#like in an existential hell. a ride they cant get off of

[rexscanonwife]

I've been listening to a lot of artists like Kero Kero Bonito and Bo En as inspiration for the Vibe of my dhmis s/i!

The puppet version would definitely have a really catchy song about all the fun things you can do in different kinds of weather and I really just want all of those guys to just have fun for once but it's this series so it'd probably start going way downhill at some point or another ajfjfj

[taki118]

Go watch Final Space

This poor series that has been jumping from platform to platform is releasing its third season this march on adult swim and HBO maxx and by god it deserves to go the 6 seasons it’s creator Olan Rogers thinks it can go. 

One of the main reasons this show got a bad rap at the start was people insisting that because of its art style and genre it was a Rick & Morty clone let me say it loudly for the people who still think this 

FINAL SPACE IS NOT A KNOCK OFF RICK & MORTY

Rick & Morty is a Sc-Fi comedy series with action Final Space is a Sci-Fi action series with comedy now that might seem like very little difference but it is. Final Spaces in series history and lore is its own unique thing that gets built up and expanded on as the series goes on. It is not a backdrop for things to happen to our protagonist.

Another issue people had when this series came out early was the main character Gary being annoying, and yes he was, and this was done so intentionally as the series goes on he drops a lot of these annoying tendencies as he develops and grows (also he was alone for like 5 years yeah he was desperate for interaction)

But let me tell you some reasons I love Final Space and I’ll try my best to not spoil things, cause you should really give this show your time. While season one is a little rough season 2 really shines and season 3 looks like its going to tear my god damn heart out. 

1: Found Family 

Final Space seems to really love this idea that family is not just the people who share your blood but the people around you who stay. This series showcases both good parents and bad parents BUT also shows good surrogate parental figures AND bad ones and thats something i rarely see. The series goes out of its way to show how vulnerable people desperate for a place to belong will attach themselves to the wrong people. All the while our main cast develops and strengthens their bonds over the seasons making a weird family that is always has room for one more. 

2: Character Growth

I am a sucker for good character growth and Gary Goodspeed gets some get great character growth as well as Little Cato and Knightfall (who was very unexpected as she seemed like one of those character types who wouldnt). Like let me tell you if you think Gary is just a happy go lucky idiot who doesnt have a bunch of emotional trauma you’re wrong, trauma which the show address and he grows from dealing with in healthy ways. 

3: Using the Multiverse as Character Study

Now i could talk forever about this because this show uses the idea of multi realties in a way not many pieces of media do. See normally the idea is just this play ground to explore how characters or the world could be different or as a means to cheaply bring back a character to maintain staus quo. But Final Space does something interesting it explores how this people both are and are not you. They may look, sound, and act like you but they have experienced a live different from your own, and in this way will never fully be you.

Ex. A character comes from an alternate realty the person they loved died there but is alive in this one and while they play with idea of being with this person instead but finds that they just can’t because this just isn’t the person they loved and they never will be. 

They also use this a means of almost existential horror with the inevitably of fate, if in hundred different timelines you tried to do the same thing but failed each time would you still try? Would it even mean anything if what happens after is worse? Like this series really does hit you with these moments and ideas to ponder and it never feels out of place.

4: The Humor is Really Weird and Fun

Like its really hard to pin down exactly what this humor is but I’d say its very character based like these jokes just would not work anywhere else or with anyone else. The series has a very odd sense of humor that you just cant pin down, from like witty dialogue delivered in just the funniest ways, to a literal piss war to a deadpan AI talking about death to an alternate version of yourself telling you you’ll never grow a mustache to a guy who wants to be stabbed cause he thinks it’d be cool to silly background gags you might miss, the shows comedy is just very enjoyable and fun. 

Like honestly there is a lot more I could talk about but its all so specific and spoiler filled like you have no idea how hard this was till now. Anyway I hope this helps some people take the time to give Final Space a chance. Like I said the start is slow and Gary is a bit much at the start but by the season 1 finale you definitely wont feel like you have wasted your time. Final Space is a hell of a ride that’ll go places you definitely did not expect. 

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Ultimate Trip

He stank of booze and weeks of built-up body odor. The stench had baked itself into his many layers of tattered clothing. Not like he could tell. Nor did he care.

Clive had been a vagrant for the better part of the past decade. His relatives had died away due to natural causes, the lives of his wife and son were taken in a bus accident, and when he got laid off from his well-paid job and failed to find new employment after repeated tries, he lost all will to live.

That’s when he started doing drugs. Not the harmless kind, either—the hard stuff. The kind that made him lose most of his teeth. But also the only shit that pulled him out of this world, thrusting him onto different planes of existence, bubbles of fleeting, existential bliss that let him experience short-lived escapes from the tragedy and horrors of the real world.

