#Emily Dickinson is a genius

[as-autistic-as-your-cat]

Just started watching Dickinson aaaaaand… oh boy! THE BEST SHOW EVER

[incoramsanctissimo]

I shared a poem I wrote to the family group chat and NO ONE SAID ANYTHING except my mom, so I'm putting it here too and if it's really that bad I need y'all to tell me cause I really never know 😭 like literally just say "its bad" and I won't be hurt. I just want to know.

What does it take to fix a life?

Coffee and croissants at the rising of the light,

Jam lucis orto sidere.

The taking in of the coldest air of the day

After the suffocating night.

A rectangle of paper marked Tuesday the third

Laudate Dominum de coelis.

From a long-dead saint, a few words—

From you to God, another word.

Another word, a morning meeting of the soul

Deus misereatur nostri.

A plan for dinner, a plan for breakfast

A plan to fulfill this given role.

Ut cum dies abscesserit

Preparing to bear this boulder uphill again,

But ready for the rolling down

With these measures taken to make the burden sweet.

[paperglader]

“El desarme”– Alba Reche// Open me carefully– Emily Dickinson// Killing Eve (Episode 0308)// Critical Role (Campaign 3, Episode 38)// The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the genius young lady (Episode 0104).

[updownlately]

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all

And sweetest in the Gale is heard

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangest Sea

Yet never in Extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

-Emily Dickinson.

oh fuck.

this was good. this was fucking good.

the first two lines played with my heartstrings so fast, gosh

thanks anon! this was lovely!

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

One thing that I personally find super frustrating about Taylor Swift is the way she plays into the myth of the "lone genius" artist. Without collaboration, nothing gets done; or, if it does, it's typically of low or inconsistent quality. And this is true in pretty much ANY field or discipline you can think of: scientific research, advocacy work, etc. The fact that Taylor considers herself above that and persists in selling the myth of her "lone genius" to fans honestly feels malevolent and arrogant to me.

It's truly ridiculous, at the end of the day, that people call her a "poet" and "genius songwriter" for doing everything on her own. I think it really showcases how little she understands when it comes to poetry as an art form. Most legendary writers and poets have multiple people look over their work and go through many stages of the editing process. One of the purposes of art is to communicate, and it's honestly hard to tell sometimes if what you've written has meaning and communicates well outside of your own brain. Peer review is ESSENTIAL for writers.

I think it's also very telling that she considers herself a legendary poet and actively plays into that mythology by circulating the fact that she's distantly related to Emily Dickinson. As someone who has loved and studied literature for many years, I can honestly say that Taylor Swift's closest comparative when it comes to writing is Rupi Kaur. Pinterest poetry, and nothing more. And she has the arrogance to compare herself to one of the most important poets in American literary canon!

I'm reminded of something I heard Hozier say a little while back (I'm forgetting now which interview) about people praising his lyricism as poetry. He essentially called those claims an insult to poetry, stating that there are structural rules in music (rhyme scheme, beat, etc.) that he adheres to that poets don't have to, and that poets can be much more experimental and revolutionary in form (at least when it comes to the written word vs. the sung word). Only someone who genuinely loves poetry would say something like this; plus, it shows that he thinks about the different impacts that form can have on art the messages it communicates. And this, coming from one of the best singer/songwriters currently working!

TS and Hozier aren't writing in the same genre, but I do think it's interesting to compare them as artists in their respective approaches to lyricism. When it comes to Taylor, I think she cares more about the aesthetic of poetry as an art form than the actual art itself. Her writing doesn't actively interact with the literary canon that inspired it, like Hozier's does (or other great lyricists, like Kendrick/Florence/Mitski/Elton). Her writing feels very hollow and devoid of meaning to me.

i just want to say your ask and analysis was so well written 😭 thank you for sending this in!

