#jackboots

[vikkicomics]

A Dutch and a Deutsch. Here Prussian Officer Major Isenstein is chatting up a Flemish girl. He's an energetic and flirtatious character. -Concept art for Moth.

[redwolf17]

🙃 Regular reminder that while Hozier has amazing love songs, he is ALSO very outspoken about his leftist politics, specifically anti-fascism, anti-racism, reproductive rights, Palestinian rights and more.

Take Me To Church and Foreigner’s God are scathing critiques of organized religion, specifically the Catholic Church and the colonization of Ireland.

Moment’s Silence is about oral sex but it’s ALSO about how that specific sexual act is often distorted to a show of power rather than that of love.

Nina Cried Power is an homage to various (mostly Black) civil rights activists from the US and Ireland and a call to follow their path.

Be criticizes anti-migrant policies and Trump and his ilk.

Jackboot Jump is about the global wave of fascism and about protest and resistance.

Swan Upon Leda is about reproductive rights and the violent colonial oppression of Ireland and Palestine.

Eat Your Young is about the ruinous way the 1%/capitalism and arms dealers prioritize short-term profit over everything else to the detriment of the youth/99%

Butchered Tongue is about Irish and other indigenous languages being suppressed and erased by imperial powers.

If any of the above surprised you, please, please delve deeper into Hozier’s music, you’re missing such an important part of his work.

[sergeantjeffersonhammond]

You know, something gives me the feeling that maybe you’re not as much a fan of his music as you think you are.

[bladders-gate-three]

LISTEN

LISTEN

So in act 3 of BG3 you get access to the Helldusk armor, right? Like you take the breastplate off of Raphael, and yoink the helmet and gloves from elsewhere in his house…

BUT WHERE ARE THE SHOES?!?

TURNS OUT THEY’RE IN THIS CHEST…. At the Foot of Enver Gortash’s stinky little bed!!!

This little shit spent all his time around Raphael, who clearly has control issues; the only thing he took with him were the shoes to a perfect set of armor.

Because armor with mismatched shoes looks dumb.

IMAGINE BEING RAPHAEL thinking: that little shit stole my amazing boots. And you think; he’s probably wearing them right now.

and then

AND THEN YOU SEE HIM WEARING THESE

THE AUDACITY.

Also his parents were cobblers and he now has the world’s ugliest shoes, but keeps some of the best greaves ever made in his toy chest. Double whammy.

[hoziercriespower]

Hozier - Jackboot Jump (Live)

❝ At Standing Rock the Jackboot Jump you'd swear was all the rage whether tearing up old treaties or just tearing up the place ❞

[edscuntyeyeshadow]

it annoys me quite a bit when certain people reduce hozier’s music to ✨cottagecore vibes ✨like I’m begging you please listen to jackboot jump or but the wages or butchered tongue, not just would that i 💀💀

[windsofnotos]

hozier could get up on stage and say the words "capitalism is a flawed and violent system and we need to implement universal socialism" and people would still be like "haha silly little bog man 😂"

[agaymushroom]

The fact that butched tongue is the least listened to song on unreal unearth is very telling.

[ihavea-natural-curiosity]

it frustrates me to no end that only Hoziers love songs (mostly the “love” songs but that’s another issue for another day) ever get popular, and when his protest/call to action/social commentary songs do get popular, they get misinterpreted to HELL. (god i love Take Me To Church but holy shit that’s NOT A CHRISTIAN SONG AKDBEB) (and honestly his “love” songs also get misinterpreted too but again, different day)

it’s lead to this public view of him mostly being that he’s some forest dweller who only writes love songs to his human lover. his most social commentary songs are the least popular, which i know happens to every artist ever, but it just irks me especially with him, especially because he’s becoming more mainstream and more people are being dumb about his songs

so, anyway, here are some of my favorite of his commentary/protest songs, i urge you to listen!!

oh and here’s the speech he made at Ruoff on May 28th, filmed by me!

(here’s my release order Hozier playlist too)

[vikkicomics]

"You can't got to Zoppot in that!" Peter, a farmer, and Siegfried, a Soldier, WIP. The plumes make Sigi look so much taller but you can see by their shoulders their height difference isn't very big. Gonna do a complex line bg and then colour it. Spontaneous drawings come out much quicker than planned ones.

