every gay friend group has: the repressed academic, the ska loving "brawn", the formerly mean girl psychic, the match making anime fan, the astrology lover, the lesbian butcher/reluctant big sister, the sexy cat with nine lives, the walrus who runs a magic shop and the local witch who wants to kill everyone
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the one thing i want to be able to do as a writer is make people come back to something ive written. i want that piece of text to haunt them, i want their thoughts to be briefly consumed by this. i want this to be something they remember long after its time. thats the one thing i want to do
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its just me, my escapist tendencies, and these tits
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We all have our differing opinions on TTPD, but I think the one thing everyone can agree on is that the line “you know how to ball/I know Aristotle”, is one of, if not the funniest things taylor has ever written.
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In Summation by Taylor Swift
At this hearing
I stand before my fellow members of the Tortured Poets Department
With a summary of my findings
A debrief, a detailed rewinding
For the purpose of warning
For the sake of reminding
As you might all unfortunately recall
I had been struck with a case of a restricted humanity
Which explains my plea here today of temporary insanity
You see, the pendulum swings
Oh, the chaos it brings
Leads the caged beast to do the most curious things
Lovers spend years denying what's ill fated
Resentment rotting away galaxies we created
Stars placed and glued meticulously by hand next to the ceiling fan
Tried wishing on comets.
Tried dimming the shine.
Tried to orbit his planet.
Some stars never align.
And in one conversation, I tore down the whole sky
Spring sprung forth with dazzling freedom hues Then a crash from the skylight
Bursting through
Something old, someone hallowed, who told me he could be brand new
And so I was out of the oven
And into the microwave
Out of the slammer and into a tidal wave
How gallant to save the empress from her gilded tower
Swinging a sword he could barely lift
But loneliness struck at that fateful hour
Low hanging fruit on his wine stained lips
He never even scratched the surface of me.
None of them did.
“In summation, it was not a love affair!”
I screamed while bringing my fists to my coffee ringed desk It was a mutual manic phase.
It was self harm.
It was house and then cardiac arrest.
A smirk creeps onto this poet's face
Because it's the worst men that I write best.
And so l enter into evidence
My tarnished coat of arms
My muses, acquired like bruises
My talismans and charms
The tick, tick, tick of love bombs
My veins of pitch black ink All's fair in love and poetry
Sincerely,
The Chairman
of The Tortured Poets Department
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The visuals for fortnight have terrified me. Like sorry the makeup, the dresses, the screaming and the throwing, the ‘I love you’, it being in black and white, her stare down the camera at the end. Everything. My blood is cold.
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Just a collage of the vibes in midnights
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