So we went down to the Wellington of cities.
I do not know what makes her stand all day in the sun, it was ofrhiti - beating down.
I put the cream with little sunscreens on, and still am getting burnt.

There were many others in this pilgrimage, lining a long carpet of red.
A fearsome creature paused upon a building, it was very still. I think there may have been a plan to sacrifice to it. It waited most still indeed, and its mouth was full of the snarptennr.



Peoples came along this carpet, most slowly, saying their farewells to the screaming and crying people. And yet, many were the smiles. Perhaps it was an honour, this sacrifice?
They left markings upon bits of paper for the many.

Beorn catches small glimpses of the people upon the carpet.
A beautiful woman is among the first to reach the end. She reminds Beorn of the pointy eared she, but her ears are normal. It is hard to see how so many are willing to let her go to her doom. The beast upon the building moves not a piece.

But now Beorn is suspicious, for here comes a man who is likened to the Man of Striding. His appearance is different, no leather claddings or protective armours - it confuses Beorn a moment, until Beorn realises the creature has not recognised him. Ótrúligr, a wise and clever ploy.
However, there is no hint of a sword about his person.
Perhaps the beast is to be slain by guile. It has a master upon its back - perhaps they are to match each other in a game of wit, like the days of the old ones.

Then a smaller bespectacled man, redoubtable of kviðr, steps upon a raised platform. He talks into a metal pole, kalla en kveðja. Much jarmr hails from the crowd at his words, as it has done at various points for the past few hours. Especially when the name of Orlando is mentioned. Many kvenna jarmr quite loudly for this one. Beorn is not liking the ringing of ears.

I am thinking he is praising the might and bravery of the konung in disguise, an attempt to throw the creature's master off his guard. And still the creature moves not. Such control as this, ai!

The rest of their group joins them, and they troop into the maw of the building. I am not sure how the battle fared, for the creature is still there - and yet all of them returned whole, some three hours later, according to the pictures I saw upon the smàrskokkr af sjónhverfing. *

Ótrúlig! I look forward to the saga of this adventure. Beorn wonders when it will become pictures upon a big screen also.

~B.

*= Small box of ocular delusion, i.e. the Telly. ~ K.

Tyrsdagr, þrír-tigir month nine; of two, two noughts, three.

We have returned from the holiday, which of much interest was.
Myself am not prepared to be writing upon this for the now, so here is writing that Beorn has prepared before holidays. I am foolish not so much as some might think I looking.

***

Kirstin has had the cutting of hár.
She say to me "Beorn, does this look okay? I think it's too long."
I say "Don't worry, you can always have it cut shorter."
She frowns at me, and I frown back (because when Beorn is puzzled, Beorn frowns).

Kirstin make me frown so at times, one almost be able to park langskip between Beorn's eyes.
I have had many cuttings of hár in my time.
Some I will not do again. I think the 1800's perming of hár was not good look for Beorn.
If there were a next time (which there not be), Beorn will also remember his beard.
Straight beard with hair like poodles, does not going well.

Beorn cut off beard and looked like girl. Very un-manly.
He also is shaving body hair one time, and one time only. "Swim better" he was told.
Beorn still swim exactly same.
Itching also, he was not told about, and it was itching over all.

Kirstin tease Beorn about his manly arm hár. She threated to wax it, and I threaten to tip small pot on her head. I am not liking it when she do the leg thing, it makes Beorn shiver.
I asks her why the pulling of little hár.
She says something about sandpaper legs.
Women are very strange.
Sandpapering of legs is best for table, or nice wooden chair.
Agh! I not understand her, hvatki!

Skuli I once catch, when he is to shave Beorn's eyebrow with knife.
Beorn kick him so hard that he fall overboard.


Beorn has been thinking to get a Minnow*.
Kirstin say not to do so.
Beorn asks why not.
Kirstin shows Beorn picture of herself with minnow.
Beorn laughs until he is kicked.
One has need of the sideburns for a really good minnow. I have never had the good sideburns.

Now is neat shoulders cut with moustache and beard nice rounded. Manage this Beorn can.

