I’ve loved axes since I was a boy, and they keep me sane and happy and motivated.

America is where most axe innovation took place, so I decided to read up on it.

I don’t think there’s a real scholarly tradition about crafts and tools in the US, because if there was, you would be able to read up about the tool that built the US. I looked at many sources and archive footage, and compiled this little article, which I hope you enjoy. There is some theory involved as well, because there is very little, if any, research on the subject of axe geometry.

I’ve added sources at the bottom.

INTRO

​Fully modern American axe designs have existed since before the American revolution.

To understand the origin of American axes, we must understand the history of American logging.

American states are essentially countries. Some of them are very large and have diverse geography, climate, etc.

Due to this, it’s difficult to generalize a state or region as harvesting one particular tree species and using one kind of axe. Multiple tree species were felled, and multiple types of axe were used everywhere.

There are, however, general tendencies region by region, which we can take a look at. The marketing departments of the big tool manufacturers did just this when they standardized American axe patterns and made a list of them over 100 years ago.

First, using a map from 1884, you can see the division of the North American continent in terms of forest types.

I see two major groups of patterns:

The hardwood felling axes of the south and to an extent the Atlantic coast, designed for cutting mostly hardwood. They tend to have lugs, or ears. The point of these was to increase the contact with the handle and secure the axe head better. I believe these are a somewhat archaic feature, leftover from a time in the early 18th century when axes were not yet as broad and needed the extra contact with the handle.

Latter designs from the middle of the 19th century, such as double bits, axes with forged out phantom bevels, and axes from the period of the logging boom in the great lakes region of the US, were generally earless – they didn’t need the ears. Patterns with lugs would still be forged by the big manufacturers, but these are more of an aesthetic element.

The other group I see is the narrower New England and Great Lake designs, which have no lugs, and were used for cutting primarily softwoods (white pine).

Due to Indiana’s oak forests, the Hoosier pattern, probably developed with hardwoods in mind, would fit better in the other group

Some terminology: when I say „wide“, I’m talking about the angle of the grind, when I say „broad“, I mean the distance from toe to heel.

KENTUCKY PATTERN
​

​
Tom from Yesteryears tools mentions this pattern as originating in the late 18th century and describes it as a very heavy felling axe.

I wrote to him with some questions about axe design, then discovered he’s been dead for 10 years.

Samuel Collins in a history of his company mentions manufacturing Yankee (light) heads in 1828 and starting production on Kentucky (heavy) heads in 1829.

The state of Kentucky is known primarily for its hardwoods. Oak, hickory, walnut, poplar, etc, which make up more than 70% of its forests.

The Kentucky pattern probably informed some of the lugged and broad patterned designs in the region, such as the Jersey and Baltimore Kentucky.

BROAD FELLING AND HARDWOOD AXES​

Large, heavy, rectangular designs with a broad bit are preferred for cutting hardwoods.

Generally, it’s more difficult to penetrate hardwood. I asked Timbersports champion Arden Cogar Jr. about competition axes, and he told me that a long axe will cut deep in softwood, but not so in hardwood, making the broader axe more efficient in that case.

Softwood, due to knots and resin content, will generally stick to itself more, making it more difficult to separate and throw chips. Cutting it requires a long axe which will cut deep and slice its long, continuous fibers.

But going back to broader axes, they will make it easier to overlap your cuts because of how broad the cutting edge is.

A broad axe will also compensate for its relative lack of penetration compared to a narrow axe by cutting across a larger surface area.

The axe, due to its shallower penetration, will not bind as much. It is also easier to apply leverage to pull out an axe which is not sunken deep, due to the „wiggle room“.

An axe also needs to clear chips – remove chunks of wood that have already been severed. A wide, broad axe (as long as it can still slice well) will leave less space for the chips and send them flying out.

AUSTRALIAN AXES
​
Australian axes, due to jarrah, gum and various other terrifying hardwoods (they have this thing called bollock or something) were even more robust, because these woods would break thinner axes. These axes are most reminiscent of the Connecticut pattern, but more massive. They have no phantom bevels, some are even convex – the cheeks jut out a bit. I imagine that when cutting these woods with very hard Janka hardness, you will hardly ever get your axe stuck so deep that you would need the help of phantom bevels to loosen it.

An interesting development in Australian axes is the oftentimes curved bit, which concentrates the force of the swing towards a singe point. This makes it less precise, because it is more difficult to follow a straight line cut after cut, but it also increases the penetration of the axe, which might have been precisely what these big, fat axes needed.

Another, possibly bigger factor, is that the heel and the toe of the axes were generally thinner and supported by less metal, making them more likely to break, so the blacksmiths started grinding or forging them back to counteract this, leading to a curved edge.

You can watch an Australian axe being used in this very beautiful video:

AXES OF THE 18TH CENTURY​

The axes of the 18th century are primarily, if you look at pictures of old axes, wedge and half-wedge profiled. Their cheeks are flat.

