Gardening

Of Cabbages

It may be ambitious of me to want to sing two songs; my body has decided it's discovered the novel coronavirus, which apparently disguises itself as innocent-looking joints, plus a power outage, means I'd missed most of the last three weeks' offerings. But hope springs surprises upon the unwary.

There are actually lyrics to this out there on the Web, but I think they may have been either autotranscribed or written down by someone learning English, as the poor farmer ends up pining forever after lithely-dancing sheep, rather than Sidhe.

Of Cabbages
Mercedes Lackey

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqtwu0PqJuo

I've always been a farmer and
My heart's bound to the land.
The earth's deep roots are in me blood,
She answers to my hand.
I grow the best damned cabbages
You ever hope to see.
And once upon a moonstruck night
I watched the dancing Sidhe.

Their music came before them,
And it pulled me from me bed.
It flowed like cool wine on the breeze,
And got inside me head.
It made me drunk and sober both,
It made me sing and cry,
It made me want to weep and dance,
And dream that I could fly.

And then their voices, caroling,
Like bells, like birds, like rain.
In words I almost understood,
In joy to near to pain.
The songs were like the ones you hear
In dreams but can't recall...
That fill your mind in slumber,
But with dawn you lose it all.

And then they came so wondrous bright,
So quite beyond compare,
With starshine in their eyes
And silver roses in their hair.
Wrapped with an aching beauty,
Sweet and bitter, crystal bright.
A beauty that you' fear to see,
But fear to loose the sight.

I saw them at their dancing,
Leaping air and silver flame!
And conscious, all too conscious,
Of my clumsy mortal frame.
I watched them at their dancing,
Lithe, light-footed, full of grace,
With my legs of wood and feet of lead,
Stood rooted in me place.

I am a farmer bound to earth,
I know what I do well.
I'm mortal, and I'm common
Like the cabbages I sell.
There's virtue in a cabbage.
Even elves eat, I suppose.
But once, just once, I wish that I
Could grow a silver rose.
Gardening

"Star Lover"

Like other songs I've posted for Bardic Zoom, this is just so very difficult to find lyrics for on the Internet! Although "Marshall Don't 'Low" was mine, and so is "Does Dragon Taste Better?", even though several people swear they've heard both of them before. Sometimes art is so natural, it feels like plagiarism.

The Three Rivers Bardic an open meeting, if you feel like having a sing-along with a bunch of dorks who are, y'know, the coolest. DM for link.


https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrfp0pDUgPqyBTzvqfiNz-T4iLAo2Zlhc

"Star Lover," Craig of Farrington

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

Leo's high up in the sky,
Above him are three pairs
Of stars: it looks like spring deer tracks:
A chase has led through there!
She's escaped the lion, but she's running to the bear.
In spring each year, the skies appear this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

Vega is the vulture
Can't you you see him spiral down?
Deneb, that's the tail of the swan above the town.
The third bright star is Altair,
There the eagle can be found,
Through summer skies, they'll always fly this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

Andromeda's as lovely as Cassiope is vain
The princess must be sacrificed so Cepius can still reign,
Perseus kills the monster,
But they'll all return again.
The drama of the autumn plays this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.

In China, bright Orion is the prince that won the day,
The younger brother had to live his live so far away,
And what we call "The Scorpion," that's where he had to stay.
Look long, perhaps you'll see it this way.

Brother Gregory, tell me a story.
The stars are out tonight, in all their glory.
Brother Gregory, tell me a story,
Reveal to me the past that's now before me.
Gardening

"Do Dragons Taste Better?" (Friday night filk)

A dragon came out to our village last fall,
It seems the nearest town had no virgins at all,
He said he’d be most puissant but powerfully sweet,
If we’d only supply him with virgins to eat.

When treating with dragons, well, what can you do?
If you’re flamm- or inflammable, you’re mostly screwed,
So we shamefully caved in, but don’t you be vexed,
For the wise among you have figured out what’s next!

Does dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?
Do you garnish with pickles or pink candy floss?
Do you use the thigh bones for bouillon or lacrosse?
Does a dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?