~B.

* K. ~ "Mullet".
P.S. ~ You write about holiday pronto.

B. ~ I saw some motorcycles in Avon upon Stratford, and a nice axe in Stockholm, that is plentiful news.

K. ~ You'll have to do better than that. Did you have your eyes closed for two months or something?

B. ~ You are fine to be talking, with all your paper pictures. I have not even the camera for a single word of thousands. And there are roast vegetables to be eaten, hah~! Now I see you are rolling of the eyes at me. No more typing today.

Tyrsdagr, annarr month six; of two, two noughts, three.

So recently has passed the fimmtugandi anniversary of the climbing of highest mountain.
I think if it were times long past, perhaps Edmundsaga it would have been written,
for this achievement of big proportions.

Hard things for me to see and understand is the quickness of things today. All is fast and here and now.
In a month, Kirstin will go on her first overseas journey. (In the flying long airships which I have not the fondness for. Flying metal tubes, Beorn does not trust.)
She plans to creep and crawl around islands and fjords, and small places. Beorn approves of this. No noise, no rush.
It is worth taking time to have a good thinking. Noise and fuss and quickly quickly movings, no wonder people are having stresses of it all.
They should try hanging around for a thousand of years. Beorn has become very good at thinking - it is the typings that is tricky business. Beorn think slow, Beorn type slow. Very carefully with the one finger at a time, so.

Beorn still not know where this Matr-yxæ is. But I thinking would not like it there much. What need has Beorn of glasses of darkness in dim places? He would not go to a meeþing where he cannot see the augr of people in the room. People who not look at you are people with too many things to hide. Beorn would rather sit in the sunshine and look at little clouds in sky.

That is much better for the thinking of thoughts.

~ B.

Mandagr, tuttugandi ok sétti month five; of two, two noughts, three.

Sometimes the big pictures is too much for Beorn to understand. We see the two of the Matr-yxæ this evening and Beorn not follow very well. He is expecting to see a moving picture about the feeding of oxen but there turn out to be no oxen and very little feeding at all save for a tiny little piece of chocolate cake. Very strange title then.

Kirstin tells me Matr-yxæ is about computere. I think I frown a lot at this. She know I am not fond of computere. She say it good reminder to make me do more typings when we are home! Beorn is very not happy about this either.

So. All is spinnings and fast and slow, and little dark glasses upon the eyes, and much jumping abouts. And little greun bits that look like they might be rúnr or scribings, but all is make no sense. Especially the same man of many times - truly I have known of twins, and even I hear of threes, but this many, I cannot see how the one mother carry so many childrens as looks the same. Somebody's family is not marrying into other families enough, that is for definites sure.

I think there has been cheatings, Kirstin she tell me this is all special effect - this is the word that means visual trick, I remember this.

She ask me if I like anything at all about it, and I say man has a nice coat. But I am not sure why the girl is wearing black plastics. I think maybe she is not wanting to get wet. I still think coat is more sensible, even if it is very flappy about. The drag on it must be very big, for sometimes he moves very slow indeed.

Another thing puzzle me of yesterday. Kirstin she buy a "Five dollars lucky dip" ticket of Lotto. I ask her if she is hoping for some luck to happen. She say if she is lucky, maybe she win a little money, and I say what of the lucky things that do not involves money?

She say she think about that one. I do not know if the buying of small piece of paper with markings makes one have a thing of good luck happen, or if it is all about moneys only. Beorn would like a nice roast lamb and potato right very now, but is not thinking he will have such luck. Maybe I make a piece of paper with scribblings upon it and we shall have roast lamb! It say: "Beorn wish for roast lamb with potato, parsnips, and smár greun peas." If he is sticking it upon the fridge, in prominent place, then maybe he have some luck.

I hear the ginger cat skalding outside. All this type type type is giving me headache, I think I switch box off and listen to cat sing instead - is much preferable to this. I close my eyes and see the little greun bits everwhere. Sighs.

~ B.

Mandagr, fjórtándi month four; of two, two noughts, three.