Completely agree that Swift's solo songwriting genius is a myth. Only 2/16 songs from TTPD were solely credited to her...which means 12.5% of the album is solely her own writing. That is not a songwriting genius. That's just a songwriter. She already knows her fans are completely sold and convinced on her songwriting genius so of course she would drag out her ancestry.com results and up-play her relation to Emily Dickinson to help sell the aesthetic of the album. Everything for her is another marketing strategy. She has no respect for poetry, let alone writing as a craft itself. If you view her behavior through the lens of another writer, it's absolutely abhorrent, but if you view it through the lens of another capitalist, it's absolute genius.

I love your Hozier comparison because Hozier is only 4 months younger than Taylor yet the quality of their lyricism are oceans apart. Hozier has proven himself to be a talented writer time and time again throughout the course of his career, and the best songwriters often know and understand the power of other writing mediums. (BTW I know what Hozier interview you’re talking about! Here it is :))

What makes a great writer is knowing the canon, and knowing other writing mediums very well. It's why the greatest songwriters incorporate canon not only of their own genre and medium but of other texts as well (I'm biased because I listened to Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights today and I know its an adaptation but still its relevant here). Intextuality is the foundation of a great work, and Taylor's work has none.

As the other anon(s) have pointed out, Taylor no longer makes music as art. She makes music for money. I don't think any artist who likes what they do or cares about what they produce would put out an album like that, with lyrics like that, and its content. At least Rupi Kaur's writing impacted poetry in bringing it into the mainstream; I don't exactly understand what ttpd could offer as a text or in pop culture.

TLDR: hozier makes music for people who eat it from the back and then handfeed you grapes afterwards. taylor swift makes music for white girls entering their first day of 7th grade send tweet

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Seeing people genuinely saying that TTPD is her best work lyrically and that it tops Folklore and Evermore is just WILD to me. Like, am I missing something? Are there two different versions of this album out and I’m listening to the bad one? Because???? TTPD is such a let down. It’s not clever, it’s not even catchy. I like one song and the rest are kind of…are forgettable. I heard “like a tattooed golden retriever” and burst out laughing-like there’s no way we went from folklore and evermore to THAT. I had to stop listening because I just don’t like it. I don’t get it and I’m tired of people telling me that I’m too dumb to understand her genius. I don’t think this album is genius by any means-that’s not to say it doesn’t make sense (although it doesn’t make sense to me at times) but mostly I just don’t get it in terms of like why and what happened to the beautiful writing of folklore and evermore to…this. Folklore and evermore actually resonated with me on such an emotional level and it felt very adult and like Taylor was nuanced in her writing and that she moved on from all her problems stemming from men and “jealous women” and now TTPD just feels like I revisited one a conversation I’ve had with my friends in middle school thinking we were so deep and misunderstood.

Yeah, listen... you're not missing anything

I truly think that the people enjoying the album are blinded by the aesthetic of the album. She's obfuscating the poor writing, and basically incoherent imagery, by using the watered-down cottage core/ dark academia aesthetics. It's almost laughable the way she changes everything about herself just to fit the most popular aesthetic of the day.

She hides bad writing by name-dropping great writers and hoping that, through the power of vague allusion, the names alone will make people think she's in the same league.

She was guilty of this back on Folklore, as well. To be honest the first time I heard "tell me what are my Wordsworth" ("The Lakes), I laughed out loud because it's sooooo silly to make a pun out of one of the most important Romantic Poets of all time. I let it slide back then, because I thought it was a one-off. Still, it's really funny that she apparently knows who Wordsworth is, yet the best she can do with that information is make a pun out of his name.

And now I see her name-dropping, lack luster writing is just the best she can do. I hate that she really thinks of herself as a poet....

As someone who has studied poetry, and written literary criticisms about Emily Dickinson's poetry, it actually makes me angry to see she compares herself to Dickinson. I'm gonna write a post about that problem too.

I have a lot more to say about the gross lyricism of this album.