Another distinguishing feature they have is their very large poll, which was reduced in future generations of axes. My theory is that loggers and blacksmiths gradually found out it was unnecessary, and the metal could be moved to the front, giving the axe a longer life.

Phantom beveled and hollow cheeked axes appeared at a later stage.

Phantom bevels were most likely invented by axe manufacturer William. S. Kelly, who noticed that loggers cutting greenwood were spending as much energy pulling the axe out of the tree as they were in chopping it.

True Temper catalog, 193X

They work by reducing the surface area of the axe, which in turn reduces friction, meaning the axe binds less when cutting.

As modern racing axes have what is called a hollow behind the bevel, the phantom bevels, or “wings” as they call them, are ground out primarily to reduce weight, according to one of the smiths from the Engineered For Axemen forge.

HOOSIER PATTERN
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Another broad felling design is the Hoosier, Zeek, or Indiana pattern. It is somewhat reminiscent of later racing axes.

While its protruding toe, or upper corner of the edge, increases the cutting surface of the axe and helps with felling and limbing, it also reduces the functionality of the tool when bucking, or sectioning logs at ground level, because it can bury itself in the dirt and get snagged by a rock.

Indiana, I read on an article in fs.usda.gov, was primarily logged for the prized hardwoods in the south of the state, oak especially.

CONNECTICUT PATTERN​

Connecticut, I read by Eric H. Wharton, had extensive chestnut forests, which had succumbed to blight and logging by the beginning of the 20th century, and were replaced by oak-hickory forests.

Due to chestnut’s high tannin content, which makes it very decay resistant, you can still find dead chestnuts with salvageable lumber in Connecticut (so called „wormy chestnut“)

A quote: Prior to the middle of the century it is said (13) that the settlers cut only the largest trees, „practicing forestry as recommended by forestry schools today.

Chestnut is a soft hardwood related to to oak, and Connecticut’s hardwood forests could partially explain the broad felling design associated with the state.

WEDGE/HALF WEDGE PATTERN​
The wedge and half-wedge designs are mostly associated with Maine and the region, one of the first places in US to be logged. Logging in the region started in the early 1600s.

These patterns are universal designs, appropriate for all kinds of tasks, and like many 18th century American axes, have a wedge or half-wedge profile.

RAFTING PATTERN​
The rafting axe was used for rafting – binding together many logs into a raft, and then sailing them downstream large rivers to lumber mills. To bind the logs together, boom dogs would have been used – rings attached to the end of the logs, through which chains were passed. To beat the boom dogs in, as well as for other tasks, heavy duty rafting axes with hardened polls were used.

MICHIGAN PATTERN​

The Michigan pattern had rounded corners so that they wouldn’t chip on frozen white pine when logging in the winter. The pattern is somewhat more elongated than a lot of other felling designs of the region, possibly to cut deep in pine and sever its long fibers.

Most logging in the North East of the US was seasonal work and was done in the winter. The logs slid more easily on compacted snow, and the cold would freeze the mud roads and make them traversable.

With the spring thaw, the logs would be driven along rivers to saw mills downstream.

HUDSON BAY PATTERN​

The Hudson Bay pattern, in this particular design, was revived under the Collins Legitimus brand in the early years of the 20th century.

It’s beautiful and easy to manufacture, but its very narrow eye and long blade make it easy to loosen from the handle.

Older Hudson’s Bay designs were folded over and forge welded, had a narrow blade, a slip-fit style handle, and were similar to axe designs from Southern Europe, where they originated.

HB’s belong to a group of axes known as trade axes, as the Colonialists used them for trade, and often exchanged them for furs, of which beaver pelts were the most significant. Many people became rich from trading in beaver hides.

While people think Collins reinvented the Hudson’s Bay design, it’s not exactly revisionist, as one can see earlier examples which are remarkably like
the Legitimus line:

Such as the axe on the far left.

TURPENTINE PATTERN​
The Turpentine, or Boxing, pattern, was used to make a hole in the bottom of a pine tree to gather resin, or “gum”, for the turpentine industry. The turpentine industry was strong in states with coastal pine forests like Florida and the Carolinas.

Swedish companies like Hults and Gransfors were exporting axes for the turpentine industry, and this pattern is probably the basis for the modern Swedish forest axes

THE CEDAR AXE​

There is a surprising amount of info on the cedar axe. Yesteryears tools describes it as:

„a medium weight axe, either single of double bit, with broad curved cutting edges suitable for cutting small softwood trees and saplings. (also called Mexican cedar axe, balloon pattern, butterfly pattern).“

„Experienced woodsmen say that the specially designed axe is twenty-five per cent more effective for the purpose of cutting cedar than the old style chopping axe… „

„In the early twenties ranchmen of the cedar section of Texas began to hire cedar choppers to clear out the excessive growth, most of the choppers being migrant laborers from Mexico. These choppers complained that the axe in use was too heavy, weighing from three to four pounds. The handle was too long and the axe blade too short. These defects must be cured to create a more perfect cedar axe. Many were studying the problem and the solution was found by Henry Weiss of Kerrville, who designed the cedar axe.“

The cedar in question, Juniperus ashei , is considered a native, yet invasive species in Texas

ROCKAWAY PATTERN
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The Rockaway axe is possibly a pre-revolutionary design, made popular by William McKinnon a blacksmith in Rockaway, NJ.

