dannydmc

I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't drunk. I am. But, I ssure you, I'm feeling much more coherent than I was at this point last week. I doubt that I'll have a huge hang over tomorrow; at least I hope so, that damned thing threw me off all week. Coupled with the frigid cold temperatures of -20 degrees, I largely spent the beginnigns of last week in my house and was feeling the usual feelings which bubble up when I'm isoalted from others. In other words, I felt pretty shitty for most of the week.
Oh, what a difference a few days makes! I went out to a bar tonight for a Rockabilly show in Fargo. I ended up running into I'd met at a similiar show back in September or October. Suffice to say, I bought her a few drinks and we ended up spending the entire night dancing and having a great time. I can't remember the last ime, if ever, I was kissed that much in a single night. I still have the lipstick smears across my face, and I ain't complaining.
I even got the girl, who is utterly breath taking,'s phone number. I'm going to give her a call on Monday, I think. Even if nothing comes from it, I haven't had a girl all over me like that in years (it must have been the beer; I ain't THAT good looking ). Great night! I even met a local DJ who plays drums and was excited by my idea of forming a Rockabilly band.
The only problem was that I smoked way too much; a band thing for a guy who is doing his damndest to quit after relapsing about a month ago following the death of his cat (poor Scourge ) and some financial issues which have since been resolved.
Anyway, despite the lack of responses to my lat journal, I've decided to continue my prose versiuon of the epic I wrote. I've got a fire in m y head that needs to be fed and, truth be told, there is a lot of strength in this story. Carl Jung often wrote about trying to fid his perosnal mythology; the stories which he based his life off of. It resulted in his writing "Answers to Job" a fascinatingly unorthodox take on Christian theology. For me, the Tree Splitters is my own Mythology and it gives me a lot of strength when I'm down.


The Tree Splitters: Part 7 (prose edition)

Sigismund pined for the beautiful coleen, Winona, the daughter of wise Cheif Buffalo of the Chippewa. His heart yearned for her every moment of the day and, combined with the great sickness which ad enveloped him following the death of his Father, he became even sicker in the heart. The only thing which sustained him in those dark days was the thought of Winona and her promise to wed him.
He and his band lived with the Chippewa for many months, until Spring got the better of Winter and slayed the ice demons which had covered the land of Wisconsin in a deep frost. All the while he thought of his fair maid and prayed that he would soon be able to meet with the great medicine land which dwelled on La Pointe so that he might fight the demon Wendigo and marry his lass.
Finally, the spring sun began to rise on the horion and vanquish the frost which held the land in thrall. Sigismund blessed the gods for this blessing and ordered his camp to prepare for the trip to Madaline Island, otherwise known as La Pointe.
The day came when the great birch barks were launched into the waters of Gitchi-Gumi. Sigismund and his crew sailed for amny hours, and the goddess, who is the lake, blessed him and gave good weather for the travlers. For many hours they paddled, but eventually they reached the soft pebbled beaches of the isle where Sigismund was told he could finally be cured from the dread sickness which held his soul in thrall.
The waves lapped blissfully upon the shore when the Lumbermen's canoes first sailed onto the shore, scrapping the sands. The great Lumber lord jumed from his canoe and embraced the surf, and sang a song to the breeze which kissed his cheeks.
As the crews were unloading and preapring their encampment, he found Cheif Buffalo; "Where is this great medicine man", he inquired, "I am in haste to meet with him that he might finally cure me."
The Cheif smiled kindly, as was his way with the King of the Pines. "Do you see that trail which leads into the birch and pines? When you have set up camp, you must take to that trail alone. After a long day's march you will come to a cabin where the great man waits for you. Then you will be cured and preapred for your battle."

