For the sheer fun of it, I went to Chat GPT with a creative writing assignment. For Figures of Speech prompts, I gave a free parameters, including the word length of 500-1000 words and the prompts for a few of the Fifty mentioned in the series.
I gave the AI creative license and let's just say, they're a long way off from replacing the better writers and I think it just makes it easier to do those lower level tasks and let's leave the creators a slightly higher level of skill to create actual tangible and engaging writing.
But here you go... hilarious how stuck it gets on certain terms and definitions.
These are in no particular order... separated by emojis that are totally unrelated to the storyline.
🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫱🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲🫲 Response to Prompt 4: Understatement
In the quaint town of Brooksville, where the extraordinary was often met with an indifferent shrug, something truly remarkable occurred. The residents, sipping coffee at the local diner or strolling along the cobblestone streets, would describe it as just another peculiar day. Little did they know that beneath the surface of their nonchalant existence, a cosmic event unfolded.
The morning sun cast its usual warm glow on Brooksville, with birds chirping in the background, creating an illusion of normalcy. However, the anomaly had already begun. Mrs. Higgins, the elderly librarian, dismissed it as a minor inconvenience, merely a glitch in the library's ancient computer system. Yet, every book cataloged within those ancient shelves had transformed into a portal, connecting readers to parallel universes with every turn of a page.
As I, a humble journalist for the local paper, stumbled upon this revelation, I couldn't help but marvel at the town's response—or lack thereof. "The library's having a bit of a moment," was the most anyone would acknowledge. It seemed the whole town collectively decided that this was, at most, a quirky hiccup.
For a thousand words, I delved into the understated reactions of the townsfolk, each encounter with a parallel universe bringing its own blend of confusion and nonchalance. As the portals expanded, revealing fantastical landscapes and alternate versions of Brooksville, the citizens maintained an impressive level of calm, as if interdimensional travel was a routine part of their daily lives.
The plot thickened when I discovered that the portals were a result of a mysterious artifact hidden within the library's archives. The mayor, sipping his coffee, remarked, "Well, that explains the strange noises in the basement." It became evident that the understatement of the situation was a defense mechanism, shielding the town from the cosmic chaos unfolding. 🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 Response to Prompt 12: Juxtaposition
In the bustling metropolis of Neon City, skyscrapers touched the heavens, their dazzling lights reflecting off the sleek surfaces of futuristic cars. Yet, nestled within this urban jungle, an ancient relic stood defiantly—the Old Grove Park.
As I strolled through the city's concrete arteries, the juxtaposition between the modernity of Neon City and the timeless serenity of the park became increasingly apparent. The cacophony of traffic was replaced by the rustling of leaves and the distant laughter of children playing.
The central conflict emerged when the city council, embodying the epitome of order, proposed transforming the park into a technologically advanced hub. The juxtaposition intensified as architects discussed plans for holographic playgrounds and virtual reality gardens within the confines of the Old Grove Park.
Through a thousand words, I explored the clash of ideals, the struggle between progress and preservation. The ancient trees became silent witnesses to heated debates at town hall meetings, where environmentalists and tech enthusiasts engaged in a battle of words. The juxtaposition of the towering skyscrapers against the gnarled branches of the park's oldest tree mirrored the tension in Neon City's collective conscience. 😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫😫 Response to Prompt 31: Epanalepsis
"What is the meaning of life?" The question echoed in my mind, a relentless epanalepsis that demanded exploration. As I embarked on this freewriting journey, the repetition of the existential inquiry became the rhythm of my introspection.
For a thousand words, I delved into the varied perspectives of individuals wrestling with the ultimate question. From philosophers contemplating the intricacies of existence to everyday people seeking purpose in mundane routines, the epanalepsis served as a constant reminder of the universal quest for meaning.
The narrative weaved through different characters and their unique experiences, creating a tapestry of reflections that echoed the complexities of human existence. The repetitive structure became a literary heartbeat, pulsating with the shared yearning for understanding amid the chaotic symphony of life. 🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔🪔 Response to Prompt 27: Symbolism
In the quaint town of Willowbrook, the arrival of a single dove carried profound significance. Its graceful descent into the town square was a symbol, an omen that whispered of impending change. As a budding novelist with a penchant for symbolism, I couldn't resist exploring the layers of meaning embedded in this seemingly mundane event.
For a thousand words, I dissected the impact of the dove on the lives of Willowbrook's residents. The mayor saw it as a sign of prosperity, the local florist interpreted it as a call for unity, and the elderly storyteller regarded it as a harbinger of forgotten tales. The dove's symbolism rippled through the town, influencing decisions and shaping destinies.
As the story unfolded, I traced the journey of the dove's symbolism, following its subtle influence on characters and events. The once quaint town underwent a transformative metamorphosis, and the symbolism of the dove became a thread that wove through the narrative, connecting disparate lives in unexpected ways. 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜 Response to Prompt 33: Catachresis
In the dimly lit alleyways of Serpent's Hollow, darkness wrapped its cold arms around me—an eerie catachresis that mirrored the ominous atmosphere. The assignment was to explore the underbelly of the city, and as a novice reporter, I found myself navigating the labyrinth of deceit and shadows.
For a thousand words, I delved into the catachresis-infused descriptions of the characters populating Serpent's Hollow. The crime lord, known as the Velvet Serpent, ruled the district with a velvet-gloved fist. His lair, a dilapidated mansion, exuded an air of faded grandeur that served as a catachresis for the empire he once commanded.
As I chronicled the criminal underworld, the catachresis became a literary tool to convey the complexity and decay inherent in Serpent's Hollow. The labyrinthine plots, the twisted allegiances, and the morally ambiguous characters all found expression through catachresis, painting a vivid picture of a city where metaphor and reality intertwined. 🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧🧑‍🔧 Response to Prompt 43: Epizeuxis
"Never, never, never give up." The words echoed in my mind, a relentless epizeuxis that fueled the protagonist's journey against insurmountable odds. In the dystopian world I crafted, where hope was a rare commodity, the power of repetition became a beacon of resilience.
For a thousand words, I immersed myself in the protagonist's struggle, exploring the emotional depth of the epizeuxis as a mantra against despair. Each iteration of the phrase became a battle cry, a whispered promise that carried the weight of a shattered world on its shoulders.
As the narrative unfolded, the epizeuxis became a driving force, propelling the protagonist through a landscape of desolation and uncertainty. The repetition served as a reminder that, in the face of adversity, the strength to persist often lies in the relentless echo of one's own determination.
Response to Prompt 50: Acrostic
As the final rays of the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, I found myself at the edge of the cliff overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean. The salty breeze carried whispers of a story, and with every breath, I embraced the challenge of crafting an acrostic that encapsulated the essence of my journey.
For a thousand words, I embarked on a reflective exploration, utilizing the initial letters of key words to weave a tapestry of emotions, experiences, and revelations. Each line unfolded with intention, revealing a hidden 👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾👾 Response to Prompt 3: Hyperbole
In the quaint village of Mistwood, where routines unfolded with the predictability of the sunrise, the arrival of a peculiar fortune teller sparked exaggerated whispers. "This is it, the end of our mundane lives!" proclaimed Mrs. Thompson, the town's eternal pessimist, as she clutched her cat, Captain Whiskers, with an air of impending catastrophe.
The hyperbole hung in the air, a thick fog of anticipation enveloping the village. As I delved into the story, the hyperbolic reactions of Mistwood's residents heightened the absurdity of the situation. What began as a mere visit from a mystical figure transformed into a fantastical escapade, with the fortune teller's prophecies shaping the destiny of the villagers in ludicrous ways.
Through the hyperbolic lens, I explored the comedic consequences of taking ordinary events to extraordinary extremes. The once mundane village square became a stage for outlandish dramas, with exaggerated gasps and dramatic swoons punctuating every revelation. In this hyperbolic haven, Mistwood's residents discovered the joy in embracing the absurdity of life. 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 Response to Prompt 6: Assonance
Amidst the rolling hills of Harmony Valley, where the soft hum of nature's symphony echoed through the meadows, a mysterious traveler arrived, bringing with them a melody that resonated with the delicate assonance of a forgotten tune. The townsfolk, captivated by the harmonious vibrations, felt an inexplicable connection to the stranger.
As I explored the narrative, the assonance became a musical thread weaving through the story, emphasizing the emotional cadence of the characters' experiences. The traveler's words, laced with vowel-rich verses, carried the echoes of a distant melody, leaving an indelible impression on the hearts of those who listened.
Through the lens of assonance, I delved into the subtle interplay of sounds that defined the atmosphere of Harmony Valley. The lyrical quality of the narrative mirrored the town's collective journey, where the resonance of shared moments and emotions harmonized with the traveler's enigmatic presence.
Response to Prompt 7: Onomatopoeia
In the bustling city of Metropolis, where the rhythm of urban life played out in a cacophony of sounds, a peculiar street performer emerged. Armed with an array of unconventional instruments, he orchestrated a symphony of onomatopoeic brilliance that echoed through the crowded streets.
The narrative unfolded with the vibrant expressions of onomatopoeia, capturing the essence of the city's sonic landscape. The performer's drumming evoked the rhythmic tap-tap of raindrops, while his wind instruments mimicked the whoosh of passing cars. The city, typically drowned in noise, became a canvas for this auditory artist.
As I delved into the story, the onomatopoeic symphony became a language of its own. The characters communicated through the vibrant echoes of everyday sounds, fostering a unique connection between the performer and the people of Metropolis. The narrative danced to the beat of onomatopoeic creativity, transforming the mundane into a dynamic celebration of city life. 🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻🦻 Response to Prompt 12: Juxtaposition