Once he had flushed his money down the drain, he didn’t bother collecting unemployment money. Or applying for any programs. He had spent so much time on the streets, in the worse parts of the city, that he didn’t see the point.

The Man was out to get him, anyway. Why be a slave to the system?

He huddled in a corner. Concrete walls—huge arcs supporting the bridge—shielded him from harsh wintry winds. Wallowing in his own filth, ignorant of how badly he reeked.

And torn inside.

He wanted that fix. Needed it. But the last few trips had been something else.

Larry, another guy from his part of the slums, walked into Clive’s lousy little alcove. Clive shivered in the cold, rubbed his cocaine-damaged nose as it ran, and didn’t even bother looking up at his “old friend.” Larry remained standing and wordlessly leaned against the wall next to Clive.

Plastic and paper crinkled when Larry pulled a crushed pack of cigarettes from his jacket’s pocket. He produced a crumpled up cigarette from its nearly empty insides and held it out in front of Clive.

Clive still didn’t bother looking up and snatched the smoke out of Larry’s hand.

Again, Clive rubbed away the snot leaking from his nostril and asked in an unfriendly tone, “You here to sell?”

“Course,” Larry said, placing another cigarette in between his own lips and using a cheap plastic lighter to ignite Clive’s for him, then his own.

They both took long drags and blew out some smoke. Weird how the flame made you think of warmth, but the smoking only made you feel colder. Clive had thought that many times, a musing that seemed profound in moments of sobriety, but always slipped his mind in the ensuing drug-fueled trips.

“The usual?”

Larry took another drag and then answered while blowing out smoke, rendering his voice raspier and weaker, “Sorta. Different supplier, bit cheaper—”

“None o’ that shit, Linus.” Clive always called Larry by his real name when he started getting impatient. “I want a good solid ride to paradise again.”

“Why? You win the Powerball, or something? Look at Mister moneybags here, gettin’ all picky. What’s wrong with the cheap stuff?”

Clive sighed and then inhaled more smoke before responding. He could feel the biting breeze of cold wintry winds cease, as if the air itself was waiting.

Waiting for him to say it.

“Takes me closer to the other side.”

Larry’s level of annoyance rapidly shot up, audible in his tone when he asked, “The hell does that mean?”

Clive shrugged. He did not want to elaborate. Other dealers had cut him off when he got too graphic about what he had experienced on his recent trips. He also wondered if The Man would get to him, if The Man had something to do with it. Clive had heard such, and he knew there had to be a grain of truth to it: that the government was lacing drugs with experimental substances to run tests on inter-dimensional travel. Or mind control. Or something.

Clive thought it might be bullshit, but he believed it anyway. And the horrors he had been witnessing felt real enough to him. That’s all that mattered.

Larry’s question pierced the cold air around them.

“You buying, or do I need to come back another day?”

Clive let that inquiry hang in the air, much like the clouds of cigarette smoke only slowly dispersing around them in the absence of wind. He wiped away more snot—the fabric of the back of his fingerless cloth glove soaked it up.

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck.”

Larry blew out more smoke.

“Whatever? Fuck, man, I’m doin’ you a favor here. You know how often you get the best prices? I know you can’t afford it, but I’m always lookin’ out for you.”

Clive said nothing to that. He knew the cant. All dealers talked like that, in some variation. He used to work in marketing, he knew how many people fell for that crap. Clive didn’t need to fall for it, all he needed was his fix.

He crammed around in his pockets and produced the dollar bills and change he had gathered from begging that day and held it out to Larry. It was a small meal and a beer—or this. He could go another day without food, but he couldn’t go another day without a high to send him flying. Fleeing this awful world, soaring over greener pastures.

The slimy dealer took his money and handed him a small transparent baggie containing three yellow pills with smiley faces.

“Later, man,” Larry said as he quickly left, scurrying off to visit his next “friends.”

Clive’s hands trembled as he stared at the contents of the bag. The worst stuff he could have gotten. Larry and the other local dealers had been pushing these smiley pills lately. The first time Clive had tripped on them was when the trouble started.

Normally, his trips took him to places. Better places. Pleasant. But he was no stranger to bad trips, in fact, he had racked up quite a few of them over the years.

Nothing like what these things could do.

The smileys stared at him through the plastic wall of the baggie that contained them, through their hollow, dead eyes. Their stupid grin resembled something that kids were supposed to like, but all they did was creep Clive out. Or mock him.

Addiction really had sunken its fangs deep into Clive’s body. And into his soul. He needed a fix—any fix. But none of them filled him with such profound dread as this new designer drug did. He couldn’t complain, really, because this was all he could afford.