Sigismund bellowed orders to his lumbermen to make camp. When they had finished, he smiled waxly. "Now comes the time for me to travel alone into those benighted woods. Wait for me my friends, until I return, cured of those wasting illness and the curse which sets upon us all. Only then, he will travel South and prepare to give battle to the evilcreature which cruelly slayed our kin and friends."
The Lumbermen raised a glass of beer in his honor and wished him luck on his journey.
"Fear not", their lord called, "For I will return; better than new. And then we will begin our quest which will see the father-slayer drowned in his own blood!"
The men cheered as their cheif threw a turkey sakc over his shoulder and began to march into those dark and dangerous woods.
He kept to the path as had been ordered but, after only a few hours, SIgismund began to feel a great weight pressing upon his shoulders. He trudged onwards, attempting ot gie it no heed, but that did no good. Soon the pressure had grown so great that he fell into a crouch and struggled to breath.
"What curse has fallen upon me", he cried in dismay, "that i should fall so near by goal!"
But it was to no avail, the weight grew so heavy that he fell to hte ofrest floor, his cheeks rested in the dirt below him and he slipped from this world into the next.

When next he came too, Sigimsund was laying in a bed of fresh thath, bound by the ankle of wrist. He screamed and bellowed againsth is bounds, but to no avail, he coudl barely move a muscle, let alone free his blinds from their prison.
"Who is the man who strugges to free himself from a bed of wrest", a voice called out.
Sigismund sturglged ot lift his head and realized he was confined to a bed in a small hut. A wizened onld man stood above a culdron which boiled and bubblee,d supsended over a hearth. So taken a back was he that he fail,ed to answer the question put to him.
:"So ruide!" trhe little man cried, "for a guest o not respond to a well wishing host! But, so be it; I know your name and your quest. Sigismund Deitrichson who wishes to slay the Wendigo who slew his Father many months ago! Here, drink this and it will resotre your health". The old man handed SIgismund a cup of boiling borht to drink.
Sigismund sipped the Soma. "I thank you for your kindness, old man., Surely you be the man that I wwas sent to seek."
"Yes, I be he" the old man said with a laugh, "The great healer of La Pointe. Now rest and relax, allow your muscles to grow lax and the blanket of sleep to fall upon you. TOmorrow you being your journey, but for now you must sleep."
Sigisnund said no other words, for a great drowsiness fell upon him and he found himself drifting into a deep slumber.
When next he awoke, golden life giver shone in through the windows of the small hut and he founhd his limbs unbound. He roused himself from slumber and saw the old man standing above him and smiling.
"Ah! So the great warrior finally awakes. I'd grown worried that he would never stir from the slumber of the soma I gave him."
"I am awake", said SIgimsund, "now tell me how I am to be healed from the curse which saps the strength of my soul."
"So hasy, so hasty. Just liek you white men to persue a goal to your own demise. Many of your kind I have seen pass from these walls; never had I seen a people more driven to destrion than your own. But, fair enough, it is not in me to deny help to a man in need, so I will tell you how to continue your quest." the old man said.
"Rouse fro myour bed and dress youreself in your best flannels. Take no provisions but exist this hut and follow the trail to the North. Continue with no food to give you strength. By the time night falls you will find a palce to rest. Sit there and wait, and the cure will find you Sigismund. Now go, my fine young man, and heal yourself; it pains me to see one such as you in such dire straights!"
Sigimsund did as he was told and dressed. He took a cup of broth to steady his nerves and then passed from the hut onto the Northward trail. He traveled all night until the sun set in the west and a deep darkness fell upon the land. As the sun set he found a tree with symbols carved into its trunk. Waery from his travlees, Sigismund collapsed benough the tree's boughs and waited for what ever might seek him out that night.
Hours passed, and his soul doors dropped to the flood of the wood. he flety as if sleep was coming upon him. Just as the dreams began to overtake his mind, he spied a figure moving through the woods. His ears perked like a wolf's in the hunt, and he instantly recognized the shade walking towards him.
"Sigismund, my son", the shadow called forth, "what brings you to this point of sorrow/"
Tears began to fill the warrior's eyes ad he fell upon his knees. "Father", he cried, "You have come for me!"
"Yes", the ghost of Deitrich said to his son, "i have come for oyu, but not to take you away. Answer me, son, why do you sit below this mighty maple tree, waiting for me? What troubles you're soul so much that you'd seek to discuss with the dead?"
"Father", the son called out again as tears streamed from his eyes, "Father. Why did you leave me? Why did you send me out so that I wouldn't meet my fate standingat your side?"
"Sigismund. I sent you from camp to spare you from the Wendigo which I knew was coming. I wished to eae your suffering eased, so that you wouldn't join me in the grave."
"Foul Father! You sent me away and I was denied blessing you and wishing you well in your travels. The Wendigo slew you, and now I am forced to slay it no matter the cost. I hate that creature with all my hear, I wish to see it drown in its own blood. TO beg for forgiveness before I send its spirit to hell!"
The Shade sighed in deep sorrow. "Sigismund, I never wished this pain upon you. I wanted to save you from it, as best I could. Fate waves as it will, there was nothing more that I could do., It was the decree of the gods that I should die that date. I hold no ill spite against that spirit that sent me from this worlkd to the next."
"Now listen. I have heard your cries and have come here to absolve you of your debvt to me. Do no seek death in the maw of the Wendigo. Do not seek it out. The hate which growsin your heart shall kill you and all that you loeve, if you are not careful."
Sigismund sobbed at the words of his Father. "Father, I jsut don't know how to go on any longer. It hurts. It hurts so badly that i can not even describe it. The hole that you left in my heart will not heal, as much as I want it to. I only wish to do right in your eyes, to punish your killer and avenge you as best I can."
Tears streamed from the ghost's eyes. "My son. Forget your quest of vengeance, it will do little to bring me back. Know only that I love you and must now go. Just promise me you will nto allow this hatred to consume you and destroy your land and crew. You are a good son, better than I deserve, and I only want you to be happy."