I have several different analyses that I plan to publish soon.... because it makes me so angry the way she is such phony-baloney nonsense.

More to the point, I'm angry I fell for it. All the use of intense aesthetics and the money she pours into promo, and I fell for it. I was a fan.

Not anymore.

[postnuclearel]

HELLO!

My name is El, I'll take any pronouns. This is basically a list of my interests and stuff I like so that I can pin it in case anyone is interested. I'm neurodivergent and usually my hyper fixations swing between these every couple of months

Marauders Era HP

Dead Poets Society

Good Omens

Peaky Blinders

Formula One

Doctor Who

Crime Dramas (LINE OF DUTY AND VERA ESPECIALLY!!!)

I love reading, especially classics, actions and anything well written with a sad ending.

I love poetry and Emily Dickinson is my fav poet

I collect records!

Pasta is my favourite food ever ever ever (I eat it so much I genuinely think I have a condition)

I write fanfiction sometimes (whenever I have motivation and I'm not too busy)

60s/70s music (The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, The Velvet Underground) I honestly just have a massively diverse music taste there's no way to pin it down, like it goes from Lana Del Rey to Adam and the Ants to the Smiths to TV Girl and I have a playlist with 768 songs on that I shuffle whenever I want to listen to music. - Boy Genius & especially Phoebe Bridgers - Hozier (I'm seeing him live in June and Lord Huron!) - I'm the biggest Billy Joel fan to ever exist - Taylor Swift (The music and not the person - I don't support some of the things she's done)

Thank you for reading <3

[gghostwriter]

Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 1. Lighting stuck (and was caught in a bottle)

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there. previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

“Luck is not chance, it’s toil; fortune’s expensive smile is earned” - Emily Dickinson

The day started off beat when the alarm for her 8am class didn’t ring and it continued to snowball since then. Rushing out the door with a piece of bread in her mouth, her bag strap broke into two. The vending machine around the corner was out of order. She stepped on gum while brisk walking to her next class. And missed the chance to borrow the last book copy of a pre-requisite read for another class. In retrospect, these could all be the fates and time setting the scene. 

“Excuse me, I was told by the librarian you borrowed the last copy of The Origins of Totalitarianism?”

A pair of eyes looked up at Cleo blankly from his cluttered library desk by the window. He looked young, younger than any university boys she’d seen around the campus. Locks pushed behind his ears, he was pleasing to the eyes. If the academic genius was the type and it was true for her. 

Cleo found herself rambling under his scrutiny. “I know I’m not supposed to know who borrowed which book due to personal privacy and the librarian shouldn’t have have told me anything even with my incessant questioning but I really do need the book for a pre-requisite.” 

“Actually yes, you shouldn’t have been given access to library records or been privy to any of those information. But I do have the copy you’re looking for,” he pointed at the mentioned book from underneath a precarious book pile. 

“Is it possible for me to borrow the copy for a while?” 

Silence.

“At least right now? I can read through it quickly and never have it leave your area of premises,” she pleaded, sitting down at the empty chair in front of him. “Please and I’ll never bother you again after that.” 

He quirked his eyebrow up. “It’s a 579 page book. You can finish it in one sitting and not compromise retention?” 

“Well, I do read fast and have an eidetic memory.”

Cleo blushed and averted her gaze. She knew better than to brag about her skills that would get her labelled as a freak of nature but she was past the point of no return. Flashbacks of the high school teasing and gum in her hair incident whirled in her mind. It could have been worse if not for her older sister, Thalia, by her side. A 5’3” terror of a protector specially when Cleo accelerated from 1st year to 3rd year which was her sister’s grade. 

The young boy slid the battered copy to her view point. “I actually don’t need it back right away. It’s more of a light reading.” 

Her eyebrows rose with intrigue. Any run-of-the-mill university student wouldn’t consider this type of book a leisure read. “I’m Cleo, by the way. Cleo Murphy.” 