Every time, this shit took him closer to a dark place.

In his mind, he called it the obsidian mirror. A surface of smooth, black stone, reflecting his own image in tiny windows between irregular patterns of jagged, knife-like edges. In some, he saw his own miserable existence. In others, he saw his better self, better times. And for some moments, he saw glimpses of his past life. Of the good times. And times that never were, but could have been. All that could have been, all that could have been good. Of times when he had looked into the mirror, thought he was something like a god, on top of the world, high on life. Before everything had gone to shit.

But on these trips, he felt something else. A presence. Like someone standing right behind you, breathing down your neck, looking over your shoulder. But it was in front of him, staring back through that obsidian mirror.

He hoped it would be different this time. Third time’s a charm, right?

Prayed—he prayed to God, something he had never done throughout his entire life—that this time would not be like the first two times he had tried out this smiley-faced drug, fabricated by sadistic drug cooks hailing from the darkest depths of hell.

His shaky fingers scrambled to open the baggie and take out one of the pills. He popped it into his mouth, sending it straight past his chapped lips. Bitter, hard, dry. He swallowed the drug, forcing it, almost choking on it, with nothing to wash it down his throat. But this, too, was not a first for him—it went down.

It would take some minutes to kick in, but he knew it acted fast.

Clive tried to think of pleasant things, of those better times. Of another world where life was still good. Or even better than it ever used to be. Maybe he could steer the trip in the right direction.

But his mind returned to what he had seen the last two times. Something mirroring his movements. Something hidden almost entirely—but lurking on the edges of his perception. Preying on him, sneaking around him. As he wandered towards that obsidian mirror, trying to see the movies of good lives play back in those many reflections, something else mirrored his movements. Drawing closer. Moving towards the obsidian mirror.

From the other side.

Behind him, in front of him. Everywhere.

Reaching out with something. Not a hand. At least not a human one.

In one of the reflections, he saw his wife, Elaine. So real that he could touch her, that he burned with desire to feel the softness of her skin. Instead, Clive touched the smooth surface of the obsidian, saw it mirroring his movements, but the movie continued to play in it.

A warm embrace in a warm place, a place of solace.

His memories of his last trip lingered, flowed into the drugs kicking in now. Or it had kicked in already, and his imagination and the trip had fully merged halfway. Clive tried desperately to hold onto that bliss, those fragments of a good trip before they turned dark.

Before the thing drew closer.

This was no simple trip, Clive thought. Colors invaded the edges of his sight and before he knew it, he heard music in the distance. He could not tell if it was real or not, but it was there. These drugs. The obsidian mirror.

Right there, in front of him. Many steps away, but enticing him. With those thousands of tiny pictures of a better life, displaying moving pictures like myriads of TV screens. None of them bad, all of them pleasant this time. Clive smiled, but also felt tension building up. Anxiety.

This was no mere trip. This was a veil between worlds.

A thin one.

He craved the warmth of the memories of his loved ones. It drew him closer to the black mirror.

And so did his dark reflection, approaching the veil from the other side.

Clive lost focus, could see himself playing video games with his son in one place, but also an ominous figure standing there, watching them from the shadows the TV screen cast upon the wall. He could see himself in the office with some colleagues, lighting up cigars and toasting with some booze to a successful deal, but also hands reaching out, hundreds of hands, microscopic hands hidden in the flames of the cigar. He could see his wife’s beautiful face, almost feel the soft texture of her lips when they kissed, but also hollow eye sockets staring at them through the window.

Clive shivered. In this other-world, or in the real world. None of that was clear, the lines began to blur.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Clive said. His reflection said. But was that really him? He wanted to think that it was, but he didn’t want to say that out loud. Didn’t believe it.

He was afraid.

The obsidian wall with its many pictures of beauty and wonder and happiness beckoned him. Finally close enough to touch it, he reached out with a hand and let his fingertips glide over its surface.

“I want to be free,” Clive said in the mirror.

Something stung with delay, like feeling the pinprick of a needle after the fact. He withdrew his hand and saw a thin rivulet of blood flowing down his fingertip, emerging from a tiny wound where he had cut himself on a razor-like edge of the obsidian.

“Look how the blood is free,” Clive said. But his voice came from everywhere, and nowhere. And muffled, as if hearing himself speak while wearing headphones, or hearing himself from the other side of the mirror.

His heart began to race. He wanted to run, but he needed to see. To see that life that could have been, with Elaine. The one where the accident never happened. The life where things turned out right. But fear gripped his heart.

It was there. The reflection. The thing that tried to pass as him, but was not him.