On this weekend, Kirstin and I go to a convention.
What it is about, I do not rightly understand, but my first impression is that it may be a passing of age ritual for boys, as they are to be seen queueing everywhere. Some are in attendance with their fathers. There are many waiting to seek petition to enter the place. We join the line.
Other men are no longer little boys, but are bigger, with long ponytails, and glasses. There are quite a few of these as well.

We pay a small tithe at the door, to walk into this place, I follow Kirstin, she seems to know where she is going.

First we pass by a table of tiny statues. I recognise them as effigies of the peoples from Lord of Hringr movie.
They also have a large suit of armour still mounted upon the upper body of an Urukhæ.
I think it is a trophy - a sign of their prowess which allows them to be here.
There is remarkably little blood. Perhaps it was killed a long time ago.

We continue on to visit Kirstin's friends who have set up a stall to sell their wares.
There are pretty swords, and some very nice daggers. They have sold very many of the wooden swords - so many that even as I am standing there, the last one goes.
Now I am sure this is a ceremonial event for some rites of passage.

Kirstin's friends are clad in fine garments of a much earlier century.
I remember that century - and I am reminded of dreadful plagues as I see another person walk by with a horribly disfigured face.
It is green, with whitish spots, and scaley like some strange lizard.
Any moment now, I think he must surely drop down dead, but Kirstin tells me it is just "special effect make ups", and she points to some chairs where people, otruligr!, are actual volunteering for this disfiguration process!
They must be part of the ceremony too. I wonder when that will be.

We go for a walk through darkened rooms full of computere screen. It is very crowded and there is the miasma of small boys.
We reach an open area, much to my relief. I wonder if this is the ceremony - for I see men suiting up in armours.
They step into a square ring (another strange concept) surrounded by ropes.
They fight each other soundly, and often one will fall over after a good blow to the head. Then he will get back up again for more.
But their weapons have been made a round bluntness with no points, for safety.
This is understandable, it would be bad form to kill one's own men.

They are fighters of Esciæ*. I am not familiar with this country - I wonder if it is near Greece, but their armour has more of a Mediæval look. Perhaps it is some Mediterranean thing.
We watch the fightings and nobody dies at all. They are very polite.

I wonder if these are people that the youths must fight with their wooden swords?
No sign of the ceremony happening yet, in any case.

We go to the top levels, and there are many stalls, selling very thin booklets of paper.
There are brightly coloured pictures on these books, and there are boxes and boxes of them around.

A lot of boys are buying these books. So are older men. I am beginning to think that it must be a required set of readings for the youths, and that the older men (including many of the ponytailed sort) are buying updated ones.
Perhaps this is an ongoing process. Very strange - nothing like I remember.
You reach an age, you have get or make a sword, you learn to defend yourself, and off you go.
Everything is so much more fiddlings these days.

Kirstin passes one to me. It is a Cormyx-book of Þórr, she says.
At first I think my conclusions are proved correct, as I open it to see little coloured pictures of him, with the speech balloons. But he does not look like how I expect.
Each page is drawn in little squares with more coloured pictures, but it is confusing to Beorn.
What is this Marvel Universe, and what is he doing there?
He fell at Ragnarok. Everyone know that, I thought. But now I am not sure they do.
This is no Þórr that I know.

I give the Cormyx back to Kirstin.
I tell her Beorn does not think the real Þórr wore black hotpants and leopardskin boots with a spotty blue chestplate.
And not get me started on helmet! I like Mr Asterix better. He may have funny helmet also, but least he dresses like proper Gaul.

We go downstairs to a big place of many seats.
At last I am thinking we see the ceremony, but no, it is just two peoples talking, upon the stage.
They speak of ships in space, and twenty-first century. And small Dwarf of Metallics called Twiki.
Beorn thinks this is the made-ups now. He knows of the dwarfs of older times, and is fairly certain there was no Twiki among their number, metalworker or not.
Besides, twenty-first century is already here of now.
Beorn feels a little old.