“Spencer. Spencer Reid.” 

“Well Spencer, I didn’t think anyone would consider Origins of Totalitarianism a great book to pass time with. None of any college boys I’ve encountered, any way.” She started, looking around the various books on the table—from Chemistry, to Philosophy, to fictional classics in its original language. “Which begs the question, are you a genius?”

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory—like you, and can read 20,000 words per minute,” he rambled on. “Yes, I’m a genius.” 

Cleo couldn’t help but be impressed with his response. It was commonly estimated that one of the greatest theoretical physicist to ever walked the Earth, Albert Einstein, had an IQ of about 160 and here was a modern day genius that beat one of the greats by a mile in numerical value. A proficient reader can read 280-350 words per minute without compromising comprehension and she herself can read 625-950 words per minute, a feat on its own, but here was someone who made that skill seem so ordinary. 

“You’re taking up Political Science as an undergraduate for law school, correct?” His intelligent hazel eyes locking into hers. “And a genius too.”

She smiled. “What made you say that?” 

“Well, you mentioned that this book is a pre-requisite for your class. You also used the term personal privacy, have an idea that library information should not be shared and apologized for it to cover bases. You’ve also hounded the librarian for those details, getting on her nerves similar to how lawyers hound information to get the court hearing outcome that they want,” he paused, tapping his finger on the table like he was in further in thought. “As for the genius commentary, you didn’t seem surprised when I mentioned my IQ. You also mentioned that you read fast, probably not as fast as 20,000 words per minute but faster than the average reader. An eidetic memory and based on your favorite character keychain hanging from your bag it looks to be more popular for a 13-15 year old than a university student so you graduated earlier than average.” 

“Everything was almost right. Except the keychain, it’s not my favorite. It’s my older sister’s,” she looked at the keychain on her bag and chuckled. “I’d like to guess you’re in Caltech for a Ph.D, your interests on reading is too varied to pinpoint what but I’d say you have a BA in Psychology with how you intellectually guessed me.” 

“It’s not an intellectual guess. It’s actually called profiling,” he clarified. “And I graduated with BAs in Psychology and Sociology, recently. Currently acquiring my PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering concurrently.” 

“So you’re a sophophile?”

“I prefer the term polymath,” he stated as he closed the book in front of him, seemingly wanting to focus on the conversation at hand. “Sophophile isn’t really a proper term is it? I don’t think I’ve encountered it in the dictionary.” 

“It’s more of an urban dictionary term, from the Greek origin of Sophia—wisdom and philac—love.” She explained as the 3pm bell rang. “Well then Spencer Reid, I’d leave you to your readings. Do you want to meet up for coffee tomorrow by Cecile’s at 10am? It’s this hole in the wall coffee spot just around the campus block.”

Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly about to disagree.

“As a thank you for lending me the book, I mean,” she rushed out, stuffing the book inside her bag as she stood. “And I’d like to hear more about your eclectic taste of light reading.”

He smiled, a full grin lighting up his baby face. If she thought he was attractive before, it was nothing compared to when he smiled. He was beautiful. 

Heart threatening to jump out of her chest, Cleo felt the times were trying to mark this moment as significant. A moment now engraved in her own mind. A chance meeting that altered the course of her life here on Earth as she knows it.

“I’d like that.” He replied.

And as it were pre-destined, their red strings of fate intertwined. 

———

Cleo was woman of logic, always hated the unknown and where all the impossibilities may lead. That was what attracted her to law, in the first place. Everything is clean cut, written on a piece of legislation with corresponding violations should there be a breach in right or contract. She Also liked her order and structure, clearly seen adapted to her surroundings. Her small personal collection, brought from her home library, of books organized in a Dewy Decimal System. Her number of shoes beside the entryway arranged by type, color, and height. And her  clothing arranged in the same manner. Her roommate, Raina, once jokingly asked if she had ever gone to the doctor to get diagnosed for OCD. It wasn’t that really, it was more of a result to her rigid upbringing as a member of the upper echelons of society.