Although this looked like the best moments of his life and all the good that could have been, it was all unreal.

A trap.

The obsidian mirror was thinner than it looked. Clive struggled to move, paralyzed with cold and merciless fear. He twitched with feeble attempts to move and run but his body did not obey. Being frozen thus allowed him to see what was true—that the mirror was more like a window. A thin one, like a sheet of ice, though black and concealing what lied beyond—dark as the souls of the people who had made this drug, dark as the ones who convinced him to take this drug.

As his own soul, because it was he who chose to take it.

“Free. Free me.”

Clive reached out again, and smeared his blood across the smooth surface. He suffered more cuts across his fingertips, though the pain always arrived with delay, numbed by the spinning sensations of the trip, rendering it almost unreal. The black stone absorbed his lifeblood like the gloves had soaked up his snot. The wall pulsated like living flesh, bulging outward—ever so slightly.

He felt sick, needed to throw up.

Clive pushed forward, and the mirror yielded. It engulfed his hand up to the wrist like a thick viscous fluid, wrapping around it like slime or tar. Then it gently pulled back, pulling him forward, like his kid used to when he tried to drag Clive through the store.

The hollow eyes in the mirror—or just beyond it—stared back at Clive. Uncaring.

Swallowing all those memories, dreams, and could-have-beens. As they vanished, one by one, he could see the shadows beyond more clearly. Swallowing those wishes. Swallowing him. Spitting the man back out on the other side.

His skin was crawling. Like swarms of ants had built a colony underneath his skin and now rebelled, trying to break out of every pore with the fire of a million needles stinging his flesh. Then it stopped. Going from a living nightmare to such a pure numb bliss, that was how he had imagined dying. Sweet release from this shitty, mortal coil.

But Clive was not dead, he had arrived in another world. The trip had finally worked, perhaps in a way that other addicts only dreamt of—a trip that had taken him to another place. Not that it was a good place, though. Rather, it looked and felt like a dark reflection of the real world.

Plants that were not plants grew out of cracks and looked like blossoming crystalline growths, glowing with dim white lights. A purple sky with alien creatures soaring through the air like floating fish, wings wobbling and rippling like jelly. And black glass surfaces, everywhere. Like a magnificent blast had scorched the earth and turned it to glass, somewhen deep into the past or the future. Obsidian, everywhere.

Not reflecting Clive’s thoughts, not giving him surfaces to project his memories and dreams onto, but unyielding and uncaring. The trip had ended. Sobriety kicked in.

The mirror behind him was a wall. Still thin, but still solid. Impossible for him to break through in his pathetic state of body and weakened state of mind. He hammered his fists against it in futility, till the sharp edges had turned his hands bloody. It would take some time for the numbness to wane, for him to realize that this was not just his imagination—that these wounds were real. That these wounds would stay, and that the scent of his blood would attract things to him. Hungry things.

Something else had taken up residence on the other side—on his side. In the other real world. His side no more, for it dawned on him that there would be no way back from here. Whether or not the shadow had taken his body or just traded places with him, he could not tell. He only knew that this something felt a desire to explore, to see what dreams it could drink, what memories it could destroy. Something that thirsted for attention, something that craved the high of escaping one world to explore another. Much like he had sought.

Something evil.

—Submitted by Wratts

[yungsk8trvibes-blog]

DEMA Theory - Twenty One Pilots.

ik some of you may be like “why is all this cryptic shit all over my feed” and stuff like that , but i think this may clear some confusion and this is my whole idea.

on 4/21/18 i went on http://dmaorg.info/ and the following message displays.

“ 404 ER_ROR

you are in violation. thEy mustn't know you were here. no one should ever find out About this. you can never tell anyone about thiS -- for The sake of the others' survIval, you muSt keep this silent. we mUst keeP silent. no one can know. no one can know. no o ne c an kn ow_

(Violation Code. 15398642_14) “

on this website we discovered that all of the capital letters spell “EAST IS UP”

we also added the following violation code shown above on the website to the following ip address showing us the actual website , where we discovered our next amount of information.

http://dmaorg.info/found/15398642_14/clancy.html

on the above website there are a bunch of images and text , which we will discuss some things we have found out based on our resources from the following website.

if you convert 15398642_14 , the violation code , with a unix time stamp converter , you get June 28th , which could possibly be a release date or something like that , maybe the day the full album gets released instead of singles.

the dates above each image are dates of the albums , or birthdays of the boys. 

the date the self titled album was released is above the following picture ,  009 12 Moon 29 , which converts to  Dec 29 2009 , the date that self titled was released. as you can see in the above picture , this appears to be an isle of flightless birds , which is a song in the self titled album. this would be the isle of flightless birds on the tower of silence.

this picture has the date , 013 01MOON 08 , which converts to  Jan 08, 2013 , the date vessel was released. in the center of the circle , the dots , look like the blurryface logo , but if you zoom in on the dots , you notice that they say letters which translate to lyrics.

