peakyfockinblinders

[peakyfockinblinders]

Reading this really interesting book for an ecology project I’m doing on the possible re-introduction of wolves to Ireland.

As with everything ever, it was the English’s fault! Good ole Cromwell wanted them wiped out.

I didn’t know this, but Irish people were historically associated with wolves as another way to dehumanise us. Wolves were seen as savage and above the law, so therefore Irish people were depicted as wolves. Especially Irish rebels.

Ireland was often referred to as “wolf land”, because of the amount of wolves we had. Also tales of Irish people being werewolves were prominent.

It’s interesting, my last name actually means “wolf lover”. So love that for me.

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I'm collecting some songs for the playlist that gets me into the writer mood. I'm looking for some traditional Irish songs (or ones inspired by them) that are super dark and dramatic (literally the only kind of music I listen to). Do you have any recommendations?

yes, i do have recommendations! here you go:

fingal’s cave by paddy moloney (it’s technically scottish but it’s wonderful and would work for your playlist. not exactly dark, per se, but it’s strangely wistful, dramatic, and also slaps)

o’neill’s cavalry march/tralee gaol by seán ó riada (the darkest song on this list)

the foggy dew by sinead o’connor and the chieftains (both dramatic and dark, the instrumental interlude is fucking incredible)

óró! ‘sé do bheatha ‘bhaile by paul brady (mostly dramatic, sends shivers down my spine. also this version captures the essence of the song like no other version does, highly recommend)

the rocky road to dublin by the high kings (need i say more?)

the wind that shakes the barley by the maguire brothers (dark, and also sad. in other versions the verses about revenge are cut out and this one doesn’t do that, which i greatly appreciate)

skibbereen by waxies’ dargle (another revenge song. again, dark and sad)

sixteen dead men by lisa lambe (the music for this is original, but the lyrics are a poem by w.b. yeats. its purpose was to reflect on the impact of the easter rising during the centenary in 2016. quite dark and also gives me shivers)

so that’s pretty much all i can think of in terms of dark/dramatic, but it’s some good shit and i hope you enjoy! and i hope it helps you in your writing!

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-J.R.R. Tolkien, the return of the king

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November is usually such a disagreeable month... as if the year had suddenly found out that she was growing old and could do nothing but weep and fret over it. This year is growing old gracefully... just like a stately old lady who knows she can be charming even with gray hair and wrinkles. We've had lovely days and delicious twilights.

L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

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Lads I’m back.

#itsbeenayearbutdwimstillasunhinged

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When I walk into the mall and see Christmas decorations up the day after Halloween, I feel the same way Hamlet did when his mom married his annoying uncle so shortly after his father’s death.

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“Sometimes the person who’s been there for everyone else needs someone to be there for them.”

— Unknown

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Test grade so low your teacher asks about your personal life

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why is there no irish history fandom on tumblr

this shit is just as interesting as the rest of the world, but somehow it gets ignored twice as much

give me some cu chulainn fanart and some grace o’malley shitposts, text posts over patrick pearse’s likeness and michael collins memes

this is the shit i live for

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On a scale of Padraig Pearse lookin’ off to the side in order to maintain his #aesthetic, even while everyone else in the photo was forward facing—

… to Mick Collins hiding his face in a group photo because he was certain that the photographer was a British spy—

How #wack are your photos?

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irish dark academia (gaelic revival period)

learn middle irish

translate medieval texts

sit and study with your secret lover over a bottle of whiskey in the library

everyone knows something. nobody knows everything. you are all suspicious of one another.

scrawl lines from yeats in the margins of your mythology textbook

you dream of cú chulainn in the night and you hear the echo of dierdre's lament in the daytime

somewhere, a group of mourners is humming the parting glass

you attend the theatre every night. one night right after the play you are spoken to by a man with a green ribbon on his jacket and you realize there is a double meaning behind each of his words

write nature poetry

a smell of gunpowder from the school's basement. you don't ask, but you smile to yourself

a conspiracy of poets and writers and researchers and all the dreamers of the intellectual underworld

you think maybe you saw a gun in the teacher's desk. you smile to yourself

rebellion? someday

you hear about farm raids in munster and connaught. you discuss it with your friends. no one is surprised.

i have spoken with god upon his holy hill

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irish dark academia (the year of terror)

you finally find the book of poetry you wanted. a corner peels up in the binding and you find that you have unknowingly stumbled upon encoded secret communications

there's a group of three men smoking in the street. they avoid your eyes as you walk past. you hear a gunshot a few minutes later.

you contemplate leaving dublin. you would be taken note of if you left. your family's home would be searched.

you look out the window after a night of studying. you see a man getting a beating. eventually, he stops moving. you close the curtains.

stuffed papers into a writing-box. inkstains on the cuffs of your white shirt.

you develop an alcohol dependency. it's the only way to cope with the fact that three of the tenants in your building have gone missing this month

a woman is crying in the alley. no one thinks twice.

the library is deserted except for you and one other person. they smile at you. you are dazzled by their beauty. you realize they want information.

papers and books in irish are spread across the floor well into the night

you burn dozens of candles instead of expensive lamp oil and their glow makes your tiny rented room look like a sanctuary

you and your fellow students speak irish in the street until a tan comes by and you quickly shut your mouths

there is a bomb in a suitcase hidden under your roommate's bed. you wonder which army he hid it for.

fading, tattered remnants of posters with the words "WHO FEARS TO SPEAK OF EASTER WEEK". they have all been ripped down. the dead men's eyes crossed out.

you. you fear to speak of easter week.

even the sunny days seem gray and colourless.

you can't concentrate on your studies; they all feel futile when the world is ending.

on every building a wanted sign advertising ten thousand pounds for the capture of michael collins.

you need that ten thousand to further your education

you saw the man himself yesterday on the street, and gawked as men in trench coats next to him eyed you up. he tipped his hat at you with a cold and knowing smile.

you didn't say a word because you'd be dead before morning if you informed on him.

[peakyfockinblinders]

[peakyfockinblinders]

shoutout to spotify playlists with oddly specific titles. you help me keep my shit together i’m nothing without you

[peakyfockinblinders]

From Whale Whisperer on Instagram.

https://instagram.com/whale_whisperer_?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Psst. See them pull millions - if not a billion - pounds from nowhere for this funeral.

NHS? Cost of living crisis? The everyday person will suffer. I'm behind ye all the way. I think I would not be the only Irish person who will also stand behind you to get those fucks out of the position they have.

That died with the Queen. Do with them like the rest of the world. Only royal I like is that King with the funky hats

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STOP

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holy shit