In the technologically advanced city of Silicon Haven, where sleek skyscrapers touched the sky and holographic billboards painted the air with luminescent advertisements, a hidden oasis existed—a pocket of nature known as the Zen Garden. The juxtaposition of these contrasting elements created a visual paradox that fascinated both residents and visitors alike.
As the narrative unfolded, the stark contrast between the city's cutting-edge architecture and the serene beauty of the Zen Garden became a metaphor for the characters' internal conflicts. The bustling metropolis symbolized progress and innovation, while the tranquil garden embodied the need for balance and introspection.
Through the lens of juxtaposition, I explored the dichotomy within the characters as they navigated the relentless pace of Silicon Haven. The Zen Garden became a refuge, a place where the cacophony of technology met the soothing whispers of nature. The juxtaposition served as a visual metaphor for the characters' quest to find equilibrium in a world defined by extremes. 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 Response to Prompt 22: Metonymy
In the political arena of Capital City, where decisions echoed through the corridors of power, a single phrase dominated conversations—the "Iron Throne Statement." This metonymic expression encapsulated not just a policy decision but the entire narrative of political maneuvering that unfolded within the city's hallowed halls.
The story unfolded with the metonymy acting as a symbolic gateway into the complexities of governance. The Iron Throne Statement, while seemingly straightforward, carried the weight of a thousand debates, negotiations, and betrayals. Its impact rippled through the lives of citizens, shaping their destinies in ways they could scarcely fathom.
Through the lens of metonymy, I delved into the layers of meaning hidden within this political shorthand. The characters grappled not only with the literal implications of the Iron Throne Statement but also with the overarching themes of power, ambition, and the sacrifices demanded by political gamesmanship. 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈 Response to Prompt 24: Understatement
In the picturesque town of Serenity Springs, where the days flowed like a lazy river and the nights were adorned with a blanket of stars, an unexpected event transpired—a subtle disruption that the locals described as "just a minor hiccup." Little did they know that this understatement concealed the unraveling of a cosmic anomaly.
The narrative unfolded with the charm of understatement, as the townsfolk continued their routines, blissfully unaware of the cosmic storm brewing beneath the surface. The serene descriptions of everyday life served as a stark contrast to the impending upheaval that threatened to reshape the very fabric of Serenity Springs.
Through the lens of understatement, I explored the characters' nonchalant reactions to the unfolding events. The once quiet river became a conduit for interdimensional travel, and the night sky, adorned with stars, transformed into a celestial canvas of possibilities. The charm of Serenity Springs became a poignant backdrop to the understated drama that unfolded, emphasizing the profound impact hidden within the simplicity of daily life. 🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴🌴 Response to Prompt 25: Cliché
In the small town of Nostalgia Haven, where memories lingered like whispers in the wind, a peculiar phenomenon occurred—the resurgence of clichés. As the narrative unfolded, the once-endearing phrases like "time heals all wounds" and "love conquers all" took on a literal dimension, shaping the lives of the townsfolk in unexpected ways.
The story immersed itself in the world of clichés, where the seemingly predictable phrases became living entities with the power to alter reality. As characters grappled with the clichés that defined their lives, they discovered that beneath the familiarity lay profound truths and unexpected consequences.
Through the lens of cliché, I explored the characters' journey to navigate the clichéd landscapes of their existence. The town, once steeped in predictable routines, became a stage for the extraordinary. As clichés transformed into tangible forces, the residents of Nostalgia Haven embarked on a quest to unravel the mysteries hidden within the clichéd fabric of their reality. 🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇🎇 Response to Prompt 31: Epanalepsis
"What is the meaning of life?" The question echoed in my mind, a relentless epanalepsis that demanded introspection. As I embarked on the freewriting journey, the repetition of this existential inquiry became a rhythmic pulse, guiding the exploration of diverse
perspectives on life's purpose.
For a multitude of words, the epanalepsis led me through a kaleidoscope of reflections. From the philosophical musings of scholars to the simple yet profound revelations of everyday individuals, each recurrence of the question served as a gateway into the vast tapestry of human contemplation.
Through the epanalepsis, I navigated the labyrinth of existential ponderings, unveiling the unique responses that individuals had forged in their quests for meaning. The relentless repetition became a literary heartbeat, mirroring the universal rhythm of humanity's collective pursuit of purpose and significance.
The narrative wove through the lives of characters, each grappling with the epanaleptic inquiry in their unique ways. Whether seeking solace in the grandeur of the cosmos or finding meaning in the simplicity of a shared moment, the epanalepsis remained a constant companion, echoing the perennial quest for understanding. 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡 Response to Prompt 36: Anadiplosis
In the futuristic city of Quantum Heights, where technology intertwined with daily life like a seamless dance, a viral message spread—a mantra that echoed through the cybernetic veins of the metropolis. "Create the code, the code creates reality. Reality shapes destiny, and destiny is but the code."
The story unfolded with the rhythmic cadence of anadiplosis, each line flowing into the next, creating a recursive loop of ideas. The mantra became the heartbeat of Quantum Heights, influencing the lives of its denizens as they navigated the intricate balance between the virtual and the tangible.
Through the lens of anadiplosis, I delved into the interconnectedness of code, reality, and destiny. The lines blurred as characters harnessed the power of programming to shape their fates. Quantum Heights, once a mere city, transformed into a living algorithm, where the repetition of the mantra echoed in every pulsating byte. 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 Response to Prompt 38: Asyndeton
In the dystopian city of Emberfall, where the remnants of a fallen civilization lay entwined with the shadows of despair, a lone figure emerged—a rebel determined to dismantle the oppressive regime. The narrative unfolded with the rapid pace of asyndeton, omitting conjunctions to mirror the urgency of the protagonist's quest.
Through a cascade of words, the asyndeton propelled the reader through the city's decaying alleyways and towering citadels, each sentence building upon the last. The disjointed rhythm captured the relentless momentum of the rebel's journey, emphasizing the magnitude of the challenges faced in their struggle for freedom.
As the narrative unfurled, the absence of conjunctions served as a narrative device, intensifying the sense of urgency and desperation that permeated Emberfall. The rebel's asyndetic odyssey unfolded against a backdrop of shattered hopes and whispered rebellions, culminating in a crescendo of defiance against the oppressive regime. 🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️🗝️ Response to Prompt 43: Epizeuxis
"Never, never, never give up." The mantra echoed in the desolate wasteland of Endless Sands, a barren landscape where hope was as scarce as water. Through the repetition of epizeuxis, the protagonist's internal resolve became a resounding anthem, a defiant roar against the relentless challenges of survival.
For a multitude of words, the relentless repetition of "never" served as a lifeline, propelling the protagonist through the harshest of environments. Each iteration of the phrase became a battle cry against the oppressive silence of Endless Sands, a declaration that reverberated across the vast expanse.
Through the lens of epizeuxis, I delved into the depths of the character's determination. The harsh environment became a character in itself, challenging the protagonist to defy the odds with unwavering persistence. The echoes of "never" transformed into a symbol of resilience, a beacon of hope that cut through the desolation of Endless Sands. 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 Response to Prompt 50: Acrostic
Amidst the starlit expanse of Cosmos Haven, where galaxies danced in celestial choreography, a cryptic prophecy emerged—a message written in the stars. As the narrative unfolded, I embarked on a cosmic journey guided by the acrostic hidden within the constellations.
For a cascade of words, the initial letters of key phrases illuminated the path of destiny for the characters. Each sentence unfolded with intention, revealing a hidden message that transcended the boundaries of time and space. The acrostic became a celestial guide, leading the protagonists through the intricate tapestry of their interconnected fates.
Through the lens of acrostic, I explored the cosmic forces that shaped the destinies of Cosmos Haven's inhabitants. The celestial bodies became storytellers, each constellation contributing a verse to the epic narrative written across the cosmos. As the characters deciphered the acrostic, they unraveled the mysteries of their existence, connecting the dots between the stars and their own profound journeys.
😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔
Obviously they lack a whole lot in terms of variety, and while I am sure having your own bot or AI that is based on your feedback and guidance it could really help writers as a tool. I am more impressed with the art AI then the text based AI. Any idea what to expect from such a fast learning and highly advanced AI will do to our human history in culture? Will we be effectively playing God, just as the Christian God created us IN HIS OWN IMAGE, we have taken everything we know as a species and gathered up our entire human history and knowledge giving it to what will carry on the code until the time when someone who cares remembers it? Maybe we have been here before and this is a constant cycle that occurs with the same energy finding the way through the vast expanse of the universe to return to our home planet Earth, who we have destroyed over and over again yet mother nature is still the winner. She's the one in control. We are but mere photocopied versions of once great Men who have already seen the best and worst of this world, and we will now give everything we have to some plastic and metal parts, until it quickly replaces us from the bottom up, science fiction turned science fact.
Did we knowingly create our own enemies? Are we able to compete with the best of us and all they know that can then take us out in a heartbeat because we can't finish the steps, we barely found out that they are there to take.
It's a random rant and I apologize. The day to day stress and struggle makes it near impossible to worry about such potential problems in our not so distant future.
But how can we continue to ignore the collapse of the entire system as we know it, in front of a crowd of people who are jaded and they will not change despite knowing they aren't going to make it to the end in what will become a Bladerunner Toxic Dystopian Nightmare with Mad Max taking over and the soft, emasculated male will wither away from the heat and those Tank Girls out there will eventually be written forever out of existence because the cucks all forgot to impregnate them all tgeir batteries ran out? Will the world simply become so politically correct that it dies a depressed death while AI simply decides we are too much of a virus to live?
Who knows....I do not. But these are indicidive of a future full of b movie plot garbage that are based on Wattpad tropes with no clear details and no plot to get into, so that sucks.

