(A thirteenfold psychedelic saga sung in the tongue of mead and mushrooms)
I. The Bifrost Spills Its Paint
When the nine worlds were still wet from Ymir’s blood,
the Bifrost cracked open like a cosmic geode
and two droplets of pure riotous color
tumbled out, laughing before they knew how to cry.
One droplet was scarlet-gold, spiced with starfire.
The other was midnight-green, laced with thorn and absinthe.
They landed in the same snowdrift outside Odin’s hall
and the snow melted into aurora puddles that sang backwards.
II. Klaus the Red
The scarlet droplet grew into a boy
with a beard already braided with cinnamon galaxies
and eyes like mulled wine held to the sun.
The Æsir named him Klaus the Red-Mantle,
for wherever he walked, mushrooms bloomed in sleigh-bell patterns
and reindeer followed him tripping on fly-agaric dreams.
He carried a sack stitched from the Northern Lights
and when he opened it, toys poured out:
wooden horses that galloped across the sky,
clockwork ravens that recited dirty limericks,
and candy canes that tasted like the first kiss you ever stole.
III. Krampus the Green
The midnight droplet grew horned and hoofed,
skin the color of pine needles soaked in chartreuse lightning.
The Vanir called him Krampus the Green-Tongued,
because his tongue was forked and phosphorescent
and every lie a child ever told glowed on it like fireflies.
He dragged a sled carved from the World-Tree’s hangover bark,
pulled by six black goats tripping balls on fermented yew berries.
In his sack were birch switches dipped in DMT honey
and coals that whispered your browser history in minor chords.
IV. The Mead-Hall Happening
At the great Julblót in Glitnir’s mirrored halls,
Odin (one-eyed and absolutely wrecked on twelve-year mead)
declared: “One of you shall reward the bold and generous hearts.
The other shall spank the greedy and cruel until they see God.”
Klaus and Krampus looked at each other,
already half in love, already half ready to fight,
and clinked their horns together so hard
the sound became the first Jingle Bells riff,
slightly off-key and utterly perfect.
V. The Psychedelic Pact
They swore on Freyja’s psychedelic cats
and on Loki’s unpaid bar tab
that they would share the longest night:
Klaus would come down chimneys with gifts and giggles,
Krampus would chase the brats through pine forests
until their egos dissolved into giggling snowflakes.
They sealed it with a kiss that tasted of gingerbread and goat musk, and for three hundred years the arrangement was gloriously, hilariously unhinged.
VI. The Great Freaky Schism
But then the new god arrived with his choirboys and guilt trips, and the missionaries told children that only nice got presents, that punishment was “naughty” and therefore bad.
Klaus, ever the crowd-pleaser, leaned into the wholesome vibe, swapped his psychedelic cloak for Coca-Cola crimson, started trimming his trips to fit in living rooms.
Krampus watched his beautiful terrifying work get reduced to a Halloween costume
and felt his pine-green heart crack like cheap absinthe glass.
VII. The Night the Yule Star Exploded
On the winter solstice when the planets aligned into a pentagram,
Krampus dropped 400 micrograms of reindeer lichen
and ascended Valhalla on a wave of goat-screaming reverb.
He challenged Klaus to a duel at the edge of the world,
where the aurora drips into the void like cosmic jizz.
“Meet me, pretty boy,” he roared, voice echoing in thirteen octaves,
“or I’ll stuff your stocking with your own spine!”
VIII. Klaus Prepares, Magnificently
Klaus emptied his sack; out poured a million hits of cinnamon LSD.
He fed them to his reindeer until their antlers spun like mandalas
and Dasher started speaking fluent Sanskrit.
He braided his beard with tinsel that screamed when you touched it,
put on sunglasses made of frozen eggnog,
and laughed so hard the Milky Way got a nosebleed.
IX. Krampus Prepares, Even More Magnificently
Krampus shaved runes into his chest hair with a chainsaw icicle,
drank a vat of fermented krampusnacht punch
until his horns sprouted from his horns,
and taught his goats to breathe psychedelic fire
that smelled like burnt gingerbread and regret.
X. The Battle of the Fractal Tundra
They collided where the ice is a mirror and the mirror is a mouth.
Klaus surfed in on a tidal waves of hot cocoa,
wielding a candy cane the size of Mjölnir,
tripping so hard he saw every child’s future and past simultaneously.
Krampus arrived riding a sleigh made of screaming violins,
swinging chains that turned into serpents
that turned into laughter that turned into chains again.
Presents detonated into phoenixes.
Birch switches bloomed into neon lotuses.
Reindeer and goats fused into a single eight-legged technicolor beast
that galloped sideways through eleven dimensions.
XI. The Moment of Ego Death
At the peak of the brawl they locked eyes,
pupils dilated to event horizons,
and saw they were the same being split by a cosmic prism.
Klaus laughed until he coughed up galaxies.
Krampus cried tears of liquid emerald that became new forests.
They fell into each other’s arms,
beards and horns tangling into one glorious mess,
and made out so hard the solstice sun rose early
just to give them some privacy.
XII. The Eternal Yule Rave
Since that night they are no longer separate.
Look closely at your Christmas lights;
one bulb burns red and gold, the next one pulses green and black.
When the wind smells of cookies and weed at the same time,
when your presents wriggle and your coal sings falsetto,
that’s them, still wrestling, still kissing,
still laughing like mad gods
across the roof of the world.
XIII. The Final Benediction
So drink deep, little psychonauts,
on the longest, trippiest night.
Leave out milk laced with rum and a tab of something holy.
Because Klaus and Krampus are coming,
not as rivals but as lovers wearing each other’s faces,
ready to reward you, punish you,
and blow your tiny mortal mind
into glitter that will never quite settle.
Ho ho ho, motherfuckers.
And a krampus-tongued Jul to all.