Unknown's avatar

ULTIMATUM

Å! Ni så lättköpta, maktlösa och skändade,

infångade skabbade med olusten fastnade,

tömda på rättigheter; Nödtvunget trasade!

 

Ni…

 

Ni! Bortglömda kvar i ett slitet och skämt

Ni! Ögonslött dränkta i ständig kvicksand

Ni spårlöst lämnade vara handfallna,

ni veka och ringa, lyss ett slag!

 

Länge nog har önskat letats nere hos oönskat

medan inbillningar vittjats tömda på glädjen

där falskt funnet tänkvärt kvälja otänkt tyckt

och ansträngt spillt kraft på ynkliga behoven

 

Blott misantroper klarar älska vad vår värld blivit

medan fråntagna och krossade löften har mortlats

ty ogräset självt har trängts i törst efter vårt blod,

omkring, och nere, på de smittade källornas plats

 

Och få vågar önska litet mer än duga till kräk…

 

Det är mig ändå bitande bittert att bryta

med det sönderslagna samhällets slagna

där lytta och yrande kräva Livet lytt vara

 

Näppeligen.

 

Unknown's avatar

I KLARHET ― IMMA

GLÄDJE! Smid här i din styrka, 

var ständigt Viet ädlaste vishet att famna 

och ljuvande glittra, glimma, I KLARHET ― IMMA

*

SANNING! Äran är all kärlek, 

Livet segrat högt och värdigt genom ensamma

hemligheter hällda blodet, I KLARHET ― IMMA 

*

MAKTER! Öppna vår Verklighet, 

nu varsamt vidrör skyarnas ristade mylla 

och vaksamt låt oss stanna kvar, I KLARHET ― IMMA 

I KLARHET ― IMMA

I KLARHET ― IMMA

Unknown's avatar

WHO IS 1 SIGFRIDSSON?

(Reblogged from 23/12-12.)

Interview with 1 SIGFRIDSSON on his birthday.

Tell me about your upcoming books.

It will be two books with poetry. Little bits of Knowledge in it here and there. Then there is another book that is on hold, maybe it will be cut up and posted on a homepage. We will see. My chances of becoming a ”established writer” are drained anyway. Not that I would even care to wish for that.

Today most writers try to get their share of egoistical recognition with pointless provocations while they drag themselves and the recipients further down the spiral. At this point in time I have the choice of writing meaningless poetry for a few or do poetry that is clever for less than a few. I don´t stand a chance in this helpless and hopeless society. The warped illusions are so overwhelming in this world. There will be a demand for my writing when conformity and normality will become fairly sane again.

What are your plans for the future?

I wish to be more pretentious. Then simply to separate the high from the low forever. I write everything for the future and my future is already done.

You worked with music before. Wish to tell us something about that?

Not really. I had a small and independent production company that released some records and organized concerts. Did that for a couple of years and I worked in a mix between DIY and semi-professional. I honestly regret every second of it. A total of ten years of my life down the drain for nothing.

Did two dumb interviews a while back where I took the retro-perspective on music and went along with it. However, I honestly think that almost all music made in this deranged period reeks. I remember when I started with music that I thought that everyone must be involved in some kind of ongoing joke about music that I wanted to find out about.

I did a fanzine that looked really horrible, I could easily have made it look like a proper magazine. Had the idea that if I did it a bit lower then it would not strain me to better it for the next issue… (This could possibly be a sign of an underacheiver.) Never had the thinking that one should always try the best one can. It all seemed so pointless. And I was right. I am embittered by the whole thing.

I recall that I was against censorship meanwhile being unaware to that people became rotten by consuming the junk-culture. Handing out ”praise to scum” was a normality in ”our” society to accept. I cared for nothing happening in society as it seemed so boring. Etc.

OK. That might be a bit insulting to some. I do see a bit of what you are getting at here. Do you believe that you are better than everyone else?

I am not saying that at all. I’m merely pointing out that there are some key ingredients that are lacking in the minds to be able to produce something really good. I have all my high hope in the future to come.