You can read more about it in the article “The McKinnons and the Rockaway axe” by Bob Garay.

​

OTHERS

​New England, Long-island, Wisconsin, Dayton, Yankee, were universal patterns used for cutting primarily pine. There is little difference between them – they are rectangular, moderately broad, have a curved heel and very lightly upswept toe.

A Dayton is pretty much a Michigan without the rounded corners. Or should we say the Michigan is a Dayton with…

In the Douglas Axe Catalogue from 1863, one can see that they offered Maine, Michigan and Ohio, as well as Jersey, Georgia, North Carolina and Turpentine patterns.

These axes wоuld have been used for cutting swathes of virgin forest with giant old growth, as well as on a homestead. They were manufactured in a various weights and sizes.

In Wisconsin, around the Black River alone, enough pine was logged to make a boardwalk 9 feet (3 m.) wide and 4 inches (10 cm) thick, which could go around the whole world.

Ohio exported some of the finest hardwoods in the world in black cherry, black walnut and white oak.

That’s it for now! I hope you enjoyed this little article, and I wish good health and spirits to you all.

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SOURCES:

https://www.fs.usda.gov/…/learning/history-culture/…

https://www.wxpr.org/post/looking-back-winter-logging…

https://www.upperdelawarescenicbyway.org/…/logging…/

https://northernwoodlands.org/…/when-is-the-best-time…

https://www.wisconsinhistory.org/Records/Article/CS409

https://www.yesteryearstools.com/Yesteryears…/Home.html

https://clutchaxes.com/michigan-axe-pattern-uses-and-origin%20/

https://www.woodsplitterdirect.com/…/a-history-of-maine…

https://eec.ky.gov/Natur…/Forestry/Pages/Forest-Facts.aspx

https://www.furtradetomahawks.com/hbc-trade-axes–11.html

The Forests Of Connecticut, Eric H. Wharton

THE McKINNONS & THE ROCKAWAY AXE

By Bob Garay

A Museum of Early American Tools, Eric Sloane

A History of Weapons Of The American Revolution, George C Neumann

American Axes: A Survey of Their Development and Their Makers, Henry J. Kauffman

Sixteen Maps Accompanying Report On Forest Trees Of North America, C.S. Sargent, 1884.

Artisans of Australia: Timbercraft
https://youtu.be/dcoTnER4Efg

This summer I took my little sister to the Netherlands to look for student housing.

After an arduous boarding process at Sofia airport, our budget airline took us to Eindhoven in about three hours. The city was clean and had a hi-tech vibe. Right outside the airport is a a fountain which spurts out beautiful jets of water in an arc. Over-engineered, yet simple.

Coming from a city which tops the world charts in terms of air pollution, I could now breathe. My sinuses relaxed. Traveling with the bus towards city center, we passed otherworldly graffiti and were at the hotel in the early evening. We had to eat, and the Dutch don’t really offer cooked meals. Their culinary experience is built up of cold sandwiches and unmixed salads. It’s a world of healthy-ish fast food, made with fresh ingredients, which leaves you in cold fulfillment, like sleeping with your wife of two decades who could have gone without it that evening.

The Dutch agricultural produce, grown in greenhouses, lacks flavor and acidity. It looks like plastic, and as a person who has a hard time eating fruits and vegetables anyway, a longer trip in the Netherlands would probably put me in danger of scurvy.

The hotel was up to par, quite clean, and offered us a complimentary breakfast made up of fresh cold food in a bag. From Eindhoven train station we set off for the student city of Breda, where my sister was accepted into some sort of leisure management program. To increase her chances of finding affordable housing, a difficult task for a foreigner, our parents sent me off with her to meet prospective landlords.

From Breda train station we went to our hotel, where I had to ask for a quieter room because I can’t stand noise. The hotel offered breakfast. There was a buffet with a wide selection of choices, of which I had the exact same thing every day: eggs, bacon, two croissants and fresh orange juice. After breakfast, we would set out to find potential housing with the very overpriced city transportation.

Breda is clean. There are many geese and ravens, and no cats (the only cat I ever saw in the Netherlands was in Amsterdam, and it was fat and uncatlike).

Breda is full of small residential areas, made by and for the Dutch, with little bridges and ponds, long cycling lanes and large beech and oak trees. The city feels ecologically sound, and the air is quite clean. You cannot see the air, something I am not used to from living in Bulgaria’s capital. Everything in the Netherlands is in Dutch.

Us physically being in the city made the task of looking for housing easier, but not easy. We still visited a limited number of places for the week of our stay. The rest of the time was spent studying and absorbing the Dutch atmosphere.

