feast on beasts

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy. The strange tableau in the closet behind the bathroom: the feast, the beast, and the jelly-bean. Recall, remember: please do not die again.
—  Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath  
GREEN EGGS AND HAMLET

(With my deepest apologies to Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss)

Can I kill my Uncle Claude?
Yes, I can, I can, by God!
I will kill my Uncle Claude!

Should I kill him in the house?
Should I kill him while he’s soused?
I could kill him here or there
I could kill him anywhere
Would I, could I, while he prays?
Kill him! Kill him! Wherefore stay?
I would not, could not, while he prays!

Not in the house, not when he’s soused,
Not with his sister, now his spouse!
Not while he prays, not while he feasts,
O, incestuous, adulterate beast!
I do not like my Uncle Claude,
I do not like that bloody bawd!

Say! In the dark? Here in the dark!
Would I, could I, in the dark?

Should I kill him in his bed?
Should I there strike off his head?
Kill him with his nightcap on?
Kill him when the churchyards yawn?
Should I kill him where he lies?
I will kill him, by and by!
I do not like my Uncle Claude,
I’ll kill him, i’ th’ name of God!

The play! The play! The play’s the thing!
The thing wherein I’ll catch the king!
No more ‘to be or not to be,’
I will kill him, you will see!

Kill him while he wears his crown
Kill him while his guard is down
Kill him with some poisoned wine
Kill him with this sword of mine
O, is the point envenomed, too?
I’m dead–Horatio, adieu!
But tell them, tell them, more or less,
Who it was that made this mess!

I did not like my Uncle Claude,
I killed him in the name of God!
Good friend, report my cause aright–
And now, goodnight goodnight goodnight!

The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.

The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the pard,[note 1] dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps on his meat
where woods loom in gloom–
far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet,
he does not forget.

– J.R.R.Tolkien

The counter-culture

There will always be a norm
To which we’re told to conform
But no matter it’s form
And no matter how tall
It will eventually fall
We ought not
To let it rot
To filth and crime
As it would if we gave it time
Instead we should let the vulture
Of the counterculture
A magnificent beast
Feast at very least
On the parts rotten
So even if they are forgotten
They served some use
In making a truce
A game of chance
Making a balance
Between the duality
Of hypocritical society
And the loss
Of counterculture chaos
Between the head and heart
Between result and art
Without our head we’d fall down dead
Without our heart we’d fall apart
Without results we’d suffer assaults
And without art we’d lose our heart

am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone.
i’ve got a migraine and my pain will range from up, down, and sideways.
thank god it’s friday cause fridays will always be better than sundays cause sundays are my suicide days.
i don’t know why they always seem so dismal.
thunderstorms, clouds, snow, and a slight drizzle.
whether it’s the weather or the letters by my bed, sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head.
let it be said what the headache represents.
it’s me defending in suspense.
it’s me suspended in a defenseless test, being tested by a ruthless examinant that’s represented best by my depressing thoughts.
i do not have writer’s block, my writer just hates the clock.
it will not let me sleep.
i guess i’ll sleep when i’m dead, and sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head.
am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone, but i know we’ve made it this far, kid.
i am not as fine as i seem.
pardon me for yelling.
i’m telling you green gardens are not what’s growing in my psyche, it’s a different me, a difficult beast feasting on burnt down trees.
freeze frame, please.
let me paint a mental picture portrait, something you won’t forget.
it’s all about my forehead and how it is a door that holds back contents that make pandora’s box’s contents look nonviolent.
behind my eyelids are islands of violence.
my mind’s a shipwreck.
this is the only land my mind could find.
i did not know it was such a violent island, full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions.
they’re trying to eat me, blood running down their chin, and i know that i can fight or i can let the lion win.
i begin to assemble what weapons i can find cause sometimes to stay alive, you got to kill your mind.
am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone, but i know we’ve made it this far, kid.
and i will say that we should take a day to break away from all the pain our brain has made.
the game is not played alone.
and i will say that we should take a moment and hold it and keep it frozen and know that life has a hopeful undertone.
am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone, but i know we’ve made it this far, kid.
made it this far, made it this-
—  migraine (twenty one pilots, vessel) 

i’m honestly so sad avpm is still one of the greatest things on the planet and the songs like honestly are so happy for me they make me sad and emotional so i havent been listening to them because i dont have a single person to talk to about it im stuck all by my lonesome

anonymous asked:

I am not as fine as I seem Pardon, me for yelling and telling you green gardens Are not what's growing in my psyche, it's a different me A difficult beast feasting on burnt down trees Freeze frame, please let me paint a mental picture portrait Something you won't forget, it's all about my forehead And how it is a door that hold's back contents That makes Pandora's box contents look non-violent (1/2)

that’s how i feel

Best Lyrics I Know From Twenty One Pilots

I am not as fine as I seem, pardon//Me for yelling, I’m telling you green gardens
Are not what’s growing in my psyche, it’s a different me//A difficult beast feasting on burnt-down trees//Freeze frame please, let me paint a mental picture portrait//Something you won’t forget, it’s all about my forehead//And how it is a door that holds back contents//That make Pandora’s Box’s contents look non-violent//Behind my eyelids are islands of violence//My mind’s ship-wrecked//This is the only land my mind could find//I did not know it was such a violent island//Full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions//They’re trying to eat me, blood running down their chin//And I know that I can fight or I can let the lion win//I begin to assemble what weapons I can find//‘Cause sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind.

lunarmasterodin  asked:

Have this huge wolf alter that acts like a cat. I call him Siegfried or Siggy for short even though he hates it. We both were super hungry and at the restaurant he decided to should out, "I MUST DEVOUR ALL OF THE CHICKEN AND COWS WITHIN THIS FACILITY!" I had to try and quell him and convince him to stop feasting on food like a Beast would in Beauty and the Beast. Chill Siggy. Chill.

DID HE YELL THAT OUT LOUD

I am not as fine as I seem.
Pardon, me for yelling and telling you green gardens
Are not what’s growing in my psyche, it’s a different me
A difficult beast feasting on burnt down trees.
Freeze frame, please let me paint a mental picture portrait.
Something you won’t forget, it’s all about my forehead
And how it is a door that hold’s back contents
That makes Pandora’s box contents look non-violent.
Behind my eyelids are islands of violence
My mind ship-wrecked this is the only land my mind could find
I did not know it was such a violent island
Full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions.
They’re trying to eat me, blood running down their chin
And I know that I can fight, or I can let the lion win.
I begin to assemble what weapons I can find
‘Cause sometimes to stay alive you gotta kill your mind.
—  Twenty One Pilots, Migraine
Migraine
Twenty | One | Pilots

I AM NOT AS FINE AS I SEEM pardon
Me for yelling I’m telling you green gardens
are not what’s growing in my psyche
it’s a different me
a difficult beast feasting on burnt down trees
freeze frame
please let me paint a mental picture portrait
something you won’t forget, it’s all about my forehead
and how it is a door that holds back contents
that make Pandora’s box’s contents look non-violent