meet the members of the tortured poets department.
our chairman, taylor swift.
peter pan, clara bow, stevie nicks, our collegues from the down the hall; the dead poets, daisy jones, post malone, martha from who's afraid of virginia woolf, florence, amy march and jo march, cassandra, patty and dylan thomas, barbie, emily dickinson, bella baxter.
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the fact that maria's disappearance has remained a cold case for decades... once ana & her friends died looking for her, they became cold cases too... ana & maria's mom alone after losing both of her daughters, not knowing (for the better, maybe) what cruelty took them from her.
hurts thinking how the victims go looking for maria, what they end up enduring, just to find her long gone (presumably) at black nancy's... the guilt ana would feel for bringing them there, knowing they're going to meet the same fate, that their families won't know what happened.
and of course, how could ana have known? who could have ever thought such horrors awaited them as they set up their camp site in the thicket? as they put up their tent, lit a fire and sat around together, sharing stories about maria and thinking they're close to finding her alive.
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Now that I’ve had two sleeps to absorb TTPD and all 31 songs I think I’m ready to share my thoughts. I think they’re still all over the place. I’m having to separate so many pieces of my sadness, reframe timelines all while trying to not fall to my knees and break down.
Before I go on, I have to say I think this album is definitely for the older fans. I mean obviously it’s for everyone but as someone who understands the lore or as much as we’re let in, and the discography, some songs have a bigger significance so I understand it’s not connecting with everyone. I hope it grows on them. Her fountain and quill pens have always meant so much to me. I cannot imagine the insurmountable pressure she must feel having a random place their existence in her hands. As much as I love her I have to just appreciate the art and interpret it the best way it fits me.
I won’t talk about every song - just the ones I’ve had visceral reactions to.
Fortnight, so when I first heard it Thursday night I started crying. The line “I was supposed to be sent away but they forgot to come get me.” Before a video was even released all I could think about were my hospital stays. I always joke about them. And all those jokes were funny and riddled with humorous truth. But when the punchline is given, and the laughter dies down, I’m left alone to grieve all that time I lost because of men and boys and people who ruined my life. They made me out to look crazy, like stints in these rooms were going to fix me. Pills I took to forget them just made me want to die. The scars I acquired like trophies are mine to wear like badges of honor. All of that is what I thought with just that line. Then the music video was released. I literally screamed. I saw it and sobbed with a sweltering scream of pain. Seeing myself chained up to a painfully lit room, chained up, drugged up all because I loved. All my life since, I’ve thought I only belong there. Every day, every emotion I’ve had has ruined my life. Ever felt so fucking crazy and no one sees you? That’s what this feels like. But every day. There was something about the way Post Malone hugged Taylor that broke me again. I can’t explain it. I don’t think I’ve ever been held like that. Not as a child. Not as an adult. In that moment I realized I’ve needed a tortured tragic poet hero to come break me out of the asylum. And I’ve waited. I’ve tried escaping but I am pulled back. I think it’s the first time I’ve admitted it to myself I don’t think I can do this myself. But I have no choice and it’s a painful realization that all my life I’ve had to save myself. I’ve been the crazy one in the family. I am the one that isn’t all there. I just want to run to anyone who wants to hold me and tell me they’re getting me out of there. Like I said the song had an incredibly raw and taxing effect on me.
Down Bad, I think this one is really easy for anyone who sits there crying because you’re well, down bad. And it makes you angry. It makes you sad. I think a reel of me being second choice plays in my mind. The boy I like telling me he doesn’t want me. Or the boy telling me I’m nice but there’s better out there. Or begging the guy you love not to leave and him telling you that you’re too much. So he leaves you stranded like he’s doing you a favor. And yeah fuck every single one of them. There’s a petulance saying that. Saying fuck you for not wanting me. Fuck you for not being down bad for me. Fuck you for not doing the all the fighting so you don’t lose me.
So Long, London. It’s track five. I gave all my youth for free. And to have to say goodbye to all of that like it’s my fault? Like it’s my prophecy to be a tragedy.
Fresh Out the Slammer, I’ve lived this song so many times. And then I grew up. I erased the number. Forgot it like my life depended on it but for a while, I knew who’d my first call was too. Then I realized they’d never pick up anyway. I know better.
Guilty as Sin? I’m very guilty. Listen to the way song builds like nirvana. And imagine yourself in it. Alone. I say this a lot but if you read my diary there’s an entry with these lyrics lived out by me. Tell me, you haven’t fantasized. Tell me you don’t recall things you never did. Tell me your body hasn’t longed before but you told yourself to let it stay in a vault. A fantasy where you’ve already done it in your head? I think it actually follows edging to completion. Your mind playing tricks on you, your sheets your only grasp, your chest rising and falling harder and quicker, labored breathing, waves of pleasure crashing into you, words escaping your lips, longing glances into other eyes while yours are closed. It’s a fatal fantasy that takes over you. And you worship it, religiously. Go ahead, recall the things you never did. Be guilty as sin.
Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? You should be. This is a response to mirroball. It’s so easy to vilify the quiet, the nice, the good girl. And then she breaks. Then she’s done playing your chess games. Being a pawn in schemes. I feel this so much as an eldest daughter, as the one that has to be perfect and a degree below that was unacceptable.
loml, I want to acknowledge that this song broke me. I still can’t listen fully without losing it. They say wounds heal with time. But I’m still waiting.
I Can Do It With A Broken Heart, I think for me this is just how I’ve lived my life. I don’t get to be shattered without movement. I must be broken hearted and figure it out, be a tough kid, fake it, smile even if I want to die. It’s an art I’ve perfected.
The Alchemy, I’d like to wake up from the hospital stay. I’d like to be out of the vision in my head. Chemistry is something I’ve always been so fascinated with. You cannot fake it. You cannot learn it or grow it. It’s either there or not. It borders on magical. It’s the only time I believe in something otherworldly. You can’t fight it. You can hide it. Sure. But it’ll pull you out of darkness. It’s my favorite trope. Magnets. Addiction. The most human thing because you can’t make it in a lab. Like the hand of God said here’s the alchemy, you’ll find the other part of that equation.
In-depth thoughts for The Anthology will come later tonight.
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