Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
#william blake
dompacism · 7 hours ago
Photo
Tumblr media
"And into my garden stole, When the night had veild the pole; In the morning glad I see; My foe outstretched beneath the tree." William Blake - A Poison Tree
0 notes
vinylspinning · 11 hours ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Bruce Dickinson: The Chemical Wedding (1998)
Having failed to satisfy fans with his experimental solo adventures on 1996’s Skunkworks, a newly pragmatic Bruce Dickinson re-commissioned his signature air-raid siren, recruited fellow Iron Maiden man-in-exile Adrian Smith, and set out to beat his old pals at their own game. 
With special assistance from producer/guitarist Roy Z, ‘97’s warmly received Accident of Birth not only showed that Dickinson and Smith still had it (*), but encouraged them (plus bassist Eddie Casillas and drummer David Ingraham) to double down on the following year’s The Chemical Wedding.
Heck, it would be fair to say that Dickinson and crew were openly trying to out-Maiden Steve Harris and co. here, leaning heavily on the works of William Blake (even the cover art replicates Blake’s unnerving painting, The Ghost of a Flea) for added inspiration. 
So, are you looking for historical head-banging (“Jerusalem”), old testament action (“Trumpets of Jericho,” “The Tower”), and heretical poetry (“Book of Thel”)? 
You got it! 
Natural philosophy (“The Alchemist”), gothic mystery (“King in Crimson”), and even a few epic numbers, full of quasi-progressive passages and time-changes? 
Done and done!
Of course, not everything here hits the mark (“Gates of Urizen” is one Blake mythos too many), but I haven’t even mentioned my three favorite songs yet: twin heavyweight champs, “Killing Floor” and “Machine Men” (both, not coincidentally, Dickinson/Smith co-writes), and the spectacularly morbid title track.
“And so we lay, we lay in the same grave ... Our chemical wedding day”
This doom-laden power ballad incorporates psychedelic and neoclassical nuances behind lyrics based on a 17th Century Rosicrucian manifesto known as the Chymical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz for one of Dickinson’s signature performances, with or without Iron Maiden, and that’s obviously saying something!
For all these reasons, I’ll always cast my vote for The Chemical Wedding as Bruce’s greatest solo work, and I’ve no doubt it’s excellence helped accelerate the inevitable ego submission required for remarrying (if you’ll forgive the pun) Iron Maiden’s classic quintet (plus one) on 2000’s Brave New World.
Oh, and here’s a big “thank you!” to Roy Z, for his invaluable assistance to the cause.
p.s. -- Exactly a decade after this album’s release, Dickinson authored the screenplay for a science-fantasy horror film called Chemical Wedding, but the story is apparently unrelated to the song.
* I saw it with my own eyes at Chicago’s House of Blues, in September of ‘97.
More Bruce Dickinson: Accident of Birth; Samson’s Head On & Shock Tactics; Iron Maiden’s The Number of the Beast, Piece of Mind, Powerslave, Live After Death, Somewhere in Time, Seventh Son of a Seventh Son, Brave New World, Dance of Death.
9 notes · View notes
godzilla-reads · 13 hours ago
Text
100 Days of Poetry: Day 6
The Tyger by William Blake
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare it's deadly terrors clasp!
When the stares threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
9 notes · View notes
rark-journey · 19 hours ago
Text
Innocence
There's this hardback poetry book sitting prettily on the shelf for three years. It's pretty for display, it has a sturdy structure and is shaped like any other old-timey library book, the writing is imprinted in golden lettering-other accents that usually comes with decorative lettering-, which is a contrast to the royal blue cover. The whole blue and golden moment is quite classic, and is very reminiscent of Beauty and The Beast. Anyways.
