Pagan Times…

“There is something Pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.” – Lord Byron


Running a bit late, painting our bedroom late into the night…

Hope you enjoy,


On The Menu:

Balkan Beat Box

The Links

Road-spraying ‘releases spirits’

Indigenous Poetry: Eskimo and Others…

The Art: Lord Frederick Leighton


Discovered this highly original band the other day. Turns out they have been getting lots of attention, only I seem to have been in the dark about them… anyway, here is there web site addy:

Balkan Beat Box Web Site

Go check out their music!

Great Stuff!

It is a marriage of several distinct streams, and truly danceable…


Balkan Beat Box Live Video…


“Great God! I’d rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn” – William Wordsworth


The Links:

Experts Reconstruct Leonardo Fingerprint

A Stunning New Look At Déjà Vu

Icelandic Museum of the Occult & Witchcraft

Bizarre deep-sea creatures imaged off New Zealand



“Scratch the Christian and you find the pagan – spoiled” – Israel Zangwil


Road-spraying ‘releases spirits’

A police-led initiative of spraying water on state highways to release the trapped spirits of those killed in motor crashes has been declared a success.

Yesterday a special police convoy carrying Maori elders sprayed 10,000 litres of Waikato River water on SH1 and SH2 in a bid to free the spirits of crash victims.

Dick Waihi, iwi liaison officer for the Counties-Manukau police district, today said the operation had been successful.

“About 35 people turned up to support us,” Mr Waihi said. “It was very successful.

“It was a first for the country and we have had some really good feedback.”

Maori elders consider the combination of blessed river water and prayers to be a trigger for the release of the spirits of those trapped by violent deaths on the roads.

Water was pumped from the Waikato River into a tanker at Tuakau by the New Zealand Fire Service.

From 5.30am the convoy drove south from Mt Wellington to Mercer on SH1, and then along SH2 to Maramarua.

The ceremonial spraying was interrupted at Mercer and Maramarua, where a karakia was performed.

Mr Waihi said the 2½-hour exercise was cost-free, with people donating labour and resources.

Despite the prayers, Mr Waihi said the exercise was non-religious and not just for Maori fatalities.

“Some people don’t have an understanding why we are doing it. They should find out more about Maori protocols before making comment.”

Waikato road policing manager Inspector Leo Tooman had no problems with the initiative.

“Anything that helps is worthwhile, isn’t it?”


“Popular culture is the new Babylon, into which so much art and intellect now flow. It is our imperial sex theater, supreme temple of the western eye. We live in the age of idols. The pagan past, never dead, flames again in our mystic hierarchies of stardom.” – Camille Paglia



“Christian Hell, fire. Pagan hell, fire. Muslim Hell, fire. Hindu hell, flames. According to religions, God was born a grill-room owner.”– Victor Hugo


Indigenous Poetry: Eskimo and Others…

spring fjord

(after Paul Emil Victor, Poèmes Eskimo)

I was out in my kayak

I was out at sea in it

I was paddling

very gently in the fjord Ammassivik

there was ice in the water

and on the water a petrel

turned his head this way that way

didn’t see me paddling

Suddenly nothing but his tail

then nothing

He plunged but not for me:

huge head upon the water

great hairy seal

giant head with giant eyes, moustache

all shining and dripping

and the seal came gently toward me

Why didn’t I harpoon him?

was I sorry for him?

was it the day, the spring day, the seal

playing in the sun

like me?

the old man’s song, about his wife

(after Paul Emil Victor, Poemes Eskimo)

husband and wife we loved each other then

we do now

there was a time

each found the other


but a few days ago maybe yesterday

she saw in the black lake water

a sickening face

a wracked old woman face

wrinkled full of spots

I saw it she says

that shape in the water

the spirit of the water

wrinkled and spotted

and who’d seen that face before

wrinkled full of spots?

wasn’t it me

and isn’t it me now

when I look at you?

song of the old woman

(after Paul Emil Victor, Poemes Eskimo)

all these heads these ears these eyes

around me

how long will the ears hear me?

and those eyes how long

will they look at me?

when these ears won’t hear me any more

when these eyes turn aside from my eyes

I’ll eat no more raw liver with fat

and those eyes won’t see me any more

and my hair my hair will have disappeared

moon eclipse exorcism

(after Leo J. Trachtenberg, Alsea Texts and Myths)

come out come out come out

the moon has been killed

who kills the moon? crow

who often kills the moon? eagle

who usually kills the moon? chicken hawk

who also kills the moon? owl

in their numbers they assemble

for moonkilling

come out, throw sticks at your houses

come out, turn your buckets over

spill out all the water don’t let it turn

bloody yellow

from the wounding and death

of the moon

o what will become of the world, the moon

never dies without cause

only when a rich man is about to be killed

is the moon murdered

look all around the world, dance, throw your sticks, help out,

look at the moon,

dark as it is now, even if it disappears

it will come back, think of nothing

I’m going back into the house

and the others went back


what the informant said to Franz Boas in 1920

(after Franz Boas, Keresan Texts)

long ago her mother

had to sing this song and so

she had to grind along with it

the Corn People have a song too

it is very good

I refuse to tell it

the little random creatures

(after William Jones, Fox Texts)

Found a hole with a light in it, and saying


set a trap

with a bowcord for a noose.

A giant of light, something alive, dazzled the path

on its slow way up, blinding

the little random creatures

o something alive was dying in the bowcord and it said

Allow me to choke to death

And you’ll have night forever

and they let the Sun go


Treat the earth well. It was not given to you by your parents, it was loaned to you by your children. – Ancient Native American Proverb