26 - Vanilla Swarm...

But Grandpa Green Sleeve's words also make Nanuk think.

Maybe the old man was right and totally wrong at the same time.

In the boy's mind all these possible power animals are not African at all.

In Nanuk's mind all these animals are white and cold like ice and snow.

25 - Whirlissimo...

Don't be ridiculous, Nanuk always heard his Grandpa Green Sleeve say to his Grandma White Feather. All these animals are African. How is our little boy from the polar region supposed to know African animals?

But Grandma White Feather used to smile silently. What does Grandpa Green Sleeve know?

We are living in the age of express flights from one point of the world to another, husband. We are living in the age of internet and smart phones and not in ancient times any longer, she said. How is our grandson not supposed to know African animals? He is part of the big global world. Africa is only a mouse click or a fingertip away. It's like magic.

And Nanuk still hears Grandpa Green Sleeve's roaring laughter ringing in his ears.

24 - Terrablizza...

But most certainly the most powerful power animal of them all would be the lion.

23 - Shnamistoflopp'n...

A warthog?

A Camelopardalis?

Nanuk does not know where he heard that name or what kind of animal it is but it surely sounds really very powerful.

22 - Erase-o-dust...

A dassie?

A meerkat?

A porcupine?

21 - Anklebreaker...

So, his Grandma White Feather says, the time for you has come to search for and find your inner place of strength. Maybe a cave, an ice cave perhaps. Or an igloo build by the ancient wise women and men at the Polar Circle.

And there you will find your own personal power animal that will protect you on the mainland in the big, big city.

Nanuk does not know anything about his place of strength. He does not know any caves around their muddy little wooden village. And they have not built this year's igloos yet.

But he keeps thinking about that power animal every minute he is awake and sometimes even in his sleeps and dreams.

What kind of animal would it be?

20 - Mountainsob...

Nanuk sighs and tries a few running steps towards the white landscape

that extends to the horizon. But the many layers of his clothes make him slow.

This will be his last winter with his parents at the Polar Circle, he thinks.

Next year he will be old enough. Next year they will send him to school

to the mainland. And he won't be able to come home very often.

Only for much too short holidays.

That's how he saw it with his cousins and younger aunts and uncles in the 
past five years of his young life.

19 - Phlegm de neige...

Nanuk is dressed in an anorak made of sealskin.

A hood made of extra furry hair frames his bright round face

with his seemingly always smiling almond shaped eyes.

His hands are protected by mittens made of thick fur as well.

He steps outside the wooden hut in the brown muddy grounds

close to the seaside.

The frost is not very grim yet and the winter yet to come.

There has been no new snow so far this year.

But less than a mile to the North there is still a lot of old snow left.

18 - Hooded-wept...

Come on Joe, you've got 32 to go,
come on Joe, you've got 32 to go.
Come on now, you've got 32 to go,
come on now, you've got 32 to go.
Don't you know it's not just the Eskimo.
Let me hear your 50 words for snow.

17 - Hironocrashka...

The boy's name is Nanuk.

It is a strong name, his parents and grand-parents use to tell him every day.

It's the name of the great white bear in the North. The name of the polar bear.

Everything is polar these days.

But Nanuk is not a great white bear. Nanuk is only a small boy, only five years old.

16 - Albadune...

And far away in the North a little Eskimo boy steps outside a wooden hut.

He feels a connection with something or someone far South like something

light as a white feather touched his thoughts.

There are dark clouds coming from the South, 
from the mainland across the troubled ocean.

And in the North?

Are the winds of winter already blowing?

Does it smell like snow?

15 - Spangladasha...

And now I am flying again. Flying on the wings of thoughts.

Flying North with that little white spot close to the horizon.

White skies and white clouds in front of me, grey clouds behind my back.

And the dark spirit, so much more than an uncomfortable feeling, is following me.

Does it smell like snow?

14 - Zebranivem...

Who is Joe?

Cannot grab a face or a full name, only a slender dark figure with white and yellowing teeth, a soulless smile grinning in the twilight...

And Damien Rice is singing another song, in my ears, through my cranial bones, right into my brain and deeper and deeper in my soul…

Tiredness fuels empty thoughts

I find myself disposed

Brightness fills empty space

In search of inspiration

Harder now with higher speed

Washing in on top of me

So I look to my eskimo friend

I look to my eskimo friend

I look to my eskimo friend

When I'm down, down, down.

Rain it wets muddy roads

I find myself exposed

Tapping doors, but irritate

In search of destination

Harder now with higher speed

Washing in on top of me

So I look to my eskimo friend

I look to my eskimo friend

I look to my eskimo friend

When I'm down, down, down.

Kosketa minua [Touch me]

Halua käsilläsi [Want me with your hands]

Mua niin että tunnen sinut [So I can feel you]

Halua minua [Want me]

Halua käsilläsi [Want me with your hands]

Huuto sielussa saa [A scream within my soul]

Minä kaipaan eskimoystävää [I miss my eskimo friend]

Minä kaipaan eskimoystävää [I miss my eskimo friend]

Minä kaipaan eskimoystävääni [I miss my eskimo friend]

When I'm down, down, down.

When I'm down, down, down.

"Eskimo"

Are there Eskimos in Finland?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

13 - Faloop'njoompoola...

I am shivering. I am standing in the cold wind and rain on the roof top for thirteen days now. Can that be true? Can that be real? And I am still staring North following Bromford Bridge across the bay to the white and grey ocean. I feel a connection like something light as a feather touched my thoughts.