ANDRE - and repeat yesterdays dance. - fairly local

LISDEN - all i feel is denial. - polarize

KEONS - choke on smoke. - heavydirtysoul

NIGO - when i got older all my fears would shrink. - stressed out

REISDRO - temperature is dropping. - doubt

SACARVER - shes a carver. - tear in my heart

NILLS - beaten down ill slip away. - goner 

VETOMO - will they be alive tomorrow. - lane boy

LISTO - listed people. - ride

all of the following lyrics are lyrics from songs in the blurryface album , and , this looks like blurryfaces album cover , but , the date listed above is the date vessel was released , which is odd and strange.

a couple of other interesting things about this map , the clique flag overlaps it , and the second grouping only has 8 columns , instead on the 9 in the other groupings.

under this image it states “gEt out. the compAss lies. they don't control you. get out. the compaSs lies. They don't control you. get out. the compass lIeS. they don't control yoU.get out. the comPass lies. they don't control you.”

the capitals spell out EAST IS UP.

if you point this map to where east is indeed up , the order of the circles change to the order in the album , in addition to this, the violation code is 15398642_14. the numbers in that order are the same numbers that the blurryface's album art's songs are in the blurryface tracklist.

this picture has the date ,  011 07MOON 08 , which translates to ,  July 8 2011 , the date regional at best was released. in the picture , it looks like a kid , also connecting it to regional at best , considering there is a kid on the regional at best album cover.

the full picture of this picture has  andre weil on it, mathematitian. who founded this group of mathematicians of 9 people. in the letter two slides below , it says that there are 9 bishops , 9 quadrants , 9 blurryface songs. 

this is dated  988 12Moon 01 , which translates to , december 1st 1998 , tyler josephs birthday. this seems to be some kind of identification card or badge , the title of the image when i downloaded it was “ba_dge.jpg” , which leads me to believe that this is a identification badge of clancy , one of the characters introduced during this album. regional at best baseball field is also on clancy st. the violation code is also on the badge. 

this picture is dated 988 06Moon 18 , which translates to , june 18 , 1998 , which is josh duns birthday. the letter up above reads,  ”The perplexities of the Dema horizon didn't occur to me until my ninth year. It was then that I began to contemplate the existential, and decide what type of impression I wanted my life to make. Naturally, to fuel my hope, I looked out upon the distance of the land that had cultivated me, only this time with new awareness of the obstruction that my youthful ignorance had allowed me to overlook. Was it there the whole time? How had I not seen something so obvious? I am reminded of the moment daily, as the realization directly collides with a unique hope for my own future. As a child, I looked upon Dema with wonder, today, I am wrought with frustration, as I spend each day squninting for a glimpse of the top of the looming wall that has kept us here. It was upon my ninth year that I learned that Dema wasn't my home. This village, after all of this time, was my trap. Before I became realized, I had deep affection for Dema. There was a wonderful structure to the city that put my cares to rest. Streets and locations were dependable, and the responsibilites of the day seemed to be accomplished with minimal effort. Once a task was taught and understood, we delighted in our ability to complete our obligations timely, and felt secure in knowing tomorrow's duties would be accomplished with the same efficiency. We all worked to represent our bishop with honnor, and knew that each inhabitant of our region had a like-minded dedication to consistency. Looms embodied the spirit of this dedication. Of Dema's nine bishops, Keos was reserved as unwavering and forthright, possessing the ability to achieve focus that was rare for most in our region. We all admired his, and felt honored to be inhabitants of his region. While we had heard legend of the ruthlessness of other bishops, Keos possessed a stoic demeanor unlike anyone I had ever met, and we were all proud to serve. - Clancy 

 also, in the above letter, it says “the perplexities of the dema horizon didn’t occur to me until my ninth year” twenty one pilots formed in 2009, so their ninth year is 2018. this also pushes the idea of clancy being tyler instead of josh , but being a songwriter myself , clancy may not be either of the boys , it may be a created character , but you never do know. 

the fact that this was put under josh’s birthday leads me to believe that clancy = josh , also , clancy translates to red warrior , hinting to josh’s old red hair , making him the red warrior.

