People wonder how poets are born,
to form a sweet prophet in a womb,
would likely bring nothing but gloom.
Rather, I believe we are molded in a time of great mourning
In a black and white dress, surrounded by death.
My first funeral at age five, was my great-grandmother whom I loved for as long as I was alive.
I asked my aunt “Why would God take someone we love?”
With the ocean in her eyes, She says “It's his plan from up above.”
I weep as I look down upon her cold face feigning sleep,
wishing once more for GG’s warm embrace.
She whispered great pearls of wisdom in my ears, for no one else but me to hear.
Though all of that knowledge has washed away now,
I’d beg her to repeat them but that is not something death allows.
My cousin calls me Rain as we listen to the pastor and his proses,
We sulk in sunny summer cemeteries surrounded by Ruth’s July roses.
Reminiscent of her crimson rubies, I remember she said I would bloom into a great beauty.
Salt slicks my lily face as she’s lowered into her final resting place.
my friends state how I am lucky to miss a day of school
I say they are lucky to still be fools,
To not know the fright of a call in the dead of night,
Or the sight of your father tearfully being ushered
to carry yet another closed casket along with five brothers.
By age eleven I no longer believed in God’s great heaven, for I have suffered
Seven Tragic Family Messes,
Seven little black and white dresses,
Seven wakes I wanted to sleep through,
My Family being “taken by God” isn't brand new.
So some think that poets are born,
But my first poem was a eulogy,
I spoke it wearing GG’s rose rubies.

My ex and I had a very messy 1 year relationship. He was incredibly narcissistic and toxic, he made me distance myself from my family and was very selfish. He also cheated on me many times with his ex. He was also a relationship hopper who did not love himself and did not know how to be alone. I tried to help him many times and took him to therapy but he just did not want help.
Despite all of this, he helped me understand my depression and he made good music that really helped me heal.
The last time he cheated on me was with someone much younger who he met on tinder. I left and never looked back. I blocked him on everything and despite doing this before, we could never keep no contact. But this time I was determined to do so. It was incredibly hard because I cared so deeply for this person and it hurt knowing he was with someone else. They moved in together after 2 weeks and this is when I cut ties.
It took me a good 8 months to forget he existed.
3 years later.. out of the blue, I get an email from him asking if we could speak. I didn’t really want to as I know how manipulative he can be and my friends all told me no, but something in my heart was telling me this was different.
I was SHOCKED he reached out because he has an ego the size of Texas and so I never expected him to contact me.
Something seemed so off.. He called me crying (something he never did) and he apologized for everything he put me through and tells me that I was the only person who truly accepted him for who he was and his deepest regret was treating me the way he did blah blah I didn’t take too much of it to heart as I know how manipulative he can be.
Regardless, I told him I forgave him a long time ago as I truly don’t hold space in my heart for hate or resentment and that I just hope he is now being a better person to others.
We planned to meet face to face a couple of days later.
The day came and he never showed, I texted him but he never replied. I got a call that same day from him at stupid o’clock but I was so mad that he stood me up, so I didn’t answer. I couldn’t believe I was made a fool once again and I fell for his antics.
Well, little did I know that he passed away that night. His pain and regret for the things he did was too much for him to face.
As I spent the next couple of years grieving him, I learned that I actually loved and cared for him more than I thought I did and so did he. At his funeral, I had the chance to speak to his mother who always supported us and who also tried to help him to change. She told me that they did have to go through all of his things with the police, including his phone and computers. I was shocked to hear about how many songs, poems and messages expressing his love and regret. I never thought he actually cared about me at all.
This taught me that you should never underestimate the hole your absence will leave in someone’s life. However, you must give them space to miss you. Sadly, men only learn value via losing.
On the other side, protect your peace, guard your heart and forgive yourself. Apologize to them if you need to, cry if you need to and let it go.
His family kindly allowed his demos to be uploaded onto Spotify for me and his friends to listen to.
If you’re ever wondering if he misses you, of course he does but people miss people dead or alive, it’s nothing new.
Whoever you meet, always try to leave them better than how you found them - and I don’t mean baby them or try and change them - what I mean is, SHOW them, using your actions, how people SHOULD be. No matter how bad of a person they are, always be kind, always be patient, always forgive (but you don’t need to forget) - you may ask why, as some people really don’t deserve it, but please understand that you might be the closest thing to love someone will ever experience.
I hope this made sense ❤️

I don’t know if this is the appropriate place to post this put in begging for help. My Nan passed earlier this week. Her funeral was live streamed on Facebook by our church for our family that could not make it. The live stream was supposed to be up for 30 days but is now gone. I so desperately wanted this video saved permanently and thought I had time to do so. Her service was filled with many of her favourite songs, poem and bible verses. I would appreciate if anyone knows any way to recover a delete facebook live to please let me know what to do.

People wonder how poets are born,
But to form a sweet prophet in a womb
would likely bring nothing but gloom
Rather, we are molded in a time of great mourning
In a black and white dress, surrounded by death
My first funeral was at age five,
my Great Grandmother whom I loved for as long as I was alive
I asked my aunt why would God kill someone we love?
With the ocean in her eyes, She says it's his plan from up above
I cry as I look down upon her cold face
wishing once more for GG’s warm embrace
she whispered great pearls of wisdom in my ears for no one else to hear
but all of that has faded away now,
I beg her to repeat them but that is not something death allows
My cousin calls me Rain as we listen to the pastor and his proses
we sulk in sunny summer cemeteries Surrounded by Ruth’s roses,
Reminicant of her costume rubies,
I remember she said I would bloom into a great beauty
Salt slicks my fawn face as she’s lowered into her final resting place
by age eleven I no longer believe in God’s great heaven
Seven Tragic Family Messes
Seven little black and white dresses
Seven wakes I wanted to sleep through
My Family being taken from me isn't brand new
My first poem was a eulogy
I spoke it wearing GG’s jewelry

Hi! I’m trying to re-find a poem I came across some time ago. These are the details I think I remember, but it’s entirely possible that they’re not all accurate.
Female author. Published originally in a journal then later in a collection of the author’s poems. Short-ish - maybe ~4 stanzas. I first found it ~20 years ago. It’s written in first person - she runs into an old acquaintance - possibly a former lover - and they catch up. There’s some reference to a death or a funeral - possibly of a parent. They go for a drive together. The image in my mind is along a coastal highway, but I don’t remember if there were words that said that, or that’s just what my mind filled in. They stop somewhere along the way - for gas or drinks or snacks. They stop for the night and I think they sleep together. The poem ends with a great catharsis or a release or letting go. And I’m pretty sure the last line is “… and then the rain.”
I’m likely misremembering some of the details, or filling in imagery from my head that wasn’t explicitly written. But I sure would appreciate any leads. Thanks!