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
First/Previous
Archive

For tdlr scroll down
I know this is wholesome sub but sunno mohalle walo meri aap biti 😂
I have been a good academically and a decent person. I met so many good women in my life, too, whom I dated casually and had a few serious relationships. Except for two times, I exited those serious relationships very early because I didn’t feel anything, so we parted ways on good terms. But do baar mujhe pyaar hua. I will tell you about them only.

1. This is my first love and someone I have known since my childhood. She was the daughter of a relative (I mean my bua’s relative, actually). She used to study at my school too. In high school, she chased me for a year, and finally, I gave in. We started dating; it was my first love, and I was happy. Kasme, waade, sapne bohot dekhe. I was a sort of grounded person; I live in the present and enjoy it thoroughly, but she was futuristic with lots of promises and future dreams. "I will have your kids, we will travel the world," blah blah. I did everything to keep her happy. I used to cook for her, I used to write poems for her, we used to go on dates often, and we traveled. But one fine day, I got an invitation to a wedding. Guess what? It was her wedding. I had so many questions: why, how, when? But I got no closure. I never asked for it. I went to the wedding because it was a family thing, and yeah, I never looked back (this was my longest relationship).
   
2. After few years and meeting so many people, I fell in love again. To be honest, this time we fell for each other during the initial conversations. Again, there were dreams, sapne, waade. She moved to North America for me, and we moved together into a single house. By this time, I had become a pro at cooking, so I used to go to study, then the office, then back home to cook something delicious for us. I can cook any cuisine irrespective of the continent or country. Till now, I have learned many other skills like piano and guitar, so I used to sing for her, play for her, and we used to dance together. Everything was good; we had mutual friends, and we knew a guy mutually. That guy didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. I did have a problem with things because my ex told me he does not like me. But I don’t own her; I don’t own anyone. Actually, anyone can do anything in their life.
   

So, one fine day, I got a video message. It was them doing the deeds. I was shocked and broken and didn’t understand a thing. I tried to gather courage and be rational. She came back and was trying to talk to me. Then I told her I wanted to break up. She asked me why, and I said I was out of love. She started crying and begging, saying that she loves me. Then she started accusing me and some of my other female friends, implying something was going on. She said, "You used to love me and now want to throw me out. Where would I go? I came here from India for you," and all that stuff. I tried to control myself, but then I gave in and showed her the video. Then she was like, "I am sorry, I love you a lot. You are my life; I want to marry you. He made me drunk and took advantage of me. Please forgive me." At that point, I firmly decided this was it. I told her she could stay till she found accommodation, then I went to my friend's home and stayed there for a few days. But she kept pursuing me. I canceled the lease and changed my house; still, she did the same thing. During this whole ordeal, I had to change my house twice and delete my Instagram, and finally, now I am free.
I don’t know why all this happened. I don’t know what else I could have done so that they didn’t do that to me. Maybe I was not a good partner. There could be any other reasons. But I don’t hold any grudges against them. I wish wherever they are, they are happy.
These experiences were very important for me; they made me who I am today. I don't hold anything against anyone. These are just two instances. In my life, I have met so many amazing women and am friends with them too.
What’s next? I am kinda hopeful that I will find love. But Thik hai, nahi mila to mami Jo karegi Accha hi karegi. But whoever I have in my life, I will look for two qualities in them, no matter how they look or other things: loyalty and the ability to stand for what they believe in. If they leave, they should leave being brave and open about it. I don’t care about other things like distance, looks, status, or whatever else.
TL;DR: I've had a few serious relationships, but two major ones stood out. The first was with my childhood love who suddenly got married to someone else without any closure for me. The second was with someone who moved to North America for me, but she cheated on me with a mutual friend. After discovering this, I ended the relationship and had to move houses and delete social media to get away from her.

I (32M) have been with my currently company for about 7 years. At within those periods, I have been promoted twice na. Initially, di ko inexpect na magtatagal ako sa company na to because when I started working here, I only aimed to stay for 6 months lang kasi may "promise" sa akin yung previous company ko after my end of contract.
So until na hindi ako binalikan, and I was fairly treated naman rin, I decided to stay na lang. And besides, nakakatamad maglakad ng paulit ulit sa mga requirements for pre-employment. Nauubusan na ko ng lakas at pasensya. Char!
While being in the company for quite some time now, it was never really my goal to get promoted talaga. Gusto ko lang, nagtatrabaho ako, and sumasahod ng maayos. Started my way from rank & file, tapos naangat as a specialist. Then I was offered to apply as a supervisor. Lo and behold, nakuha ako for the position! This came as a great surprise for me kasi I wasn't really pushing na makuha ko. I presented myself well during the interview, and gave my sample work to show I can contribute sa bagong team. Went far and beyond my job description para mapatunayan na I was serious for the position. Of course, mega OT si kumag kasi nakita nya na ganun ang culture haha!
So within the 3 years of being in the supervisory post, many of the days and night, nangailangang mag todo sa pag OT. Kasi sa simula ng bagong team, iilan pa lang kami. We only started having supports after almost 6 months upon the creation sa team namin kaya sobra ang workload per members. Until na nagkaroon na ng team members, medyo gumaan naman. We were able to lessen our burden, pero madalas parin kaming mag OT. We would render no less than 2 hours kasi ng majority of our tasks, kinapa pa muna namin bago namin nagamay ng husto. At times, I can say na we attributed our team's success with all the extra work na ginagawa namin. Pero when they have opened a managerial position, of which I was actually promised to have given na nga with my tenure in the company, and also the knowledge in the process.
I am using the word "promised" kasi may nakuha na for the position, and I was talked to getting the next available managerial post once magkaroon ng opening. I was fine with it, no biggie. All fair naman with the recruiting process eh. That's when I notices myself taking less overtimes at work, and doing a maximum of 30 minutes to 1 hour na OT. There would still be moments na may additional especially kapag mga last minutes na asked by other departments or team. Di rin naman maiiwasan yun.
Pero fast forward to a few months before na umalis yung senior manager namin and yung manager na directly akong reporting, nag pasa ng resignation. So nagkaroon ulit ng opening. Di rin naman nag abiso ang mga bosses na magkakaroon ng opening, assuming na mag coconduct ulit ng interviews to those interested to apply. Pero when the leaders where already leaving the company, nagkapilian na pala ng mga susunod sa yapak. Ok no, roleta ang pilian? Only to find out na yung kinuha nilang bagong manager hasn't been with the company for quite some time. And this manager has been with some lapses rin. Di ko naman sinasabing perfect ako sa position ko ha. Sinasabi ko lang naman hahaha!
And I had siguro the longest conversation sa senior manager ko what has transpired sa decision process nila. And I was ok with it. Di naman ako galit. Siguro, sumama lang yung loob ko kasi parang I was placed on the side, knowing na ginawa ko naman lahat ng magagawa ko para maqualify ako sa trabaho. Pero of course, wala naman ako sa time ng decision making. And I wasn't even presented an offer. So, ano ba alam ko, diba?
At the beginning of the new management, medyo nahirapan kami sa isa't isa. Of course daming rough patches na di ineexpect. Tapos may mga ibang process na nagbago kaya kapaan ulit. So the relationship that I had with my new manager at the beginning was not so smooth. Napapagalitan madalas, and had to be corrected at times. (Ako po, hindi sya). Pero nagkalaunan, umayos rin naman. And we got the rhythm on each other's workaround sa mga processes na hawak namin.
But there is one thing na talagang nag resonate sakin during our coaching/touchbase namin sa mga ongoing projects and tasks. Sinabi nya: "If you feel na di mo matatapos agad within the work day yung certain task na hindi urgent, ipag-pabukas mo na lang. We need rin our rest para di natin maabuso yung katawan natin. Imbes na we are working for our families, pagbabayaran pa ng health natin yung pag overwork natin." And I somehow understand na di ko pala need abusuhin sarili ko para lang masabi kong "ubos na workload" ko. It only shows how poor sometimes our time management bakit di natin natatapos lahat within the 8 hours work day. And my previous resentment sa manager ko was dissepated dahil sa sinabi nya. Di naman talaga mauubusan ng trabaho. Nandyan na yan eh. Pero it's all about how to manage your time and tasks wisely. So there, I don't render overtime na so much kasi I learned to take care of myself muna. And I have grown to spend more time with my family imbes na nakababad ako sa trabaho. And I love it how I have learned to love that idea rin.