Meeting Spencer has thrown her life into chaos. Her bed was made, yes, but various pieces of clothing were haphazardly thrown all around it. She was undecided on what to wear, an inconceivable act from someone like Cleo. Was it too casual to wear her favorite jeans or was it too dressy to wear her green maxi skirt. An IQ of 158 and she was unable to answer such a simple problem. Her phone rang underneath all her clutter, a reminder that she had 15 minutes left before the scheduled coffee meet. 

The walk to Cecile’s was an 8 minute walk, 6 minutes if she walked faster than usual. Which gives her a shy of 7 to 9 minutes to decide what to wear and exit her dormitory. She looked at the clock on her bedside table, 1 minute had passed since then. She sighed and reached for her own type of uniform—low rise jeans, long sleeve top, and her trusty black Converse—and she was out the door with 9 minutes to cover the distance. She disliked being late, no matter the setting, and from what she gathered Spencer was the same. 

Rounding the campus block, she spotted Spencer waiting outside Cecile’s. He had his hair, again, pushed behind his ears—possibly gelled slightly to stay in place. A polo tucked in his khaki pants that are slightly rolled to showcase his mismatched socks, scuffed black Converse, a light cardigan hanging on his wiry arms, and a brown satchel to finish the look. 

“Hey Spencer,” she greeted. Peeking at her wrist watch, she noted that she was right on schedule. A small success.

“Hi,” he greeted back with a his awkward smile and half wave of his hand.

As she stepped into the warm shop after him, she was greeted with the enticing smell of newly baked pastries and ground coffee. It was a Saturday, meaning the average university students were all asleep, hung over from Friday parties and booze. The shop was almost empty, sans one table being occupied by a staff. 

“So, what do you like? My treat,” she asked. No longer needing to look at the menu. This was her spot to decompress and people watch. Her order was always the same. She is ,after all, a woman of order and predictability.

“Just plain black coffee, filled only until a fourth of the cup.”

She thought that was an interesting choice of drink and specifications. She’ll have to ask him to explain that later on. She turned to face the cashier, a teenage boy with apparent bags under his eyes. “Hey Adam, one order of plain black coffee filled until a fourth of the cup and my usual, please.” 

“Hey Cleo, sure thing. My mom just baked a fresh tray of croissants, any interest on those?” He asked while ringing up her orders.

She laughed. “Like you’d need to ask, make it two for here and two to go.” 

“You didn’t have to buy me a croissant too, you know,” Spencer stated as they walked to the table by the window with their orders on hand. “The coffee is enough compensation for lending you the book.”

“I want to,” she insisted, sitting in front of each other. “Plus, the croissants here can rival the ones from Paris.” 

“Okay. But why two to go?” He continued to ramble on. “Scientifically speaking, pastries are best eaten after 20 minutes of cooling. They go through a process called starch retrogradation, with moisture from inside the pastry continuing to migrate outward and evaporate, leaving a moist interior and a nice crispy crust.”

“That may be true but those to-go pastries aren’t for me. They’re for my roommate, Raina, and he,” she pointed to Adam. “Is her boyfriend. Where’d you learn that interesting tidbit?” 

“From a pastry cookbook. I was trying to bake myself some pastries for whenever I need a sugar rush.” 

“You know how to bake? That’s charming,” she blushed. This specimen of a teenage boy couldn’t get any more perfect than he already was. “But I have to ask, why the specifics on your coffee order?” 

Spencer proceeded to scoop 7 spoonful of sugar to his coffee, seemingly showing her the answer to her question. 

With an eyebrow raised, she sipped her order—a flat white. That definitely answered her question. That much sugar added to coffee can have bad effects in the future, such as diabetes, when done regularly but she knew Spencer knew that so it was more a taste type of choice, she concluded as she slid the lent book across the table.