Our first location was a semi-ramshackle house on two stories. Six people were waiting outside. My sister was shown about by a young estate agent with a BMW, who could have come straight out of ”Dazed and Confused”. Young, hip blonde guy with greased back hair, just enjoying life. He gave us Google directions to another place afterwards, but nothing came of this .

While waiting, I spoke to a young man who had been looking for housing for a month. His family had made eight viewings with limited success, and he complained about the houses being too “shit”, demonstrating the kind of attitude one should avoid when trying to achieve a goal at any cost.

Transportation in the Netherlands is quite expensive, so we explored the possibility of cycling about. The hotel offered bicycles at a high price, because in the Netherlands, you pay for everything.

Dutch bikes have high steering, which makes them maneuverable, and step over frames so that you can gain footing easier. They are heavy, massive, and look quite feminine, dare I say gay. The bike’s design keeps your back straight, and it is difficult to gain momentum. They are very pleasant to ride.

Dutch people are not only tall, they are massively built. They are big boned, with large frames. Unlike the Montenegrins, who are tall, but slimmer and more wiry, there is a heft to the Dutch. Like most modern people, they do not really exercise the upper portion of their bodies, so they are left with big muscular legs and flabby arms that hang beside them like tentacles.

The women are not as beautiful as East European women, but those that are, are more beautiful.

Breda seemed boring at first, until we took a walk on the central commеrcial street, which stretched out for a while and had all sorts of beautiful little cafes, old buildings, and a large Gothic cathedral. I enjoyed them for a couple of days before I realized that it was, indeed, boring. The most fascinating feature I found were the free-roaming chickens in the central garden, which have surprisingly not been eaten.

A couple of days in we went for a viewing at an Indian guy’s apartment in North-West Breda. We passed through a whimsical suburban area with parks and long, perfectly cleaned alleyways. It had small white houses with happy Dutch residents chatting over breakfast with their friends. I realized that this could not possibly be the place we were looking for. We crossed a large, noisy road and ended up at a building with matted windows. I knew that this was the place. The rent was higher than the €400 we were told, so this fell through as well.

The Dutch climate is cool. It chills your skin, but doesn’t make you feel too cold. You can sense the weight of the air, and it feels a certain way in the lungs. It can be quite refreshing, but also chilling. I was surprised at how strong the sun was on certain days, and my arms got sunburned. It was a far cry from the Balkan sun that heats up the asphalt like a pizza stone and drops people in the street, but was surprisingly strong for a land that far north.

On afternoons I would sit by a small canal, try to practice mindfulness, and marvel at an expanse of sun panels which harnessed solar energy. I could imagine Thrace being filled with panels like this, offering renewable energy. It will probably be 50+ years before this happens.

To cut the story short and focus on the Amsterdam trip, let me say that our mission was a failure. My sister did not find housing then, but her university ended up helping her out and putting her in a dorm room next to a bunch of loud Romanians and other students who clog the syphon of their shared bathroom with pubic hair. My sister is now a student at Breda, and I don’t know how my parents afford it, but I wish us all good luck.

Historically, Amsterdam gained city rights in the 13^th century. It became prosperous as a port city trading with the Hanseatic League, and in time also became the largest financial center of the world. It is now known mainly a tourist city, full of all kinds of aesthetics and colorful nationalities.

It is also a city of shadiness and decadence. From the large Belgian fries I bought after exiting the train station, to all the weed and mushrooms and prostitutes that are within arm’s reach, Amsterdam predisposes one to overindulge.

Even amid the Covid pandemic, the city was bustling. Shop owners are quick to capitalize on them, offering all sorts of marijuana themed key chains and trinkets. The city is large, with bigger distances than I imagined.

As me and my sister had separate agendas and places we wanted to visit, we split up early on and headed in different directions.

Two places I was interested in were the Maritime Museum and the Rijksmuseum. I visited neither, because I felt that I had already given enough money to the Dutch economy, plus I didn’t give a damn about the Dutch Masters. There was also a list you had to get on to visit the National Museum, so I got angry and headed to De Wallen to look at the hookers.

In De Wallen, the Red Light District, I saw international junkies, French and the like, the kind of which I hadn’t seen before, with pink bucket hats and loose pants and just an overall narcotic vibe. Gangs of three-four guys hung around by the canals and brothels. The be quite frank, I had not completely shut out the hookers as an option (if they were very beautiful – they weren’t). They stood stood behind windows in the side streets even in the day, looking like shit, plus I was turned off by the idea that they were passed around like Cinderella’s glass slipper,

By then 2-3 hours had passed and I was not really enjoying the city’s mercantile/drug vibe. I was expecting more record stores, more markets with antiques, just more culture, but I only saw foreign shop owners selling the same stuff over and over.

I have an interest in botany, so the one place I visited was the Hortus Botanicus. I went to see a particular species of hickory tree, because that’s just the thing you do in Amsterdam. It was a beautiful carya laciniosa, which I was amazed to see in Europe. The magnificence of the tree was overshadowed by the fact that I had paid €12 to enter the garden, but was refused the wi-fi password at the cafe inside. There was also a guy who kept looking at me whenever we passed each other, so I gave him a really bad look until he finally greeted me, upon which I realized he was an employee.