[saiintofawe]

hozier could write Das Kapital and the communist manifesto but marx couldn't write any of hozier's most political songs

[luce-goose]

I just saw Hozier in Sacramento 😭💜

[kacievvbbbb]

Hozier said this;

And honestly sometimes it’s all that keeps me going

[otinytwigso]

Something something well put together thought about the current state of the world and shooting of a CEO connecting to the final lyrics of Jackboot Jump by Hozier... "All around the world you'd think that things were looking rough, but the jackboot only jumps down on people standing up. So you know good things are happening when the jackboot needs to jump."

[jack-kellys]

painting over mirrors

read here.

David has noticed a pattern, and he can't tell if art is the solution.. or the cause.

a short javid fic about art not being a coping mechanism, and instead a half-cursed way of being.

The roof of the lodge is lined with ghosts, is the first thing David notices.

Young boys and girls made ghastly by charcoal and the night sky are stuck to the railing, to the brick, and all around the hollow, iron rod that juts out oddly as a makeshift chimney for the heater a floor below. Each paper is a tiny bit crumpled, too, as if Jack has torn them down and put them up numerous times. David asks about them carefully, but only receives a shrug in return.

“They’re past kids that’ve come through here an’ left,” Jack says. “It’s my way of, just. Remembering them.”

David catches him watching a particular drawing, older, dirtier than the rest, a little longer. The boy in it has a button-like nose, similar to how Les’s used to look when he was younger, with Jack’s dark springy hair and large black eyes. He isn’t smiling, and neither is Jack when he finds David’s gaze.

“It’s nothing,” Jack retorts, as if David had said something. “Really, Dee. I just wanted to show you around up here is all.”

“And you are,” David agrees, allowing his gaze to become quizzical now that Jack’s gone defensive.

And Jack’s sensed it, his expression already working to undo what David’s spotted. The heat recedes from his eyes, his shoulder releases its tension. He even smiles, a forced shoving of his lips and cheeks.

“That's your nosey look,” Jack accuses David- accurately, but that's besides the bigger picture. “All in good time, m’kay?”

David’s not so sure.

Because Jack spends hours and hours alone at Medda’s, and when David comes by he finds the boy surrounded by scrap pieces of canvas, half finished and ripped, his paint-splattered body bent uncomfortably forward with a brush to the new one he’s stretched out, mumbling. And when he sees David he goes rigid, reddened eyes widened as if David’s caught him drinking too much or something when it at least only looks like painting.

And Jack spends hours and hours alone on the roof with his scrap paper that he folds away with an easy grin when David comes up to check on him, even though David can see that full, rendered sketches are completely scribbled over with dark, pressured marks.

And usually, anything struck through, brashly painted over, or smudged beyond recognition is free of mountains, sun, cacti and clay homes. Santa Fe remains safe, and so do Jack’s ghosts.

“No,” David finds himself saying. “It's been enough time, it's been- too much time of you hiding yourself away and not… being happy, about it.”

Jack looks at him, confused, so David forces more words from himself.

“Usually when you're drawing, or painting, when I'm there at least- you look… passionate. Like it's a simple sort of.. natural love.”

Jack frowns. “Yeah, Dave, ‘cause I- ‘cause it’s what I do.”

“Then why do you…” David bites the inside of his cheek, but continues. “Why do you- also passionately.. destroy it?”

“Passionately destroy it,” Jack echoes with a hum after a moment. He leans back against the railing, crossing his arms. “It’s not- it’s just. It’s how I work. If I don’t like somethin’, I try again.”

“Most people rip out a page or set a canvas aside, or- hell, go with it,” David counters. “Jack, you… wreck it, to where you can’t even tell what it is anymore. Doing something you love.”

Jack looks up at him then, eyes narrowed curiously.

“You keep saying I love it,” he says. “Don’t think I ever said that though, Dee.”

David blinks.

Jack spends so much time practicing and perfecting this craft, he sketches friends and places he knows and places he wishes he knew, he sketches young newsies he still misses. He creates art out of the things he loves, David knows it.

“Don’t you?” he asks slowly, setting himself next to the other. Jack scoffs.