Hi, clowns! Found lots of connections to an essay Sylvia Plath wrote and TTPD. Lots of info below, but was interesting!
TL; DR Plath’s college thesis paper is all about troubled poets and their “DOUBLES.”
Initial Tortured Poets and Sylvia Plath Connections
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 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.

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temporary, ten, tend, tendency, tennis, tension, tent, term, terms, terrible, territory, terror, terrorist, test, testimony, testing, text, than, thank, thanks, that, the, theater, their, them, theme, themselves, then, theory, therapy, there, therefore, these, they, thick, thin, thing, think, thinking, third, thirty, this, those, though, thought, thousand, threat, threaten, three, throat, through, throughout, throw, thus, ticket, tie, tight, time, tiny, tip, tire, tissue, title, to, tobacco, today, toe, together, toilet, token, tolerate, tomato, tomorrow, tone, tongue, tonight, too, tool, tooth, top, topic, toss, total, totally, touch, tough, tour, tourist, tournament, toward, towards, tower, town, toy, trace, track, trade, tradition, traditional, traffic, tragedy, trail, train, training, transfer, transform, transformation, transition, translate, translation, transmission, transmit, transport, transportation, travel, treat, treatment, treaty, tree, tremendous, trend, trial, tribe, 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weather, web, website, wedding, week, weekend, weekly, weigh, weight, welcome, welfare, well, west, western, wet, what, whatever, wheel, when, whenever, where, whereas, whether, which, while, whisper, white, who, whole, whom, whose, why, wide, widely, widespread, wife, wild, wildlife, will, willing, win, wind, window, wine, wing, winner, winter, wipe, wire, wisdom, wise, wish, with, withdraw, within, without, witness, woman, wonder, wonderful, wood, wooden, word, work, worker, working, workout, workplace, works, workshop, world, worried, worry, worth, would, wound, wrap, write, writer, writing, wrong, yard, yeah, year, yell, yellow, yes, yesterday, yet, yield, you, young, your, yours, yourself, youth, zone.

Hi everyone,
I'm looking for a song I've heard on German radio in the 90s several times, but I've never been able to identify it. Here's what I remember:
It was a somewhat quiet, slow, atmospheric song with as far as I remember not much more than a synthesizer pad playing a couple of chords on repeat - if there were any drums, they were very quiet in the background. Quite like very slow Drum 'n' Bass without the drum part, somewhat similar to Faithless. The overall mood was pretty melancholic and depressed. It featured a male, very deep, dark, aspirated voice that wasn't really singing as such, but rather rhythmically speaking, like reciting a poem, almost but not quite whispering - not at all like Rap / Hip Hop though.
I remember only bits of the lyrics, the main one being something like "How can we speak, (when?) communication is lost" or a variation of this, maybe "How can we talk" or "It's hard to speak". The only thing I'm pretty sure about is that the word "communication" was spoken/sung and the phrase started with "How can we ..." and then either speak or talk. I don't remember any other specific lyrics, but I'm quite sure the song was about some kind of relationship falling apart.
To be able to understand the lyrics at all I must have had at least some basic English skills, which would put this not earlier than around 1993, and I don't think the song is much older than that. I'd say the timeframe is roughly 1992 to 97.
I remember listening to it several times on our local radio station, so it must have been at least somewhat popular.
I slapped something together and uploaded it on Vocaroo: https://voca.ro/1k7PF7Tlcrjc
It's mainly about the rhythm pattern of the voice, so my hoarse mumbling is supposed to represent real lyrics that I don't remember at all. I think the voice in the song is much deeper than I can go with my voice, and much more "present" and "booming". The two synth chords I used are completely random and probably not at all like the original, but the overall sound characteristic of the synth should be at least close.
What I can rule out so far:
"Keep Talking" by Pink Floyd (it's close though, especially if you made it slower and replaced the guitar with a synth pad to make it sound less like Rock and more like electronic music)
"Sanctuary" by Madonna
"Funeral Party" by The Cure
"Telephone Call" by Kraftwerk