“Thank you again for letting me borrow the book,” she said. “It’s not my choice of light reading, per se, but it was a great read still.” 

“Then what would you consider as light reading then?”

She pondered over the question. With the large repertoire of books she has read ever since she was a kid, the inquiry was hard to answer with just one title. “It would depend on what I’m looking for really, definitely fiction, it is a great form of escape after all. If I’d want to stimulate my brain, I’d go for a mystery novel. If it’s for nights when I can’t fall asleep, The Little Prince in it’s original language always does the trick. And if it’s just to pass time, I’d say I gravitate towards contemporary fiction that tackles societal issues.” 

“You read in French?” He asked, clearly intrigued with the workings of her mind. 

“Oui, my family moved to France when I was a little girl due to business and my mother wanted me to learn French from the locals rather than subject me to non-native teachers. Do you also speak French?” It was also her mother who enrolled her to learn Russian, German, Italian and Spanish but she didn’t need to brag more than she already had.

He took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “I can read and understand French, Russian and Spanish but speaking it is a bit difficult. The accent comes off wrong and I’d like to think it’s because I have a lot of things to say so my pronunciation can’t keep up.” 

“I don’t see how that can stop you from speaking the language. If you’d like, we can talk to each other in French for your pronunciation practice,” she suggested. It was a great excuse to not lose connection with him. The boy who tugs at her heartstrings like no other. “Granted I can also communicate in Russian & Spanish but my accent for those two is a bit wonky at best.” 

Staring deeply into her eyes, she felt vulnerable and hoped that he couldn’t hear her heartbeat threatening to jump out of her chest.

“Oui, j’aimerais bien,” he replied. His accent sounding American still but Cleo thought it was cute nonetheless.

“Parfait,” she breathed out, unable to stop her large grin from spreading. 

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

I can’t wait for the good/literate swifties to discover queer history and literature when Taylor lights her dolls house on fire to realise just how good she is at what she does.

Like, you think she’s good now, wait until she leads you into a world of Emily Dickinson, Judy Garland and Shakespeare and you discover the deep double meaning and literary genius in her songs. I can’t wait for a whole bunch of straight people to learn about our culture in persuit of connecting with their favourite pop star, I CANNOT WAIT!

[victusinveritas]

1937 - Frederick Seidel

It’s always about to rain except When it’s already raining, like now. They go from the pub to the cinema through the rain, To the newsreel and the Disney cartoon, With tickets that are half-price

One day a week in the afternoon. It was the Basque city of Guernica last week, Weeping under airplanes dropping bombs. Walt Disney is not Picasso, But his art is gloriously sunny,

But Mickey Mouse has already said The poems of Lorca will never be funny. Disney, the century’s genius, makes amends. Only he can make butterflies And hurricanes make friends.

D. H. Lawrence is a kamikaze Burning up the sky On his way to bite England explosively and die. He has bad English teeth

That are sharp as a shark And a burning brain That sings like a lark. Silkworms eat mulberry leaves to feed Rainer Maria Rilke the silk he needs

To address the angelic orders. Even the enormous angels Dismount from the sublime, dismount From Pegasus, the horse with wings, And instead of wine, sip brine.

The nostrils of the T. S. Eliot crocodile Lurk just above the surface of the river Nile. His periscope is two nostrils that watch like eyes. His snout stays submerged In water bitter as bile.

Kisses of passion grunt like electroshock And cause convulsions and rigor mortis And sexually join together Two hard-shelled hunchbacks, Each shaped like a tortoise.

They’re Eliot, they’re Lawrence, Each honking on and on, on his moral high horse. If Lawrence caught her, Lawrence would slaughter Emily Dickinson, Eliot’s daughter. Some will get sick and some will die But that is not the reason why A small plane Tows an advertisement For a nearby bar and restaurant

Through the sky Above the beach at Gibson Lane. It is the opposite of insane. Everybody knows Pete the pilot. It’s his plane,

Which he crashes without harm now and again. Black marvelous waves, white August, Is the summer song of Gibson Beach. There’s a skywriting plane crossing the sun With a marriage proposal from someone for someone.

