I use to scream fuck the world. but as a grow older i just ask for peace and quiet. im so tired, so very very tired, that heartbeats make me feel like a room is to small.

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@thegentlemanslaughter
I use to scream fuck the world. but as a grow older i just ask for peace and quiet. im so tired, so very very tired, that heartbeats make me feel like a room is to small.
Irish people; The faeries aren’t real
Irish people; No fucking way will I go in that faerie ring
#look#you don’t go in a fairy ring and you don’t fuck with a stone in the middle of a field#these are just facts#nobody does it#fairies will fuck you up#Ireland#folklore#fairies (Via @false-dawn)
Look, I don’t believe in God, but I will not disrespect the Good Gentlemen of the Hills. That’s just common sense.
Between this and the Icelanders with their elves I do not understand what is going on above the 50th parallel.
My general rule of thumb: you don’t have to believe in everything, but don’t fuck with it, just in case.
^^^ that part
This is truer than true. Especially the Irish part.
Let me tell you what I know about this after living here for nearly thirty years.
This is a modern European country, the home of hot net startups, of Internet giants and (in some places, some very few places) the fastest broadband on Earth. People here live in this century, HARD.
Yet they get nervous about walking up that one hill close to their home after dark, because, you know… stuff happens there.
I know this because Peter and I live next to One Of Those Hills. There are people in our locality who wouldn’t go up our tiny country road on a dark night for love or money. What they make of us being so close to it for so long without harm coming to us, I have no idea. For all I know, it’s ascribed to us being writers (i.e. sort of bards) or mad folk (also in some kind of positive relationship with the Dangerous Side: don’t forget that the root word of “silly”, which used to be English for “crazy”, is the Old English _saelig_, “holy”…) or otherwise somehow weirdly exempt.
And you know what? I’m never going to ask. Because one does not discuss such things. Lest people from outside get the wrong idea about us, about normal modern Irish people living in normal modern Ireland.
You hear about this in whispers, though, in the pub, late at night, when all the tourists have gone to bed or gone away and no one but the locals are around. That hill. That curve in the road. That cold feeling you get in that one place. There is a deep understanding that there is something here older than us, that doesn’t care about us particularly, that (when we obtrude on it) is as willing to kick us in the slats as to let us pass by unmolested.
So you greet the magpies, singly or otherwise. You let stones in the middle of fields be. You apologize to the hawthorn bush when you’re pruning it. If you see something peculiar that cannot be otherwise explained, you are polite to it and pass onward about your business without further comment. And you don’t go on about it afterwards. Because it’s… unwise. Not that you personally know any examples of people who’ve screwed it up, of course. But you don’t meddle, and you learn when to look the other way, not to see, not to hear. Some things have just been here (for various values of “here” and various values of “been”) a lot longer than you have, and will be here still after you’re gone. That’s the way of it. When you hear the story about the idiots who for a prank chainsawed the centuries-old fairy tree a couple of counties over, you say – if asked by a neighbor – exactly what they’re probably thinking: “Poor fuckers. They’re doomed.” And if asked by anybody else you shake your head and say something anodyne about Kids These Days. (While thinking DOOMED all over again, because there are some particularly self-destructive ways to increase entropy.)
Meanwhile, in Iceland: the county council that carelessly knocked a known elf rock off a hillside when repairing a road has had to go dig the rock up from where it got buried during construction, because that road has had the most impossible damn stuff happen to it since that you ever heard of. Doubtless some nice person (maybe they’ll send out for the Priest of Thor or some such) will come along and do a little propitiatory sacrifice of some kind to the alfar, belatedly begging their pardon for the inconvenience.
They’re building the alfar a new temple, too.
Atlantic islands. Faerie: we haz it.
The Southwest is like this in some ways. You don’t go traveling along the highways at night with an empty car seat. Because an empty car seat is an invitation. You stick your luggage, your laptop bag, whatever you got in that seat. Else something best left undiscussed and unnamed (because to discuss it by name is to go ‘AY WE’RE TALKING BOUT YA WE’RE HERE AND ALSO IGNORANT OF WHAT YOU’RE CAPABLE OF’ at the top of your damn lungs at them) will jump in to the car, after which you’re gonna have a bad time.