Then my phone died and I lost touch with my sister, so I called her from an Irish pub and we drank beer there before we joyfully headed back to Breda. There was nothing I could do in Amsterdam that I couldn’t do back home for half the price.

There may have been one more apartment viewing before we left for the airport. The airport staff gently fondled me. I thanked him for the massage, and proceeded towards the gate.

There at the line I spoke to the most gorgeous young Dutch girl, who kept turning her body towards me, but looking away, which I interpret as a universal “talk to me” gesture. She was a tall blonde with beautiful facial features and large breasts, and with the risk of making the piece too erotic, she started blushing all over her face and chest, and smiled with her eyes over her mask as we split up at passport control.

I could have talked to her again when we landed, but I would have had to run after her. Maybe it was all the cycling, which had tired my legs. Maybe it was cowardice. But I didn’t talk to her again. I’m glad, however, that the last piece of the Netherlands I saw was so stunning.

When you fall asleep you get drowsier, drowsier, and then you go to sleep, but you do not remember the precise moment you fell asleep.

So why should it be different with death and dying?

The moment you die, the person who can experience the death is gone. So you do not live to experience your death.

That is, of course, if you do not awaken into some kind of afterlife, which would be an excellent scenario.

Would it though?

Один e по-мистичен от Зевс, по-добре изучен от Перун и по-малко ме подсеща за разни националистически организации от Тангра.

Стори ми се като прекрасен избор за един малък пост.

Именно той вади окото си и го оставя в кладенеца на Мимир, за да може да отпие от водата на мъдростта.

И се провесва от ясена Юградсил, пронизвайки се със собственото си копие. Който е гледал картите таро Райдър-Уейт е виждал този мотиф:

Това е цената, която Один трябва да плати, за да придобие мъдрост. Така получава знанието за руните, музиката, поезията и магията. Които по-късно споделя с хората.

Óðinn (чете се Othin), сред староскандинавците, е върховен бог, бог на небето, на войната, на мъртвите, на ума, на скритото познание…

Тази сутрин Джаксън Крофорд разби представите ми, че еди кое си божесто специфично отговря за това и онова. Много богове отговарят за какви ли не отрасли от реалността и често понякога се припокриват.

Съответствието на Локи с дяволиите, на Фриг със семейството и т.н. е доста по-свободно, отколкото мислим. Не трябва да виждаме скандинавските божества като специфични въплъщения, а като фантастични герои, всеки със собствена личност.

Общо взето нещо като на героите на Достоевски – изразяващи идеи, но по сложен и много човешки начин.

Один има други попечители на войните като Тюр и Тор.

Один, повече от всички други, е бог магията и мъдростта. Той е и мъжкото божество на небето, и на какво ли още не, защото като шеф на другите богове е бил нещо като амдинистратор. митологията не е била нещо статично, а постоянно се е движела и изменяла.

Не е сигурно дали винaги е бил върховен бог, като има някакви етимологични подсказки, че Тюр, божество, свързвано с войната, е бил по-централното божество в по-ранните стадии на германското общество.

Никой не какво точно минава през главата на Один, което е ужасявало всички, защото в един момент е можел да подкрепи героите, а в друг момент да се обърне срещу тях, така че е държал всички на нокти и са превели човешки жертвоприношения, за да го умилостивят.

Знаел е всичко, което става по земята, заради двата си гарвана, Хюгин и Мюнин. Било го е страх да изгуби Хюгин (Мисъл), но повече се е страхувал от това да изгуби Мюнин (Памет).

Било му е пределно ясно, че той и всички големи божества ще загинат във великата битка Рагнарьок. Така че пращал валкюриите, крилатите богини на смъртта, по бойните полета, от които отнасяли душите най-храбрите сразени.

Половината войни избирал той, другата половина Фрея, богиня на любовта.

Тези войни, наречени ейнхерии (‘самовойни’), през деня воювали за Рагнарьок, а нощем сядали заедно да пируват. Всяка нощ изяждали глигана Сархимнир(‘свиня-мечта’)* , който магически се съживявал за следващия пир.

Така минавали дните във Валхол (‘залата на сразените’).

Один постоянно е в движение и участва в живота на смъртните. Никой не може да го рапознае, защото обикаля в облика на висок старец с качулка.

Джон Толкин взима този образ и прави Гандалф. Името „Гандалф“ пък взима от стихотворението „Вьолуспа“, с което е кръстено едно от джуджета. От тази староскандинавска поема Толкин взима всичките имена на джуджетата – Галин, Балин, Сталин….

Один на няколко пъти се включва в съдбата на Волсунгите, най-великият Скандинавски род. След Скошгор.

Один е родоначалникът на Волсунгите.

Той е лодкарят, който прибира тялото на Синфьотли, отровен от мащехата си. Прибира тялото и изчезва пред очите на баща му Сигмунд,

Один забива и меча Грамур (гняв), който само Сигмунд има силата да извади от дървото Барнстокур.