But something else is following me, risen from the loud and noisy streets below. Something like a dark and evil spirit.

Hey Joe, where you goin' with that gun of yours?

Hey Joe, I said where you goin' with that gun in your hand…

12 - Hunter's Dream...

And I am trying to tell a story here. But the noises of Bromford the friendly town at the bay and seaside are blogging my thoughts. And again this is no misspelling.

Where did Miss Spelling go - by the way?

Never mind.

I know that the big city is not blogging me but blocking my thoughts, stopping my train of thoughts. The world is too loud these days. Was it ever different, I wonder. What about my youth? What about my childhood? Do I remember silence?

And Bob Dylan is singing a song…

Ev'rybody's building the big ships and the boats,

Some are building monuments,

Others, jotting down notes,

Ev'rybody's in despair,

Ev'ry girl and boy

But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here,

Ev'rybody's gonna jump for joy.

Come all without, come all within,

You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn.

I like to do just like the rest, I like my sugar sweet,

But guarding fumes and making haste,

It ain't my cup of meat.

Ev'rybody's 'neath the trees,

Feeding pigeons on a limb

But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here,

All the pigeons gonna run to him.

  ll without, come all within,

You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn.

A cat's meow and a cow's moo, I can recite 'em all,

Just tell me where it hurts yuh, honey,

And I'll tell you who to call.

Nobody can get no sleep,

There's someone on ev'ryone's toes

But when Quinn the Eskimo gets here,

Ev'rybody's gonna wanna doze.

Come all without, come all within,

You'll not see nothing like the mighty Quinn.

(Quinn the Eskimo) The Mighty Quinn

11 - Stellatundra...

Indian summer. That is not what I am talking about.

Indian summer is just a euphemism for autumn,

the season of ending and death.

And by using foreign words I try to hide that I don't understand

what Tori Amos is singing about.

10 - Santanyeroofdikov...

And I am listening to music in my earphones.

Indian summer, fresh mown grass

Girls in the attic looking on them

Indian summer, call me back

Someone tell me there is another way

Is it loud? Is it autumn that you're talking about?

Is it why? Is it lost on what I'm talking about?

Is it just that you can't find a way out

Find another way, another way to pray

Indian summer, through the year

On the medicine wheel, call me back

Trap me in between

Somewhere west, somewhere south

It seems these days anything west

Gets the blade, gets wasted

Is it right? Is it real what you're talking about?

Everything that I feel you're talking about

Sometimes I don't know what I'm hearing now

Is there another way? There is another way, another way to pray

Girls, take your hands like you pray

All over the ground then back on your body

Girls, take your hands like you pray

Through the blades of grass, gently, gently, gently

There is another way, yes, another way, another way to pray

Indian summer, fresh mown grass

Can you, Mister Bush, light the sage?

Can you, anyone that's listening, find a way

It is clear, it is clear

That we need another way, another way to pray

Do you feel, do you feel now what I'm talking about

Everywhere that I look no one's comin' out

Out with it, what it is they're feelin' now

There is another way, another way to pray

***

9 - Eiderfalls...

I am still standing at the railing of my roof terrace.

My eyes are following a little white spot in the sky,

turning grey, turning black, getting small and smaller flying North.

8 - Deamondi-pavlova...

Polar lights?

Where are all the Polar lights?

Polaroids?

My name is not Bromford Bibble.

There is no snow.

There is rain.

Why do they call autumn the 'colourful' season?

Autumn is a thief, a thief of colours.

The days are getting short and shorter.

Twilight and darkness crawl across the land.

And in the dark all cats are grey.

Is this even a real English saying?

And thoughts keep murmuring in my brain.

Thoughts, almost memories in the back of my head.

Memories of places far away and times long, long gone.

Images of snow, a dark threat, a quest, companions

and a family…

It takes a village to raise a child.

Dark Eaters…

What are Dark Eaters?

Are these my own thoughts, memories and images?

Does it smell like snow?

7 - Swans-a-melting...

So, what is this?

Are you really starting the BlockBlog Advent calendar in November?

Is this already your countdown to Christmas Eve?

6 - Avalanche...

Come on man, you've got 44 to go.
Come on man, you've got 44 to go.
Come on man, you've got 44 to go.
Come on man, you've got 44 to go.

5 - Wenceslasaire...

You are really very early this year, the voice whispers in my head.

They say it might never snow again in England, another voice replies.

Let the countdown begin, I say to myself.

4 - Blackbird braille...

My name is Bromford Bibble.

Is my name Bromford Bibble?

I am standing on the roof-deck of my penthouse above the fifteenth floor of the apartment house on 666, Whitaker Lane.

And I am sniffing the wind blowing from the North.

Does it smell like snow?

Am I early this year?

3 - Whiteout...

Did I say 'polar'?

The voice continues whispering.

Did I say 'Drifting' and 'Twisting'?

I meant early. 

You are very early this year, Bromford Bibble.

Are you early this year, Bromford Bibble?

Bromford Bibble?

Who is Bromford Bibble?

It doesn't sound right...

2 - Twisting...

Drifting, I mean. Or… wait…

Twisting…

Are you are drifting and twisting this year, Bromford Bibble?

1 - Drifting...

You are very polar this year, Bromford Bibble.

Everything is polar these days.

Maybe even bi-polar.

Are you bi-polar, Bromford Bibble?

I hear a voice whispering in my head.

You won a fight without even fighting.

What does it mean?

When...

*

When you look out of the window
you feel like
it's time for a long and prolonged hibernation...

*