When is this rites of passage thing? I get tired and want to go home now.
Too much noise, too many peoples.
The people on stage go away, and are replaced by more people, who start to talk about Lord of Hringr.
Kirstin wants to stay because she knows one of them, but I want to go because I know this tale before. Many people, little ring, big mountain, ring all melted gone, no more problem with burning eyeballs and Viggo, son of Morten, is konungr. Everybody happy now, okay?

I cannot see any sign of the door-offerings in a pile, nor can I see the Esciæ men preparing to fights the boys with the wooden swords. I don't think we will see a ceremony. Perhaps it is secret afterall.
So we leave, and go through more rooms of computere, more miasma of youth.
I cannot walk fast enough.
No seriously, there are so many people everywhere, is hard to walk through.

Beorn would rather to find out more about the mysterious dwarf Twiki.
He remembers Modsognir, commander of the dwarfs; Durin, his second; Brokk and Eitri - the sons of Ivaldi, who made Gullunbursti, Gungnir and Skidbladnir; Alvis, the All Knowing who became stone; Dvalin who also became stone; Lit who was burned ; Fjalar and Galar - murderers of wise Kvasir...
But no dwarf called Twiki.

Gilgalad** is sitting behind table with other peoples. They are making scribbles upon pictures.
She tells me to leave him alone, but that is okay for I have already seen the dwarf! Otruligr, a real dwarf!
Beorn is happy for first time in whole day.

We go and talk to him, but he is not Twiki.
He has been a Fidgit however. And an Artoodetootoo too, whatever that may be. I think it is the upside down bin on wheels, that I can see in some of the pictures.
He signs a picture of Fidgit for Kirstin.
Kenny the Dwarf, is a Baker. His wife, she is also a Dwarf. Neither have beards, but they are nice dwarfs nonetheless.

Kirstin also gets the signings from another man next door who is from the small vision box, on the First Gate of Stars - a very pretty name for a strange show. He is a nice person also. Beorn is feeling better about all this.

She gets signings from the twenty first century people too, it costs money, but she has an ancient text^ which they only sign if she buys photos.
I offer to sign for free, but she say that nobody wants Beorn to sign anything here.
I say that "tenth century man" is much rarer than "twenty first century man".
But we go away. I think it is because I have no photographs.

We catch up with Kirstin's sword selling friends, and there are more people
now - a man with a ponytail and a man with glasses! I do not understand what
significance these new additions to our party are, but I feel we at least
have the proper and correct representatives, which is good, when one is in a
place one does not understand terribly well.

It turns out that another of our party is to do battle with the Esciæ men.
And Kirstin goes and puts on a red dress much like the one she has at home.
He fights, and she shouts unhelpful remarks from the sidelines.
As one of them points out, this is like the ball game† in a very small space with no ball, and one person per team. They dress up in their colours, know all the rules and players, and there is shouting and applause from the crowds. He says everyone is a Geat to their own cause, and what difference is there between one sport and another?
I am no Geat, but I tell him that I am more familiar with the Norse - he says Geat and Norse mean much the same thing. How this is so, I am not sure, but I think he means in spirit. That is true. ‡
Kirstin goes and has picture taken with the Urukhæ corpse afterwards, and talks to
another friend called Daniel, who may have been the one who caught the Urukhæ.
I am not certain, but he sits for a photo with it, so I think this must be so.

I think I am beginning to understand this. Maybe the small boys are here only because they choose to see what the grown-ups are doing - perhaps I have had it all mixed up and the whole thing is an ongoing ritual for adults. The small children will no doubt grow up with some legacy of knowledge about all of this.

Beorn is too long around to understand new rituals - such are the customs of this twenty first century, I am guessing. At last we go home.

~ B.



* - S.C.A.
** - Gil Gerard.
^ - Starlog, 1980.
† - Rugby.
‡ - Geeks and Nerds - not Geats and Norse. Beorn is not always up with the times.

~ K.

At least I get up.
It is wonder that you even know the sun rises.

~ B.

:p ~ K.

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Blogiþrótta 2005-June
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"Beorn" character, "Blogiþrótta", images and text © 2004, Kirstin Wright.