the centre cannot hold

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New Ben Frost album out.

https://open.spotify.com/album/5Slsy0HT7FRrTf0Zlm7Djd

Dominic West reads
The Second Coming
by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
   The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
   Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
   Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
   The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
   The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
   The best lack all conviction, while the worst
   Are full of passionate intensity.

   Surely some revelation is at hand;
   Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
   The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
   When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
   Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
   A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
   A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
   Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
   Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

   The darkness drops again but now I know
   That twenty centuries of stony sleep
   Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
   And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
   Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

—  The Second Coming, William Butler Yeats

Happiest of New Years!

Tomorrow begins year LII, Anno Satanas.

This past year has been extraordinary for the vibrant members who manifest the Church of Satan. With the release of significant books, stimulating podcasts, intriguing music, evocative literature, vivid art, potent performances and other acts of creative brilliance, we can readily view the reality of Satanism as it exists in this 21st Century.

Our Walpurgisnacht Conclave brought an international gathering to the Hudson Valley, celebrating the vitality of the 50 year existence of our organization. Here, inspirational presentations by productive, talented and world-shaking individuals demonstrated to their peers that the philosophy of Satanism is one that is timely, effective and eminently practical for moving the world according to their wills, their essential tool towards continually attaining deep satisfaction. They have heeded Irish poet John Anster’s freely translated lines from Goethe’s FAUST:

Seize this very minute. What you can do, or dream you can, begin it—boldness has genius, power, and magic in it!

Only engage, and then the mind grows heated—begin it, and the work will be completed!

And a fitting coda to this celebratory year came with the exhibition, performances, book and CD releases of THE DEVILS REIGN: PSYCHEDELIC BLASPHEMY, signifying the use by intrepid individuals of the ongoing energy generated by a half century of Satanism in action.

While our well-earned festivities were inwardly focussed, we diabolists are vigilant of the context we inhabit, observing the machinations of society with ardent attention. We find that W. B. Yeats prophetic verses again resonate as we survey this passing year, a time fraught with despair wrought by ongoing terrorism, economic privations, widespread irrationalism and totalitarian upsurges:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity.

And yet, we Satanists take this as a challenge. We understand our lives are limited and thus eminently precious to us. We do not stand idly by in witness, but move the world from the pivot-point that is the seat of our power: our own individual sovereign consciousnesses. By understanding ourselves, our strengths and weakness, and setting daunting, yet achievable, ends, the means we have at hand to effectuate our visions are in self-transformation. Our essential individual evolution incarnates our ambitions, and thus we alter our own worlds and in that process enhance those fortunate enough to be our comrades, allies and friends. Thus the course of the world-at-large may be directed by those exemplars who are not caught in the tides of herd-think, but shatter such strictures with audacious projections then wrestled into existence. I am proud of the diverse visionaries who have cast their lot as Citizens of our Infernal Empire, for your élan is energizing to myself and all who inhabit this Devil’s fane.

So, from our lair in the Haunted Hudson Valley to all of yours, High Priestess Nadramia and I offer our blessings to you admirable individuals who enkindle our excitement!

As is our tradition, we raise our glasses to our kind—Satanists, fellow secularists, advocates of the best qualities of our species—marking the dawn of a New Year of health and prosperity to be filled with a surfeit of delight:



“Here’s to champagne for our real friends, and real pain for our sham friends!”



Joy to the flesh—forever!



Shemhamforash! Hail Satan!



—Magus Peter H. Gilmore

The Second Coming - WB Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
The darkness drops again; but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;


The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity

—  W.B. Yeats

I’ve been trying to work out what fascinates me so much about the Silver/Flint relationship and why, despite Silver being the one who actually gives a jackshit about the men of their crew, I still always fall into caring more about Flint

and I think it’s because in a story about the power of stories Flint is the deconstruction of a villain and Silver is the construction of one

Keep reading

the centre cannot hold

requested by anonymous

au in which kane hurts philip during the finale

aka little different set up than the climax scene but its fic so i can do what i want ay


Lukas’ eyes are sending the message to his brain. He can see the spot of blood blooming. His ears are, too. The shot is still ringing in his head, banging against his skull. His knees are saying, we hurt we hurt we hurt where they’re digging into the rocks.

He wants to ignore the messages. He needs to ignore them.

He can’t.

Philip was shot. Shot, as in with a gun. A bullet from a gun.

The world is black and white and the only color is the red seeping into the front of Philip’s gray shirt. Kane is talking, saying something, but Lukas can’t hear him anymore.

He needs to get to him. He needs to do something.

He shoves himself to his feet, letting a cry of pain as the stitches in his side split apart. The noise pulls Kane’s attention back to him, and he turns, finger slipping over the trigger. He lifts the gun, but Lukas doesn’t falter.

He doesn’t care about the gun. He cares about Philip. Philip, dying, his blood painting the gravel red.

Keep reading

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
   The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
   Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
   Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
   The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
   The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
   The best lack all conviction, while the worst
   Are full of passionate intensity.
—  Yeats
It Keeps Me Awake - Mabill Oneshot

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
-W.B. Yeats 

Hey! This is my contribution to day four of Mabill week. The prompt was ‘other au’s’, so I went with a pirate AU.

Summary: She never dreamed she would be taken from her home, that things change so rapidly. One moment she’s walking through town, making jokes, the next she’s waking in bed, and the world’s on fire.

Rating: Teen (Warning, implied non-con, no details just implied.)

Keep reading

Sunday Six

Eggsy wakes up on Wednesday and right away he thinks about the ring. The one he got just a couple weeks ago. The one currently in hiding at Roxy’s place, so Harry doesn’t accidentally find it.

The rain from the last two days has finally stopped; it’s going to be a cold but clear day. Beside him Harry is still asleep, lips slightly parted, the bandage on his forehead almost bright in the dim morning light. The sight of it makes Eggsy’s heart wrench painfully. He still can’t believe Harry literally took a bullet for him.

Don’t act like you’re surprised, Roxy had said when he muttered his statement of disbelief for the dozenth time. You know he would do anything for you. Besides, you would’ve done the same thing and you know it.

Which is true but beside the point. Harry had pushed him out of the way and got shot instead of Eggsy, and now it’s two days later and all Eggsy can think about is that ring. It’s safely hidden away in that little velvety black box, but what if he never got to give it to Harry? What if the bullet hadn’t just grazed Harry? What if it had killed him?

A little shiver runs through him. He’s gotta stop thinking about that kind of shit. 

‘Turning and turning in the widening gyre
   The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
   Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
   Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
   The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
   The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
   The best lack all conviction, while the worst
   Are full of passionate intensity.’

–from ‘The Second Coming’ by W.B. Yeats 

The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
The darkness drops again; but now I know  
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

- William Butler Yeats