I am sharing this as an emotional outlet among other siblings in christ 

My Experience It was January 10, 2011. I’ll never forget that date. It was the day my life changed. Also it was the day of the college football national championship. I was and still am a big college football fan (Go Cal Bears!). Oregon was set to play auburn and i was going to watch it with my neighbor two doors down. I had been doing poorly in school, and yeah was a big pot head, still am, but am much more responsible. Anyways i told myself this semester i was going to actually try in school. I woke up at six am to get ready for my day, something that i never do. I went to put on my shoes and i noticed the laces were missing. Immediately i went to my mom and asked where are my laces? She wouldn’t give me an answer and was just acting so strange. Eventually she left the house and as she was leaving two men were walking up our walkway. I figured they were plumbers considering we had plumbing issues recently. They walked in and before I knew it they walked up to me on either side and slammed me to the ground and handcuffed me. I didn’t react as it was, I didn’t expect it for one, and for two when it began I froze, I didn’t know what to do. Once on the ground I started to squirm, I screamed “Please Help me help me I’m being kidnapped! Please!” They responded No use in screaming no one can hear you. I kept screaming. One of them said go ahead get it over with when your quiet it’ll be over sooner. After probably about ten minutes, I realized no use in fighting, they helped me up and walked me to a small suv and put me in the back and put the seat belt on me. This was the beginning. I remember on the way up to Yoncalla Oregon from Sacramento California we stopped at a burger king. They offered to get me some but food was the last thing on my mind. Looking back I wish I had taken up the offer. I remember being by the ashtray seeing a half smoked cigarette and asking to smoke it, they said I couldn’t. After a long drive we got there they walked me in. The whole way I talked about how I’d get away and run away. Well of course they told the staff at Scott Valley. By the way this is the perfect point to say I was sent to Scott Valley School in Yoncalla, Oregon. One of the many so called trouble teen schools. So being told I had threatened to run away I was put on runaway watch. For about two weeks I was forced to sleep under a light. I obviously didn’t get much sleep. Also I always had two higher phase watchers who would stand on each side of me. They had phases there was like five or six I believe. Most were 2 and 1. There were like 3 phase 3’s and 1 phase 5. There was like 20-30 of us at a time. Anyway where do I start. As I write this, with the emotions and ptsd it comes in full force and yet hazy at the same time. Maybe my head trying to protect me? So I was there seven months, thank god thats it. There were people that had been there years. Some of the people there, my god, I don’t know what to say. From a 12 year old who molested his 1 year old brother and put fish hooks in his carpet so his parents would step on it, to kids that were in there later teens who had used hard drugs, kids that had been molested and acted out as a result, kids that just were wilding out period, a lot of different walks. After I got off of runaway watch I got back on it within two weeks. I was in trouble sitting at the essay table while pe was going on. So one of the punishments was writing essays. But anyway there were two other kids at the table, the twelve year old i mentioned above and the only black kid there on the boys side. I looked at them and said if we worked together we could escape this place. They both just dead stared at me. When it was time to line up, the 12 year old went away first, the other kid looked at me and said were gonna get in trouble, that kid is a snitch and is going to tell on you. He was right. I got put on the “wall” because of that. For two weeks when not eating, sleeping, or using the bathroom, I was staring at a wall were a dot was drawn with a piece of paper on it. I would just let my imagination run wild while this happened thinking about home, friends, family, make believe countries governments politics, anything to keep the mind entertained or semi at peace! There was a green jacket my parents sent up for me that was my grandpa on my mothers side. Grandpa Applegate. It was a super cool green jacket with fake fure on the color, it looked like something you’d wear in the winter in Moscow. They said it had too many pockets and I could hide things in it. So they took it away. They put it in the Pod where all of our extra stuff was stored. Well one pod day where we could exchange stuff, there was a different staff member on duty then the one who said I couldn’t wear it. So i got it out and he didn’t know so i got to wear it for a bit. So when the other staff member got back on shift, he saw the jacket. I was banned from wearing a sweatshirt of any kind for a month. When we had outside pe everyday in Febuary to March I would get so cold. When I would put my hands in my shirt I would get another essay. This is Central Oregon, it gets cold that time of year! So some facts about the living situation, you had three minutes for showers and bathroom. You go over that you get an essay. You get more time the higher phase you get. You ever take a shit in three minutes? If done successfully I commend you. I would go five days without shitting because one of the night workers a guy named Johnny would not keep track of time when I’d get up to ask the restroom in the early morning. Johnny was an angel in a sense. Taking an uninterrupted shit was some of the most bliss I could get. Not trying to be gross but when using the restroom even was so restricted, being able to use the restroom not timed felt like hitting the lotto. When we’d wake up at seven am we only had 1 min to get up and make our bed, timed, if we didn’t make it wed get an essay. I’m naming these things as I remember different events, not necessarily in chronological order, but different events that happened. I had a peach fuzz mustache i was so proud of and long curly hair. They gave me a buzz cut and forced me to shave. My dad sent my grandpa Andrews old electric razor. That’s my dads dad. My biggest hero in my life. His name I got tatted on me at 19. I write this at 29. He died when I was 9. Most of the other kids had razors you could charge, mine needed to be plugged in to work, I didn’t understand that. I had never shaved to begin with, so I thought it was broken. I threw it away and put in a request for a new one. My father told them it was a plug in, but it was already to late so he needed to order me a new one. At a group therapy session thing, yeah we did that every day, and none of the people working there had any degrees that could go to the field they were working in. Anyway my writing is not perfect so as I was saying, at a group therapy thing, Jad one of the main guys working there brought up the razor, he said I knew it wasn’t broken, but I just wanted a new one. You don’t love your grandpa youre just a selfish little bitch. Those words still are ingrained in my mind. I know they are false but god damn they hurt. I cried. As I cried he just continued to tell me how selfish I am and im a bitch a pussy etc. William Frederick Andrews was my grandfathers name, as said I got it tatted on me at 19. He was born 1924, in 2024, my first child, a son, was born, William Frederick Andrews II. I call that a moral victory. Crazy how it worked out to be a 100 year difference. Another time it was 420, I cried because I wanted to smoke and he called me out on it in group therapy. He called me a bitch, a pussy, the usual. Weird things happened there, like one time they did a “fire drill” in the middle of the night, we had to go out into the cold in our underwear for five minutes until it was over. There were girls there but they were in a separate area. When they walked by or vice versa we had to look the other way. One of the many reasons it got shut down is there was a case of a student raping another. Apparently the girl who reported it got hounded in group therapy to the point she recanted. Now I could be wrong, but I think I know the person who did it, only one guy from the male side reached level five to the point where he became staff and could go to the girl