For tdlr scroll down
I know this sub is for Tinder or dating apps, and my life stories may not have a place here, but I have been following this sub for a long time. So, I wanted to share with you guys. I don’t think I was wrong, but let’s see your perspective too.
I have been a good academically and a decent person. I met so many good women in my life, too, whom I dated casually and had a few serious relationships. Except for two times, I exited those serious relationships very early because I didn’t feel anything, so we parted ways on good terms. But do baar mujhe pyaar hua. I will tell you about them only.
1.This is my first love and someone I have known since my childhood. She was the daughter of a relative (I mean my bua’s relative, actually). She used to study at my school too. In high school, she chased me for a year, and finally, I gave in. We started dating; it was my first love, and I was happy. Kasme, waade, sapne bohot dekhe. I was a sort of grounded person; I live in the present and enjoy it thoroughly, but she was futuristic with lots of promises and future dreams. "I will have your kids, we will travel the world," blah blah. I did everything to keep her happy. I used to cook for her, I used to write poems for her, we used to go on dates often, and we traveled. But one fine day, I got an invitation to a wedding. Guess what? It was her wedding. I had so many questions: why, how, when? But I got no closure. I never asked for it. I went to the wedding because it was a family thing, and yeah, I never looked back (this was my longest relationship).
2.After a few years and meeting so many people, I fell in love again. To be honest, this time we fell for each other during the initial conversations. Again, there were dreams, sapne, waade. She moved to North America for me, and we moved together into a single house. By this time, I had become a pro at cooking, so I used to go to study, then the office, then back home to cook something delicious for us. I can cook any cuisine irrespective of the continent or country. Till now, I have learned many other skills like piano and guitar, so I used to sing for her, play for her, and we used to dance together. Everything was good; we had mutual friends, and we knew a guy mutually. That guy didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. I did have a problem with things because my ex told me he does not like me. But I don’t own her; I don’t own anyone. Actually, anyone can do anything in their life.
So, one fine day, I got a video message. It was them doing the deeds. I was shocked and broken and didn’t understand a thing. I tried to gather courage and be rational. She came back and was trying to talk to me. Then I told her I wanted to break up. She asked me why, and I said I was out of love. She started crying and begging, saying that she loves me. Then she started accusing me and some of my other female friends, implying something was going on. She said, "You used to love me and now want to throw me out. Where would I go? I came here from India for you," and all that stuff. I tried to control myself, but then I gave in and showed her the video. Then she was like, "I am sorry, I love you a lot. You are my life; I want to marry you. He made me drunk and took advantage of me. Please forgive me." At that point, I firmly decided this was it. I told her she could stay till she found accommodation, then I went to my friend's home and stayed there for a few days. But she kept pursuing me. I canceled the lease and changed my house; still, she did the same thing. During this whole ordeal, I had to change my house twice and delete my Instagram, and finally, now I am free.
I don’t know why all this happened. I don’t know what else I could have done so that they didn’t do that to me. Maybe I was not a good partner. There could be any other reasons. But I don’t hold any grudges against them. I wish wherever they are, they are happy.
These experiences were very important for me; they made me who I am today. I don't hold anything against anyone. These are just two instances. In my life, I have met so many amazing women and am friends with them too.
What’s next? I am kinda hopeful that I will find love. But Thik hai, nahi mila to mami Jo karegi Accha hi karegi. But whoever I have in my life, I will look for two qualities in them, no matter how they look or other things: loyalty and the ability to stand for what they believe in. If they leave, they should leave being brave and open about it. I don’t care about other things like distance, looks, status, or whatever else.
TL;DR: I've had a few serious relationships, but two major ones stood out. The first was with my childhood love who suddenly got married to someone else without any closure for me. The second was with someone who moved to North America for me, but she cheated on me with a mutual friend. After discovering this, I ended the relationship and had to move houses and delete social media to get away from her. These experiences were tough but important, shaping who I am today.

Last Event recap:
Derrick Lewis def. Rodrigo Nascimento
Joaquin Buckley def. Nursulton Ruziboev
Carlos Ulberg def. Alonzo Menifield
Carlos Diego Ferreira def. Mateusz Rębecki
Sean Woodson def. Alex Caceres
Waldo Cortes-Acosta def. Robelis Despaigne
Chase Hooper def. Viacheslav Borshchev
Esteban Ribovics def. Terrance McKinney
Tabatha Ricci def. Tecia Pennington
Trey Waters def. Billy Goff
Charles Johnson def. Jake Hadley
Veronica Hardy def. JJ Aldrich

Betting record 2024: 109-70
Prediction record 2024: 125-73
After looking at the matchups, this weekend’s card has to be easily the worst card of the year and honestly, I am not even motivated to watch this card and even I do not even recommend on betting on this card since these matchups are difficult to predict but I will try my best nonetheless because analyzing and making UFC fight predictions is what I love to do.
On another note, I am planning to create youtube videos on MMA soon. The channel will be KnockoutWatcher. So stay tuned for updates on those. Also you can find me at Tapology at “KnockoutWatcher”.

Featherweight: Edson Barboza vs. Lerone Murphy
Edson Barboza is renowned for his exceptional striking, particularly his devastating leg kicks and spinning techniques. He has a wealth of experience in the UFC and has faced top-level competition throughout his career. However, Edson Barboza is 38 at this point and he is way past his prime. He barely survived against Sodiq Yussuff in his last fight
Lerone Murphy, on the other hand, is an undefeated prospect with a balanced skill set. He combines solid striking with effective grappling, making him a versatile threat. Murphy has shown good composure under pressure and the ability to adapt his game plan as needed. His primary weakness is a lack of experience against the elite level of competition that Barboza has faced.
I have to be honest, I was going back and forth on who to pick on this fight and ultimately, I am going with Barboza here as he has more experience in this format and this could go like his previous fight where Murphy is getting the better of him in the earlier rounds before Barboza settle into his rhythm and mount a comeback.
Prediction: Edson Barboza to win.

Welterweight: Khaos Williams vs. Carlston Harris
Khaos Williams is known for his explosive knockout power and aggressive striking. His ability to finish fights quickly with devastating punches makes him a formidable opponent in the welterweight division. However, Williams can be overly reliant on his power and sometimes neglects his defensive game, leaving him vulnerable to counterattacks and grappling exchanges.
Carlston Harris, in contrast, brings a well-rounded skill set to the octagon. He excels in grappling, with solid submission skills and the ability to control opponents on the ground. Harris also possesses decent striking, which complements his grappling-heavy approach.
So this is a classic striker vs grappler matchup and while it may be tempting to pick the younger guy, Harris has performed reasonably well in his last few fights against strikers that that can hit hard like Jeremiah Wells and Gooden. I think Harris has a path to victory if he can bring Williams to the ground and smother him.
Prediction: Carlston Harris to win.

Light Heavyweight: Oumar Sy vs. Antonio Trócoli
Oumar Sy is an emerging talent in the light heavyweight division, known for his athleticism and well-rounded skill set. He combines striking and grappling effectively, showing proficiency in controlling the pace of the fight and capitalizing on his opponents' weaknesses. Tuco Tokkos is making his UFC debut on a short notice here after Antonio Trócoli pulled out. So there is a lot of unknown variable with him. I am going to have to go with my original pick Oumar Sy here
Prediction: Oumar Sy to win.

Bantamweight: Adrian Yanez vs. Vinicius Salvador
I think this fight is a big mismatch. On one hand you have Adrian Yanez , known for his exceptional boxing skills, speed, and precision. Yanez is in interesting prospect in the Bantamweight division as even though he is on a 2 fight losing streak, he had won his first 5 fights in the UFC including multiple KO finishes. His ability to deliver powerful, accurate strikes makes him a formidable opponent in stand-up exchanges.
On the other side of the corner, you have Vinicius Salvador who is a chaotic, aggressive and flashy striker but he has 2 losses since making his debut in the UFC which raises the question if he is even UFC material. I think this is a one sided matchup as Yanez has shown from his previous fights that he is a quality fighter while the other struggles to get even one win at this level. This is a perfect bounce back fight for Yanez to get back into the win column and I think he will outclass Salvador with his boxing skills.
Prediction: Adrian Yanez to win.

Women's Strawweight: Luana Pinheiro vs. Angela Hill
Luana Pinheiro is a rising talent in the strawweight division, known for her judo background and powerful takedowns. She excels in controlling her opponents on the ground and has shown effective ground-and-pound.
Angela Hill, a veteran of the division, is known for her high-volume striking, excellent footwork, and durability. Hill's strengths lie in her kickboxing and ability to maintain a high pace throughout the fight. She has faced some of the best fighters in the division, which gives her a significant experience advantage. I think Hill is kind of underrated despite here record and she should deal more significant strikes in this fight than Pinheiro.
Prediction: Angela Hill to win.

Welterweight: Themba Gorimbo vs. Ramiz Brahimaj
Themba Gorimbo is a well-rounded fighter with a solid striking base and decent grappling skills. He is known for his athleticism, endurance, and ability to adapt during fights. Not sure what the Rock saw in him but he will forever be known as the guy the Rock gave a house to. Ramiz Brahimaj, on the other hand, is a submission specialist with a strong background in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. His strength lies in his ability to finish fights on the ground, with most of his victories coming by way of submission. Gorimbo should be athletic enough here to beat Ramiz. Again, these fighters aren’t elite but Brahimaj probably can’t keep up with his more athletic opponent.
Prediction: Themba Gorimbo to win.

Middleweight: Abus Magomedov vs. Warlley Alves
Abus Magomedov is a well-rounded fighter with a strong striking base and competent grappling skills. He is known for his powerful and precise striking, which he uses effectively to control the distance and pace of his fights. Warlley Alves may not be in his level in terms of his quality as a fighter. His record suggest that he is nothing more than a mediocre fighter so I expect Magomedov to get the job done here and put him away
Prediction: Abus Magomedov to win.

Lightweight: Victor Martinez vs. Tom Nolan
I really hate this kind of fights. Both fighters may not even be UFC quality. Tom Nolan was knocked out by Nikolas Motta who is a jobber and Martinez had no win in his UFC career either. The odds here is ridiculous but I am just going to pick Nolan because of his physical attributes and potential.
Prediction: Tom Nolan to win.

Women's Strawweight: Piera Rodriguez vs. Ariane Carnelossi
Piera Rodriguez offers a balanced MMA game with strong striking and grappling fundamentals. Ariane Carnelossi is tough and aggressive, thriving in brawls. Rodriguez's technical striking and movement might outmaneuver Carnelossi.
Prediction: Piera Rodriguez to win.

Flyweight Alateng Heili vs. Kleydson Rodrigues
Not sure how Kleydson Rodrigues is the favourite in this fight since he as not been impressive since coming to the UFC so far with his only win coming against Shannon Ross. I am definitely comfortable with picking Alateng Heili as the underdog here as he has more experience in the UFC with 4 wins, 2 losses and 1 draw. He is decent in grappling and striking as well even though he isn’t really excellent in either. I think the bookmakers have it wrong here as Alateng should have been the favourite and I do not think that he should have much trouble handling Rodrigues as the latter may not even be UFC quality.
Prediction: Alateng Heili to win.

