Dead-Dreams

Okay so omxmm and sleepy–eyess tagged me, thanks for that :) xx

Put your music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs

1. Youth Is Wasted On The Young - Architects

2. Stay Happy There - La Dispute

3. Crooked Young - Bring Me The Horizon

4. If They’re Not Counted Then Count Me Out - Being As An Ocean

5. Dead Man Talking - Architects

6. Old Book - Real Friends

7. MMVII - Counterparts

8. Hidden Lakes - The Word Alive

9. Exodus - blessthefall

10. Green Avenue - The Amity Affliction

Sooo who’ll tag I this time (I hope I don’t annoy you that much :o )
feelss-like-forever the-fallen-dreams xiridescentt blackwildone blood-tears-suicide living-is-essential-to-survive beautiful-reality-is-relatively h0ly-m0ther-0f-0li-sykes c0ld-dead im–sempiternal tahnkspete

see you on the streets
you can’t escape the nightmares
the dreams boil inside you
under the streelights you don’t ask
are you real? did i dream you as well?

i will burn you
the nightmares stop chasing you
you see him in a dream once
they haven’t stopped hunting
am i a dream? can i dream you dead?

with me or against me
fists on skin and dream against dream
you are with and against and dreaming
is the he in the dream the he from the day?
awake he presses against all that is you
we’re awake we’re alive we’re us

—  TWO DREAMERS IN A BACKSEAT
Siegfried Sassoon & religion

I promised tirezaveclesdeuxmains to make a post on this topic, so here it is. I compiled a number of quotes and poems dealing with religion – there are more materials available for those interested.

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“And here I was, with my knobkerrie in my hand, staring across at the enemy I’d never seen. Somewhere out of sight beyond the splintered tree-tops of Hidden Wood a bird had begun to sing. Without knowing why, I remembered that it was Easter Sunday. Standing in that dismal ditch, I could find no consolation in the thought that Christ was risen. I sploshed back to the dug-out to call the others up for ‘stand-to’.”
(Memoirs of a Fox-Hunting Man)

XXVII from The Heart’s Journey

I cannot pray with my head,
Nor aspire from bended knees;
But I saw in a dream the dead
Moving among green trees.
I saw the living green
Uprising from the rock.
This have I surely seen,
Though the morning may mock.

XXVIII from The Heart’s Journey
“All-Soul’s Day”

Close-wrapped in living thought I stand
Where death and daybreak divide the land, –
Death and daybreak on either hand
For exit and for entry;
While shapes like wind-blown shadows pass,
Lost and lamenting, 'Alas, alas,
This body is only shrivelling grass,
And the soul a starlit sentry
Who guards, and as he comes and goes,
Points now to daybreak’s burning rose,
And now toward worldhood’s charnel close
Leans with regretless warning’ …
I hear them thus – O thus I hear
My doomed companions crowding near,
Until my faith, absolved from fear,
Sings out into the morning,
And tells them how we travel far,
From life to life from star to star;
Exult, unknowing what we are;
And quell the obscene derision
Of demon-haunters in our heart
Who work for worms and have no part
In Thee, O ultimate power, who art
Our victory and our vision.

XXIX from The Heart’s Journey
“The Power and the Glory”

Let there be life, said God. And what he wrought
Went past in myriad marching lives, and brought
This hour, this quiet room, and my small thought
Holding invisible vastness in its hands.

Let there be God, say I. And what I’ve done
Goes onward like the splendour of the sun
And rises up in rapture and is one
With the white power of conscience that commands.

Let life be God … What wail of fiend or wraith
Dare mock my glorious angel where he stands
To fill my dark with fire my heart with faith?

XXXII from The Heart’s Journey

A flower has opened in my heart …
What flower is this, what flower of spring,
What simple, secret thing?
It is the peace that shines apart,
The peace of daybreak skies that bring
Clear song and wild swift wing.

Heart’s miracle of inward light,
What powers of unknown have sown your seed
And your perfection feed? …
O flower within me wondrous white,
I know you only as my need
And my unsealed sight.

32 from Vigils
“Credo”

The heaven for which I wait has neither guard nor gate.
The God in whom I trust shall raise me not from dust.
I shall not see that heaven for which my days have striven,
Nor kneel before the God toward whom my feet have trod.

But when from this half-human envolvement man and woman
Emerge through brutish Me made strong and fair and free,
The dumb forgotten dead will be the ground they tread,
And in their eyes will shine my deathless hope divine.

