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Hozier - Blog Posts
Does anyone else get anxiety because they love something too much? Or it's too real?
I can't look at IWWV stuff because I feel it too much. It makes me shake and ache and I can't breathe. It's so dramatic but it's true. The book is too real.
Or I'm looking for a fanfiction and I find exactly what I'm looking for but I immediately have to skip over it because then it'll be gone. But I never go back cause it stresses me out. My 'marked for later' tab is insane.
I get to the last episode of a show I love and I can't watch it cause it gives me anxiety. It can't end.
I find things that are so perfect, that represent me so well, things that I feel in my soul, and I can't partake. It's all too much.
My favorite thing about art is that everyone takes something different out of it! Oh you like this song? This is what it means to you? Well this what it means to me. You see these two characters together? I see these two. We both love this thing so much and took such different things from it! Isn't that cool!? Isn't awesome the we see the same things and we love them differently! Then we take what we see and what we love from it and make new art! And the cycle continues! I love art and I love humanity!
There's something so heartbreakingly romantic about breaking your moral code for someone. Following them knowingly into hell
arsonists lullabye is so remus lupin. bye.
Hozier!
Find me on Instagram @ Razzdraws
Pleaseeee tell mee its not just me who has realised this BUT OH MY DAYS the amount of new music that has come out this year and new changes like noah kahan, the crane wives the new singer of linkin park, ALEX WARREN and hozier like i am getting feed this year with music
Im loving all this mew music and they are bangers as well
Hozier really said to future generations, it’s not your fault. You can’t “work hard” and get what you need and want. It’s not your fault that the dreams of fifty years are now unrealistic and unattainable without breaking your soul and maybe not even getting it. You were fucked over before you came into this world, and they continue to fuck you over so much that it’s better to live your life as you see fit. It would be easier because being young and living as you want won’t ruin you but abiding by the systems most likely will.
feeling this so deeply in my soul after seeing him in concert last night
The way Hozier just stands with his hands in his pockets and casually belts. It should be a crime.
literally the best explanation of what this album is oml-
thinking about the recurring theme of identity in unreal unearth, and how the speaker's sense of identity is most frequently tied to his relationship, and the connectedness between them, where the relationship was so transformative that it fundamentally changed him, and now that the relationship is dead, he needs to bury those parts of himself that were born out of the relationship and forge new ones, in which we follow him as he travels through the circles of hell in the afterlife to deposit those fragments of identity and moments from the relationship so that he can emerge changed and with a new definition of himself and his identity in this essay I will-
if i could just exist in my bed under my comfy blanket with the windows open, a candle lit, and a long playlist of indie music ive never heard before for the rest of eternity i would be the happiest soul in the world
I need to inject the vibe of every hozier song into my veins right this instant
oh to be loved like a hozier song
Going to my eras tour Hozier tomorrow.
Reblogging my art with folk songs I feel are fitting part 2
after “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller (warning: violence)
Heliotropic soul who smells of spring.
Sunshine hair with gold-leafed summer irises,
Bright, shining from alabaster flesh.
Chiseled hands over carved wood,
Sinew-plucked strings.
They would never draw blood.
Winter is a minimalist,
Warmed by our roseate love,
Thawed anew.
i always circle back to the things i love
eve, after the fall (auguste rodin; bronze, 1883)
Mark Twain, The Diaries of Adam and Eve // Hozier, From Eden // Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber // Frank Bidart, The War of Vaslav Nijinsky // Eagles, The Last Resort // Anne Sexton, Words for Dr. Y
You know how I know that AI will never be able to create like a human? Whether that be painting or writing or film-making?
Because no computer, no algorithm, no matter how good, can tell a story like a human can.
Shakespeare wrote his most famous tragedies from the mire of grief from losing his son to the plague. Oscar Wilde's "A Picture of Dorian Gray" had such overtly homosexual themes that the book was literally used against him when he was on trial. The shock and horror of 9/11 inspired My Chemical Romance to come together and capture the sense of disillusionment of young people at the time. Hozier today writes his songs expressing what it means to be an increasingly fascist world while still holding an enduring love of humanity. Arthur Miller wrote "The Crucible" using the witch hunts as a thinly veiled allegory to criticize McCarthyism in the 50s, a play that did, in fact have him persecuted for "contempt of congress". An entire period of Picasso's art was noticeably influenced by the suicide of his friend, but he also had other works that were inspired by his various love affairs.
