Doesn’t it feel like Bjork’s so large and we’re so small? I wish I had some idea where she, our musical elf-mother, were taking us next.
I had a dream about her yet again last night. I looked deep into her ice-blue eyes and saw tundra -- salted cod, whale bone, scrimshaw, the future. Everything. She was sledding straight for the Nordic hinterlands, mushing her huskies toward my North Pole, cold blue eyes ablaze. There I was, wearing only a sealskin loincloth and bowling shoes, stumbling across the ice, about to be set upon by howling wolves and scavenging cormorants.
Like everyone, I feel privileged to live in a time when Bjork lives, to share my time on this funny little planet with such a shining, fleshy space-being. Her music makes my spiritual life-journey tolerable as few others could. She is my siren from the north. She navigates the Arctic skies in her magical swan dress.
Herds of thundering caribou rumble through her songs. Icy winds whip through her melodies.
I long to tear her swan-dress off her, swing it around by its dead neck, rewrap my newly naked, frosty banshee Bjork in snowshoes and regal polar bear robes so white they’re almost blue, and have my way with her.
Listening to her tortured proto-musical wailing, I feel so small and vulnerable -- standing on an ice floe wearing a sealskin loincloth, trembling in the salty, stinging polar winds, about to be feasted on by packs of hungry sea lions. But suddenly Bjork's sled appears on the horizon, and her bluish lips and lean, elven neck comes into focus as she approaches.
Suddenly she’s dragging me into her igloo to have her howling way with me. She makes me scour the surface of her body like it's a glacier, stripping trees and mountains as I go.
The magical half-light of the midnight sun illumed our airborne coital acrobatics. We landed finally atop Bjork’s igloo, where a kick-line of penguins cheered our snowy descent, our loins still locked in languorous love-making.
But then it turns into a nightmare, and I become Bjork’s albatross, flying ominously behind her doomed musical schooner all the way to Valhalla.
