Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
The Tale of All-wise the Dwarf
A Rede to the Bookish
There was once a certain dwarf named All-wise—in the Norse tongue, all-víss—and aptly so, for he did indeed wish to know all things. To this end, he studied day and night, nor was he ever to be found without a book in his hand.
One night, so sunken was he in his studies, that he forgot to look for the coming of the Sun.
When its first light struck him, in the way of those sons of Earth, he was turned to stone, and so exploded. Such was the end of All-wise the dwarf.
Let this be a rede to the bookish. Books are good, but they are not the world.
The name of All-wise the dwarf lived on in the memory of the Northmen. In time, they brought it with them to the kingdom of England where, having undergone the softening of years, we know it now as Elvis.
From All-wise to Elvis.
Well, ain't that just a kick in the nuts?
For N. R.
Freebrother
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