I'm doing something very unusual for me today, posting someone else's work, but it is important to me to have these lyrics on the web somewhere, so I am typing them out.
The Waiting
written by Tom Wilson, Performed by Junkhouse, copyright 1993 Junkhouse Music (SOCAN)
i've been waiting for you
through this dark night for you
in my life waiting all my life for you
i've been sheltered by three words
and the promise that you made
dead or disguised autumns i have cried for you
dead or disguised autumns i have cried for you
out on the streets the devil love has rained october down
out on the streets the song we sang is dragged through our hometown
Lennon cryin' out in my life for you
there are houses where we met
and a ghost leads to your steps
in my life waiting all my life for you
in my life waiitng all my life for you
i've been waiting
A tale by Homie Bear and his friend Sarah (part 1, anyways):
This story isn't about Hrungir but it starts with him- Hrungir was a fierce and fearsome frost giant that everyone was scared of. Everyone except for Worng the Pixie. Worng knew that Hrungir had a weakness- Hrungir, it seems, was always hungry. So Worng invited him over for dinner. Worng’s sister Yggir thought it was a great idea, but their older, wiser and more mature cousin Fretnir disagreed.
"Ahh come on, Fretty, we need you to cook for us!" pleaded Worng.
"Yeah yeah yeah!" clapped Yggir, "You're the best cook ever!"
"The very best," Worng added.
Fretnir had something of a weakness of his own, and that was vanity. Already his Pixie-sized head was getting bigger. Still, he was suspicious. "What do you want me to cook?"
"Oh you know, nothing fancy, maybe some Pixie beans."
"Pixie beans. You want to invite a frost giant to our house, and then render him flatulent? I don't think so."
"Oh come on, Fretnir, please please please?" Yggir was practically jumping up and down, giving her best doe-eyed look. But Fretnir still wouldn't budge, so Worng had to resort to bribery- four baggies of his best Pixie dust. Fretnir used it to get high- he magically grew himself, his cousins and their house large enough to host Hrungir.
When Hrungir knocked on the door, it was kind of cute, insofar as a frost giant could ever be called "cute". He brought the pixies some flowers (trollius, of course), and was all dressed up in his very best Viking suit. Worng almost felt a little guilty for what he had planned. Almost.
Dinner was pleasant, overall, though of course there were some uncomfortable silences as pixie and giant strained to think of something to say to the other. Hrungir complimented Frettnir's cooking, which relieved some of the strain. Yggir asked Hrungir what he did for fun, and Hrungir launched into a passionate monologue on the pleasures of eating faeryfolk, detailing how he liked to pull the wings off and save them for last, since they were such a delicacy. Frettnir turned a strange purplish shade on hearing this, and Worng was quick to change the subject, steering the conversation towards something a little more neutral- religion. Hrungir started talking about how much he was looking forward to Ragnarok, while Yggir listened intently, elbows on table, head on her hands. Worng, meanwhile, had quietly slipped away, unnoticed by Hrungir and Frettnir.
Hrungir was beginning to realize that, over the course of the evening, he was developing a pretty serious case of gas. It might come as a suprise that Frost giants, as rude and unrefined as they are, actually hate to fart. That is the domain of their cursed cousins the Fire Giants- Surtur and his ilk, and the Frosts were happy to leave them to it. So Hrungir was getting increasingly more agitated, and trying to hide it from the pixies. Luckily Frettnir was talking incessantly about himself and so they weren't paying too much attention to him.
That all changed rather dramatically when Hrungir blew up.
Hrungir's combustion was not as spontaneous as it might have appeared. Worng had snuck around behind the giant's chair and lit his lighter in the vicinity of Hrungir's bummal area. Finally Hrungir could contain himself no longer, and the entrapped gaseous cloud within him escaped with a roar like a blizzard. Thus was Hrungir introduced simultaneously to the concept of Blue Angels and to actual angels. Not to imply that Hrungir became an angel, it merely means that he met some on his ballistic flight into the lower atmosphere.
When he landed, he was one furious frost giant. He roared and raged, then grabbed his iciclub and started smashing Pixie-pads and bashing Mome Rath-mushrooms. Worng, Yggir and Frettnir watched in dismay as all the faeryfolk fled from the havoc they had caused. The Valkyrie were called in and they quickly assessed the situation. They decided that the best way to subdue Hrungir would be to conjure an apparition of a floating frosty snow cone, and have him chase after it all the way to the Vatnajökull Glacier. When Hrungir saw the tantalizing intangible treat he immediately took off after it and was not heard from again until Ragnarok.
Stepping their way delicately through the carnage, the Pixie Police came and arrested the three pixies (allegedly) responsible for the disaster. They went without fuss to the palace of the Pixie King, there to be punished.