[eraserheadbabyfever]

i think everyone has the fantasy that when they die people are going to discover the notes app poetry on their phone and declare them a genius and publish the poems posthumously like emily dickinson

[earlgreytea68]

sorry for this super random and specific ask, but the opening line in thnks fr th mmrs always gets me with the (it sent you to me without wings) part. I've never been able to place it or figure it out in the context of the song. Genius says something about being an it's a wonderful life reference, but I'm not sure I believe that

THAT PART HAS ALWAYS HAUNTED ME WHAT IS UP WITH IT. It's the only part in the whole song that's like that, a lyric kind of in the background that's an original lyric and not an echo or repeat of a main lyric. And it feels like it comes out of nowhere, at the very beginning of the song. And it strikes me as so different in tone from the rest of the song, which is kind of defiant and bitter and swagger-y. This is a song where the lyrics are super-active, not at all passive: I'm going to make it bend and break. I want these words to make things right. It's full of commands: Say a prayer. Let the good times roll. Put your fingers back to the keys. The lyrics are ordering things around all over the place....but this opening parenthetical has a weird passive feel to it: it sent you to me. .....What's the it? Who even is the "you"? What the heck does "without wings" mean? Where does this even come from?????

I've honestly never quite been able to figure it out. It feels like something tacked on from a completely different song but Patrick clearly was attached enough to it to want it in the lyrics. The "without wings" does make me think of angel imagery, especially in connection with the God reference in the next line and Pete does use angel imagery in other places in his lyrics, too. But this is without wings, so this is no angel being sent. So maybe it's just kind of like "I thought you were an angel but you turned out to be a devil"? But that just doesn't seem like what's going on, it's so weirdly specific in that song. But I have no other explanation for it.

The only other thing it makes me think of is the Emily Dickinson poem about hope being a thing with feathers. Feathers isn't referenced in the line, so it would be a VERY oblique reference, but it's not like Pete isn't pretty playful in how he approaches words, so maybe it is about hope falling flat, no wings to find. Or maybe it's just about things crash-landing and being unable to take flight. Or maybe it's an Icarus reference. IT FEELS LIKE IT COULD BE ANYTHING and honestly that's so very Pete Wentz.

also, I'm sorry, whenever anyone mentions Thnks fr th Mmrs we have to remember my favorite moment on Genius:

[redtail-lol]

I hate that most everything on a search result about how Emily Dickinson was probably autistic is about her being so so smart but just a little different. Because I recognized her probable autism from the pain that she expressed. I could relate to it from when I was undiagnosed. Because being autistic and not knowing actually can hurt a fucking lot, especially when you have a need and a symptom that conflict. Dickinson wanted human connection and friendship, I could pick up on the loneliness she was expressing, but she couldn't. Because she couldn't participate in society without masking. She couldn't be herself or be respected and she got overwhelmed by too many people. She's disabled and doesn't know it and has no accommodations so she withdrew and is lonely. Fucking me when I mentally isolated all throughout school.

I hate to assume but I doubt all these articles are written by fellow autistic people. Because when you read her works and you actually have autism, you can see it and you can see the parts of it that aren't a gift. The parts that aren't fun. You don't look at her as a super genius with her super cool autism powers. You look at her like the sad reality of being autistic in a time when the word "autism" didn't exist yet, so you had nothing to help you understand yourself better or accommodate yourself. You see yourself in her, and see the parts of your disability that actually hurt. Not the sanitized parts of being LSN. The "super smart genius individualist girl boss" isn't Emily Dickinson's lived reality. She was a good writer but she was really struggling and I can't understand why allistic people don't see it. I'm the one who's meant to lack empathy here!