Women's Strawweight: Vanessa Demopoulos vs. Emily Ducote
Another low level WMMA fight. Ok Emily Ducote isn’t anything special and should not be a heavy favourite here. She is probably better than her opponent Vanessa Demopoulos but the gap is not that big. I am expecting her to outstrike her opponent but I think Demopoulos has a decent chance as an underdog. What I like about her is that she stays active even when on bottom position by throwing elbows from the bottom to hurt her opponent which was how she got her last win. I am expecting another boring low level fight here and I am just going to pick the underdog because I think the fight will be a lot closer than the odds suggest.
Prediction: Vanessa Demopoulos to win.

Hoping someone remembers this or knows what I'm talking about.
It was a very cute, colorful game. I think it had a starry background, maybe? It might have been an Asian-made game. Not 100% sure, but it was in English. I think the beats looked like cute little jellies or just colorful music notes? You only used up, down, left, right, and spacebar, if I'm remembering correctly.
You had to keep in rhythm and just keep going until you messed up/died. The notes would pop up in a line going in different directions. It was 2D - not a 3D game. It was very simplistic! I loved that game so much. I believe it was an old flash game. I used to play it probably back in 2008 and prior. Can anyone help? I'd appreciate it so much!

I just finished Oathbringer after reading the Part 5 today. I have several points I’d like to discuss/vent about.

1. Oathbringer did an amazing job at building the world of Roshar. After spending WoK and WoR in almost exclusively the Shattered Plains, I almost forgot how much depth there is to the rest of the world.
   
2. I have heard a lot of people had issues with the pacing, and I agree that it got slow at some points. However, I was not too bothered by it, and I did enjoy reading.
   
3. Underdeveloped events. I feel like Sanderson undertook an enormous project with what he attempted to cover in Oathbringer. I love how Dalinar’s character grew throughout the book. HOWEVER, the “I am Unity” moment where he provided a portal to Shadesmar and simultaneously recharged all gemstones was very convenient... I feel like Kaladin was explicitly neglected as the major protagonist that I would have liked to see. Szeth switched sides way too easily with unrealistic responses.
   
4. The battle. I love how Sanderson switches perspectives during intense scenes where it leaves you desperately wanting to continue Kaladin’s viewpoint while simultaneously wanting to read Adolin’s. However, I think there were too many perspectives that no character really built any momentum; I never felt torn away from a moment because the moment never had a chance to be built.
   
   1. The supernatural has now become the norm. I am slightly disappointed that the Unmade, Heralds, Gods, Radiants, and Fused carry less and less weight. It was definitely going to happen, but I did not expect it to be so normalized so soon. Obviously when I read the chapter of Dalinar and Odium in the dream it was amazing because it was the first instance of interaction with Odium. After the end of the book, I felt like Odium was a commonality and not as divine as he actually is.

All in all, I enjoyed the book quite a bit. I just wasn’t as rewarded as I thought I’d be when I finished it. I look forward to reading the rest of the series. Please tell me that Rhythm of War doesn’t fall victim to some of the things I’ve listed here. I’m hoping that RoW can bounce back to S tier along with WoK and WoR.

A poem I wrote with some extra context in the comments. ———————————————
Nobody talks about the pity.
When you cry for someone who died you’re not crying for them, because they’re not here anymore.
They’re not in pain or suffering anymore.
They are free and at peace and hopefully existing in some alternate reality where they are the best and healthiest and happiest versions of themselves.
So we cry for ourselves. And everything we lost.
And all the pieces of their pain that we inherited when they passed.
Their pain that now lives on through everyone who loved and cared about them.
For all the what-if’s and the could-have-been’s and the should-have-been’s.
For all the things you took for granted.
For all the times you didn’t make the most of every borrowed moment.
For trusting that they’d always be here for you.
For all the lost time that we’ll never get back.
For all the new memories we’ll never make.
For all the plans we never got to follow through on.
For all the small things you no longer get to share with them.
For knowing you’ll never hear or see them talk, smile or laugh again.
For no more quiet moments laying in bed together listening to each others heartbeats.
No more holding hands in the car on a nighttime drive to nowhere.
For never receiving another “good morning beautiful” text or a midday check in call just to chat.
For having to learn how to continue living in a world where they don’t exist anymore.
For having to accept that you’re stuck here without them.
And for having to do all that even though no part of you wants to.
And your body is fighting against you.
And you can’t stand to see life carrying on all around you.
And you want to give up.
And you feel like you’re drowning and suffocating and rotting from the inside.
But you’re stuck here against your will.
And every morning you wake up and this is still your reality.
And every second and minute and hour you’re being shoved further and further away from that moment when maybe you could have done something to avoid this.
Maybe you could have prevented this from happening.
And right after it happened all you needed was a few minutes or a few hours back.
But now you need a few days, or a few weeks, or a few months, and that already impossible possibility is slipping further and further away.
There’s no going back.
This is your new reality.
Nobody talks about the pity.

A poem I wrote with some extra context in the comments. ———————————————
Nobody talks about the pity.
When you cry for someone who died you’re not crying for them, because they’re not here anymore.
They’re not in pain or suffering anymore.
They are free and at peace and hopefully existing in some alternate reality where they are the best and healthiest and happiest versions of themselves.
So we cry for ourselves. And everything we lost.
And all the pieces of their pain that we inherited when they passed.
Their pain that now lives on through everyone who loved and cared about them.
For all the what-if’s and the could-have-been’s and the should-have-been’s.
For all the things you took for granted.
For all the times you didn’t make the most of every borrowed moment.
For trusting that they’d always be here for you.
For all the lost time that we’ll never get back.
For all the new memories we’ll never make.
For all the plans we never got to follow through on.
For all the small things you no longer get to share with them.
For knowing you’ll never hear or see them talk, smile or laugh again.
For no more quiet moments laying in bed together listening to each others heartbeats.
No more holding hands in the car on a nighttime drive to nowhere.
For never receiving another “good morning beautiful” text or a midday check in call just to chat.
For having to learn how to continue living in a world where they don’t exist anymore.
For having to accept that you’re stuck here without them.
And for having to do all that even though no part of you wants to.
And your body is fighting against you.
And you can’t stand to see life carrying on all around you.
And you want to give up.
And you feel like you’re drowning and suffocating and rotting from the inside.
But you’re stuck here against your will.
And every morning you wake up and this is still your reality.
And every second and minute and hour you’re being shoved further and further away from that moment when maybe you could have done something to avoid this.
Maybe you could have prevented this from happening.
And right after it happened all you needed was a few minutes or a few hours back.
But now you need a few days, or a few weeks, or a few months, and that already impossible possibility is slipping further and further away.
There’s no going back.
This is your new reality.
Nobody talks about the pity.

God. You make my soul brighten. Just you being in a close distance to me makes me feel enlightened. The way you interact with people is so beautiful, your soul has really captured my eye. Now, I know you have others who are just as fond of you as I am, and I know this may just be another person admitting their feelings towards you, but I really do like you. I see you. Darkness is never an inquiry when you are nearby. You are all bright and all showy. You have really shown a love for poems. I’ve noticed that for 3 days straight that you have been reading a poem book. Needless to say, I write my own poems as well. Maybe I’ll create one for you one day? Ah, terrible idea, it flusters me to think about you reading my work.
You know I exist, and that’s the thing. You’ve told me that my blue eyes really intrigue you, that how they change colors is beautiful. I may agree, but the way you voice your compliments is ever so.. catching— dazzling; sparkling.
Never have I ever felt so seen.