If you’re out in the woods, you keep constant, consistent count of your party and make sure you know everyone well enough that you can ID them by face alone, lest something imitating a person get at you. They like to insert themselves in the party and just observe before they strike. It’s a game to them. In general you don’t fuck with the weird, you ignore the lights in the sky (no, this isn’t a god damn night vale reference, yes I’m serious) and the woods, you lock up at night and you don’t answer the door for love or money. Whatever or whoever’s knocking ain’t your buddy.
^ So much good advice in this post right here
I live in the south and… you just… don’t go into the woods or fields at night.
Don’t go near big trees in the night
If you live on a farm, don’t look outside the windows at night
I have broken all these rules.
I’ve seen some shit.
If it sounds like your mom, but you didn’t realize your mom is home…. it’s not your mom. Promise.
One walked onto the porch once. Wasn’t fun. But they’re not super keen on guns. Typically bolt when they see one.
You think it’s the neighbor kids.
It’s not the neighbor kids.
Might sound like coyotes but you never really /see/ the coyotes but then wow that one cow was reaaaaaally fucked up this morning. The next night when you hear another one screaming you just turn the tv up a little more. Maybe fire a gun in the air but you don’t go after it. If it is coyotes then it’s probably a pack and you seriously don’t want to fuck with that and if it’s the other thing you seriously REALLY don’t want to fuck with that.
So in the south, especially near the mountains, you just go straight from your car to inside your house, draw your curtains and watch tv.
If you see lights in the fields just fucking leave it alone.
Eyes forward. Don’t be fucking stupid. Mind your own business. Call your neighbors and tell them to bring the cats in. There’s coyotes out. Some of them know. Most of them don’t.
Other than that everything’s a ghost and they died in the civil war. Literally all of everything else is just the civil war. We used to smell old perfume and pipe tobacco in the weeks leading up to the battle anniversaries.
Shit’s wild and I sound fucking crazy but I swear to god it’s true.
Every time this post comes around, it’s my favorite to open up the notes and read the stories. Probably shouldn’t have since I’m sleeping alone tonight, but you know, it’s fine. 😂
Austrian girl here who has lived in Ireland for 5+ years. This shit is LEGIT. I’ve seen it with my own two Catholic eyes.
Sure, visit during the day. That’s alright as long as you’re respectful. But you couldn’t PAY ME ENOUGH to go there at night. These are also the last places where you wanna start littering.
I grew up in southwest Pennsylvania which is a weird mixture of American cultures and environments. I was in the heavily forested mountains (northern Appalachia) but had lots and lots of corn fields and cow pastures. Like the Smoky Mountains and fields of Kansas combined. And being so cut off from a lot of the world, we had our fair share of ghost stories.
We had ‘witches’ in the mountains (more like ghost-women who will snatch you up by making you wander in a daze around the forest like the Blair Witch before killing you or letting you back out into society but you’re… different). Or devils in springs or abandoned wells (don’t look too long into one or something will follow you).
But we also had the cornfield demons. I’ve witnessed this many times. You’ll be in the passenger seat looking out the window and see red glowing eyes in the cornfield. No light shining in that direction. Just two red dots a few inches apart faintly glowing in a pitch black cornfield. They’re not the glow of deer eyes in the headlights. More like the embers of a dying fire. Sometimes, as you drive away, you’ll look out the back window or side mirror and you can see the eyes have moved to the edge of the corn field, still watching you. If you bring it up with the driver, they’ll call you paranoid, but grip the wheel a bit tighter and driver a little faster.