If we take my presented writing and hobby photography as an example, then you see that I have a quite low standard, partly deliberately, and partly as I hold it to be good enough. I don’t even care to have a proper camera and I just needed to get a few photos to fill my books, my blogs and then some background photos that I could use for a magazine.

So, I’m not a narcisssist by any stretch of the imagination. If you wish to perceive it like that, then that is sad. I just possess Knowledge others lack at the moment. Simple as that.

1 SIGFRIDSSON

1 SIGFRIDSSON

From where do you get inspiration? What is the Knowledge you mention?

Truth and my cleaned mind is my main inspiration. Inspiration also comes from nature, being the only place where I feel that there is something worthy embracing at the moment. Nature and existance itself is also known as The Unknown God to whom The Gods turn.

I remember the breaking point for me some sixteen years ago. I stopped what I was doing and sold the junk I could get rid off and then burned the rest of my belongings. Moved around, on the run, working extremely hard to find The Answer. I had to practice ”the art of imploding” instead of being creative to prove that I existed to others.

Made my antidote against my foes. I absolutely alienated all my old friends, they became convinced that I had lost my marbles. They still believe that. I can’t really blame them for it. Looking at the society we now have to live under and are victims of, then I can be seen as their enemy of all that junk they are forced into believing.

The Knowledge I have come from ”forefathers” that I know and have met. Also, my own memory brings back much Knowledge. I promise that I now would never say or do anything that I’m not completely certain about.

You wanted to be a writer before this happened?

Yeah, if I didn’t know what I do know then I would probably have had a small career as a writer and musician.

I am all for creativity, still that is not really where I should focus my own time with down here. I will be looked upon as someone who has ”strange opinions” and that live after the ”assumption” that The Gods are real. Until I am proven right. You ask me for proof? I say you should learn how to read history first. The Truth is exactly the opposite of what the majority now are able to accept any knowledge of. I rightfully feel a strong ”pena ajena” against almost everyone at this point.

Are you Odinist or Asatru? What made you believe in this?

Both. Neither. Closest, from others viewpoint, would be a Universal Odinist. I don’t believe. I truly know. My writing will be overlooked because of this connection with ”Asatru”. I’m not even trying to be accepted as a ”follower of The Gods” or something like that. I have no contact at all with anyone outside of us here that actually know that The Gods are real and the full impact and significance of this. The rest are beyond reach at this point.

There is a notion that many have that they more or less need to be superhuman to be accepted by The Gods and that Asatru is only for somewhat ”perfect people”. So, they believe that there is little point in even trying to reach Asgard if they have any flaws. If you are worthy then you will be accepted. Seriously, it is never enough to just follow The Gods with words, you have to work for it or remain useless to the realities of life.

I know that most people are triggered to react like retarded children against eveything outside their current consensus. I pity that they are now made to think and behave exactly like our hated foes. That was their final goal. Happy now?

Laugh it up and deny it if you can. There will be humble pie later.

Your poetry is filled with some passages that are hard for me to understand.

As I stated earlier, I write for a future that is nearby. You need to know a few obvious things to be able to read it. There are some poems that are written pretty simple and without any ”passages” so that anyone could read them without problems. Some of the temporary translations I have made are terrible. I cringed a bit when I published them on my blog. The poems ”Give life!”, ”Stones” and ”Gotsala” are alright for now.

This might surprise some when I say this, but I don’t strive to become a ”poet”. The pressure involved to write really immaculate poetry made me take another angle at it. I also have to say that everything written from your own identity and perspective is meaningless without Truth. There is no ”my own truth”. That is simply ridiculous. My own writing might be ”personal”, but here and there it takes on the identity of the sum of everything and Knowledge. I sound very odd now. Anyway, that is as close as I wish  to explain it.

I´m not sure if I fully understand this. You seem to have anger against society, writers and culture?