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

I literally cannot handle someone English-degree-splaining how I’m not grasping her genius on this album bc NPR said its themes were engaging. Maybe, but the technique was horrid, sophomorish and embarrassing for a ~decedent of Emily Dickinson~. I have a lit degree and some actual music critics confirmed what I heard: lyrics badly in need of an editor layered over slogging, dirge-like production that had almost no delineation. Sorry im mad lol

see im glad someone with a lit/english degree is here and hating on her. the amount of english majors/grads/scholars who LOVE and i mean LOVE taylor swift really…stun me. and npr mustve been paid or blackmailed to say that shit because what themes 😭

swifties have to default into thinking we’re intellectually inferior and just not understanding her work because they cannot fathom we think her writing sucks. and not only that it sucks but its true that it sucks. and they have got to stop disrespecting these white female literary legends by calling taylor their descendants like please stop disrespecting dickinson and woolf as the sapphic queens they are. taylor is suffocatingly straight.

“lyrics badly in need of an editor layered over slogging, dirge-like production that had almost no delineation.” chefs kiss anon this is going in my quotes list its the perfect description of why it sucks so bad from an artist standpoint because it really, really does.

[alexandhispen]

Me, at night , crouching in the dark, clutching my silly stories like a priest clutches his bible: I am a genius I am a god of words I am Shakespeare come again I am Edgar Allan Poe’s son and I am Emily Dickinson’s daughter I come from the stars with my bright and glorious wisdom, my humor has been sharpened like a blade, and the pen becomes my heart let the ink be my blood and I shall cut myself open to stain these pages with that which comes from within

Me, in the morning: why did I spell chess as cheese

[ts1989fanatic]

A world expert on William Shakespeare has compared Taylor Swift to some of history’s greatest writers – including the Bard himself – and said she is a “real poet”.

Scholar Sir Jonathan Bate, a former Shakespeare professor at Warwick University, said he believed the popstar is more than “just high-class showbiz” and has a “literary sensibility” that was apparent from her debut album.

In a piece for The Sunday Times Magazine titled Why Taylor Swift is a literary giant, he wrote that he had “one of the best nights of [his] life” at one of Swift’s concerts.

“Listening to her lyrics, which most of the rapturous (mainly female) audience seemed to know by heart, I came away with confirmation of a thought I first had 15 years ago: this isn’t just high-class showbiz, Taylor Swift is a real poet,” he said.

Sir Jonathan analysed how the singer has been inspired by the great English playwright but had succeeded in “rewriting his darker moments” to make them “more palatable”, including in her song Love Story.

He said he first spotted references to Shakespeare in that track, on which she sings: “You were Romeo, you were throwin’ pebbles/ And my daddy said, ‘Stay away from Juliet’.”

The academic called the hit an “almost perfect pop song, with its catchy hook, driving rhythm and ingenious use of banjo and mandolin”.

He said he bought Swift’s debut album Fearless the second he heard that song and used it to show his students at Warwick University how Shakespeare has been changed and adapted over the years. “That balcony, for example,” he wrote. “Try to find it in the original text. There is no balcony, only, ‘But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?/ It is the east and Juliet is the sun.’

“The balcony was introduced in the 18th century, most famously in a Drury Lane stage production by David Garrick.”

He also noted instances where Swift has alluded to or referenced Ernest Hemingway, Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson.

Sir Jonathan signed off the piece with the words: “The enduring advocacy of the distinguished critic Professor Sir Christopher Ricks eventually won Bob Dylan the Nobel Prize in Literature. I’m not sure I would yet go that far for Taylor Swift, but watch this space.”

Having sold more than 200 million records globally, Swift is one of the bestselling musicians in history. She is the most streamed woman on Spotify and the only act to have five albums with more than 1 million copies sold in the US.

ts1989fanatic

Now tell us something we didn’t know, every swiftie has known Taylor Swift is and always has been a lyrical genius.