clancy's journal states that basically keons is the bishop/region clancy likes and all the other circles (the circles represent quadrents under the rule of bishops and also the songs on the bf album art. keons is heavydirtysoul.) are horrible and clancy wants to get the hell out of dodge but cant. he also states that the "west is blocked up"

there is a bit of writing on the website that reads “  sev_ering__tiez “ , if we remember when josh accepted an award at a award show , he said tyler was our “severing ties with dema.” later , this s was changed to a z , then back to an s , once it was changed to an s for the first time ,  a torn off compass on the map that was only obtainable by editing the image was fully removed and currently remains that way.

this letter was later on added to the mix on 5/9/18. it reads , “ To refer to Dema as m[y] home has never felt accurate. Dema, t[o] me, has simply been the place that I've existed, or, the 'slot' they've put me in. I've heard stories abo[u]t the ide[a] of "home," and its depiction has always seemed warm f[r]om the storyt[e]ller's de[s]cription. [T]here was a romant[i]c ownership of the p[l]ace they inhabited that I admired, but cou[l]d never relate to. Thi[s] place, my p[l]ace, however, s[e]ems devoid of the romance and wond[e]r that the old stories tell. But somewhere between the iron order and fallible [p]recis[i]on of Dema, a hum of wo[n]der exists. It's this quiet wonder that my mind tends to [g]ets lost in. This hope of discovery alone has birthed a new version of myself; A better version, I hope, that will find a way to experience what's beyond these colossal walls. “ the date at the top of this photo is  017 07MOON 07, which translates to july 7 , 2017 . the letters i put in astricts are missing in the letter , as you can see , they spell “YOU ARE STILL SLEEPING.”              

this gif was added on 5/30/18 , as you can see there are letters flashing at the top , when put together these letters spell , " UNSTILLIDONTCKNOWOHISNREALINAMECDOOU? “ this is two messages put together , it translates to “ "U STILL DONT KNOW HIS REAL NAME DO U?” , and the letters in the places of the spaces spell ,  “ "NICO NICO" nico nico niiiii “ the date above the gif is  017 07MOON 16 , which translates to , july 16 , 2017.

the most recent updates to the website seem to corrilate with the lyrics during the tweets of the eye closing , 

polarize - You'll have to come and FIND me.

miss believer - my pretty SLEEPer.

SLOWtown - wouldnt it be great if... etc.

website was FOUND, as in /found in the url.

newest Clancy letter had "you are still sleeping" as in my pretty sleeper.

now that the gif has been uploaded to dma.org we have to SLOW it down [to read the hidden message], as in slowtown. 

it was also discovered that two new twenty one pilots songs have been registered. the song titles are "nico and the niners" and "jumpsuit".

this was added on 6/29/18. the date on the image is , 017 07MOON 17 , and below the image it says ,  " __n_ot_myo_nly_fri_en d " which coralates with truce , adding to the eye closing tweets theory . the date is also the date @blurryface liked a tweet about the tower of dema theory.

an audio was posted to the dma website on 6/29/18 stating pure nonsense , but when pitched up you hear tyler saying “so did they obey you?” or “so did they bury you?” the name of this audio file is  20 18_514_3_8 , which translates to  TR_ENC_H . this would make “ so did they bury you ? “ make alot of sense. 

here is a link to the audio https://dmaorg.info/found/trench/clancy.html

on 7/1/18 these three items were added to the website , a letter from clancy dated ,  , which translates to july 1 , 2018 , todays date .  a yellow highlight dated , 017 02MOON 12 which translates to february 12 , 2017 , which was the date of the grammy awards , and a gif of a vulture turning its head , also dated ,  018 07MOON 01. when you put the highlight over the letter from clancy you get “ we are band itos “ which translates to , we are banditos.

the clancy letter reads , “  *A lifeless light surrounds us each night. Never could I imagine that something so luminous could feel so dark. It's this glow that reminds us of the dreamless existence we've been sentenced to. But what I call a sentence, others accept as normalcy. How did they so efficiently eradicate the dreams within us? When the bishops instituted Vialism as mandate, they effectively reversed the hope that many arrived with. Am I the only one who realizes that we've been lied to? Am I the only one not afraid of the notion that the nine have hijacked our trust, and extinguished the hope that once motivated our existence? We used to close our eyes and picture a better life, now this city is full of dry eyes caught in a trance of obedience, devoid of any trace of an identity. The only significant light I've seen has been in the eyes of those smeared - such a curious sight, to see bright eyes strangled by the darkness of bishop hands. As their penance fades, so dims their memory of something more. My hope of something more is all I have in this rigid tomb, and I will not let it die. “ 

the audio we were given reversed also says “we are banditos.”

we have all the eye images. the final one was the message man one and today was a double update. today we got kitchen sink, as the vulture blinked (nobody dreams when they blink). and we messed with the message ,man by highlighting the clancy letter to find out we needed to reverse the audio given yesterday to get "we are banditos".