Absolutely. I am against junk. On the contrary, I do really care for writing, culture, arts and estetics. Real culture is what binds The Gods together with humanity, apart from the blood that we all share. So, yes, I do care for what culture should be and can be. The present junk-culture that is everywhere is just filthy and it causes suffering and death. As a whole the ”culture” is so filthied by the foes of The Gods. I mean, unbelievably filthied, to the point that it now must be trashed.

Trash all culture?

Junk-culture is not my definition of culture. For future reference then: I took an Oath to fulfill. I constantly have that responsibility with me. Most are partly clueless to what I’m referring to right now and fail to see clearly. They don’t even have the patience to read and try to understand what I’m telling them. The reason is that they haven’t been collectively informed. That’s how sad life here is. If you seriously think that I will do my books, or my homepages, for any kind of warped search for fame, then you are in the dark. I do it to be sure that some information comes out and does some good in the near future.

You claim that there is a war on society that we lack knowledge of. Would you care to broaden our understanding?

The War of all Wars is real. The War is in everything and every being in existance. Knowledge of The Gods and this War is our only hope to stay alive. If you are taught that we should be accepting towards our foes arsenal of words that brainwash and degenerate. Accepting our murderers? We are under the most extreme oppression. It will not be alright and fine by itself. Ragnarok will come. Nothing will change that.

I don’t care if you don’t like me. You don’t have to. I probably don’t like you at all. Still, that is not of any bigger interest for our goal if I think you stink or not. We don’t need to mingle. When people are unknowingly controlled by beings that constantly search to humiliate and thereby murder, then we must unite against it. Understand that they do not have any love for us at all. They are parasiting on The Gods and they hate us all. Whatever they say is of no significance at all. The only thing of any value they have managed to learn us is to show no mercy.

I have no more questions for now. Anything you want to add to this?

I have lots of things to add. I wish to be an obstacle that will always favor the sane. Remember that I will never become what you imagine me to be.

Hold Truth above all.

ODIN IS THE ANSWER.

There you have it, my dear and undear friends.

Unknown's avatar

ETT INSVEPT VINDSPÅR (MINNEN)

Bor i mina ord; kommande minnen.

 

(Lever omsådd ― Lönt till åkerspöke.)

 

När dimstråken nattligt med mig vandrat,

från skogar till åkrar sakta letat

där bortslitna famntagen tömt hjärtat

 

(Är en fredlös, i smygande nare gömd,

övertäckt med nattlövens nötta bleknad)

 

 

Ödsligt,

dricker källan innan saknaden blir omistlig

 

Tar fram ett sista ensamstråt.

 

(Drar ner ömkligt, väderbitet, vått mull,

in i ett dammigt ruckel nedanför tallåsen

där sprucket ljus skär genom träspringorna)

 

Omärkligt,

insvepta vindspår kliver till med kylan

 

 

Och intet är mig lämnat kvar ― Ogripbart

ETT INSVEPT VINDSPÅR (MINNEN)

ETT INSVEPT VINDSPÅR (MINNEN)

Unknown's avatar

BLOOD TRACKS PUBLISHED IN FREE LIT MAGAZINE

Just got the link for this publishing of my poem about reincarnation; “BLOOD TRACKS” for the “rebirth” issue, and first issue, of Free Lit Magazine. I am pleased with that. It is my first contribution that have been published anywhere in poetry. I have been laying low on sending out my poetry. So, one in three attempts is a pretty good score. (Well, it is actually one and a half in three attempts, as The Ofi Press published the photo I contributed.)

Here it is:

 

Unknown's avatar

WINTERFELLED

(Letting your nightsnow glimmer,

calming the storm while ice snare branches)

 

And it is winterstill

 

in sprucewhisper above fleetingly singing ices,

in thousands of frozen tarns inside forest glades

 

Winterfelled,

rime grabs hold of the branchery

like we hear our groaning steps silenced

 

Listen.