С помощта на меча Сигмунд става велик крал. Но в последната му битка срещу него се изправя висок старец. Сигмунд замахва към него и мечът Грамур се строшава на две в тоягата на стареца. Обезоръженият Сигмунд е убит от враговете си.

Один има дяволски, злобен елемент.

Спуква Тор от ебавки, предрешен като лодкар. След като му казва с коя и коя жена е бил, го пита „А ти какво прави през това време?“. Тор му отговаря отново и отново „Убивах великани“. Защото това му е била работата.

„Убива великани? Аз бях с еди коя си. Да беше и там да ми помогнеш малко, да я подържиш. Ти какво прави тогава?“

„Еми убивах великани… “

Това е от стихотворението Харбардсльод.

Тор няма нищо общо с баща си. Тор е народен. Има многобройни изкарани от земята накити с чука му, които хората се носели по онова време. Обичали са го.

Вярвали са, че убива великани и пази Мидгард, света на смъртните.

Один е бил страшен и умилостивяван с човешки жертвоприношения. Плашел е хората, защото е бил бог на скритото, на неизвестното. По един или друг начин е бог на подсъзнанието.

С което прилича на Хермес – богът на магията и скритото познание, пътищата, както и и вестител на боговете от гръцката митология. Тацит дори са казва, че германските племена се кланят на Меркурий (Хермес), като най-вероятно става дума за Один (Вотан).

Друг персонаж, който дели много черти и с Хермес, и с Один е Локи, но за него друг път.

Тор и Один правят нещо като дуалност. Тор е мускулест, храбър, бог на тялото и силата. Один е стар магьосник, бог на ума, мъдростта и мистичното.

Би станал на една хубава татуировка, ако бях глупав и роден преди 1000 години. Или пиян със 100 лева в джоба.

––

*Сархримнир – трудно за превод; няма нищо общо със „свиня-мечта“

Can renounce their citizenship and go live in China.

eBay is flooded with Soviet memorabilia. I’m not sure why people buy the crap, but I admit, I too have tried to use the tag „Soviet“ as a selling point.

I am not proud. But I’m broke and I’m trying to find out what sells.

If our antiques can get a dollar online, it’s solely because of a fascination with Communism and the USSR that Westerners have. People flock to the remaining body of memorabilia like a great white shark washed up on the beach.

They can’t get enough of it. They buy propaganda posters and pins created by poets who sold their pens to the regime, then buy those square hats which are not ugly enough on their own, but have the hammer and sickle too.

I understand if you’re buying these things for educational purposes, like Jordan Peterson, but I doubt a person who wants to learn would buy this

or this.

Before you hang up that poster you got on eBay or put on a CCCP hoodie read about the assassination of the Romanovs by Yakov Yurovsk, the Holodomor, the fate of the kulaks and Chernobyl. That would be a good start.

Put up a picture of a Soviet monument in your child’s bedroom to see how long it would take for them to become disturbed.

And see how long you can keep a candle aflame in an uninsulated concrete panel building.

The Soviet Union was a place where you could not talk about your feelings in front of your children because they could slip and say something in school and you could end up in a labor camp.

People were readily sent to labor camps without trial because the USSR needed workers.

And worst of all, the Lada was actually based on a Fiat which was four times as good. TV sets, cameras, washing machines, airplanes, most things were either foreign patents or copied from reverse-engineered Western products.

The USSR itself was built and sustained on Western technology and innovation. Oil drilling techniques, chemical plants, missiles, everything came from the West.

Be like a real Communist and buy German things.

The lack of freedom, entrepreneurship and innovation, as well as military expenditures at the cost of the agricultural sector, lead to a stagnation of the economy in the 70’s, and ultimately the USSR’s downfall.

Chernobyl did not help them either.

You want cool Russian stuff? Read Tolstoy. Read Pushkin’s prose. Look at the paintings of Repin or read the Chronicle of Prince Igor.

Or check out the old anthem.

Why must Lenin be involved ?

You’ve probably seen pictures of your grandmother. Someone tells you she was beautiful and you take out an album to see what she looked like.

Have you ever been pleasantly surprised?

Women wore ugly dresses, could eat whatever they wanted, and judging from Mary, could look however they wanted. This did not deter men from having 5+ children with them and spending their whole lives with one woman.

By no means did they look as good as today’s women, who are always monitoring their diets and wearing things which look good.

Old makeup made you look like a clown. Old lipstick and rouge made you look like the back of a car with the brake lights on.

But unlike today, couples would get together, stay together, and have children.

Mostly out of necessity, because there was no industry and communities grew their own food and made their own things. People had just as much as they needed to survive.

It was much more difficult to make money and buy things, because there was no money (money is things, and there was no industry to make a lot of things, so there was no money), and there were no things to buy (because there was no industry).

People did not work for money. They worked for whatever things they needed. A lot of those they made themselves.

Women had to be humble because if you got on your man’s nerves and interfered with his ability to work and find ways to hustle and feed the family it could mean your doom.