I was walking to a friend’s house one night. It was about 20 minutes down a dirt road with forest on one side and a cornfield on the other. I’ve walked past it many times and wasn’t really concerned. My main worry was coming across a skunk or porcupine. I didn’t have a flashlight because the moonlight was bright enough and I knew the walk really well. Then I saw the eyes. I immediately averted mine (because for some reason that’s how to not annoy it) but they kept wandering back. They were still there, watching. I heard rustling and saw the eyes come closer and I took off running. I got to my friends without a scratch, but I was terrified. I mentioned it to my friend and that’s when I found out it was A Thing. Her parents agreed and shared their stories. I brought it up more and almost everyone knew what I was talking about. It was a phenomenon a lot of folks around town experienced but never mentioned. To this day, I don’t linger around poorly light cornfields at night.
@thedevilinthealchemy and I are very old friends. I used to live in the same town as her, in Southern California. One night, a few years ago, we were celebrating the end of finals and the start of winter break, and we just hanging out in her car, killing ourselves with late night Taco Bell. Well, we decide we don’t want to go home just yet, so we start driving. We drive up a canyon, near her place. Now, we both had made this trip many, many times, in daylight and dark. A local tourist trap is in that canyon, and there’s a shortcut to a college campus that goes through that canyon. It was a normal winter night in SoCal.
Well, about halfway through I start to get scared. For no reason. Within the span of two heartbeats I grew so terrified that my palms were shaking and my mouth was dry and for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off the wood to the driver’s side.
“Turn around.” I say, quickly.
“Dude, already on it.” Kama said, doing a quick three point turn. I look in the mirror as she’s pealing away and see the creature. It was vaguely humanoid, and hairless, with elongated limbs and pitch black eyes, on all four limbs, loping after us. Now, if you’re in the know, you might be thinking “hey that’s like the creatures from Until Dawn, I call bullshit on this.” Well, Until Dawn was four years away, and it wasn’t even in development yet, so shush.
I rip my eyes away from it and hold on tight as she drives. Then, at the same time, both of us get this instinct and we speak.
“Don’t look in the backseat.” Needless to say, neither of us did. She drove damn near 90 on a dark canyon until we saw the lights of her complex at the mouth of it.
I haven’t gone back in there since, and that canyon got shut down about a year ago due to a landslide and it hasn’t opened back up. I’m a history major, and research always has been my first love, so I go digging. I visit the local history society, talk about my tale. Turns out the whole valley used to belong to a people called the Tativam. One day, after the Spanish arrived, they vanished. Without a trace. We have a graveyard of theirs that we know of. One of my professors was trying to stop the houses that were being built on it. Spoiler alert: he didn’t, and the houses are hella haunted, and nobody wants to live there.
Personally I do think the creature is a wendigo. That chain of mountains is park of unbroken chain that leads right up the Serra Nevadas and Donner Pass.
THE Donner Pass.
You do the math.
The Tativam very much did not vanish “without a trace” The truth is frankly more horrifying
The Spanish actively did everything in their power to forcibly wipe them out
Can confirm^ I live in the antelope valley and you do not fuck around in the canyons around there. ESPECIALLY not at night
Can confirm the southern lore… you didn’t stay up late at grandma’s farm, and you certainly didn’t want to know what those lights were in the corn fields.
God wow, its like the witches in Colorado, And I'm not talking like 80 soccer moms house witches. I'm talking about the real article classic pagans and druids alike.
what it feels like to play pokemon ruby and sapphire on max volume
I will never not reblog this
ah yes, a cycle my brain repeats every month
a gifset cannot do the sheer fuckery of this scene justice
Its fucking back some shit poetry I know all zero of you missed it
cracked
broken
misused toy
Just throw it in the trash I guess maybe you could find a different way of telling me I fucked up.
If i could pull you out my nose and throw you away I would. but your the darkened underbelly I have to hold.
shattered
discard
No longer functioning
I removed us from social situations so we can play, but now you don’t say anything.
is this what you wanted, for us to be alone never trying to bring strangers into the house
dead
placid
overly emotional
the conversation dry when you just talk to air, my temper on the fray i can’t hold back with out biting my tongue, the taste of iron is growing boring.
I’ll bid my time till i reach my peak then enjoy the air while i can. sad to say i miss the voices in my head the only truth in my life. gone
Watch carefully, sub-par poet coming through.