If you still think AI could eventually create like that, you're missing the point. You think it's about skill, you think it's just about craft. We're aware that AI can learn any skill, excel at craft. But a story isn't the words you use, or the events that happened; a story is the person that tells it and the beauty they felt that they share with you when you experience the art. Because art itself isnt about the perfection of its presentation, its the messiness of the human experience. Your AI has no life, it has no story, it can make as many esthetically pleasing works as you want, but it cannot make art.
Swan upon Leda is so heartbreakingly beautiful and is still bringing tears to my eyes every time i hear it
Posting here because TikTok flagged me for being under 16 (like bro I’m close enough)
Anyway jentry chau peak and I’m crying
question for all my favorite heathens out there. What’s your fandom/media’s personified artist? For example,
Hozier and Good Omens
=or=
Madoka Magica and Rio Romeo
oh to be in a forest listening to the birds and hozier with my gay lover, the dream
"I could fix him" "I could make him worse" Well I could slither here from Eden just to sit outside his door
Hozier!!!!
Tried to do a portrait again. It’s not my strong suit but I feel like I’ve for sure improved!!!
how is anyone supposed to be normal after listening to Hozier???????????? I get u now Orpheus story, I fucking gET YOu nOw
A Love Letter to History
(if you could call it that)
On a cold January morning in 1914, James Joyce published the first part of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. In that very part, on a similarly cold morning just after Christmas Break, Stephen Dedalus stood huddled with other Clongowes students and watched the snow moulding itself around their boots, wondering what made Simon Moonan and Tusker Boyle, in all their ordinariness, kiss in the square.
Napoleon Bonaparte was not born Napoleon Bonaparte. He was born Napoleon Buonaparte. Napoleon Buonaparte was not born in France, but he was born French enough. Of course, they’ve forgotten that by now. They often aren’t allowed to remind themselves, either.
There is very little to say about Fahrenheit 451 that it has not already said about itself. Any review of it is only ever a paraphrasing of some chapter or other, intentionally or otherwise. In the past twenty years, it has been banned at least ten times in the US alone. I imagine censoring a book about censorship gave many people the opportunity to pat themselves on the back. Unfortunately, their intentions, however malevolent, are misplaced. In the book, the people are on the side of banning books. There is no oppression, and no need for revolution. The bars caging a mind are not so easy to topple. The guillotine falls over an empty basket, and symbolism overflows from an empty cup. There is nothing to overthrow when the fault lies with time.
History. What a heavy word.
Christopher Marlow was excommunicated by the Church, and so was one of Shakespeare’s daughters. It is claimed that he based Ophelia off of his wife. I wonder why.
Five years after that day in the square, Stephen Dedalus refused to back down from his claim of Byron’s brilliance. Words like 'blasphemous' and 'irreligious' pooled around his feet. He cupped his hands in the water and lapped it up. Everything I write now contains some shred of Stephen’s name. I wonder why.
Why is a muse called a muse? To muse is to think, to think deeply. Is a muse’s job to be a conductor of thought? Must all thought be equivalent to love? Why does the word smell like the thickest honey? Why does it sit so heavily on my tongue?
Icarus never meant to fall. If he raced toward the sun, it was only to prove that he could. And he was never on fire. Oh, he burned, alright — the melting wax made sure of it. Did he grasp at the feathers as they came free from the harness? Did he watch them drifting towards the sea? Did he notice anything happening at all? For a moment, a brief, shining moment, the sun was neither hope nor doom, but triumph.
I never could write anything on either the 31st or the 1st. There is something about endings, and something about beginnings. The sun dawned the same on New Year’s Day, but at the stroke of midnight, my phone sang like I lived my whole life before the first light.
Fifteen years after that day in the square, Stephen Dedalus parted with Cranly, unafraid of being alone,
“— and not have any one person who would more than a friend, more even than the noblest and truest friend a man ever had.”
“Of whom are you speaking?” Stephen asked at length.
Cranly did not answer.
They met again, and sixteen years after Oscar’s death, James Joyce retraced his name in “Wilde’s love that dare not speak its name” in a book I have yet to read.
It’s funny how they ban books written centuries ago. Congratulations, Ronald, a pre-industrialization schoolmaster had a broader mind than yours. A clod of dirt shifts as Shakespeare turns in his grave.
History. What a heavy word. I used to think we owed it something.
had a dream I went to a hozier concert and mr. hozier stopped singing and pointed to me in the crowd and asked me to go get him some extra crispy tofu and a blueberry shake for after the show and then the crowd passed his debit card to me and when I got it I could see his real legal name was Horace Bob-omb