Frozen to the bones, I am

In which our Hero borrows a soundtrack so he can pretend he’s a deadly master assassin on a walkabout, as a way of coping with first world problems

It’s like the act of touching pen to paper (or fingers to keys here) is enough to wake the paper and make it try to claim the nib. I’ve got the itch to write but not the words to say the things that want to be said.

I am touching pen to paper, though. Physical pen, physical paper. Except that the physical paper has suddenly run out so I need to switch stationery and find something new to be my favourite. And that the pen has broken. My beautiful fountain pen has a broken cap and I can’t seem to look at it without needing to pick it up, and I can’t seem to pick it up without feeling a strangely embarrassing and probably childish grief at the wrong done to my beautiful thing.

And my current daily use pen had a shattered end this morning, and now I’m mostly in shock. If I can remember where I stored my Lamy, I will probably fall back to that for the moment. If not, there’s a Cross that I gave as a present and that I found myself just a little bit reluctant to let go of.

I heard this song as a trailer to the then-next in a series of games I have an affection for. I was excited about the action in the trailer, but the song was strange and felt discordant though I couldn’t point to any musical flaw. Ran across the trailer again, in recent days, and maybe my brain was primed, but between the verses is this skin of horns stretched over drumbeat bones.

The words themselves are pretty too, but what I enjoy most, to my surprise, is that the singer’s first language is not English, resulting in an english song that would be nearly impossible for a native speaker.

Iron

Deep in the ocean, dead and cast away
Where innocence is burned in flames
A million mile from home, I’m walking ahead
I’m frozen to the bones, I am…

A soldier on my own, I don’t know the way
I’m riding up the heights of shame
I’m waiting for the call, the hand on the chest
I’m ready for the fight, and fate

The sound of iron shocks is stuck in my head,
The thunder of the drums dictates
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead’s
The rising of the horns, ahead

From the dawn of time to the end of days
I will have to run, away
I want to feel the pain and the bitter taste
Of the blood on my lips, again

This deadly burst of snow is burning my hands,
I’m frozen to the bones, I am
A million mile from home, I’m walking away
I can’t remind your eyes, your face

——Woodkid

My main work of the last two years just passed the last major review before launch. It’s the least absurd program I’ve been involved with for years, with actual benefits and real impact. In another month or two, I’ll have finished everything currently on my plate. I really think I’ll miss it.