That book isn't just there to be eaten by mites nor to collect fallen dust to trigger a sneezing episode by anyone who just happen to open it. Best-Loved Poems, it truly live up to it's name, cause it's pretty much loved. Maybe only some of the pages are worn out cause they've faced the sunlight more than the other pages, there are no folds in the corners yet cause the paper is too pretty to be given that treatment, no pen scribbles of little thoughts that were provoked by the seemingly endless lines. However there's this one poetry that knocked my brain for some spare thought. At first glance, it sounds very philosophical -sorry Plato- but also incomplete. I thought it was the punchline of a longer script, but as curiosity got the best of me and I had to follow the cat down the search engine deep dive.
"To see a world in a grain of sand
and a Heaven in a wildflower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
and Eternity in an hour"
Those 4 lines, are actually the opening for William Blake's Auguries of Innocence (1863). Seemingly, it's a thought provoking short stanza that portrays Blake's rendition of what innocence is. After reading and absorbing, and practically injecting it to my vein so I could process the words -it's written in old English so I don't blame any modern day avid poetry rookies if their brain short circuited, cause mine definitely did-  the rest of the script, it's more ominous than it is hopeful and cute. As in, it's so close to reality even after hundreds of years of these words written in paper -or whatever the media was at that time-
The first 4 lines of the poetry gives us an understanding that through the eye of someone innocent, there are beauty and greatness in disposable things we don't even think about or maybe even throw out without a second thought, like a grain of sand and wild flowers. Through the eye of innocence, our mundane experiences are amplified into something unmeasurable and inexplicable, like Eternity and Infinity. Those entry lines have a hopeful undertone that through innocence our lives can have more meaning than we initially give it, or that these traits are the omen of a pure heart.
However, there are a hundred, if more, lines left that haven't been dissected. By that I mean I don't think I have enough capacity in me to read between every lines, but the general topic for the next 100 lines or so dwells around the opposite of innocence. That is the corrupt ways this World could turn, and most of the time it's against us. From violence, war, desire, envy, power lust, lust in general, lost of faith, doubt, to living without passion.
"If the Sun and Moon should doubt
Theyd immediately go out"
One of the couplet that struck me, it might not the that profound, because the knowledge that each morning the sun rises and each dusk it sets, like how each night the moon rises and each dawn it sets. The two, in polarity, would take over each other's role. It's something that is surely to happen, there's no doubt behind it. Like cycles and consequences, the Sun and the Moon have set each their roles and live up to it day by day for as long as they've known.
In our lives, there are too many doubts behind each and every action. Too many :what ifs' that we dwell upon until we ended not doing any of them, or maybe we finished whatever task we're supposed to do but left with more anxiety than before. Whatever event that prompt this doubt, often times is just an illusion wrapped in self-criticism and self-blame. Whether or not these illusion came to life and ostracize one's self confidence to ever finish task ever again, it's still only ever be a consequence. Fearing of consequences whilst staying inactive is still far worse than following through with an act and what comes after it, for it's surely coming and the more energy you waste from running from it will only put you out.
You can imagine how hard my final two braincells are working, whenever I thoroughly read this poem.
However, the poem doesn't end on a defeating premise. After being reminded on how corrupted and insidious the World is; Blake is kind enough to give us a warm hug and a cup of sleppy time tea in the final few couplets.
"Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born 
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight"
Even to those who loses sleep and overthinks during the night, Blake is kind enough to believe for us, that there's Divine intervention at play. To those who innocently wonders under the bright sun's ray, are one step closer to feeling like a human again.
At this point, brain fried, no longer able to form coherent words, I can see why Plato doesn't acknowledge poetry as philosophy. There are too many times where poems are dancing around the subject instead of explicitly telling us what to do, or presents us with a subject to hyperfixate over, like how most modern philosophy are in my mind. I can't say I agree with Plato though, there's a certain charm that comes from dancing isn't there?
Like how William Blake wrote Auguries of Innocence, if he would blatantly say 'the world is corrupted but if you try to keep your childlike wonders and innocent it might be bearable', it wouldn't be a seasoned poem. Not at all. It would just be... a famous tweet screenshoted and redistributed on instagram, probably.
