A medieval crown, The Gold of the Lombards. A golden mask. Lou Reed’s “Warrior King”: only by him the absolute rock’n’roll on cancer and death. A warrior king inscrutable and
The wolf means belonging to it. Robert Graves would have called it the banner of a clan. The Roman Knight’s parade mask. Between the eyes, the wolf, as it had
Hyperborean Apollo encloses the primeval link between the God who craved for bloody offerings, and his devoted kin, barely surviving far north, who sent magicians roaming the world holding a
I was still in my boyhood, when I met men with their Mensur scar on their faces. A sign of courage, of ruthlessness. One of them was a musician. When
We stepped into this place, long ago. We did not intend to, back then. Nor we do now, because this is the place where the world of the dead surfaces
They lost their own lives to gain immortality. No flesh, no sounds. Just their breath, like a slow and light wind. And their eyes: across time, across space. They see,
A sort of a petroglyph recounting a shaman’s journey in the spirit world. He’s gone, forever. He just left a trail. Reenact his deeds. Ride a reindeer. Track a magical
You thought you could dodge it. Now you are facing it. Its eyes straight on you. Almost real. Blood dripping around, almost a necklace. This is not real, this is
A numinous sight: glowing in the darkness, Zalmoxis’ totemic animal flashes by. He might not be hunting you, tonight. He might lure you to follow his path.