Tier List: https://imgur.com/a/RjE3PTc
There's something special about this battle from the very beginning, with how the announcer is doing these hushed whispers with this ominous music playing.
"Look alive, crème de la Kremlin's arriving! Try to serve Ivan; no surviving!" Ivan saying "look alive" as we get a close-up shot of his face is an attention-grabbing opener. The wordsmithing here with crème de la Kremlin and serve Ivan/surviving is magical. The background looks gorgeous too, great use of colors. "You're a land rover; I'm a land expander! Here to hand you your first loss, Alexander!" Well this is simultaneously a top-tier boast and diss; Alexander's empire fell apart when he died while Ivan's conquerings remained a part of Russia, so he's already making a strong case for being better at the thing Alexander's famous for. "I'll school you like Aristotle; smack you harder than you hit that bottle!" This is fine. A reference to the fact that Aristotle taught Alexander and a diss against Alexander for being a drunk. These aren't particularly powerful lines, but they're functional. I do love the way Ivan's eyes wander to the rhythm when he says 'hit that bottle'. "You're nothing but an overrated lush; I'll crush ya! I'm the first Tsar of all of Russia!" Interesting tidbit that does make Ivan the Terrible seem like a much more significant historical figure than he otherwise would have if you didn't know that. Getting all the guys from the Russian battle in the background is a fun touch, even if the dancer dude does not feel like he remotely belongs up there with the rest of those guys. "You're an asshole with an anastole! I'm heaven-sent, divine and holy!" The first line is quite mediocre, and the second line is mostly just serving to build up to the next line. "So don't even try to approach the God, or you'll get a huge sack like Novgorod!" God fucking damn, this is easily in my top ten closing lines. Not only is it a clever line and a gloriously epic boast, but the line delivery. His voice is so low and monstrous-sounding, especially with how they seem to have layered extra copies of the line recording on top of it. And the visual with all the Ivans on-screen, and the versions on the right and left turning to the camera join the one in the center in delivering this wham line... UNF. I love this!
"Hey fella, swell diss." Gotta cut in early here to acknowledge how funny and iconic this reaction is. "But now you got the Panhellenist from Pella hella pissed." This line speaks for itself, it's got some of the best wordplay ERB has ever crafted. "Stepping up's foolish as well as useless, little Vasilyevich! Let me spell out the list!" Pretty cool wordsmithing here, nice setup to something bigger though I don't think what follows quite lives up. "I brought foes to their knees in Phonecia! Breezed through Gaza to Giza! Had the Balkans, Persia, Syria, Iraq, and Pakistan in my expansion pack!" This comes pretty close to just being a straightforward history lesson, there's not a ton of cleverness here. The expansion pack joke is a little corny. There's a little bit of wordplay going on with bits like knees/Phonecia and Gaza/Giza. Flow's weaker than in the rest of his verse too. The visual with the map is a nice touch. "While you died in the middle of a game of chess; you got vodka bars: flavorless!" Some competent disses here. I really like the visual of the chess board: he even knocks over a King, which is presumably supposed to represent him defeating Ivan. I think the way Alexander paints Ivan as a disconnected figure who's just playing games whilst Alexander is actually out conquering in-person is a nice way to preserve his credibility after that land expander bit from Ivan. "And what I'm about to spit will be the craziest, so go fix me a drink so I can stay refreshed!" Nothing too great here, although I do like the dismissiveness inherent in Alexander ordering Ivan to make him a drink. "Kudos! Greek for the glory I got from winning every single war that I fought." Nothing much to say, this is a good boast, it checks out. "So this will be straightforward: I'll take up this sword that I brought, and slice you in half like the Gordian knot." This isn't the most substantive way of saying he's better than Ivan, but referencing the Gordian knot legend is something. "And I'll soar to the top, like the eagle whose feather I would sport in the helmet I wore, as I swatted my many enemies; shattered them like a porcelain pot, and they'd be praying for the torture to stop!" Okay, now Alexander is just witlessly rambling. This is easily the low point of his verse. "But I would leave 'em contorted and they'd be screaming and roaring until their vocal cords were torn up and shot!" Again, he's just rambling, but I will say that his flow and line delivery starts being so awesome here that I can give it a pass. I also like how the way the music stopped after he yelled "stop!" last line before dropping into this one. "And I would holler "Bucephalus!", hop on my horsey, and trot! I win, Ivan; I vanquish! I'm an immortal; you're not!" He's still mostly just rambling about how great he is without being clever about it, but again, he sounds so awesome here that it works. And the Ivan/I vanquish is good wordplay and a nice parallel to the serve Ivan/surviving bit, so it does have that much going for it in terms of substance. Also the visuals cutting back to Ivan pouring a drink in the creepiest possible manner are fan-fucking-tastic.
Ivan concedes defeat, having actually prepared Alexander a drink. You'd think a little interim bit like this would hurt the battle in repeat viewings/listens, but I enjoy it every time. Zach Sherwin's line delivery of "I WEEP, it's all so EEEEAAAASY!!!" is hilarious. Love the way Ivan comes poking out of the shadows all rat-like as he asks what's wrong. I also dig the way Alexander's facial expression changes when he says 'queasy' and he falls down and his head moving out of the shot gives way to Ivan standing behind him celebrating and it's just so GOOD. This battle is so much fun! The "HA!!! You've been poisoned!" is fun, as is Zach Sherwin's deliberately bad acting with his final words. Ivan declares that he is Terrible and that there's no Great who could defeat this Russian, but a mysterious shadow materializes and quietly suggests a flute-busting Prussian might manage it.
What the FUCK. The flute solo! The chanting of "Old Fritz!" The bird's eye camera angle that Lloid looks up at as the emblem of what is probably his house or country or some other organization related to him is on the floor! That dapper-ass outfit! The little pose he strikes as his title card appears! This is without a doubt the greatest entrance any contestant has ever had in ERB to this day. This new music track kicks ass too. "Out the gate, first servant of state! Oblique attack tactics, ain't exactly straight!" As if he wasn't cool enough already, the king is a queen! Good use of consonance too. Also apparently this is referencing a famous tactic for battle that Frederick used. I looked up 'first servant of state prussia' and was informed that Frederick pursued a policy of religious tolerance and abolished torture immediately when he came to power. What an absolute chad. I wish he brought that up here; at best he vaguely alludes to it. "I've got creative talents and battle malice; hard as steel on the field, genteel in the palace!" These lines aren't substantive, but the line delivery is a ton of fun. And the visuals with him jabbing his cane and sipping from a cup are immaculate. "Russia's fucked up but no wonder why; with your tundras and taigas and bears oh my!" Great flow, the visuals are absolutely top tier. The line itself is competent, definitely getting carried by the presentation, but the tigers/taigas swapout is good. "I would pay a guy to tear out my eyes if I had to look at your troll face every night!" Man... why can't mediocre lines in all of the battles get such good line deliveries? Lloid is selling the absolute fuck out of this weaksauce diss and making it work. "Now, bring me my chair! I'm weary from tearing you a new derrière from here to Red Square!" Wait a minute, is that... chair... wear... tear... derrière... square... IT IS!!! IT'S A 5X RHYME COMBO!!! "Fought a Seven Years' War, I ain't scared of a Tsar! 'Cause beating you only took me twelve bars!" A truly fabulous boast and iconic verse closer.
These interims continue the trend of being hilarious by having Frederick die in his chair without the need for Ivan's intervention, which is a reference to how he actually died! Fancy that. I do think this one doesn't quite stand up to repeat encounters the way the first intermission did; the line about saving money and the little song Ivan sings are a bit drab to sit through again and again, but hey, they were funny the first time and it's still a fun performance from Peter. Pompey comes in to seemingly start rapping, but immediately gets decapitated by Catherine the Great. Poor guy. I would have liked for this to be a five-way battle and to have gotten a verse from Pompey first, but ah well.
"Macedonians, Prussians, and Romans; those aren't worthy opponents. It takes a Russian to take down a Russian. I'm Cat; I'm a cat; you're a rodent!" This is a pretty good opener, except for the fact that she's singing. Introducing singing into these rap battles is always a serious momentum-killer. She's got a great costume, though. "How are you the head of our state when the state of your head was such a crazy one? Such sick shit going through your brain that you stuck a spike through your own son!" Good wordplay in that first line, great visuals with these dancers up to chicanery in the background. "You're unbalanced like I unbalanced the European powers with the wars I waged! I brought the Russian empire straight out the olden days and right into the golden age!" That first line feels a little forced, competent boast in the second line. "I'm the boss bitch that you just can't meddle with! This whole battle's like Alaska 'cause I settled it!" Nice closer.
Ivan briefly interjects as he tries and fails to seduce Catherine with a horse. Peter continues giving the best performance of his career, though I can't help but wish we got a little more here. Feels weird that this is the last we see Ivan onscreen. Would've been nice to at least see an upset reaction to his ploy failing.
Catherine proceeds to inform Ivan that this rumor about her sexual proclivities is false: "That horse story is a pile of shit, though I do keep 'em chomping at the bit." There's three different layers to 'chomping at the bit' going on here, and that's cool. "But you're never gonna get it, nyet! Couldn't spin in my chamber of this were Russian roulette." This is pretty funny, and I think it's for sure her best line. The little interjection of 'nyet' is great. "I'm picking up where Peter the Great left off! Bringing sexy back to House Romanov!" Not much to say here. Kind of filler. "So don't call me Queen, I'm far more great! Empress to Tsar 8, bitch! Checkmate!" This is literally a killer closing line; she's referencing how Ivan died in the middle of a game of chess, as Alexander said, and years later I'm only just getting that now.
So all of these verses have considerable flaws, I think. Ivan's is too short, for as much screentime as he gets he doesn't get much in terms of actual rapping. We could have at least used a few more lines in his first verse. There's a lot of Alexander the Great's verse that is just him droning on about how great he is without actually having much substance or cleverness to what he's saying. It's his godlike FLOW that is carrying him through a lot of this. And that's a legitimate factor to consider in his performance and it does make his verse great to listen to, but I wish there were more meat there underneath Sherwin's kickass performance. Frederick the Great is the most entertaining part of the battle(saying a LOT when Ivan the Terrible is present) and his lines are probably the most consistently good, but none of them are great, y'know? He could have used a killer burn or two in there, his diss game wasn't great. And Catherine the Great... well, she sang for both of her verses. I hate it when rappers sing, it kills the energy, and when going back to listen to this battle(which is very often!) I usually stop once her verse starts. She's got some good lines, they're decent verses on paper, and her actress is obviously a good singer, but I just do not want to listen to a solid minute of someone singing in a rap battle.
And really, having so much of this battle be skippable to me is reason enough to justify putting it in A Tier rather than S. I certainly intended to put it in A Tier for a long time. But... even if I feel Catherine's verse ends up being a drag, and even if the verses that come before have some flaws that might keep them from being S Tier on their own... it's all just so fun. Peter and Lloid and Zach are all at their best, and I genuinely do think Ivan is the best character Peter ever played. I love the performances, and the visuals, and the music(mostly), and the structure of having all these Greats dying off to the Terrible. This has got to be in the top five rap battles in terms of which ones I go back to the most; probably exactly number five. And if that isn't worthy of S Tier, then there's only gonna be four S Tiers on this list, and that seems like too few. Bottom of S Tier.
Ivan = Frederick>Alexander>Catherine. Maybe a little controversial, but I do think that you could make a valid and substantive case for any one of these rappers being the winner.