“Hardy’s The Dynasts, which Sassoon re-read in 1949, had first made him ask the question that had been forming in his mind for several years: 'What do I really believe in?’ And it was this question which lay behind a series written between 1946 and 1954 and privately printed in three slim volumes, Common Chords (1950), Emblems of Experience (1951) and The Tasking (1954). Written under the same kind of intense emotions which has given rise to his First World War satires, these poems of his spiritual odyssey resemble them also in what Sassoon called 'direct utterance of dramatized emotion’.”
(Jean Moorcroft Wilson, Siegfried Sassoon)

from Common Chords
“An Asking”

Primordial Cause, your creature questions why
Law has empowered him with this central I;
Asks how to carnal consciousness you brought
Spirit, the unexplained of sovereign thought;
And whence your influent essence quickened first
In hungry heart, and brain’s unscienced thirst.
My heritage I ponder. Who was he,
In geologic gloomed pre-history,
That glimpsed beyond his death-environed cave
The soul – a star – a gift he yet might save?

from Common Chords
“Resurrection”

Suppose, some quiet afternoon in spring,
The hour of judgement came
For me and my mistakes when journeying
Along with that defence for nulity, my name.
Suppose, while sauntering in the primrosed wood,
To body and soul’s dispute, a voice cried halt,
And I that instant stood
Absolved of unfulfilment and essential fault.

Suppose this resurrection, this release,
This self-surrender wrought;
And the word heard within, Depart in peace;
Take to the everlasting all that time has taught …
What, for the spiritual service some foresee
Beyond probational breath,
Would then emerge from marred and mystic me
To stand with those white presences delivered through death?

from Common Chords
“Praise Persistent”

Alone with life, I heard massed choirs declare
for humankind conjunction with the unseen
Essence which rules redemption. On the air
Hosanna in excelsis swelled serene
As through cathedral’d centuries that have been.

This was the moment’s affirmation. And then
On gloom-girt winds of time I heard it blown
With dwindling resonance, from mouths of men
Forever claiming kinship with the unknown —
Forever their one hope on earth pursuing
In perishable pilgrimage, in doomed defeat,
Fooled by phantasms that wreak their dire undoing,
Yet mindful of the Maker they would meet.

Thus, praise persistent, year beyond wrought year,
Those paeans rise and fade and disappear —
Held to what infinite heart — heard by what immanent ear?

from Common Cords
“Redemption”

I thought; These multitudes we hold in mind —
This host of souls redeemed —
Out of the abysm of the ages came —
Out of the spirit of man — devised or dreamed.

I thought; To the Invisible I am blind;
No angels tread my nights with feet of flame;
No mystery is mine —
No whisper from that world beyond my sense.

I think; If through some chink in me could shine
But once — O but one ray
From that all-hallowing and eternal day,
Asking no more of Heaven I would go hence.

from Emblems of Experience
“The Need”

Nobody knows
Whither our delirium of invention goes,
Who turn toward time to come
Alone with heart-beats, marching to that muffled drum.
Nobody hears
Bells from beyond the silence of the years
That wait for those unborn.
O God within me, speak from your mysterious morn.

Speak through the few,
Your light of life to nourish us anew.
Speak, for our world possessed
By demon influences of evil and unrest.
Act, as of old ,
That we some dawnlit destiny may behold
From this doom-darkened place.
O move in mercy among us. Grant accepted grace.

from Emblems of Experience
“The Messenger”

Mind, busy in the body’s life-lit room;
Seldom in strength, unpiloted at best;
How ignorant you admit from outer gloom
The soul, in all God’s world, most welcome guest.

These two, it seems, are separate. The soul
On incorporeal errands comes and goes
With rumours and reportings from the Whole
For mind, which only brain experience knows.

Poor mortal mind, when you, in me, decay —
When once delighting faculties grow dim —
Cry on the parting soul for power to say,
With passion, ‘I befriended was by Him.’

from The Tasking
“The Tasking”

To find rewards of mind with inward ear
Through silent hours of seeking;
To put world sounds behind and hope to hear
Instructed spirit speaking;

Sometimes to catch a clue from selfhood’s essence
And ever that revealment to be asking;
This – and through darkness to divine God’s presence –
I take to be my tasking.

from The Tasking
“The Making”

This making is a mystery.  Me He made
And left to build my being as best I could:
A child afraid who for protection prayed,
Worsted by wrong, but wanting to grow good,
A man betrayed yet blessed by circumstance,
Seeking self-knowledge, learning through mistake,
To shaped experience half compelled by chance.
What work was His, where mind itself must make?

It is He that hath made us, and not we,
Ourselves. One moment’s aftercome I live,
Flawed with inherited humanity,
And fooled by imperfections wrought through race.
This He first fashioned; this He can forgive
When granting His unapprehended grace.

from The Tasking
“Faith Unfaithful”

Mute, with signs I speak:
Blind, by groping seek:
Heed; yet nothing hear:
Feel; find no one near.

Deaf, eclipsed, and dumb,
Through this gloom I come
On the time-path trod
Toward ungranted God.

Carnal, I can claim
Only His known name.
Dying, can but be
One with Him in me.