King Krindr was a typical pixie in that he was mostly a decent sort of person, given to mischief and the pursuit of fun, and for that reason he was a good ruler- laid-back and easygoing. He didn't particularly want to punish Worng and the others, but he had no choice. What they had done was serious- even the courtyard they were in had been a courtroom prior to Hrungir's rampage. First he had to get their side of the story. "So . . . would you care to explain what happened?"
Worng said, "Your Majesty sir, it's all my fault and I ask that Frettnir and Yggir be released."
"Yeah!" said Frettnir.
"No!" cried Yggir, "We're just as much to blame as Worng. I will share in whatever punishment he gets!"
Krindr ignored them, for the moment. He had an admission of guilt, and so he needed to pronounce judgement. "Worng," he said, "for the part you played in the devastation of Pixieland, I have no choice but to punish you to death!"
Everyone in the throneroom gasped- capital punishment was unheard of in Krindr's court.
"Death!!?? Your Highness, I . . . I . . . " Worng had no words.
"Yeah, I was just kidding. Now you know how Hrungir felt when you tricked him. Not very nice, is it? Your real sentence, however, is banishment. You and your sister, and Frettnir too, are hereby exiled to Midgard. You're going to go live with the humans."
The relief Worng felt at not being condemned to death almost caused him to cheer when Krindr pronounced banishment instead. That wasn't so bad, he thought. He watched Yggir's face change from horror to thoughfulness to her default excited look- apparently she had already absorbed the news and was looking forward to it. Frettnir, however, had that unreadable pinched expression he always wore, but Worng knew he would be angry and worried- he pretty much always was.
"Your Majesty, you are wise and merciful. We shall carry out our sentence with dignity, and strive to bring honor to your kingdom."
"Can we come visit?" asked Yggir.
Frettnir rolled his eyes, but kept silent. King Krindr gave Yggir a kindly smile, the type you give to people who have just said something dumb. "I'm afraid that is out of the question. But after a suitable time has passed we might let you come home some day."
"Oh," said Yggir, "well, at least we will be together."
The kindly smile again.
The pixies were each led to a different Faery Ring, which are the portals between worlds. On Krindr's command, they stepped through and emerged in a very strange and alien world, alone.
And now our story begins.
The Pixie Papers
Frettnir's Story
Febr 26
I hate it here. I know that's how I have started every journal entry since I got here, but it's true. But I had an epiphany today- I have determined the course of action I need to take. The humans all have jobs, and in order to fit in, I have to get one too. I don't really know how to get one, however. I think you just put on one of those odd garments they wear and go to the gigantic towers.
Febr 28
I hate it here. There are humans who behave exactly like frost giants in each one of those towers, and they will not let me get past them. One oaf even forcibly removed me from his pitiful little castle today. I wish Hrungir had stomped on him.
March 2
I hate it here. I have discovered that in the human world, everything rests on the concept of "Prior Experience". Am looking into spells to see if I can conjure some.
March 5
I really hate it here. Today I was in the park looking for a Faery Ring when I saw a human girl wearing a tunic-type thing, and it said "Death to the Pixies!" I was shocked, and a little frightened for my life.
March 17
I hate it here, but today at least I caught my first glimpse of other faeryfolk- leprechauns! They were a little drunk but they gave me some valuable information. I am apparently living in a city called Boston, and there is an established, though well-hidden, community of faeryfolk here.
March 24
I still hate it here, but have resigned myself to this fate. Life has settled into a routine of sorts. King Krindr gave us the ability to hide our wings from the humans, and to change size as necessary. So I live in a tree, like our ancestors, and in the morning I awake and head over to a nearby tavern sort of place that sells a bitter, non-alcoholic beverage called coffee. They don't sell mead. I purchase my coffee with money I receive from the caretaker of the park where I live. He pays me to tend his trees and plants and cook the odd meal for him. My pixie skills in both respects are superior to anything he has ever seen.
April 1
Today is the Day of the Fool, and I have been keeping my eyes open for any mischievous imps and spirits that might be about. I've come to realize that I can't spend the rest of my life here-I need to find my insufferable cousins. Even though it's their fault that I'm here in the first place. We need each other. Well, I need them at least . . . I hope they're alright.
April 3
I met some nice spirits today. I think they are sylphs, though I can't really tell, and I do not wish to appear ignorant by asking. Ever since our colony of Pixies migrated form Ireland to Asgard we have been pretty cut off from the other non-Norse faeryfolk. Anyways, they may be able to help me find Worng and Yggir- they told me to meet them tomorrow.
May 2
Those treacherous sylphs are actually sluagh! Sluagh! Cursed cretinous carrion-feeding crypt-defilers! How could I have been so stupid? They have kidnapped me and are keeping me in an iron bird-cage in the back of one of their wagons. I do not know what they have planned for me. I don't think they want to eat me, though- thay have had me for a month now and would have done so already if that was their plan. They have even given me back my journal, fiends though they are.