First we sent him some incels locked up in a cage,
But the bars were no match for the boys’ pent-up rage,
They tossed one longing gaze at some corset-clad elves,
And beat that poor beast like they beat up themselves.

So we sent him to recess at our local school,
Where there’s thirty sweet eight-year-olds girls, as a rule,
He was covered in ribbons and hugs and in glitter,
But they mocked his style, now his morale’s in the

Does dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?
Do you garnish with pickles or pink candy floss?
Do you cut the sandwiches aslant or across?
Does a dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?

So he stagger-winged off to the convent that night,
Where the Sisters mercifully ended this blight,
They dragged him to the narthex, knocked back a wine cooler,
Then thoughtfully beat him to death with a ruler.

Now we’ve ten tons of meat for to braise or to stew,
He’s too tough and too flameproof to e’er barbecue,
We’ve made ground dragon bangers and drake tetrazinni,
And our cauldrons are quite sick of “leftover meanie.”

Does dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?
Can you make pemmican if you use the right moss?
Can you use a fish fork, would that be a faux pas?
Does a dragon taste better with Hollandaise sauce?


When I thanked Sister Bernadette for this great feast,
She said, “This fable calls for one moral at least,”
So this is the placard we left at the scene:
“Don’t mess with the nuns. (And third-graders are MEAN.)”
Gardening

Marshall Don't Allow

Tune is "Mama Don't Allow," https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QqmGJcGZhZU

Marshall don’t ‘low no rhino-hiding round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no rhino-hiding round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
That was broken when I got here, anyhow,
Marshall don’t ‘low no rhino-hiding round here.

Marshall don’t ‘low no ankle shots round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no ankle shots round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
Better watch your tootsies, anyhow.
Marshall don’t ‘low no ankle shots round here.

Marshall don’t ‘low no 40-gauge helms round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no 40-gauge helms round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
There’s a sale at Wish today, anyhow.
Marshall don’t ‘low no 40-gauge helms round here.

Marshall don’t ‘low no naked berserkers round here,
Marshall don’t ‘low no naked berserkers round here,
Well, we don’t care what Marshall don’t allow,
ARRGAIHFDSGHFNFDSFG (anyhow).
Marshall don’t ‘low no naked berserkers round here.

Marshall says I’m the worst water-bearer she’s ever seen,
Marshall says I “don’t quite grasp the role,”
Well, Baroness Gwendolyn called just now,
Gonna take point at Pennsic, anyhow.
See you at Crown if I don’t see you round here.
Me

If you take nothing else away from dealing with me

Listen when I tell you this:

Asking whether a person deserves abuse is the wrong question.

The question is: does abuse help ANYTHING?

And it doesn't. It's an expensive and addictive drug with terrible side effects that doesn't actually treat anything and poisons the administrator and the "patient" alike. I will not have it in my life and I strongly advise anyone in my life to take steps to avoid, escape, or correct these patterns.

That's it. That's the blog.
Gardening

Q.E.D.

1. Christmas is generally and at root considered a Christian holiday;
2. Under the doctrine of the major Christian churches, you are considered a sinner and not able to choose to be good until the age of moral accountability, usually considered between eight and thirteen;
3. Developmentally, according to experts, anything past the age of seven is considered "too old for Santa." (I Googled it, therefore it must be true and universal);
4. Therefore, Santa may or may not exist, but by the axioms laid out in that particular game of Calvinball, religious edition, there is no such thing as a "good child."
Gardening

I'm in this zine

https://theblackworkorganization.bigcartel.com/product/diametric-issue-1

If you've read this journal, you've read the bare bones of the story -- the death of the baby-god Zagreus as it influenced the birth of humanity with a heavy-handed theme of goddess-erasure in Greek mythology as told today. But it's apparently illustrated by the "drop dead, you fuckers, I'ma create beauty" art goddess Sketchreed, Sarah Reed and I'm very excited to see this. All profits go to RAICES, which is nice. Can't speak to other content, (except I know it's anarchist-focused and a bit edgy) but I know some of the other creators are very cool people.

Signal boost?

ETA: this is IN NO WAY trying to guilt you into buying this, especially as I know everyone's resources are limited. I'm just excited.