Shawn Nourse is a Norseman. He comes from a people who run naked in the summer, the endless days when the sun circles the horizon, winking for a moment before rising again, when a Norseman or Norse lassie loses track of time and self in an orgiastic and pagan burst of activity.
Shawn’s forebears wrapped themselves in animal skins in the equally endless winters, huddled around a peat fire playing mind games with each other in semi-darkness, until one, perhaps addled by ergot or spoiled mead, launches himself upon a brother or cousin and strangles the life out of his tormentor, before collapsing outside the tent in a frenzy of Nordic guilt, wandering into the woods, shunned by the huddled community in the black shadows of tree and cliff, and haunted echo of fjord. This is our drummer. An animal bound by modern morality, Christianity, Americanism, Masonry, stick-to-itiveness, capitalism, decency, weekends, Daylight Savings, algebra, traffic school, the Constitution, no smoking laws, drinking age, diplomas, credit card regulations, internet protocol, tax codes, passport applications, union dues, matrimony, Social Security, unemployment, FICA, NAFTA, ASCAP, Yahoo, cell phone manuals, photoshop, passing lanes, scorecards, report cards, and the white zone.
Beware his moment of berserkery, when the ancient genes override the rules, when highly trained wrists and forearms turn malevolent. Beware the Norseman.