this was posted 7/6/18 , and titled  "_they_ca_ntseeFCE300.GIF" , it looks to me as if it is a possible music video , or maybe it is clancy using torches to escape the tower of silence , maybe it is a connection to self titled , a car , a torch , a death. 

these were added 7/8/18 , the first picture is a dead body , and the last picture is a letter from clancy , written on the back of the picture of the dead body , in handwriting now , because clancy has escaped. the ketter reads , “ I've made it out.I feel weightless. I know that place had always held me down, but for the first time, I can feel the unity that I had hoped in. It's been three nights now, and my breathing has changed - it's slower, and more full. It's like the air out here is actually worth taking in.I can see it back in the distance, and I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't constantly on my mind. I wish I could turn that fear off, but maybe the further I go, the less that fear will affect me. I feel betrayed by what I assumed was home. If I ever end up back there, I won't be able to look at it the same way.They are asleep. They're so sure that they know the truth, and carry on throughout their day with the same meaningless tasks. They've forgotten to look up, and to look outward, to understand that this isn't about 'in there.'This is about 'out here.'This new world surrounds me. I used to think the walls back home were massive- these green cliffs engulf me, and place me right in the middle- Trench is quite precarious at times, and it's easy to grow weary. But it's real, and it's true, and I'd much rather endure reality than to mindlessly be obedient to a life that someone else created for me. I've obsessed about this world for so long, that it feels more like home than anything I've experienced. Somehow, in this vast openness, I feel more protected than ever.The landscape feels endless, and I've found myself walking for hours without any true evidence of getting further down. But I've seen plants and colors out here that I'm not sure I've witnessed before. There's a beauty in the strangest places,- and the curiosity of what's next continues to motivate me.I wonder who else is out here. If what i assumed inside is true, there's got to be more like me. Sometimes I'll feel a presence, only to look up and see nothing. It's just another thing that I'm afraid of that also excites me. It all just confirms all of the things that I hoped to be true for all of this time.I am out here and I am very alive. I'm sometimes scared, but always discovering something new, and I will not stop. Cover me! “ 

this all being said , i expect a return really soon , considering clancy is out , and , this whole entire scheme , the whole entire website is based upon clancy trying to escape the tower of dema , or , the tower of silence. another words , it is twenty one pilots trying to escape the silence , or , hiatus.

[polishedgold]

The letter I wrote to the girl who lost her Dad to suicide

My Dad committed suicide 5 months ago, if you have been through it, I’m sorry, if you haven’t, you couldn’t ever possibly imagine it.

But when I found out, all I wanted to do was end it myself. Here is my letter to the girl who was standing on the top of the stairs when her mother whispered the words on the other line, the girl who laid on the cream carpet waiting to wake up from what she thought was just a nightmare.

Dear the girl who just found out her Dad killed himself

Right now, you have felt pain you have never ever experienced in your life. You have been to hell and back but this is worse, you have had your heart ripped out of your chest and thrown out before, but now, that feeling is intensified to a degree you can not withstand.

The next few weeks will be a blur. Right now, after just finding out the news, you genuinely believe you are in a dream. That feeling won’t pass for a while. You will feel like you are in a trance, and as you stare out the car window on the way to his funeral, you will see the sky has no hue.

You never truly understood how much vibrance your father brought into your life until he left and every color in your world turned to grey.

6 months later I can tell you, it hasn’t changed. My vision is still unsaturated and dull but it grows on you. You will learn to accept it eventually, and one day, there will be brief, fleeting, rare moments when you catch a glimpse of a sky line painted with cotton candy and your entire body will be filled with gratitude and for a moment, you will feel that same vibrancy, even just for a minute.

Right now, you will feel like you are in the after life. You will feel like it is not your Dad who has died, but it is you. You will genuinely believe you have died and gone to hell. You will feel that way for a while, and when you begin to acknowledge the fact that this is indeed your reality, you will feel even worse.

You may think his funeral will be the hardest day of your life. It won’t be. It doesn’t feel real yet and once you begin to feel that pang in your chest, there will be people all around you, lifting you up and holding you so tight you feel whole again.

The worst day of your life, will be when it truly hits you. You will receive a box to your house and when you open it, it will be filled with all of his old things. As you sift through his old belongings, it will feel like you are having a heart attack. You will envision the places he kept those things. You will begin to understand he’s no longer at home, he’s no longer here.

It will be the worst day of your life because by the time his absence has finally sunk in, you will be all alone, in a worn down house with a sink full of dishes and nobody around to hold. There will be no body there to temporarily fix you. They’ve all moved on. You are stuck on this rollercoaster you cant get off of and you’re riding it alone.