It was impossible for women to work outside the home because they had children to raise (the household needed workers), plus they were limited because their monthly cycle.

Then the industrial revolution came and there was suddenly a lot more food and money, and life stopped being an emergency. There was such an abundance of things that people could now take care of themselves. Pads and tampons appeared, and a woman could join the work force.

A woman no longer needed to be quiet and humble, and the image of the good wife who does you unconditionally was relegated to the realm of male fantasies.

Then feminism came and women became ’empowered’. Nowadays girls are taught to compete with theboys, and when they grow up they’re even subject to feminist thrashing if they’re content with being housewives, or quiet mothers, because they have to be business owners, CEO’s, etc.

And suddenly, women are unattractive to men. They overflow with masculine traits. Men would rather jerk off and hang out with their guy friends than have a ‘Wonder Woman’ boss them around.

Men are not attracted to women of superior status. And they’re not attracted to ’empowered’ women. They’re attracted to strong women, but strong in a completely different way – quietly resilient, not dominant.

I’ve heard the phrase “I’m not a piece of meat” used several times. But the physical is all that’s left when you’re taught to suppress your feminine qualities.

Strong females, who are taught by our culture to develop masculine traits, are not good at motherhood. They over-manage and crush their sons and create weak, effeminate men. You can see those everywhere. Probably in the bathroom mirror.

Today’s men are taught they should be more sensitive, that it’s okay to experiment with other men, even–

You know what? That’s enough.

For restoring the blog I deleted in a state of I don’t know what exactly.

This is my own translation. Notes at the end of the poem.

Hadzhi Dimitar

He is alive! There on the Balkan,

groaning and blood-soaked he lies,

a hero with a deep wound in his chest,

a hero who is in youth’s prime.

By one side he’s strewn a rifle,

by another a sabre, shattered in half;

his sight is darkened, head is swaying,

lips curse the Universe itself!

The hero lies there, and above,

the Sun is still and sullen shines;

a reaper girl sings out in the field,

and the outpour of blood ‘s even stronger this time.

Now it is harvest… Sing, slave women,

those dismal songs! Sun, shine bright

on this slave land. Now this hero

shall die as well… But heart, be quiet.

He who falls in freedom’s fight,

he cannot die: he is mourned

by earth and sky, and land and beast,

and singers sing about his deeds.

In the daytime, an eagle gives him shade

and a wolf timidly licks his wound;

above him a falcon, a hero’s bird,

is watching over its brother too!

Evening falls – the moon rises,

stars cover the celestial arch;

the forest rustles, the wind blows, –

The Balkan sings a rebel march!

And samodìvi in white garments,

wondrous, beautiful, sing and glide

across the grass with quiet steps

to come and sit by the hero’s side.

One of them sprinkles his brow with cold water,

another one covers his wound with a dressing,

a third one kisses his lips for an instant, –

and he looks at her face, – tender and laughing!

„Tell me sister, where’s Karadzhà?

Where did my faithful warband go?

Tell me, sister, I want to die here.

Tell me this and take my soul.“

So they clap their hands, embrace one another,

and up to the heavens goes their host, –

they fly and sing until it’s daybreak,

looking for Karadzha’s ghost…

But day has come! And on the Balkan

the hero lies, the blood pours out, –

the wolf is licking his grievous wound,

And once again the Sun shines down!

******

samodivi – forest nymphs. Stylistically, as well as image-wise, the poem is full of references to Bulgarian mythology and folk songs.

It was written by Bulgarian poet-revolutionary Hristo Botev around 1870 after the death of a comrade – Hadzhi Dimitar. The latter’s small band of revolutionaries crossed the Danube and had several fights with the Turkish forces before being defeated beneath Buzludzha peak.

Sfetan Karadzha was his friend and (willful) second-in-command. He was a very physically imposing man, who chose a revolutionary’s life after being chased out of his village for defeating the best Turkish wrestler at a wedding. He cared deeply for his men.

Hristo Botev himself died at the age of 28, most likely shot by one of his own men. He too had crossed the Danube from Romania with fewer than 200 men. His idea was to set an example for future revolutionaries as well as have the West pay attention to our plight for liberation.

Every year we honor him with a minute of sirens on June 2. Most people stop in the streets, even in their cars.

I had some kind of shit introduction to this article, but I was browsing the blog and deleted it. Good riddance.

Last year I read a little manuscript written by a great samurai named Miyamoto Musashi. I don’t know if he was great, but he was a killer of the highest order. Combat to him wasn’t an art form – ‘The goal of combat is to kill your enemy’ he said. He went around fucking people up for more than twenty years, and never lost a duel.

The entire manuscript, called ‘The Book of Five Rings’ consists of combat techniques. Always succinct, after Miyamoto breaks down each of them in a paragraph, he goes ‘This should be thoroughly practiced’, or ‘Practice is the essence of these skills.’ As if he’s saying ‘Why the hell am I even telling you about this? Come to my school and practice.’

Could this book be a gym advertisement?