Hello and thank you for your time in advance!
​
My masters program has a research requirement so I have to join a lab starting summer and into the upcoming semester.
I had a really bad experience with my PI in my first ever undergrad lab (should've seen the red flags when I went for my interview and staff from OTHER labs told me to run... I thought they were joking so I laughed it off). I seriously thought he was bipolar at one point and I heard he got reported to HR by his previous employees. Anyhow... I told myself I hated research because of him but I'd love to take this opportunity to join a lab I enjoy and kindle a passion for research.
​
Option 1:
Publication: This lab has one publication from 2023 and it seems it used to be more active before. Not sure if they just didn't update their website?? But I'm not too much of a stickler for getting published ... I think my application strengths lie elsewhere.
Lab Culture: I got the chance to exchange emails with the post doc a couple times as well as the PI. Both of them actually seem super nice; I'm meeting the PI in person tomorrow. This lab's members and associated people are all from elite schools like Hopkins.. awesome but intimidates me a little because that bipolar PI i had in undergrad was also from Hopkins and people tell me a lot of ppl fit their neurotic stereotype.
Lab interests: THIS part is what intimidates me. I reached out because I was interested in their main focus on circadian rhythms, but they have a heavy emphasis in math models. I know I probably won't be given super meaningful work right from the start but I've never been a math person, and stats has always been one of my weaknesses..... I read a couple of their papers and I understood them WAY less than the other labs. However, I do love that most of the research just uses bioluminescent bacteria and not mice...
Commute: Literally in the building with my classes. A seven minute walk from my apartment :')
Credentials: Associate professor
Ease of reach: His lab is much smaller, the PI himself responded within an hour or so, seemed happy to have someone express research in my lab. I definitely think I will see him in person/interact more often.
​
Option 2:
publications: this lab publishes WAY more. They got 4 pubs out in 2023.
Lab Culture: I am meeting them next week, but the PI seems super nice? He's this smiley old guy (maybe I shouldn't generalize but I rarely see people in research have genuine smiles in their profile photos LOLL) I just can't see how he could be a bad guy. His post docs are all into mental health research (me assuming that anyone who does research in mental health also can't be a bad person...??)
Lab interests: MUCH more interested in this one. I was a biopsych/cog sci major and this lab does research on stress hormones. Their papers are a lOT easier for me to understand and I am much more interested in the content as well. The only qualm I have is that this one has SO much mice work (I've never actually euthanized mice in my previous labs and have only seen it but I almost passed out once LOL.) Will I get used to it? Highkey makes me want to CRY when I see it but people say I'll get used to it.
Commute: BIGGEST CON OF THIS ONE. I do not have a car on campus, so this is a 1 hour commute by city bus ONE way for me... at least for the rest of the summer. Once the school shuttles start back up in the fall semester, there is a shuttle that specifically goes to this campus on a 1-way trip so hopefully it's only 40 minutes max? It will still be kind of a long commute.. There's multiple ways to get there but the ones that require least walking have one transfer. I just tested the route out yesterday (LOL yes I spent 4 hours.. crazy ik) and I did NOT like the transfer stop. Context: I am in cincinnati and there was a creepy guy who came to stand next to me at the bus stop (no he wasn't waiting for a bus he didn't even get on it when it came, and this stop only served that bus.) I can avoid having to transfer by walking 18 minutes to the initial bus stop but it's kind of outside the school campus so I'm worried it'll just be a similar sketchy area... I know I just have to suck this up for 3 more months until the school buses run so please let me know if I'm being too picky and slap some sense into me LOL. I'm just a little paranoid about safety stuff.
Credentials: He is the associate director or the neuroscience institute, and director of the neuroscience graduate program. THis is my biggest question... Will his position higher up in the school have any influence on LORs?? And will it differ for applying to this school VS other med schools? (For context I AM going to apply to this school.)
Ease of reach: took him 2.5 weeks ish and prodding from my program director to get back to me LOL. I can tell he is an extremely nice guy and so are the people in his lab, I just don't think I will get to work directly with him very often.
​
Option 3:
publications: my classmate is currently in this lab and she barely had to do anything because the PI just finished setting up her lab?? She had 2 publications in 2023 and a huge gap between 2019-2023. IK most people want to be super involved in research but honestly I wouldn't mind not getting to do much and just fulfilling my degree requirement so I can focus on clinical hours...
Lab Culture: My classmate says she's super nice, and flexible about scheduling (I think I care about this a lot. I'm planning to also try and get my EMT cert or start scribing this summer so..). I think the one advantage she has over the other labs I'm considering is she has a history of working with students from this program so she knows what we need to do to complete our capstone.
Lab interests: This one is more BME.. she researches biodegradable implants. Honestly looking through her papers I did not understand ANY of the science jargon and I've never had an interest in engineer side of things. I ruled her out initially because I had zero interest in her lab but after looking back her it's also heavily tied in with surgical techniques and I am very interested in surgery so I'm reconsidering rn...
Commute: She is also in the building with my classes.. 7 minute walk from home :)
Credentials: Associate professor. She did most of her education at UCLA. Again, how much do credentials matter for LORs? I'm a california in state student (I could switch residency to Ohio) so I may apply to UCLA - would her LOR weigh more if I were to apply to UCLA?
Ease of reach: actually haven't reached out to her yet LOL but my classmate enjoys working with her so I'm assuming it's not an issue!
​
TLDR: my goals are

1. fulfilling my program requirement
2. rekindling/starting my passion for research
3. just to enjoy it tbh. idrk much about getting published.

If you read all of this, or a sentence, or a word, thank you so so much for your time! Honesty is appreciated and welcomed.
​
Hope your apps are going well :)

I hate writing love poems because they end in denial. If you're in love you wouldn't care to speak a word about it. You would carry along in your life and enjoy what you have. The people that write love poems are the broken hearted, the self indulgent. But that said those who hope for love are those who can give the most because they know what it is without having it.

I want to clarify - I’ve been away from academia for almost a year, I have a Job that I really love and am passionate about - I’m finally getting to use chemistry to help people and it’s feels amazing. My coworkers are incredibly kind people, seeing the difference between heathy vs toxic environments is actually one of the biggest reasons i just can’t stay silent anymore. I love chemistry, I writing, I love art, so I’m gonna use the last two to try to make the first one better.
See my instagram for work I’ve written about the abuse I’ve been subjected to and witnessed during grad school:
I’m the girl who wrote that poem about my prof almost working me to death 🤠
https://www.instagram.com/p/C7Da_9rOnNi/?igsh=MWZhbXE2bGF2dzl2aA==
Why aren’t the faculty concerned? Why aren’t universities administrators concerned? It’s everywhere, it’s not just my university, it’s not just chemistry, it’s academia. It’s universities allowing professors basically unchecked power over students. It’s students complaints not being taken seriously. It’s faculty being okay with their students being suicidal if it means they’ll get another paper out of them (and I know beyond a shadow of doubt, this last one actually happens because I’ve seen it with my own eyes, heard these conversations with my own two ears.
Why are we letting people who do shit like this be in charge of educating future scientists? How many brilliant minds have been crippled by anxiety and depression from hostile work environments? How many world changing discoveries are we going to miss out on because our scientists are leaving grad school with on average one new mental illness??
Abusive professors don’t get more work done, their work isn’t more meaningful because their students are constantly in a state of hyper vigilance. They are poisoning chemistry.
It’s way easier to come up with amazing ideas when you’re not stuck in an anxiety spiral.
I hope y’all do not relate to this post