 

Be quiet now, snowfall,

 

here, beside the spruce, the winterbird eats for its life

while Death want to say something about the sorrows

 

― I was the one born unto snow in a permanent thaw,

one the world skyembraced instrewn splintered answers

and left me to be remained, long lasting as tender snow,

one so aloned, leaving all my sorrow over wrong graves

 

In tears taking the dead heart in front of the sick

 

The last sight endearing land of blood and stones

and squint over this too thin-sown beauty

frosty nights caught frozen in shined darkness

 

Want to own myself nothing beyond rest, endtime dozed away,

wanted something higher the flames of will sent burnt in here

 

In tears taking the living heart in front of the dead

A WINTERFELT MOUNTAIN

A WINTERFELT MOUNTAIN

Unknown's avatar

ÄR

Ville slumra nere i dalen

invid mandelträdens värdiga blom

Klinga den alltid längtade harpans toner

Men, blev någon annan

Önskade stå fri i mörkgrön höstmark,
renad från alla levnadsårens grin
Leva och dö fagert som ett höstlöv

Men, är vid misstagen vigd

Blev regnfall,
kalla, kallande Vindar, liten till Ödet,
en kort väldoft innan döden,
likt slaget nässel,
brutna citrusblad,
höstmarken efter nattregnen

Men, kan onekligen älska

när något finns att älska

Det vill brista här
mellan gruset och lövverket

Finner sämst kärlek

Den, vilken inte kan hittas

Här duger mig icke svek,

renaste Kärleken kränkt,
ruinernas kläder
eller egna viljans strävan dräpt

Är lagd öppnad, en ensamt oruttnad,
i äppelkorgen lämnad fram till sorgerna
Är sällsamt hårt, så sällsamt mjölnad,
att bäras iväg från övergivna kvarnarna

Känner alla vajande sipporna Sol kysste
De fagert sloknande, redan slocknade,
ställda, där hjärtat buret nästan räckte
och till er vägran aldrig varit saknade

Är snärjd,
slagen ner i släckande futtighet

Är gömd,
med en onåbar kallhamrad nöd

Är grämd,
fylld med alla dagarnas intighet

Är dimma höjd,
omsvept, täckt under svagad vilja

Är lysande snön på frusna stammar
i minnets nedbrända skogar

Är ett stilla nattmoln, en upprest lövdoft,
vilken aldrig finner Världarna igen

Är inlåst,
kvarad där blemmor lämnas

Är min vinst bortöst,
ryckt och svept i en klunk

Håll i Trädet ni vet bär era blad
medan vi bryter av grenarna

Är detta.

Är det ni aldrig kan känna

TWILIGHT SKY IIII

TWILIGHT SKY ÄR 1 SIGFRIDSSON

Unknown's avatar

THE THIRD WOUND

Early, right before the day notices me again

comes the first wound driven from the earth

and speaks coldly, in chilled, lightbroken waters:

 

I am wind extinguished light,

dearest sorrowfriend you have met,

those left traces in the marsch

 

The second wound, around self-defence cast,

overnourished this Universe hopeless coldstricken embrace

and have soon used up all my vunerability,

reached in to Time and awake constantly bent:

 

Sorrow have played too long on its own board

with Life laid up as being a fickled nothing

(Hidden events fully rooted in advance

handing here Fate itself as fully written)

 

Final peel of pity scraped down

A cold grip soon to been turned right

 

 

There, over hushed dusk

and trembling candle flickering

risen as a shimmering: Clarity;

Home to the last wound

THE LAST WOUND

THE LAST WOUND

Unknown's avatar

BLOOD TRACKS

Think of faded traces of blood in the woods

turned into dust

in a final kiss of grey

*

Two footprints under the grass

Two dead at this place again

*

Our eyes still remain

crowned over perfection

for we kissed the lack of death

and put stone on thistle

*

Awaken,

seen in wounds

Heal,

we heal

STONE ON THISTLE

STONE ON THISTLE

Unknown's avatar

BOOK BURNING TIME

BOOK BURNING TIME

BOOK BURNING TIME