side for group therapy. I don’t know for sure but that’s what i assume. At one point they were building a new building and they had us digging the ground around it for construction. Yeah they had us do all the cleaning indoors and out doors. If you were bad you could have your school privileges taken away. I had one kid who was a phase above me copy my work. He got caught. He got demoted, and got repromoted before I left. I never got past phase 1. So phase 1 red shirt. Phase 2 green shirt. Phase 3 Blue shirt. Phase 4 and above whatever you want. Like I said a lot of this is not in order. I am writing this in one go after years of talking about it to my loved ones. Put my thoughts to the pen, or keyboard in this case. So they did this thing were it was like a week, where it was the program or some weird name. They would break you down and “build you up” you would get a demeaning name for a week and then get an empowering name. I got the picture that if you were just a weed smoking low grade getting teen, you wouldn’t be ever seen as getting progress, you had to have “admitting to a bad act” of some sort. I made a story about how I let a girl cut me and drink my blood and how I thought about killing my dad. I know, like why would one lie and say that?!, well I figured if I had said I had done that and then shown to be turned good, it would reward me as changed and out that place. Looking back im like what the fuck. But I just wanted out and I was sure as hell willing to lie my way out. So yeah i went by like blood sucker or something like that for a week, but thats not bad. I remember so well one girl who was adopted and had relations with several boys back where she was from, she got sent there for that, and her name for the week was “Orphan Whore”. Also there were other students who weren’t going through the program that were involved with the process. Elon school or something like that where students yell at other students all sorts of insulting shit The end of it I reclaimed my name or whatever and they had me do like a ballet dance kind of weird thing to show rebirth, not that ballets weird, but in this scenario, yeah. I remember there was a day they said the world was going to end, someday in May 2011 some random wacko said, it made headlines as a joke more than anything, but i remember hearing it and hoping it happens because I wanted out. There was a gym there with rafters. I used to dream of hanging myself from them to get out. I dreamed about a car driving into the school and opening a wall up so we could run away. They used to tell us if we ran away there is bear and cougars out there, if they dont get us the cops will, and theyll put us in juvi just to have us sent back when out. They had these things called group essays. If someone did something and it no one admitted to it wed all have to write an essay about how we could have prevented it. One time a kid wiped shit on all the walls in the bathroom, the kid never admitted to it so we all had to write an essay on how we could have prevented it. I remember one time going to use the bathroom there was semen on the toilet seat, lol teen boys sex drive. I just wiped it off before I sat down. One time late at night I was masterbating in my bed. There was 20 of us sleeping in bunks in the same room, the kid who ended up copying my work i mentioned, saw me making some um, sheet movements, and looked my way giving me a dirty look, i just rolled over pretending like i was scratching, oh snap, almost caught. Not trying to be disgusting, teenage boys, find one that doesn’t masterbate, and i’ll give you some ocean beach front property in Kansas. You got weekly phone calls with your parents, you never dared to say what was going on because they were always listening. Letters same, they read them, so no use in saying something, they’ll just read it and throw it away, later my father asked me why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Well… My gf at the time ended up getting a bf after 6 months of waiting, i don’t blame her. Hey it was teenage love so im not hurt, but at the time it hurt because neither of us willingly ended it. She sent me a bookmark to have up there, it had us kissing on it, they took it from me for it being sexually explicit. They banned me from sitting up in bed and praying. I was atheist from 12 to 27 except for that time, i came back to my faith, praying for my exodus. I’m a christian again now, but only after I found a denomination that was open and affirming because I’m bisexual. Thinking about this, my mind can’t explain the pain, the rain of emotional trauma that falls in my cranium. Many times I’ve turned to cocaine, liquor, and suicidal thoughts because of the pain. It fucked my whole concept of everything in life. My emotions, my understanding of control of my own life, my ability to have healthy relationships, just so much. I still have dreams of being back there and wake up with nightmares, I was sixteen then, i turn 30 this year thirty, i have a beautiful amazing wife, a son who is the biggest blessing in my life, like i got it together now, but I don’t still, obvious by writing this. I remember one time getting to get my glasses prescription. They had to take me to town, the eye doctor, i thought about coming to him for help, but I thought if he works with these people, hell just report me to them, not them to authorities. My grandpa applegate, my moms dad, he died of suicide while I was gone, diagnosed with a terminal cancer he took it into his own hands. I never got to say good bye. When his funeral happened I wasn’t brought home for it, no, I was allowed to “write a letter to be read”. I wrote a letter, and it got read and a lot of family members said how deep it was and mature, I till this day have never watched the funeral video, I can’t. Because I should have been there. When I was on the wall, lookin towards the window could get me in trouble, because it was considered plotting an escape. I read in an english class I know where the caged bird sings, it became my favorite poem because I would watch the birds on the outside of the window and see how free they were. The joy of that. I was a juggalo, they banned me of talking anything icp related. I’d hum icp songs in protest, not like they knew them, also still a juggalo, two scoops of whoop. They day my dad came to get me, well I was peeing, and when I got out I saw him by the front door which was not far from the restroom, I ran up and hugged him saying oh my god dad! I love you! I started crying. He took to the place I always heard the workers there talk about a place called the Sugar Shack, a donut shop. Gosh dang good donuts! Then he took me to some cousins on the coast of oregon. Two days being out I was running on the beaches of the oregon coast. The sand in my feet, the breeze, the feeling of freedom. Scotts Valley School was shut down i think in 2016 for child abuse, i will link articles, but damn that place will forever haunt my head. The bats of the cave of my mind. I am married now with a family. I do my best to be a strong individual and provide, but this place has forever scared me and left me feeling weak. I couldn’t protect myself, so now I want to do everything to protect my family and be there for them. Scotts Valley school, I now live in a place called Scott Valley, the geographic area name, all come full circle? There is probably a lot more I could add to this, but for now, I just wanted to write down the bare minimum. If you have read this, thank you. I have found peace in my mind, heart, and soul as much as I can, and I hope those who have gone through similar ordeals can find some semblance of peace in their existence as well. I thank Jesus for keeping me hopeful in times I wanted to die. God bless you all.
https://www.statesmanjournal.com/story/news/politics/2015/12/14/lack-food-among-abuse-and-neglect-complaints-boarding-school/77246394/
https://www.oregonlive.com/politics/2015/12/hunger_vulgar_names_oregon_air.html
https://www.columbian.com/news/2016/jan/07/oregon-threatens-license-of-teen-boarding-school/
https://www.facebook.com/anorexicchild/posts/scotts-valley-boarding-school-in-yoncalla-oregon-scotts-valley-school-starved-th/368786460137878/
https://media.oregonlive.com/politics_impact/otheScotts%20Valley%20Notice%20of%20Intent%20to%20Revoke%20December%2011%202015.pdf
Ps the starved kid in the please eat post is not me