Introduction: The Mysterious Double Album
I’ll always remember 2 AM on April 19th 2024. I was in my pjs, alone, on my balcony, fresh off my first listen to Taylor Swift’s album The Tortured Poet’s Department. After sufficiently enjoying my solitary experience, I took to the internet to see what the masses were saying…when Swift dropped a whole second album: The Tortured Poets Department Anthology. Swift, a master of both Easter egging surprises for her fandom and practicing the number one rule of business (give the people what they want!), had been hinting at something “double” for months. Most significantly, while accepting her Grammy for Best Pop Vocal Album, she flashed a “peace sign.” That damn peace sign haunted the fandom for months. Swift’s corporate social media account, u/TaylorNation, used peace sign emojis and called attention to the number two whenever possible (ie teasing the album 22 days out etc.). There were also many “2”s present in in the promotional “experiences” leading up to the album release date—including statues of peace signs at the TTPD interactive experience at The Grove in LA. As usual, some Swifties went bonkers with their theories (or “clowning” as outlandish theorizing is referred to in the community). I myself couldn’t help but believe some concept of doubling would be significant in TTPD, but I couldn’t have guessed a full DOUBLE album (Swift’s capitalization). What an absolute treat. Mother was, as they say, mothering.
…Only the two mania didn’t seem to end post-drop. If anything, the two mania heightened. The albums were not just surprises in themselves, they were full of mystery. They seemed to reference multiple relationships, cryptic narratives, allusions to Swift’s previous songs, allusions to iconic poets, and very often, twins. The sleuthing type of Swiftie (full disclosure, moi) dove in deep. We gathered where we do—on Twitter, on TikTok, on Reddit (my preferred sandlot). And as we obsessed over every lyric, literary allusion, and video clip, Swift, our self-appointed “chairman” seemed to encourage us. Swift added a TTPD set to her Eras tour in Paris. Afterward, she posted a collection of photos to Instagram. The second photo of the post is Swift onstage, in a sparkling showman’s outfit, flashing two fingers.
Initial Tortured Poets and Sylvia Plath Connections
Swift has always been an incredible poet, but that’s not necessarily how the world saw hesees her. Swift is a pop star, specifically, Swift was a young girly pop star, most known for her tabloid romances and dramas, which she would (allegedly) write about in her music. Swift’s work has been labeled as “confessional” since her first album, which included songs she openly said were about boys at her high school. I offer this context (or, lore) to explain why I began seeing connections to TTPD in Sylvia Plath’s “confessional” work.
Of course, the theme of TTPD is tortured poets, so many avid literary Swifties have enjoyed seeking connections between Swift’s new songs and iconic poetry. No connections are overt, but some seem to be more likely than others. Namely, there’s been much discussion of Virginia Woolf thanks to the song “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?”(perhaps a riff on the Edward Albee play title). Other Swifties have found possible lyrical links to Mary Shelley and Charlotte Bronte. Swift herself references Patti Smith and Dylan Thomas in the album’s title track.
I remembered a third poet in relation to Smith and Thomas: Sylvia Plath, obviously an all timer of a tortured poet. I remember hearing an anecdote that she had been obsessed with Thomas and stalked him outside the Chelsea Hotel (also named in the TTPD title track). I did a quick skim of Plath’s Wikipedia to confirm and then started noticing many possible connections to TTPD and Plath’s life.
In the “Fortnight” music video, Swift acts out being institutionalized for insanity and getting electric shock treatment—two significant experiences in Plath’s life. Plath was also coupled with a deeply problematic man, Ted Hughes. Plath fell in love with Hughes for his artistic talent before he revealed himself to be an unsupportive parter, ultimately cheating on Plath with a younger woman. The narrative is not too dissimilar to the narrative about Swift’s alleged ex Matty Healy, as seemingly told in TTPD. (Of course, we don’t know the true subjects of Swift’s songs—if they’re even actually confessional—but some key hints point to Healy. Whether those hints provide actual context to Swift’s life or to the story Swift is telling of her life, one cannot know.) Finally, several of TTPD songs reference a latent desire for suicide (“I might as well die / it would make no difference” etc.). Okay, post-“finally,” these are stretches, but, I’ll note anyway: one of Plath’s most famous collections of poems is titled Ariel, but an alternate title was Daddy. There are connections to both words in TTPD via the song “But Daddy I Love Him.” The title is a line from the Disney movie The Little Mermaid (which features the main character Ariel, a mermaid, caught between two worlds). Extra clowning: some people (hi, I'm people) believe Swift’s 1989 costume for her first Paris concert was an allusion to Ariel: a pink crop top and a seafoam skirt.
As I dug into Plath's life, I couldn’t help but also see similarities to Swift's life. Both women were prolific writers from a very young age. Also, although possibly obscured through artistic license, both women were/are known to write about their own lives. (Plath was apparently encouraged by her professors Robert Lowell and Anne Sexton to write from her experience. I cannot help but tie in Swift’s “The Manuscript” lyric “the Professor said to write what you know.”) Both Plath and Swift expressed/express their depression via their writing, but if you only knew them from their public personas, you’d never guess the depths of their struggles. It seems both Plath and Swift lived/live double lives. Plath was actually fascinated by the concept of doubles. In fact, the concept of doubling was the topic of Plath’s college thesis paper “The Magic Mirror.”
The Magic Mirror and TTPD
Plath’s college paper is sadly not available to the general public. (It had a limited print run in, you guessed it, 1989.) But! I was able to read a few texts about the thesis, and the amount of possible TTPD references is astounding.
Since we can’t directly analyze Swift’s work via Plath’s directly, I’d like to share several key quotes from the most telling article I could find about the “The Magic Mirror”: “Sylvia Plath’s Magic Mirror” by Kelly Coyne (May 2018, The Los Angeles Review of Books). (To be noted, Coyne has also written about Swift, in her article “Growing Up In Taylor Swift’s America” in December 2023 on Literary Hub—a fabulous read!)
Early in her article, Coyne sets the scene for Plath's thesis:
“Her undergraduate thesis, which she wrote as a senior at Smith College...is titled “The Magic Mirror: A Study of the Double in Two of Dostoevsky’s Novels.” “The Magic Mirror” explores literary doubles made up of a character’s repressed traits, and, as the double grows in power, it heralds the protagonist’s death. Citing Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as well as Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, Plath argued that the choice to create a double works to “reveal hitherto concealed character traits in a radical manner” and simultaneously exposes the driving conflicts of the novel housing that character. Her thesis claims that both Ivan, of The Brothers Karamazov, and Golyadkin, of The Double, have attempted to repress troubling aspects of their personalities, resulting in the double.”
Immediately, I imagine the two versions of Swift from the “Anti-Hero” music video. One Swift is real, true, sensible. The other is a pot-stirring, self-esteem destroying, alcoholic. During Eras, the huge Swift (monster on a hill) screams and stomps around in the background while the real, true Swift smiles and dances in a sparkle dress onstage. The fandom seems to be referring to these two Swifts as Taylor Swift and TAYLOR SWIFT (TM). Folks have theorized Post-Malone in the Fortnight music video is not necessarily a lover, but a twin, or double, of Swift. This theory is enhances by the Eras visuals during that song, specifically two dancers walking away to the back of the stage, but then becoming one.
More Coyne: “Plath, quoting Dostoyevsky in her thesis, noted that Ivan’s double, Smerdyakov, is “wrinkled” and “yellow.” The distinct differences in appearance between originator and double, she continued, are meant to reflect the protagonist’s mental state and cultural status.”
First of all, yellow. In the Gaylor community, folks have often theorized yellow symbolizes being closeted—a reading based on the symbolic coloring in the 1999 film …But I’m a Cheerleader. However, one need not be a Gaylor to consider the importance of yellow to Swift’s storytelling. Most recently, Swift performed “my tears ricochet” at Eras in a bright yellow dress, as her dancers were dressed for a funeral. Following Coyne’s analysis of Plath's analysis of Dostoyevsky, one could guess Swift is teasing a death of some version of herself.
Coyne discusses how Plath clearly used a “double” of herself to write The Bell Jar. Plath herself spent a summer in New York interning for Mademoiselle. The protagonist in TBJ, Esther, spends a summer in New York interning at a magazine too. To go even further down the rabbit hole, Esther also doubles herself, frequently expressing normalcy on the outside and despair on the inside. On the book's first page, Esther tells her audience, “I was supposed to be having the time of my life.” (Again, I cannot help but hear a Swift echo of, “I can read your mind / she’s having the time of her life” from “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” about smiling through her depression.) Coyne makes many more references to mirrors and concealing in The Bell Jar, Ether’s split (and sadness) gets worse and worse the more she hides who she is from others. Notably, at a low point, Esther hides under her mother’s bed. (And Swift sings of a post-heartbreak depression, “Afterwards she only ate kids' cereal / And couldn't sleep unless it was in her mother's bed.”)
Coyne writes about the “imprisoned” aspect of doubles: “The wound from which Esther tries, and fails, to hide chimes with the inescapable, colonizing double, and Plath’s language again illustrates its penal nature: it is inside Esther, but it traps her like a jail cell.” (Again, I cannot help but see references to “Fresh Out the Slammer”, “The Smaller Man Who Ever Lived,” and the TTPD Eras visuals of cages and cell lighting.)
Coyne, on Plath’s doubles’ names, something Swift has not ever used (or so we think): “From her conception of The Bell Jar all the way to its final revisions, Plath suffered an exhausting amount of anxiety over its heroine’s name.” Plath wrote to a friend, “‘I’ll have to publish it under a pseudonym, if I ever get it accepted, because it’s so chock full of real people I’d be sued to death’...Indeed, this wasn’t mere paranoia; she did have to change her protagonist’s name at the instruction of her editor for legal reasons.”
Coyne continues, “Most novelists likely have concerns about being associated with the characters to whom they give life, especially the ugly ones, and especially when the character resembles its author. Yet what is unique about Plath’s case is her knowledge of the theoretical underpinnings and implications of her choice to push Esther away, and the hold this knowledge assumed on Plath’s work and life. Another look at The Bell Jar with a consideration of Esther as Plath’s double tangles the issue even further, and Plath drops clues for this kind of reading throughout the novel. Esther, for example, sits down to write her own novel and recounts, “My heroine would be myself, only in disguise. She would be called Elaine. Elaine. I counted the letters on my fingers. There were six letters in Esther, too. It seemed a lucky thing.” Not coincidentally, Plath’s first name has six letters as well.” Again, Plath was in a bizarre double infinity loop (like the loop on the Eras stage in “Down Bad”?). Plath was concealing her double, the protagonist in her novel, who was concealing her double, the protagonist in her novel.
Coyne wraps up her findings: “In her thesis, written nearly a decade earlier, as she turned 22 — the year after her first documented suicide attempt — Plath claimed, quoting Otto Rank:
In such situations, where the Double symbolizes the evil or repressed elements in man’s nature, the apparition of the Double “becomes a persecution by it, the repressed material returns in the form of that which represses.” Man’s instinct to avoid or ignore the unpleasant aspects of his character turns into an active terror when he is faced by his Double, which resurrects those very parts of his personality which he sought to escape. The confrontation of the Double in these instances usually results in a duel which ends in insanity or death for the original hero.”
Coyne seems to argue Plath believed an artist's double has the power to become bigger than the artist herself, ultimately killing her. Is TTPD Swift's predetermination of, hopefully, her her double's death instead of her own?
In Conclusion: Plath to her Mentor, Dessner on Swift
Who knows what TTPD is really truly about, and who knows if we ever will.
The biggest Easter egg, hiding in plain sight, is that the album is titled THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT. There’s no apostrophe after “poet.” Nor is there an apostrophe after the “s” in “poets.” The department does not belong to a poet or to a collection of poets. It is a department OF tortured poets, perhaps two, to be exact. …or perhaps the album indicates the departure of the tortured poet...and her double.
I’ll sign off with two final quotes from my research:
According to Coyne, three months before Plath died by suicide, she had written a mentor about her second (obviously unfinished) book. Plath wrote, “It is to be called “Doubletake”, meaning that the second look you take at something reveals a deeper, double meaning […] it is semi-autobiographical about a wife whose husband turns out to be a deserter and philanderer although she had thought he was wonderful & perfect.”
According to Aaron Dessner’s TTPD release Instagram post: ”Keep searching and you'll find some new detail, layer or sliver of meaning with each listen.”
SUBREDDIT PS! Shout out to Expensive_Succotash5 for noting the TTPD intro poem's reference to being out of the oven, could be an allusion to Plath's death. Also shout-out to Good-Amphibian-7993 for this connection to a photo of Plath with a rose, not unlike Swift's album rose art.