#TheSaints

[punkrockhistory]

46 years ago

Eternally Yours is the second album by Australian punk rock band The Saints, released in May 1978

[vainaspaver]

Assassin Nuns by Busha_b

[monteiros1890world]

One of the Saints

[shirtlessrunner]

after my #saturdaymorning #longrun, #dancing and #carbingup with #thesaints on #saturdaynight at the #blastfromthepast #dance on the #upperwestside #nyc #onrunning #onambassador #onroc (at New York, New York) https://www.instagram.com/p/Co2hyIbLHSf/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[arcadebroke]

[atypeekmusic]

The Saints - Paralytic Tonight, Dublin Tomorrow [FULL ALBUM] ☆☆☆☆☆

[raurquiz]

#happybirthday #elizabethshue #actress #TheKarateKid #AdventuresinBabysitting #Cocktail #BacktotheFuture #part2 #Part3 #Soapdish #LeavingLasVegas #TheSaint #HollowMan #Piranha3D #BattleoftheSexes #DeathWish #HouseattheEndoftheStreet #Greyhound #CSI #CobraKai #TheBoys #GenV

[shpwy]

[punkrockhistory]

Two years ago today

In memory Chris Bailey, Australian singer, songwriter, musician and co-founder of punk rock band the Saints.

Chris Bailey died in Haarlem on 9 April 2022, aged 65

Photo by Gus Stewart

[austerulous]

◈   @thesaint  //  cont.

Few could say that they had seen divinity other than that which was said to reside in grains of sand, in wildflowers.  The deity of Anri’s youth was depicted in shards of stained glass, painted onto frescoes that adorned vaulted ceilings.  Beautiful, unattainable, distant.  Reachable only through stern and decidedly human conduits, who were all too often hard-hearted.  

The kinless altar girl was now a woman, but she remained just as lost.  Stumbling through snow-carpeted streets, her pilgrimage had brought her to the Holy Father’s hallowed door, her pale hands clenched into tremulous fists.  Unwilling to leave, too fearful to knock.  Did he sense the appetite in her?  Did he know she harboured a hunger to match his own?

Frost climbed the windows, coating it like a second skin, but cold took no root.  Heat rolled out of Aldrich in waves, laced into those warm notes of incense and spice.  Seeming to smell her desperation, her uncertainty, his lordly head turned.  Candlelight bathed him in honeyed tones, the studs that decorated his features glinting, smouldering in eyes the colour of low-burning embers.  God saw her, and Anri fretted, fingers curling shyly in her skirt.

Comfort came in the elegant, proffered hand.  Broad in the palm, warm and soft.  Resplendent, Aldrich glittered and gleamed, bedecked in finery fit for the saint.  Anri surrendered, allowing one of her hands to settle in his.  A pale dove to be engulfed, buried in his gentle grip.  As he hinted at a grand pantheon of divines, she could think only of where their bodies touched, eager to believe that  he could adore even the unlovely creations of other gods.

A colossal hand cradled her cheek with unspeakable tenderness, as though she were something precious, something of immeasurable worth.  Tension bled from her as blood from a sacrificial lamb, but grief remained.  Sea-blue eyes brimmed with tears, recalling the child wracked with loneliness, grieving the family she was never able to call her own.  To an unwanted girl, no gift seemed greater than the offer of a home, of a wing under which to roost.

“If you did not make me, can I ever truly be yours?”  The question leapt out of her in a desperate whisper.  Like any gasping, drowning thing, she wished to cling, to climb into his arms, to believe she had a place at his table, that she was worthy of his voracious love.  Surely there were imperfect parts of her he would have changed – reshaped, remade – if she had sprung from his holy hands.  “Or will I always be something borrowed?”

[luckydxy]

the symbol is mia on desktop rn but...hug meme symbol here... (:

Hug Meme ;; Accepting

Where had he gone ?

Loyal shadow. Trustworthy friend. Her truest companion. They were to be an inseparable duo. Something was wrong here ... they must remain together. Someone had told her so, once, in cheerful pitch, or maybe twice, again, in murderous bellow. The happy-angry face lingered at the back of mind, brilliant light shining through stained glass visage, shattered here & cracked there, beams of violet & gold crowning her head, an ever present reminder of ... of ... of what ?

The haze of grand room overwhelmed ; it was too large, the soothing scents choked, the gentle light blinded, there were too many persons here - all possessed by singular thought & passion. Their reverence plagued her, a fever upon vulnerable psyche. Young Madgod fed upon such heightened emotions, or maybe it fed upon her ? Breaking her down. A rot from the inside out that spores of madness could not immunize against. The deacons, maggots all, gnawed at delicate guts & grey matter - botflies bit, laying their eggs, leaving larvae to burrow & wiggle beneath skin. Instinct bade her to claw them out, to cleanse herself with scorching self-destructive cinders so she could be born anew again & again & again. She could not remain stagnant. Her entire existence depended on consistent change.

Unwelcome feelings were brewing. Anxiety & sinking dread ... so very out of place. Someone else was out of place, someone like her, but she could no longer differentiate his presence from all the rest. There were no unique minds here. The hivemind was absolute. Heart patters within chest, rosy cheeks gone pale with a confused misery. Something was wrong. Where was he ? Something was WRONG.

As she felt fit to burst into a thousand fluttering wings, a single touch kept her together, pulling her back into a murky sense of calm. Warm hand, large, but gentle, engulfed her in a sluggish haze of euphoria. Her panic was unneeded. Out of place. & ... readily discarded. Hand became an arm. Then another. Madgod found herself pulled into a firm, welcoming, grasp. She did not fight. She felt no need to. Instead, slender hands clawed needily at his robes, sweet face burying itself into his mass without worry ; snuffing out all pesky woes & confusion. This was better ... this was what she needed. Saint's booming heart a hypnotic pendulum, drowning out all else. She wished to remain here, uncertain why she'd ever strayed from his side. Violet & gold left her as Saintly curtain hid stained glass visage. Thoughts of loyal shadow suffocated by enveloping, consuming, arms. The man she'd sought could be no one else.

He was right here.

[anastpaul]

Quote/s of the Day – 1 November – All Saints Day

Quote/s of the Day – 1 November – All Saints Day

Quote/s of the Day – 1 November – All Saints Day “Similarly, anyone who wishesto understand the mindsof the sacred writersmust first cleanse his own lifeand approach the Saints,by imitating their deeds.” St Athanasius (297-373)Father & Doctor of the Church “Let listening to worldly newsbe BITTER FOOD for youand let the words ofSaintly menbe as combsfilled with honey.” St Basil the Great…

[lastamericangentlemansavage]

[bonnettsbooks]

Closed through Friday, but here's some of what you can find on Saturday! See image alt-text for more info. Scroll our feed to see more examples of what may be in store for you!