I want you to know you won’t ever get off that rollercoaster of horror and the moment you stop trying so hard to be fine is the moment your pain will alleviate slightly.

Right now you are wearing a mask and pretending you are keeping your head up, you aren’t impressing anyone, you are just exhausting yourself. You’re forcing yourself to put yourself back together but you’re only cutting your hands with the broken pieces.

Let those broken pieces lie beneath you, they won’t ever be apart of you again. Allow yourself to heal. Allow yourself to feel it. There’s no short cuts. There’s not a single positive affirmation that could get you out of this. You are broken. Let it be.

You have finally felt the truth in the saying “When you lose someone, you lose yourself” The old you, never understood that phrase. You felt complete on your own. Not aware of the fact that once your world is shaken and your soul is broken into a million pieces, you will never be the person you were before.

And you try, you try way too hard to revert back to the person you were before but you cant. You look in the mirror and can’t even recognize yourself anymore. You don’t like the people you liked before, you don’t care about your friends from before. You don’t feel the need to impress them, you no longer feel a bond, because the person your friends once knew died the same day your Dad did. They say they miss you but they don’t know you. Not the new you. They will try to pressure you into watering a dead flower but for once in your life, you won’t care what people think.

Just so you know, a lot of people will tell you “Time heals all wounds” and “It gets better”

It doesn’t get better. Time heals a broken heart from a temporary boyfriend but once you find out your father shot himself in the head, that wound won’t ever close up. You will always feel it, it will always bleed and there isn’t a bandaid on earth that could cover it. The only way the wound won’t kill you is if you live your entire life in survival mode. Which is what you do.

You won’t ever go back to who you were before and your happiness will forever be tarnished. But you will keep on going. You will wake up everyday and fake a smile and at night when it all comes crashing down and you want to end it, you will force yourself to sleep it off and the next morning you still feel that hole in your chest but you will fight it with every fibre of your being.

You miss who you were before but you learn to figure out who you are now, you realize you are numb now, but so much stronger. Heart broken, but wiser. You finally understand what true pain feels like. You reflect on all the miniscule sadnesses you felt before and realize it was all bullshit. You will become more resilient because you will fully grasp there’s no point crying over the small things.

You have your weaknesses and your strengths and you will feel deep sadness but also deep joy. One day you will be in peace and the next, you will be in denial.

Those emotions will constantly shift, unstable moods and frustration will possess you, but there will be moments when happiness and sadness flow throughout eachother as you reminisce on the past, and the combination of that feeling is hauntingly beautiful.

You will reflect upon the memories you miss the most. The moments that felt so insignificant at the time are now the most important. You won’t miss the big things. You will miss the small things. The sound of his laugh, the color of his eyes, his voice, the way he told crazy stories, the way he would make pancakes at midnight.

You will soon comprehend that although it felt like he left too soon, no amount of time would have been enough. You will one day shift your focus, instead of mourning the loss, you will celebrate the life he lived. You will feel lucky to know you had a father who is irreplaceable, a Dad worth missing.

You will love people differently. You will love with your entire soul. Everybody always says “Love people while they are here, never take them for granted, pick up the phone and tell them you love them” and the old you would have nodded and felt a burst of inspiration for 5 seconds but the new you has finally understood that life truly is too short.

You will consistently think about how you never called your Dad and it will kill you. It will rip at you and you will wake up in the middle of the night screaming but you will learn from it. You will learn to love fully, unapologetically, and constantly. You will learn to be selfless, forgiving and tender. You will always speak with kindness just incase that is the last interaction you share with that person.

There will be brutal attacks of panic and existential crisises when you are reminded of the void he left. You will think about the memories you will make that he won’t be apart of and you wonder how you will continue to survive without him.

It could be 2pm on a Tuesday, you could be having a wonderful day, and somehow, out of no where, you will be rattled with the feeling of knowing he won’t be there to walk you down the aisle, he won’t ever know your kids, he won’t ever see how you turn out.

But you take it day by day until one day it doesn’t eat away at you anymore, it will always make you sad, but one day you will be able to accept it, it’s holding on to that day that is the hardest part.

But that’s all life is, it’s the motion of never giving up, never ending it, but just holding on.

You will want him to come back even if it’s just to give you the cold shoulder. You will miss his criticisms and the life lessons. And although you weren’t ready, leaving you was the best lesson he ever taught you.

So keep holding on. I know you want to die right now. But one thing your Dad’s suicide showed you is, it doesn’t take the pain away, it just passes it on to someone else.

ps: if you’re reading this, please never forget to tell your parents you love them. I know you think they will be around forever, they won’t.