“I don’t love cigarettes, but I still smoke, don’t I?” he says, shrugging. Jack’s gaze flicks forward. “I don’t.. really know howta describe it. I see something, you know, in my head, and I just have to get it down. I have to, and if I don’t, I just get this fear that I’ll lose it, somehow.”

David nods, after a few seconds of processing. He tilts his head, hoping Jack will keep going. He doesn’t.

“Lose it, you mean- get angry?” David asks. Jack shakes his head, eyebrows scrunched, trying to figure it out himself.

“Nah, nah, like- lose it. Forget it. Like it’ll disappear,” he clarifies. “Like you’ll- you’ll just disappear. If I don’t do something about it.”

David doesn’t have anything to say to that yet, and thankfully Jack continues.

“I know y’won’t. I know that ain’t really true,” Jack murmurs, arms unfurling and hands setting themselves on the rail behind him. “I dunno why I keep drawing if it ain’t something I really love, like that, like how Kath loves writin’. I just know I have to, I gotta make somethin’ or it won’t be real, you know? With my own hands, makin’ those memories. Makin’ sure things I like can’t be blocked out, since I used- uh, I used to… it used to happen.���

And Santa Fe isn’t a memory, so it always remains. It’s always perfect, this… western desire, the cowboy idealization, it’s Jack’s one true creation. Nothing Jack can create it as can be marred when he doesn’t have anything to line it up against in his mind.

“And the destruction, then,” David inquires softly. “Is it about accuracy to what you remember? Does what you draw have to be exactly what you see..?”

Saying it out loud, David knows it’s not true- Jack’s sketches are often loose and relative, he’s just not sure what else the explanation can be. He doesn’t think like Jack, like an artist. And so Jack shakes his head.

“Ain’t easy to explain,” he says to David. Jack’s nose scrunches slightly, thinking. “Less about exactness and more… what it was to me . Interrup- interpretation. Something in my head just needs to express what the memory is to me, and when my hands ain’t do it right, it’s like misremembering, and I can’t risk that, so I have to get rid of it. There’s memory in your body, right, and there’s memory in my hands. I ain’t wanna accidentally draw or paint somethin’ wrong the same way twice, so I gotta rip it, or write over it, to just- remove it. Cancel it out.”

David bites his lip at that. Jack catches it, though, and his eyebrows raise.

“I mean I guess- I ain’t have to. I don’t need to,” Jack tries. “I think I just- well, I feel.. better when I do. I gotta do what my brain’s saying, that’s all. I can see what it’s gotta be, and I just get this itch, you know?” He scoffs, laughing bitterly. “God, it really is just like smokin’. Shit.”

David smiles with him, though a little bittersweetly. He can’t quite tell if Jack’s… suffering, exactly. There are times when his art looks like it’s killing him, and David knows how much time Jack can take with it and how much it isolates him. Is it really like smoking? Like some kind of addiction to the other, or some compulsion?

“Jackie, if it’s a habit you want to break,” he says, placing his hand over the other’s, “I’m here to help, you know? Anything you need for this, I’m here.”

Jack’s gaze falls to where David’s touching, letting their fingers properly intertwine.

“I probably should be better about it, hm,” Jack smiles softly, sadly. “But it’s- Davey, I dunno. It’s just how I think. It’s how I work and how I see things.”

“Then…” David hums. “Then I’d like to see how you see things, then. I’d like to see how you think. Tell me when you’re going to the theater. Tell me when you’re gonna go sketch something. You don’t have to create these memories by yourself all the time, yeah?”

Jack purses his lips, letting his head fall against David’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

David does his best to not let his body reveal his relief. The memorializing Jack does in his head, for those still around him… It’s a little haunting. He doesn’t know why Jack feels that need outside of his artistic inclination, but something tells David it has to do with that boy on the page that looks too much like Jack, set right by where Jack sleeps. Something… happened , something that used to–or still does, for all David knows–cause Jack to lose time, to block out things from his past. David doesn’t want to be one of Jack’s ghosts, not while he’s still around. Not if he can do anything about it.

“You need someone to remind you when to grab supper anyway,” David says, instead of any of the loose puzzle pieces drifting through his brain. Jack merely whines, and presses himself closer against David, decidedly present.

[oxymoronicdumbass]

If I were Hozier and I wrote a song like Nina Cried Power and then people tried to reduce me to the “Too Sweet/sex song guy” I would genuinely lose my shit