Ragnar Lothbrok world became half shook, throw a hook, stole and took, solid gold, sacrifice for Oden sacrificing for all your homes, Bjorn, Ivar the Boneless coming like a storm, wakeup and absorb, praying to the gods, going to conquer lands, watch out for Floki he killed Athelstan

how soon... is... savannah brown,
to represent sylvia plath?
                                               too soon?
i say, too soon.
                  i have come across
my second fictional charioteers...
ragnar and athelstan...
   ivar the boneless and...
  bishop heahmund....
                      my "concerns"?
Αγνή Παρθένε...
              χασμουρητό:
   (χ) chi...
                   chasmonreto...
while i thought of?
the hungry only feed their
thought by usurping a freedom
from hunger!
                      how the first wave
of heathens learned to be humble...
while the second wave of heathens
aspired to be... noble...

   who, are, we, versed in
teutonic chants?
      de pacem domine?
            might i, site, a sing-along
to a kumbaya?
              replica?

             salvare mea dominus,
mea praesentia....
          quod iustificationem
   vestra autem praesentia et vestra
   salvus erit immoderata cuiusque
     luxuria subsequenda...

see... leftist intellectuals
always **** at the teet of islam,
in terms of the blinding lights
of "consciousness"...
but, what does, 'fathom', begin,
and end with?
                    
the antithesis of
a soul?
  the anti of a psyche?
well, there's
the yawn,
and only the yawn
to counter
the winds of breath.

          at each of these medieval
chants... i weep...
           i weep from a certain
presence of joy that cannot
find translation within the confines
of the modern world...
i cry, because i find the sort
of joy, that cannot be,
associated with the joys
of the modern world...

      to think... a pagan...
twice over...
         ragnar in athelstan...
the source of knowledge...
worth more than gold...
and ivar in bishop heahmund...
purity, truth...
          an antithesis of
pagan jeleousy...
  nobility...
            what man is not
allowed to cry,
in celebrating the slow...
snail like climbing
manifestation of
a conversion?

         if man is ever allowed
to cry...
       it's at this...
         that element of beauty
of a transvaluation of value...
   ragnar in athelstan: knowledge...
ivar in bishop heahmund:
                       value(s)...
to be of noble cause,
is to demand...
                           and what if...
sisyphus... didn't roll the stone
up a hill?!
  what if... he just let it sit...
and pretended the stone
to be a mirror...
  not so much a "mirror" adequate
for an image, reflected,
more.... a "mirror" of
his thinking?
  surely... thinking is born
from the existence of inanimate things...
rather than animation?
    thought surely has to
source itself in inanimate objects...
first... before moving into
the fog like argument of evolution
working from the ontological extensions
of apes...
              ex similitude rurus ut similitude
      (out of similarity, back into similarity)...
ad imitatio...
        (toward imitation)...
        et regressio
                     (and regression)...
          but... all the critique of byzantine
culture... once a convert to a byzantine hymn:
forever a convert... to a byzantine hymn.
even the ancients can't allow themselves
to convert the heart from allowing
the heart to absorb the conversion that has
a pristine fathomability of the mind:
in its state of being: thoughtless.

the conversion pilgrim:
from catholic,
                 to hebrew...
back, en route,
                 to Byzantine chants...
   was anyone ever, really,
worried out the metaphor: Byzantine,
to replace the word: bureaucracy?
i was more worried about
a conversion via sung psalms.
          and if it is music,
and i cry...
                   i treat that as
a worthy authenticity worth
investigating...
given... Ragnar valued the knowledge
of a monk...
while Ivar...
  the nobility of a christian
warrior bishop.

                    how may i ever repay
my slander...
       i will only repay that slander...
with my honesty...
i need not torture myself,
in fathoming the unfathomable
rites of repenting...
          i will cry, upon succumbing
to the sand psalm...
and if that is not enough...
then i will continue to renounce...
and slander...
   for what are the tears of the honest...
equal...
         to be equal made...
upon the lashing...
the "repenting"... the "pure"...
the liars?!
                   liars do not cry with
joy... liars cry...
to masquarade their hidden ambitions /
or whatever other hydra head
pops to mind...
                 guilt.
i cry... because beauty needs to be
celebrated... with the only worthy
and available alms... tears!

Shield Maiden Astrid - In the heart of the Viking age, amidst the rugged landscapes of Scandinavia, there lived a tribe known as the Fjord Fangs. They were a fierce people, renowned for their prowess in battle and their unwavering loyalty to their chieftain, Sigurd the Bold. But amongst them, there was one whose courage burned even brighter than the northern lights: Astrid, the shield maiden.

From a young age, Astrid had trained alongside the warriors of her tribe, honing her skills with sword and shield. She possessed a spirit as untamed as the roaring seas, and her determination was unmatched. Despite the expectations placed upon her to conform to traditional roles, Astrid yearned for something more - to prove herself on the battlefield alongside her fellow warriors.

When news reached the Fjord Fangs of an impending invasion by a rival tribe, led by the fearsome chieftain Ragnar the Ruthless, the warriors prepared for battle. But Sigurd hesitated to send Astrid into the fray, fearing for her safety. However, Astrid refused to be sidelined, insisting that she could fight alongside her comrades and defend her people with all her strength.

As the rival tribe descended upon their lands, Astrid stood shoulder to shoulder with her fellow warriors, her shield held high and her sword gleaming in the sunlight. With a ferocious battle cry, she charged into the fray, her courage inspiring those around her. Despite facing overwhelming odds, the Fjord Fangs fought with a tenacity born of desperation and the determination to protect their home.

In the midst of the chaos, Astrid distinguished herself with acts of unmatched bravery. She defended her comrades with unwavering resolve, her shield deflecting blow after blow, and her sword striking true against their foes. Her leadership on the battlefield rallied the warriors, turning the tide of battle in their favor.

In a climactic showdown, Astrid found herself face to face with Ragnar himself, the imposing chieftain towering over her. With a steely gaze and a fierce determination, she squared off against her adversary, refusing to back down. In a clash of steel and fury, Astrid fought with all her might, her every move a testament to her skill and courage.

In the end, it was Astrid who emerged victorious, her blade piercing Ragnar's defenses and striking him down. With their chieftain defeated, the rival tribe fled in disarray, their hopes of conquest dashed upon the rocks of Astrid's indomitable spirit.

From that day forth, Astrid was hailed as a hero among her people, her bravery and leadership earning her the respect of all who knew her. And as the fires of victory burned brightly in the night sky, the Fjord Fangs stood united once more, their tribe stronger than ever before under the fearless guidance of their shield maiden.
https://youtu.be/Xa8Hc00cYPs?si=QqfaASv8ZejzktYI