Poetry is just choreographed philosophy, which makes that Royal blue, hardback, Beauty and The Beast themed book one of my favorite philosophy written work.
0 notes
parasoli · a day ago
Quote
I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen; A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel were shut, And ‘Thou shalt not’ writ over the door; So I turned to the Garden of Love That so many sweet flowers bore. And I saw it was filled with graves, And tombstones where flowers should be; And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds, And binding with briars my joys and desires.
William Blake.
7 notes · View notes
wildwomanbluess · a day ago
Text
man I just woke up and William Blake is like Hey Once I met an angel and he took me into a mill and we talked about god and he’s buried himself in fungus inside a tree . I kissed him and he turned out to be homophobic.
3 notes · View notes
yesmadamepresident · a day ago
Text
Lucien: But we both know, I was only ever doing my job.
Munro: But that's not exactly true.
Sydney: You're right. He was doing your job, too.
14 notes · View notes
yesmadamepresident · a day ago
Text
"I feel like we're not lucky enough for Munro to be responsible [for the murder]. I feel like he'll get what's coming to him, but..."
Ohhhh Sydney if you only knew
12 notes · View notes
yesmadamepresident · a day ago
Text
Lucien: Ned's evidence may also have implicated you, William.
Munro: This an official interview?
Me: No, just a casual murder accusation.
10 notes · View notes
yesmadamepresident · a day ago
Text
Sydney: I don't want him [Munro] to be back, that means things are going to get worse before they get better.
Me: It's the last episode, of course things are going to get worse before they get better.
10 notes · View notes
bitchyheartlove · 2 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
William Blake
from the album Vox Humana
Words and Music by Terry Taylor
Arrangement by Terry Taylor and Tim Chandler
©1984 Twitchen Vibes Music (ASCAP)
Tyger, tyger burning bright
In deep forests of the night
And little lamb you are the light
That is burning in one Child tonight
1: Who felt it so?
Who wrote it down?
Who lifts my soul?
Who wears the crown?
2: Sleep, William Blake
All is well
There's a marriage up in heaven tonight
There's a fire in hell
3: You were not mad
I know time will tell
William Blake
The wild wind's weeping, the night grows cold
The child is sleeping, the man grows old
The seed is dying, the child unfolds
And he walks upon the streets of gold
Who is the child?
Who is the man?
Who makes me smile?
Who loves the lamb?
Repeat 2 and 3
Sighing lovers sleep and dream
Upon the wind the music floats
The piper pipes at gates of dawn
And draws us on to starry boats
Repeat 1, 2 and 3
(Also on YouTube)
2 notes · View notes
hollow-head · 2 days ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
william blake lived in soho and saw angels. he did some very nice paintings for Paradise Lost, including several with a red haired snake. 
678 notes · View notes
ohquotescom · 2 days ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. - William Blake - https://goo.gl/wNJMgZ
0 notes
yesmadamepresident · 2 days ago
Text
Sydney, on Munro: What's that punk ass doing back here? Here to ruin Lucien's life some more? Yes.
Y'ALL IF SHE ONLY KNEW HE'S GONNA SAVE HIS LIFE SGSKSGSMSSK
20 notes · View notes
destructivepictorial · 3 days ago
Photo
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
The Ancient of Days by William Blake - originally published as the frontispiece to the 1794 prophetic book Europe a Prophecy.
2 notes · View notes
c-valentino · 4 days ago
Text
“. . . and Heaven in a wildflower,” continued Eli. He lifted his palm until it seemed to rest just beneath the lightning. “Hold infinity in the palm of your hand . . .” “Honestly, Eli,” said Victor, perching on one of the folding chairs that scattered the makeshift patio, “spare me the scripture.” Eli’s hand fell away. “It’s not the Bible,” he said testily. “It’s Blake. Get some culture.”
8 notes · View notes
zyaada · 5 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Tumblr media
Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
The Tyger, William Blake
0 notes
silent-poetry · 5 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
William Blake
0 notes