#clancy letter

[re-decorate]

Photo ID: a new Clancy letter uploaded on March 18, 2022, coinciding with the release of The Outside music video, under the file name “1619250308151109140519-Ø-919″ and date “022 03MOON 18.”

Transcription:

What is this thing? This device? This gift? Some sort of neurological connection or expansion. psychokinetic weapon?

This is absurd.

Why was this given to me? Why am I the only one that can wield it? Was this the reason that I survived? My mind is racing as I wait here on the rocks—staring off into the darkness. Waiting for our torches to be mirrored—the signal he told me to wait for.

It feels oddly familiar. Not the spikes in my hand, but the power it harnesses. I've felt it before. Is this also the source of those rumors I heard in the dark corners of the city? Legends and stories that I assumed were myth, inspired by children's nightmares—tales of what the bishops would use the bodies for. Those "honorable" citizens who achieved The Glorious Gone—referred to as available vessels.

It all begins to make sense.

The episodes I would have: the blood red vision, my dreams of flying, the out-of-body account of the rider in the river, the decaying hosts of the television show, the robed figures that commanded the doomed ship...

Had we all been "seized" by the bishops using this same technique? Is this where their power comes from? Are they immortal, or just feeding off the next body, giving their hosts a brief second-life? I am in my original life, why am I available to this control?

This whole time I thought I was battling my inner self. Was I actually under assault from something else? someone else?

This small eerie island has made me a weapon. We both believe that we can use it to change the momentum of this war. Now, we must return to the mainland where they should be there to receive us. We will destroy and rebuild. Though it's been years since he last spoke with them. I hope they have not lost faith in The Torchbearer's plan.

But how could any of this have been planned?

– Clancy

[re-decorate]

Photo ID: a new Clancy letter uploaded on March 17, 2022, under the file name “is-ø-lat-ed” and date “022 03MOON 17″

Transcript:

I haven't had the ability to write for what seems like a lifetime. This deprivation is what weighed on me the most. Not the lack of food, or the change of scenery—they wouldn't let me write anything down.

Well, at least not without them present...

I remember that day vividly. First, they let me out. Even though the hallway was still gray and drab, the new experience was a shock to my system—significantly different than usual captivity. I tried to match the rhythm of the nameless guard's footsteps as we echoed down the long corridor. I followed close behind, as if I had no choice. Cold concrete encapsulated us and seemed to cast a spell of synthetic calmness. Obedience.

We arrived at a blue door. It was an odd contrast to this concrete maze. As I went through the doorway I found myself in another typical gray Dema room. The only difference was who was waiting for me.

Four of them. Three were unknown to me, but one was clearly Keons. I knew his voice

They proposed an idea. A television show—or whatever it was. I had no idea that I was known outside of my cell, but they informed me that I had garnered notoriety for my schemes and outbursts. They wanted to use my face for the benefit of the city. They handed me a pen—a familiar instrument. Yet, they must be present when I use it. They wanted to manage my imagination and vision. Although shackled, at least I could create again.

Thus began the sessions.

Everyday my cell door would open. I followed the guard down the familiar hall, through the blue door, to sit down at the desk and chair. My designated creative space—perfectly centered under their watchful eye. Sometimes three, sometimes eight—not once were all nine present. He was never there. I would have felt it if he was.

At the end of the session, Keons would take my pen, gather my writings, and send me back. This went on for months.

What were we creating? I wasn't sure. A variety show with songs and set pieces? Were the rulers of this stifled city actually attempting entertainment for its people? Everything I created had to be "for the benefit of the citizens of Dema"—a phrase I heard often. I didn't question them—I was happy to be out of my cell—and putting words to paper.

On the final day, after I wrote the last line, I was asked what to name it? The question caught me off guard. This seemed like a decision [UNDERLINE] they [END UNDERLINE] would make.

[UNDERLINE] Show Day: [END UNDERLINE] They dressed me up and asked me to smile—a poor attempt at hiding my sleep deprivation. It was all so colorful, as if compensating for the grayness of the city.

It was a blur. Before I knew it, it was over, and I was back in my cell. I can only remember fragments—only blurred hallucinations of color and chaos—like a dream. The confusion of it all hangs overhead. What was it all for?

...but it wasn't over.

I guess it went well enough for them to request more of me. I was useful to Dema, and my creativity was exploited in new forms. They wanted me to be the entertainment at the Annual Assembledge of the Glorified—a performance at sea for the premiere citizens of Dema.

[STRIKETHROUGH] I knew those weren't the real bishops on that ship [END STRIKETHROUGH]

I'll quicken the entry—I need to keep up with The Torchbearer.

During the performance, we were attacked by something in the water. I don't know what possessed the creature to attack, but it was odd, and felt incredibly intentional. Many lost their lives in the attack, and I was thrashed through the bitter cold waves, yet somehow survived. Did this icy cold preserve me? Why was I spared? I am still so cold as I write.

This place feels foreign—nothing like Trench. From the frigid sea, the air here is somehow colder than the water that surrounds it.

I have a strange feeling that this island will provide answers.

I must go.

– Clancy

[jdrespling]

Op-Ed: twenty one pilots built a world unlike any other on ‘Trench’

Op-Ed: twenty one pilots built a world unlike any other on ‘Trench’

At first listen, twenty one pilots may seem like just another band in rotation on Top 40 stations that you scan through on your car radio. Unlike most artists whose relationship with their audience is relegated to releasing music, touring and selling you merchandise, TOP and their associates took the initiative to construct a breadcrumb trail embedded into assorted songs, videos and albums. All…

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[in-love-with-loneliness]

I can’t face this page for long enough to write what I’m truly feeling. I am only wrought with more questions: Questions about what I assumed to be true, questions about what my own path is, and the question that has plagued me every night that I lie here, back in city, Did I give up? -Clancy