Musashi would break other men’s swords and shoulder them off balance. He used two blades in battle, and killed men by suddenly breaking the rhythm of combat, sort of like Gennady Golovkin in boxing. Victory, he held, was impossible if one did not attack and lead their enemy.

Japanese music sounds serene, yet powerful, like a samurai meditating. I imagine Musashi sitting on a rock somewhere and trying to clear his head the night before a battle. Being contemplative for half an hour.

I imagine that prayer or meditation for a warrior would feel as energizing as physical activity does for naturally introspective people.

Buddhist monks meditate, the Templar knights prayed, warriors from all epochs sat down and turned their minds toward the spiritual before a battle. They never knew – they could be reunited with it the next morning. This could be their last chance to enjoy life.

Either that or they drank, but I doubt the smartest ones drank before a battle.

A lot of of Musashi’s techniques have real-life application.

Who are your enemies? Or what?

That big insect you’re afraid of is your enemy. Go out and find it. If you don’t surprise it, it’s gonna surprise you. Not today, but let’s say in five years it just might creep out of some hollow tree in your seaside resort.

If you’re not sucking on a cigarette right now, your addiction is one step behind you. Break the balance and throw out the pack. Lead the addiction for an hour. Of course you won’t do it, but one day you might.

The thing about never being on the defensive, leading and setting the pace of combat I found particularly interesting. You can’t go through life without it. Otherwise you’ll always be lead by the nose by some idiot. Put in a lot of practice in what you’re good at so that you can’t be lead by anyone.

Like Musashi, be ready to confront people. No one is considerate when it comes to their interests. If someone cuts in line in front of you, they’re not going to step aside out of consideration.

Now I’ll be honest – the manuscript is fucking boring.

And as much as I admire Musashi’s spirit, it’s hard to ignore how much blood he shed. But there there’s more to him than one might image.

Musashi was very technical and good at thinking on his feet. He was essentially an athlete. A fighter who made his living through constant physical practice and use of his visual-spatial skills.

Does it surprise you then that he could draw stuff like this?

What the hand that kills can do if driven by the right impulse for once. The ability to master techniques was always in Musashi. He made his living through observation and technique.

***

In the end, what happened to this samurai? Did he go on killing until the grave? Fighting for warlords all his life, then becoming a general or something?

Miyamoto Musashi had a spiritual awakening after winning his greatest duel. He realized that he had killed Japan’s greatest swordsman. On that day he renounced bloodshed and entered a different phase.

He spent the rest of his years painting, doing calligraphy, teaching martial arts and engaging in spiritual practice. He became something like Tolstoy, who also killed men and awakened to higher realities later in his life.

Do you really think Musashi changed after that last duel though? Do you think a person who killed 60 men suddenly developed a psychologist’s empathy for everything?

He just found different enemies to kill.

Now go out and kill your enemies.

Sometimes I look at how good someone is at something and it makes me emotional. Not because of their skills, because those are just a side effect of doing what they love.

These people embody their work. Their flair, their skills, every bit of that is a continuation of their being. Take the talons away from an eagle and it will scavenge or starve, but at heart it will remain a noble hunter. Its talons are a physical expression of what it is.

The best rise to the top of the world because they get something that they crave immensely from what they do. There is no ‘world’ for them. It’s them and the thing. Then they suddenly find themselves on top of the world. They don’t go after fame or influence. It just happens to them while they do their thing and follow their vocation.

Vocation is greater than talent.

If you follow your vocation and you go after stuff purely on ego, you will crash and burn. Vocation is ruthless and passionate – it needs the tranquil, soothing touch of love to balance and harmonize it. If you leave it unchecked it can burn you out severely.

If your love and your necessity drive you, you will become better than those who are more gifted. If that’s that important to you. They won’t have put tens of thousands of hours into it by their twenties.

These people on Youtube ads and wherever talk about hard work as if it can be forced. The ones who put years into something didn’t force themselves. Their need drove them. They didn’t push and push until they shat themselves. Everything they have, their skills, careers and achievements, are all a side effect of being in their element.

My father is not a quick thinker. I know people who are much quicker.

But none who are more methodical and dispassionate. More focused. None who can sit like him for hours and hours and trudge through huge volumes of information for a paragraph. He is made for figuring things out.

He can do many things with this mindset – visualize and build things without drawing them, repair anything, learn transcranial Doppler because his boss forced him – he got his medical degree without any love for his profession whatsoever. He did it solely on capability and inertia. Since the love was missing, he regrets it. This was not his vocation.

If you’ve listened to Freddie Mercury’s pre-Queen recordings, he was NOT good. His voice was thin and he sounded like a woman. Then when he was around twenty-four something changed. His skill set was vastly enriched. He suddenly rose 3 classes or something in a year or two.

I sometimes wonder how he felt when his efforts were rewarded.

Because he had had this full tank of dreams and ambitions, and all his drive, and his love for music, and all the effort he was putting in, but the one thing that didn’t correspond to them were his actual abilities.

What was it like when that suddenly changed?

I hope we find out, each in our own way.