“In November 1943, he wrote to H.M. Tomlinson about faith and his belief in the ‘persistence and survival of loveliness’. He had hints of help 'from outside’, sometimes on the edge of sleep, a presence or a voice like that of the dead T.E. Lawrence and, once Max Beerbohm’s sister Dora, a nun; he had the sense also of Rivers. To accept God unconditionally was, he thought, 'dangerous’ because it precluded the search. For 'one must bathe on – doubting and hoping, and awaiting the corroboration required!’”
(Max Egremont, Siegfried Sassoon)

“The admission of ignorance in matters spiritual and the gratitude for being included in the prayers of the writer were due to the fact that she was the Reverend Mother Margaret Mary of the Convent of the Assumption. Her second letter to him posed questions of belief but more than catechising him she won his trust through a shared delight in poetry, Robert Browning and Thomas Hardy. He was challenged and found replying very difficult. He got into a muddle trying to explain his feelings; he wanted to be honest and 'to say only what may help you to help me. I can only tell you how safeguarded you made me feel. Can it be that you have awakened me to a new start on my road to the celestial city? That is what it has felt like.’ The correspondence became a constant flow of question and answer. 'I urged him to pray – prayer being the mainspring of my own life, recalled  Mother Margaret Mary.”
(John Stuart Roberts, Siegfried Sassoon)

“It amazes me to look back on it. I never said a prayer, never consulted any religious book, or thought about doctrine; just went blindly on clinging to the idea of God, unable to believe that salvation applied to me, though firmly convinced of the existence of a spiritual world and a heaven above. Again and again in these past years, I’ve asked myself how I endured it. Faith Unfaithful was my last word in March 1954.”
(http://www.englishwordplay.com/sassoon1.html)

“All I need to say now is that I experience peace beyond anything I could have hoped for – not through my formal submission to R.C. dogma, but through the grace of faith which came to me after prolonged perseverance in prayer and through the help I received from a very holy Catholic.”
(from Sassoon’s letter to Robert Graves, qtd. in John Stuart Roberts’s Siegfried Sassoon)

RESURRECTION FROM THE DEAD

When I saw this colorful, lively skull design I loved the irony! A skull can represent death…but death to what? Color adds a life and richness for life. So why not incorporate lots of life colors to dead things? Resurrect dead wardrobes, dead dreams, dead attitudes or dead relationships. Resurrect dead things and give them life.

📷: @genteelflair
#angelbespoke #bespokeslippers #menswear

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This track is a reminder that my dream of surfing space dust with Dandy will never come true.

My Dead Dreams // Open

Ever since Dieter was handed the case for Florence Marsh’s disappearance, he hadn’t been able to sleep.  This was going above and beyond his usual issues with sleep as it had now been 15 days since her disappearance, and 11 days since her body was found.  His own body was worn out, somehow still functioning despite all of the logical reasons it should have been crumpling in on itself, refusing to work until he got more sleep.  His avoidance of his own bed wasn’t even the issue anymore, though it certainly didn’t help things.  Eleven dogs were taking over that room anyway, not that it bothered him all that much, at least the bed was finally getting some actual use.  No matter how much his body ached and craved the rest it so rightfully deserved, his mind wouldn’t shut off as he internalized every shortcoming, not only of his own, but of the police department as a whole.  Any hopes of a promotion were long buried with the guilt of not being enough to help even one person who needed and deserved such a thing.  

Nature was bound to take it’s course and win in the battle of no sleep, and thus in the early hours of the first day in the month of March, Dieter finally drifted off to sleep, standing up in his shower.  What happened in the following hours were a mystery to him.  When his eyes snapped open, he was standing in the middle of the woods, his feet cold as they were only covered by his socks.  The rest of him was under dressed for such an outing as he was only wearing a pair of jeans.  His bare chest had been exposed to the cold of the morning for some time as his arms had started to go numb.  Looking around himself, Dieter found no clues as to how he got there or even why he was there, but that wasn’t the unsettling part of it all.  No, that would have been the strange symbols caked onto his skin with mud in some places and scratched onto him hard enough to draw blood in others.  "What the fuck…what the fuck…what the fuck?“  He repeated to himself, doing his best to rub off the now dried dirt before walking out of the woods and onto the road.

Staying to the side of the road, he followed it back into town, trying his best to keep himself together.   Part of him wanted to piece together what happened, why he was standing out there by himself, but it was more than just the cold morning that was keeping him from investigating.  All of this was terrifying to him, remembering his past was one thing, but potentially reliving it was something else entirely.  About halfway to his place, he could feel someone watching him, and why wouldn’t they?  He must have looked like a mess.  Still, he had to try and look like he wasn’t walking home from god-knows-what and act like this was a normal part of his morning.  Like somehow, this had all been planned.  Waving at the person, he tried to force himself to smile.  "Morning.  Really nice weather we’re having lately, isn’t it?”

4

There are so many passionate artists online that are very amazing.  Some of my favorite art that I’ve seen have been sketches and speed paints and it’s all so very inspiring to see!!  Keep being awesome people! <3<3