My Experience 

It was January 10, 2011. I’ll never forget that date. It was the day my life changed. Also it was the day of the college football national championship. I was and still am a big college football fan (Go Cal Bears!). Oregon was set to play auburn and i was going to watch it with my neighbor two doors down. I had been doing poorly in school, and yeah was a big pot head, still am, but am much more responsible. Anyways i told myself this semester i was going to actually try in school. I woke up at six am to get ready for my day, something that i never do. I went to put on my shoes and i noticed the laces were missing. Immediately i went to my mom and asked where are my laces? She wouldn’t give me an answer and was just acting so strange. Eventually she left the house and as she was leaving two men were walking up our walkway. I figured they were plumbers considering we had plumbing issues recently. They walked in and before I knew it they walked up to me on either side and slammed me to the ground and handcuffed me. I didn’t react as it was, I didn’t expect it for one, and for two when it began I froze, I didn’t know what to do. Once on the ground I started to squirm, I screamed “Please Help me help me I’m being kidnapped! Please!” They responded No use in screaming no one can hear you. I kept screaming. One of them said go ahead get it over with when your quiet it’ll be over sooner. After probably about ten minutes, I realized no use in fighting, they helped me up and walked me to a small suv and put me in the back and put the seat belt on me. This was the beginning. I remember on the way up to Yoncalla Oregon from Sacramento California we stopped at a burger king. They offered to get me some but food was the last thing on my mind. Looking back I wish I had taken up the offer. I remember being by the ashtray seeing a half smoked cigarette and asking to smoke it, they said I couldn’t. After a long drive we got there they walked me in. The whole way I talked about how I’d get away and run away. Well of course they told the staff at Scott Valley. By the way this is the perfect point to say I was sent to Scott Valley School in Yoncalla, Oregon. One of the many so called trouble teen schools. So being told I had threatened to run away I was put on runaway watch. For about two weeks I was forced to sleep under a light. I obviously didn’t get much sleep. Also I always had two higher phase watchers who would stand on each side of me. They had phases there was like five or six I believe. Most were 2 and 1. There were like 3 phase 3’s and 1 phase 5. There was like 20-30 of us at a time. Anyway where do I start. As I write this, with the emotions and ptsd it comes in full force and yet hazy at the same time. Maybe my head trying to protect me? So I was there seven months, thank god thats it. There were people that had been there years. Some of the people there, my god, I don’t know what to say. From a 12 year old who molested his 1 year old brother and put fish hooks in his carpet so his parents would step on it, to kids that were in there later teens who had used hard drugs, kids that had been molested and acted out as a result, kids that just were wilding out period, a lot of different walks. After I got off of runaway watch I got back on it within two weeks. I was in trouble sitting at the essay table while pe was going on. So one of the punishments was writing essays. But anyway there were two other kids at the table, the twelve year old i mentioned above and the only black kid there on the boys side. I looked at them and said if we worked together we could escape this place. They both just dead stared at me. When it was time to line up, the 12 year old went away first, the other kid looked at me and said were gonna get in trouble, that kid is a snitch and is going to tell on you. He was right. I got put on the “wall” because of that. For two weeks when not eating, sleeping, or using the bathroom, I was staring at a wall were a dot was drawn with a piece of paper on it. I would just let my imagination run wild while this happened thinking about home, friends, family, make believe countries governments politics, anything to keep the mind entertained or semi at peace! There was a green jacket my parents sent up for me that was my grandpa on my mothers side. Grandpa Applegate. It was a super cool green jacket with fake fure on the color, it looked like something you’d wear in the winter in Moscow. They said it had too many pockets and I could hide things in it. So they took it away. They put it in the Pod where all of our extra stuff was stored. Well one pod day where we could exchange stuff, there was a different staff member on duty then the one who said I couldn’t wear it. So i got it out and he didn’t know so i got to wear it for a bit. So when the other staff member got back on shift, he saw the jacket. I was banned from wearing a sweatshirt of any kind for a month. When we had outside pe everyday in Febuary to March I would get so cold. When I would put my hands in my shirt I would get another essay. This is Central Oregon, it gets cold that time of year! So some facts about the living situation, you had three minutes for showers and bathroom. You go over that you get an essay. You get more time the higher phase you get. You ever take a shit in three minutes? If done successfully I commend you. I would go five days without shitting because one of the night workers a guy named Johnny would not keep track of time when I’d get up to ask the restroom in the early morning. Johnny was an angel in a sense. Taking an uninterrupted shit was some of the most bliss I could get. Not trying to be gross but when using the restroom even was so restricted, being able to use the restroom not timed felt like hitting the lotto. When we’d wake up at seven am we only had 1 min to get up and make our bed, timed, if we didn’t make it wed get an essay. I’m naming these things as I remember different events, not necessarily in chronological order, but different events that happened. I had a peach fuzz mustache i was so proud of and long curly hair. They gave me a buzz cut and forced me to shave. My dad sent my grandpa Andrews old electric razor. That’s my dads dad. My biggest hero in my life. His name I got tatted on me at 19. I write this at 29. He died when I was 9. Most of the other kids had razors you could charge, mine needed to be plugged in to work, I didn’t understand that. I had never shaved to begin with, so I thought it was broken. I threw it away and put in a request for a new one. My father told them it was a plug in, but it was already to late so he needed to order me a new one. At a group therapy session thing, yeah we did that every day, and none of the people working there had any degrees that could go to the field they were working in. Anyway my writing is not perfect so as I was saying, at a group therapy thing, Jad one of the main guys working there brought up the razor, he said I knew it wasn’t broken, but I just wanted a new one. You don’t love your grandpa youre just a selfish little bitch. Those words still are ingrained in my mind. I know they are false but god damn they hurt. I cried. As I cried he just continued to tell me how selfish I am and im a bitch a pussy etc. William Frederick Andrews was my grandfathers name, as said I got it tatted on me at 19. He was born 1924, in 2024, my first child, a son, was born, William Frederick Andrews II. I call that a moral victory. Crazy how it worked out to be a 100 year difference. Another time it was 420, I cried because I wanted to smoke and he called me out on it in group therapy. He called me a bitch, a pussy, the usual. Weird things happened there, like one time they did a “fire drill” in the middle of the night, we had to go out into the cold in our underwear for five minutes until it was over. There were girls there but they were in a separate area. When they walked by or vice versa we had to look the other way. One of the many reasons it got shut down is there was a case of a student raping another. Apparently the girl who reported it got hounded in group therapy to the point she recanted. Now I could be wrong, but I think I know the person who did it, only one guy from the male side reached level five to the point where he became staff and could go to the girl side for group therapy. I don’t