” But she has water, and a bed. What would a doctor do? Pump her full of drugs and turn her into a Frankenstein kitty to be kept alive a few weeks longer? Or tell me to put her out of her misery (aka kill her)? She doesn’t seem ready to go yet. And yet she is clearly dying. I am thinking maybe the worst thing about the vaxx is how it is making people die suddenly. Taking their last moments away in a heartbeat. When my cat h

By Mel of the Dragon Common Room Do not buy Satan’s greatest trick that Christians can’t be Catholic. Holy dead will rise! Open your own eyes! Divided families remain sick.  The battle to keep chastity— a true struggle of vanity. Humiliation,  mortification  teaching us through the Trinity!  Most people He will require purification by fire. Holy repentance, heavenly entrance permits a righteous retire.  Her greetings hailed by an angel! Her answer fiat – miracle! Conceived Holy Ghost, seek higher than most! Mary is his Tabernacle!  Nothing is impossible with God; through the darkness His light will prod! This is not pagan; don’t be mistaken! Understand, and don’t be a fraud!  Try not to rewrite history misunderstanding mysteries!   Buried in our graves we’re no longer slaves: traditions of our Rosary!  What were the pagan rituals? NOT scruples, those aren’t mutual. Animal slaughters? Sacrificed daughters? Temple worship? Procedurals?  There’s an obvious difference  exuding their bellig

By KC of the Dragon Common Room Competing groups were seen on Thomas Street, arrayed in festive and archaic clothes, and following behind with marching feet their acolytes on Eve of All Hallows.’ The first group chanted solemnly, downbeat. The next cackled with laughter like some crows. One warned that fêting evil leads to death; the next dismissed that as a shibboleth. The mournful melody of mindful monks kept chanting with the rhythm of their steps, unmoved by drunken men acting like punks, who were, de facto, Satan’s intercepts. “The people,” so they thought, “had simply drunk from deep within the well of modern texts.” Continuing their march, they were unfazed, and prayed as if it were the End of Days. For their part, all those old marauding boys kept right on laughing, drinking, having fun, and singing songs and making lots of noise. They acted like some battle had been won! “Just look,” they said, “at all of those killjoys! You’d think the Father never sent the Son!” And with tha

“Where shall I begin?” Asked the White Rabbit. “Begin at the beginning,” said the King, gravely. “And go on until you come to the end; then stop.” At which the White Rabbit read a poem. My friend Kilts Khalfan and I have a new livestream. Kilts and I have been friends for just over three years now. We have never met in person, only via the Internet.  She lives in Australia. I live in Chicago. She lives in the future, I live on Central Time. Our livestreams happen Wednesdays at 9pmCT, when she is in the future on Thursday at noon. This is important information, if you want to join the stream.  “Learn to scan!” You may recognize her name, if you have been reading our poetry . Kilts is one of the O.G. drakes of the Dragon Common Room, where we have been honing our skills in iambic pentameter over the past two years . To date, we have published two books — Centrism Games  and Aurora Bearialis —both in iambic pentameter, the former in heroic couplets, the latter in ottava rima.  We would

Madam Mayo invited me to answer a few questions about our poetry over on her blog . I was happy to oblige! C.M. MAYO:   How did you find Handrawnbear? Because, Wow! RACHEL FULTON BROWN:  Handdrawnbear found us! She had been working for several years making drawings and animations at unBearables Media ( https://unbearablesmedia.com/hand-drawn-bear/ ). I was in touch with one of their other creators and asked if there were anyone interested in doing illustrations for our new bear poem. Being a “bear,” she jumped at the chance! She has written on her own blog about how working with us has inspired her to write more Christian poetry ( https://handdrawnbear.com/blogs/handdrawn-journal/the-once-mute-bear-finds-her-voice ). I notice that in her version of the story, I found her. This is a taste of what it was like working on  Aurora Bearialis : it often felt as if the poem were writing itself or that we were discovering it along with the penguins and bears. To this day, I have only a vague me

1 She stands alone, her hair unveiled for God, a cup held high as if to offer laud. And with her lips she whispers words most holy; she takes the bread and says, “This is my body.” Then from the cup she takes a drink of water, her spirit hot to channel God as Daughter. “O holy, holy, holy, Lord Most High,” she sings, but in her heart knows it’s a lie. 2 A voice came from behind, with honeyed tones: “Why do you speak as if your god were bones?” In fear she spills the golden cup she holds, then spins around, three women to behold. One dressed in black, pearls dangling from her wrist, her red mouth pursed as if she had been kissed. One dumpling fat, with floury arms and cheeks, the other gaunt, as if she’d starved for weeks. 3 “Angel, dear, we come here with an offer: something to help fill your church’s coffer. A little thing, we hope you won’t refuse, a sister whom we gave the right to choose. She’s one with us, but now she’s split in two; we long to guide her on a path that’s true. You

# DracoAlchemicus # RainbowTime

  “He who controls the spice controls the universe.”  — Frank Herbert, Dune  (1965) It came to me in a flash last summer .  Why the United States of America had spent the past two decades trying to control Afghanistan.  Why Big Pharma was pushing the vaccines.  It was the spice. The opium of the poppy fields. The opioids of Big Pharma.  Everything was about controlling the spice. And always had been. Once upon a time, there was a Silk Road. You’ve heard of it I’m sure. The caravan road across the middle of the great Eurasian continent, linking the treasures of the Orient with the markets of the West.  Except throughout the Middle Ages, the markets in the West weren’t much to speak of. A few Italian city-states. A few burghers in the north. Back in high school, I did a presentation about the fairs where they sold their spices. I even wore a costume—a hat that I got at the Renaissance Faire north of Houston, the autumn before I started college there. I had a basket full of spices and a h

  PSA: Passing under a rainbow will make you trans. It’s true! I read it in a book about rainbows. I’ll give you the full passage so we are both on the same page: In some folklore, the rainbow’s most prominent sexual trait is its ability to change people’s gender. For Bohemian girls younger than seven years old, passing beneath the rainbow is a transsexual experience. Hungarians are less restrictive and believe that sex changes happen to anyone who passes through the arch. Serbian, French, and Albanian folklore all give the rainbow transsexual power over humans (and sometimes animals). Two Ohioans recently [1981] offered different accounts of rainbow-driven sex changes. The Chinese I Ching  (twelfth century B.C.) hints at the sexual mutability of the rainbow when it says “The rainbow is the combination of yin and yang,” the complementary female and male opposites contained in all life. The seemingly strange optics of real rainbows probably prompts such beliefs. You don’t say. In case y