The soft caress, something we all dream to endure.
a gentle breeze the sound of bliss, something that we miss.
it might fly by, or better yet we might see it happen.
we know to when the brain dump a chemical to chill the skin
how can I run from this feeling.
the gentle caress, so soft and timid often found on mountain roads and Yo-Yo ma strings.
i’ll gladly fall into bliss just to feel this great again I find my monsters and it them for tea, ask them to listen to the subtle wind brush against my skin in those breath taking moments.
Chase the feeling with with mobs quietly begging for earths G major to the moons A minor. just to have an ounce of freedom to see what it might feel like of nature made me right.
worth every second of the gentle caress when i fin it i hold on and never let go as if i’m seeing a lost lover for the first time.
And often missed adventure this feeling.
poetry, not to gloat but, you’re welcome.
From ear to ear the blood runs
from leg to leg the vibration hits
the glow of the fire against bare skin
the dance comes every waning
for the chance to bow our heads
to see her walk in the green
From ear to ear the blood runs
from legs to legs the drums move
tight chest as we pass
to give thanks to her as she walks the green
Hey want a poem... I dont care, fucking take this.
Hands in The air sweat and tears stream down faces on a blank state of adrenaline seeking addiction to feel concepts of artist move through the bones.
Run in circles to remind us of childish time, the suns down let the monsters out, dont hurt, feel the vibe and relax, vibrant vibrations surf down ear drums. Remeber what it's like to through caution to wind.
Think I'm to sore to go to a concert, but it never changes from ballrooms to amphitheaters, a chance to flee responsibility, vibe and dance with s collective of freedom.
Cant wait for summer
Two for one on shitty poetry
Lows, highs, ride waves between spark of new interest, laugh away through the room. With a new song on repeat.
Kiss pretty people, to see if the connection is true, till I pick up a new hobbie might be thirsty and forget made plans
Feet bloody, but that's my shit, dont stop, I wanna feel. Even if I dance naked in the woods with pagans, I'll take what I can and experience.
Before I lock my self back in my room, dont want stories, of what was let loose in the night.
Just let me sink into my ocean quietly.
Hey, wanna read a shit poem about collection of emotions! No, great!
The feel of your arms attempt to hold me, always cold but so warm.
I dream about it every time I slip into a phase.
The cold love, a true love an honest love.
You could not touch but your eyes held mine.
Your panic would arise and my arms the bunker you would ride the battle out.
I miss everything about you. But only for a time before the mountain drops and I lay in a valley.
5 years still obsessed with you, young and dumb, never felt love like yours before.
Star gazing, an nervous lips, wish I could see your eyes, a soft brown that would caress my soul.
Never mad at the disconnect just want you to be happy.
Maybe then I could get you off my chest
Hey, I love your content so much, but I wanted to make sure you knew it's spelled "rogue" not "rouge". I mix them up too sometimes, but rouge is the color and rogue is the sneaky bastard man. That's all! Thank you for posting awesome stuff!!
https://shitmyplayerssay.com/tagged/makeup+thieves :)
Whisper of the Heart (1995)
Lauv // fuck, i’m lonely
hahaha
If i can be real withya kids for second. i want to die, then that slips into me wanting to test my god hood. welcome to the manic phases!!!!
Well, well, well, guess which winy cunt has returned with a shit poem. Your welcome.
Wish that i could have my heart skip a beat, with out white rabbits running up my nose, but thats a lie my eyes get heavy with every upper that runs up my veins.
Take it straight through the arm and my high turns to headaches that lean on my spine for two days, the only way i could make the pain silent was to drip drop that sweet sunshine on the back of my pallet.
till the day i noticed it wasn’t worth the arguments with mirrors, often filled with a tear filled moon rise i abstained from the abuse on my cortex need quiet but i beg for sounds.
just a new form of abuse shut down turn off never felt anything so exhilarating of shaking hands with strangers only to deny them entrance to my true intelligence.
a smart boy who often fills the time with nothing but sappy thoughts found a new way to dance behind curtains with no physical appearance so you’ll never see whats wrong.
these are a the thoughts of, there the thoughts of; no one really cares who thinks these thoughts. they’re just thoughts