know for sure but that’s what i assume. At one point they were building a new building and they had us digging the ground around it for construction. Yeah they had us do all the cleaning indoors and out doors. If you were bad you could have your school privileges taken away. I had one kid who was a phase above me copy my work. He got caught. He got demoted, and got repromoted before I left. I never got past phase 1. So phase 1 red shirt. Phase 2 green shirt. Phase 3 Blue shirt. Phase 4 and above whatever you want. Like I said a lot of this is not in order. I am writing this in one go after years of talking about it to my loved ones. Put my thoughts to the pen, or keyboard in this case. So they did this thing were it was like a week, where it was the program or some weird name. They would break you down and “build you up” you would get a demeaning name for a week and then get an empowering name. I got the picture that if you were just a weed smoking low grade getting teen, you wouldn’t be ever seen as getting progress, you had to have “admitting to a bad act” of some sort. I made a story about how I let a girl cut me and drink my blood and how I thought about killing my dad. I know, like why would one lie and say that?!, well I figured if I had said I had done that and then shown to be turned good, it would reward me as changed and out that place. Looking back im like what the fuck. But I just wanted out and I was sure as hell willing to lie my way out. So yeah i went by like blood sucker or something like that for a week, but thats not bad. I remember so well one girl who was adopted and had relations with several boys back where she was from, she got sent there for that, and her name for the week was “Orphan Whore”. Also there were other students who weren’t going through the program that were involved with the process. Elon school or something like that where students yell at other students all sorts of insulting shit The end of it I reclaimed my name or whatever and they had me do like a ballet dance kind of weird thing to show rebirth, not that ballets weird, but in this scenario, yeah. I remember there was a day they said the world was going to end, someday in May 2011 some random wacko said, it made headlines as a joke more than anything, but i remember hearing it and hoping it happens because I wanted out. There was a gym there with rafters. I used to dream of hanging myself from them to get out. I dreamed about a car driving into the school and opening a wall up so we could run away. They used to tell us if we ran away there is bear and cougars out there, if they dont get us the cops will, and theyll put us in juvi just to have us sent back when out. They had these things called group essays. If someone did something and it no one admitted to it wed all have to write an essay about how we could have prevented it. One time a kid wiped shit on all the walls in the bathroom, the kid never admitted to it so we all had to write an essay on how we could have prevented it. I remember one time going to use the bathroom there was semen on the toilet seat, lol teen boys sex drive. I just wiped it off before I sat down. One time late at night I was masterbating in my bed. There was 20 of us sleeping in bunks in the same room, the kid who ended up copying my work i mentioned, saw me making some um, sheet movements, and looked my way giving me a dirty look, i just rolled over pretending like i was scratching, oh snap, almost caught. Not trying to be disgusting, teenage boys, find one that doesn’t masterbate, and i’ll give you some ocean beach front property in Kansas. You got weekly phone calls with your parents, you never dared to say what was going on because they were always listening. Letters same, they read them, so no use in saying something, they’ll just read it and throw it away, later my father asked me why didn’t you tell me what was going on? Well… My gf at the time ended up getting a bf after 6 months of waiting, i don’t blame her. Hey it was teenage love so im not hurt, but at the time it hurt because neither of us willingly ended it. She sent me a bookmark to have up there, it had us kissing on it, they took it from me for it being sexually explicit. They banned me from sitting up in bed and praying. I was atheist from 12 to 27 except for that time, i came back to my faith, praying for my exodus. I’m a christian again now, but only after I found a denomination that was open and affirming because I’m bisexual. Thinking about this, my mind can’t explain the pain, the rain of emotional trauma that falls in my cranium. Many times I’ve turned to cocaine, liquor, and suicidal thoughts because of the pain. It fucked my whole concept of everything in life. My emotions, my understanding of control of my own life, my ability to have healthy relationships, just so much. I still have dreams of being back there and wake up with nightmares, I was sixteen then, i turn 30 this year thirty, i have a beautiful amazing wife, a son who is the biggest blessing in my life, like i got it together now, but I don’t still, obvious by writing this. I remember one time getting to get my glasses prescription. They had to take me to town, the eye doctor, i thought about coming to him for help, but I thought if he works with these people, hell just report me to them, not them to authorities. My grandpa applegate, my moms dad, he died of suicide while I was gone, diagnosed with a terminal cancer he took it into his own hands. I never got to say good bye. When his funeral happened I wasn’t brought home for it, no, I was allowed to “write a letter to be read”. I wrote a letter, and it got read and a lot of family members said how deep it was and mature, I till this day have never watched the funeral video, I can’t. Because I should have been there. When I was on the wall, lookin towards the window could get me in trouble, because it was considered plotting an escape. I read in an english class I know where the caged bird sings, it became my favorite poem because I would watch the birds on the outside of the window and see how free they were. The joy of that. I was a juggalo, they banned me of talking anything icp related. I’d hum icp songs in protest, not like they knew them, also still a juggalo, two scoops of whoop. They day my dad came to get me, well I was peeing, and when I got out I saw him by the front door which was not far from the restroom, I ran up and hugged him saying oh my god dad! I love you! I started crying. He took to the place I always heard the workers there talk about a place called the Sugar Shack, a donut shop. Gosh dang good donuts! Then he took me to some cousins on the coast of oregon. Two days being out I was running on the beaches of the oregon coast. The sand in my feet, the breeze, the feeling of freedom. Scotts Valley School was shut down i think in 2016 for child abuse, i will link articles, but damn that place will forever haunt my head. The bats of the cave of my mind. I am married now with a family. I do my best to be a strong individual and provide, but this place has forever scared me and left me feeling weak. I couldn’t protect myself, so now I want to do everything to protect my family and be there for them. Scotts Valley school, I now live in a place called Scott Valley, the geographic area name, all come full circle? There is probably a lot more I could add to this, but for now, I just wanted to write down the bare minimum. If you have read this, thank you. I have found peace in my mind, heart, and soul as much as I can, and I hope those who have gone through similar ordeals can find some semblance of peace in their existence as well. I thank Jesus for keeping me hopeful in times I wanted to die. God bless you all.
https://www.statesmanjournal.com/story/news/politics/2015/12/14/lack-food-among-abuse-and-neglect-complaints-boarding-school/77246394/
https://www.oregonlive.com/politics/2015/12/hunger_vulgar_names_oregon_air.html
https://www.columbian.com/news/2016/jan/07/oregon-threatens-license-of-teen-boarding-school/
https://www.facebook.com/anorexicchild/posts/scotts-valley-boarding-school-in-yoncalla-oregon-scotts-valley-school-starved-th/368786460137878/
https://media.oregonlive.com/politics_impact/otheScotts%20Valley%20Notice%20of%20Intent%20to%20Revoke%20December%2011%202015.pdf
Ps the starved kid in the please eat post is not me