A breeze bvlew across the land and caught the hade of Deitrich in its maw. The ghost slowly dissovled, carriedon that wind to the next realm, while SIgismund begged his Father to stay with him. His heart was heavy, it hammered in his chest and the grief of losing his Father a second time.
Time lapsed as he wept bitter tears. Suddenly he discerned a maniac music; the drumming of the damned echoed through the forest. he looked up and spied a second figure movign towards him; a great wolf with only one eyes, his hea d moved in rythem to the death drums ,adn its tongue lolled in its mouth.
"Foul creature, don't bedevil me now", the hero cried at the wolf.
"Oh, will your whinign never cease", the wolf called out, a laugh hanging on its words. "The son of mighty deitrich, weeping and whining like a new born pup. I have never soon so sad a figure in all my many days!"
"Go!", SIgimsund cried, "leave me now. I know now that my quest is for naught, my own Father wishes that I give it up, lest the fires of passion consume me."
"You Father is a fool; brave though he may be", the wolf howled. "Give up the fight? You know not how to do it! And even if you did, so what then? Le me tell you of that future. Wild Winona., and her wonderous Father, call victums to that vile beast which stalks the wood. Their bones broken, their flesh fed upon by the Wendigo, because you failed to act! Would you do so? I suppose so; a weakling and coward yo uwhere in birth and so you are now!"
"Be GONE", the hero screamed. But he saw the truth in the wolf's words. "Why do you haunt me so? Drive me to my own doom"
"Because you are a hero, caught in the webs of weid as I am. You have no right to speak ill of me; I who have had the mead of Mimor coat my throat, enliven my speech. You knnw nothing of doom! Know this then, Sigimsund the 'brave'. This world is doomed to deathj and destructuon; all will die in due time, including the gods themselves. Who are we to weep at death? A hero rises to fight 'gaint evil as he sees it, sacrifices all so that he might fight by the side of the gods when that fateful day comes."
"So, you would have me go against the Wendio, at the sake of my own soul, cruel beast/"
"No. I would have you do what it is nyour soul; fight against the beast and spare this northenr wood from the ravishing hunger of that beast. Slay it, kill it, scatter its bones to the wind. Save the life of wild Winona, her Father and people; for, mark my words, they will die in you do not act!"
Sigimsund roused himself and stood to face Old One Eye. "So be it!", he cried. "I shall fight as you ask, for I would rather die a thousand deaths than see my beloved broken by the wind demon. But know this; I shall not hate the creatue, for my own Father, wiser than you, begged me not to give in to that all consuming flame."
The Wolf laughed, as a parent does at a child's boast. "So be it, as you say. Know only that you must kill it for the good of all. Now retun to yorur slumbe,r tihs conversation tires me and your whining grates upon my ears. Sleep!"
Sigmisund felt his eyes grow heaby and, againsth is will, drifted into a deep and fitfull sleep.

To be continued....