When I was a senior in high school around 2017, my English teacher told us about a poem or short story (I'm unsure which it was), where a woman is writing about going to her sons funeral, where she notes the irony of how it's a gorgeous day as she's having the worst day of her life. My teacher didn't recite any lines or passages from it, nor did she tell us the title or author, just the story's premise, and how much it affected her. Hearing her recall this also deeply affected me, but I haven't been able to find the story itself. I was wondering if anyone has any idea what it could be?
Here are some of the details I can provide:

• it was made in the year 2017 or before.
• The baseline concept is noted above.
• The closest things I could find along those lines was a link to these articles, but I'm unsure if either of these are it

https://lavieselonemily.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/a-good-day-for-a-funeral/
https://yaledailynews.com/blog/2004/04/01/the-day-of-the-funeral/
Some uncertainties where I could be wrong:

• I'm almost certain it was a woman writing about her son, but that could be inaccurate

u/TyeDyeAmish thank you so much for the card, I'm happy to hear from you.🖤
u/notthemonth thank you so much for the beautiful space card, it's so pretty 😍
u/TheFeistyFox thank you so much for the card and your words. I love the last stanza of Funeral Blues, I appreciate you sharing it.
2x u/PinkPenguin thank you so much for the penguin bingo card! Sounds like lots of fun! Also, thank you for the card you sent in memory of Shirley. It's beautiful and your words mean a lot. I love you!! 🖤✨
u/major_ad5436 thank you so much for the bird card, it's hilarious!
u/Cassiopeia88 thank you so much for the seal card, it's great!
u/grasshopper2231 thank you so much for the card. I'm happy to hear about your travelling plans and I can't wait to hear how it went!
u/sadbrokehitchhiker thank you so much for the long necked Karen card!
u/YESmynameisYES thank you so much for the pretty card and your kind words. I've lost quite a few people just as pets and animals, and it feels definitely very different to lose a person vs a pet/animal but also feels similar? I don't know how to describe it any better. I definitely needed a reminder to be kind to myself as I tend to treat myself badly in times like now. Thank you so much for adding those cute dragon stickers, they are wonderful!
u/t3ctim thank you so much for the sharkplane and moose card and the poem. It's perfect!!
u/thecaledonianrose thank you so much for the card, stickers and your words. It means a lot and it helps so much to not feel alone. I appreciate you so much.🖤✨
u/unseenbowl thank you so much for the spring card! My spring season is mostly about my veggie and flower patches. Everything starts to grow - some plants like my potatoes and radishes are already so huuge while others like my peppers, cucumbers and carrots are really small still. I love to watch them grow and I can't wait to harvest✨ this year is my first year with corn and I can't wait to see how they grow and what they taste like compared to store-bought. We do have a weekly farmers market nearby and I love it a lot. Also, we've been to a medieval festival day thingy and I hope there will be more markets and festivals around to visit.
2x u/SweetyDarlingLulu thank you so much for the card and your kind words. Shirley was the bestest dog around, I swear. She's the cutest and I still can't believe she's gone. It's been two weeks now and it didn't get any easier yet,... My tattoo artist had time for me last week and I have her paw under my skin now. It's the paw I held when she crossed the rainbow bridge right above the hand I held her paw with. It helps to have her with me now and be able to hold her paw every time life feels impossible. I love and appreciate you lots including all your cute furry friends.🖤✨ Also, thank you so much for the dragon card. It warms my heart to receive dragon mail from you every time. Your mail is like the light at the end of the tunnel - I know it's there and will arrive and I have no words for how much positive impact you have on me and my life.🖤🖤🖤
u/melhen16 thank you so much for the colourful card you sent! I love the quotes you add on your cards and you are a wonderful part of this community. Thank you for being here🖤🖤🖤
2x u/Caraal thank you a lot for both cards - the dog card reminds me of Shirley when she was younger, it's so adorable. I appreciate your words a lot, all the mail I receive helps so much as I don't feel alone and you all make me feel seen, validated in my feelings and loved. Thanks for that!! Also, thank you so much for adding extras, that's so kind of you.🖤🖤🖤
u/draftyelectrolyte thank you so much for the wonderful card and your kind words. We truly did our best to give her a wonderful life with us. She's been given back from her first owners when she was little, then she came to us and I think we did a good job spoiling her rotten. It makes me happy to hear about your fur friends and to hear that Shirley is not the only Jack Russel trying to be a Dalmatian, haha. I've been dreaming of her a lot lately and it's super realistic. It feels great to have her around in my dreams but it hurts on a different level when I wake up and realise that she's gone. I do believe that they stay around and while not exactly being religious, I love to imagine that everyone that passes is like a guardian angel, taking care of me from afar. There's been moments I am 100% sure that some of them were around and I cherish those moments even if it might be utter bullshit. Buuuuut even if it is utter bullshit, it helped me in those moments and I really love the thought of loved ones being there to support me in hard times.🖤✨

First time posting. I'll try to keep it short but include necessary details. My parents, sister and I were estranged from my grandfather and his wife for 30 years. Little back story, he wasn't exactly a great dad to my mom, she never had a good relationship with him and he left when she was around 12. We are from Czechoslovakia and when the Russians invaded my grandfather left with his second wife to move to Canada. My mom got married young, had my sister and me and when I was 2 they decided to leave as well and the one good thing my grandfather did was help us come to Canada, something I have always been grateful for. He was in our lives when I was little, though he openly favoured my sister (he admits to it now, though he can't remember why). She was older, stronger, faster, while I was quiet and shy and sleepy. We were good kids, normal, typical, active. But his home never felt welcoming. Not warm and safe like a grandparents home should. Looking back, he was a very selfish man. My mom also says she could never rely on him, he wasn't there like a dad should be though she desperately wanted a dad. I give them both grace though, as I learned of their lives. He was born in Spain and when he was little his family had to leave due to the Spanish civil war. Then when in Brno the Nazis came and life got really tough. His sister died as a teenager followed shortly by his mother. My great grandfather was brutal and beat him severely and the threat of death was always there from the Germans, along with hunger. It was a very difficult life. I don't know how difficult his wife's life was, but she did lose a child very suddenly when the girl was 11 or so and that must have broken her. Perhaps she treated us the way she did partially cause of that trauma. I don't know. When I was about 12 and I visited them as I did regularly at that time, I told them a poem I learned at school and they got offended by it. I have no clue, I don't remember. They demanded an apology. My parents were like what the hell for? And we didn't speak for 30 years. Crazy I know. I saw him a few times in that time, once for a funeral as a teenager. He never called, never expressed interest in seeing me or my sister. Since then we grew up, I ended up having a daughter in my 20s, raising her alone, life goes on. About 8 years ago I reached out to him, just to see and I think cause his wife was developing dementia and his life was chaos he expressed no interest. So I gave up. But then 3 years ago I decided what the hell, the man is very old, I don't want regrets, his wife is in long term care and he's alone. I'll try one last time. And he was very glad. We've been in contact ever since. I visit him regularly and as time goes on and he needs more help I've been trying to help him more and more. I have POA, he doesn't like to ask for help so he usually ends up on the floor and I have to call 911 and then he accepts it. Our relationship has grown, he likes our discussions, we discuss history and our lives, I'm the only person he gets to speak Czech with. He's now 92 and it's really showing. He's ended up in the hospital twice this year. I've been trying very hard to arrange help for him, care while he's home, lots and lots of things going on, reaching out to whoever I can since I can't see him daily. I work full time and literally can't. This week has been particularly difficult since he's in hospital so I'm dealing with all that stuff, my mom needs extra help from me since my dad is away for a few weeks and she's post surgery, I have to be there for my daughter who has some mental health struggles of her own, plus I have all the normal work and life stuff. I'm stretched super thin and exhausted. I'm trying my best to fulfill my grandfather's wishes. Not mine.
When I called the ambulance last week his neighbour who sometimes checks on him came by. She offered to check on him daily if he needed and expressed concerned. I've spoken to her only a few times over the past few years. They were pleasant and short conversations. She took my number when the paramedics were at the house. I texted her how he was doing and then asked if she was willing and able to check on him, she has no obligation but that I needed to figure out everything before he was sent home from the hospital. She never responded. I was arranging for someone to come clean his house since its frankly gross (he kinda soiled himself before he fell) and at his age he just wasn't managing the way he should. No clutter or anything too bad, he just doesn't see certain things and he needed new bedsheets and a bunch of stuff. So I arranged for that but I needed the cleaner to have a key to the house. So I asked that she return the spare key she has. She responded that she will only return it if my grandfather asks for it back. Then an hour later texted that I'm a terrible person, where have I been, my texts to her were rude and I only want his house and money, that she knows all about me and she's blocking me and to never contact her again. I'm happy to share screen shots of the conversation but going over it I don't see where I was rude. It really threw me off cause I've been trying so hard to arrange help. Yes I'm inheriting the house. But that's what HE wants. I would help him either way. He is big on family legacy and he wants the house to stay within the family. My mother wants nothing to do with him and my sister doesn't really talk to anyone in the family. That literally leaves just me (his wife has no living family and all their friends are dead). I've never been motivated by money. I know many people do take advantage of their elderly relatives for inheritance. It's always disgusted me and I make sure to check myself to ensure my intentions are good. But now my future neighbour hates my guts, thinks I'm a gold digging awful person. I think cause I'm stretched thin, exhausted and trying my very best her comments really hurt. I don't think I deserve them, she's never tried to get to know me and knows nothing about what my family has been through over the past 30 years or why I wasn't in his life all that time. I was a child, I had no say when we stopped talking. He could have reached out and has thanked me for calling him, admitting he had to much pride to pick up the phone and do the same. Sorry, this is longer than I wanted. Thanks.

tl;dr: The analysis interprets "Don't Carry It All" by The Decemberists as a song about a small community experiencing cycles of harvest, birth, and death. The lyrics suggest hidden secrets and multiple layers of meaning. The writer speculates that the deceased boy being mourned might be a bastard son, conceived out of wedlock during the previous spring's turning of the season. The song reflects themes of communal togetherness during times of work and grief, with metaphors tied to nature and the cycle of seasons. Ultimately, it's portrayed as a complex and richly symbolic piece that invites repeated listening and interpretation. The writer expresses a deep appreciation for the song's depth and invites discussion on similar works by The Decemberists. (Summary written by ChatGPT ;)

Intro

There are secrets hidden in this one, I think. For one, what exactly is it that “nobody knows”? I have one possible answer, and I thought I’d share. I think the boy whose death the townsfolk gather to mourn is a bastard son (a child born of unmarried parents).
Let me explain why I think this. I’ve copied the lyrics below and labeled them for easy reference. For instance, (1) refers to the whole intro section, and (1a) refers to the first line, 'here we come to a turning of the season’.

Lyrics

Intro

(1) a. Here we come to a turning of the season
b. Witness to the arc towards the sun
c. The neighbor's blessed burden within reason
d. Becomes a burden borne of all in one

Chorus

(2) a. And nobody, nobody knows
b. Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
c. Don't carry it all, don't carry it all
d. We are all our hands in holders
e. Beneath this bold and brilliant sun
f. This I swear to all

Verse 1

(3) a. A monument to build beneath the arbors
b. Upon a plinth that towers towards the trees
c. Let every vessel pitching hard to starboard
d. Lay it's head on summer's freckled knees

Repeat (2), the chorus.
Verse 2

(4) a. There a wreath of trillium and ivy
b. Laid upon the body of the boy
c. Lazy will the loam come from it's hiding
d. Return his quiet certitude to the soil

Outro

(5) a. So raise a glass to turnings of the season
b. And watch it as it arcs towards the sun
c. And you must bear your neighbor's burden within reason
d. And your labors will be borne when all is done

Repeat the chorus, (2), again.

Analysis

Setting the scene

In (1) the scene is set. The ‘turning of the season’ in (1a) is the turn from spring to summer, and with summer comes the harvest, a time of toil. The ‘arc towards the sun’ in (1b), then, is the corn or wheat in the fields, bending in the wind. (Side note: “witness to the arc towards the sun” is one of my favorite lines in the song. Whenever I hear it, I feel like I’m in a field on a clear day, watching the golden wheat sway—a scene familiar from my adolescence in the midwest). It is not lonely individuals in these fields, however. From (1c) and (1d) we know that to reap the bounty of the earth, which is the ‘neighbor’s blessed burden’, is to come together as a community. So harvest is a time of togetherness.
In this context, the first line of the chorus, (2a), might be rephrased as ‘there is nobody that nobody knows’. In other words everyone knows everyone. This is the hallmark of a small town or village. In (2b), letting the ‘yoke fall from our shoulders’ means that we relieve ourselves the burden of the hard work, and we do this, as related in (2d)-(2e), by relying on our community. Here, the ‘holders’ of (2d) are containers for grain or corn. More simply put, those of the village are all working together to harvest the crop. This is all done in the light of the ‘bold and brilliant sun’ in (2e). This is, of course, literally a description of working under the summer sun. But it is also metaphorical: to work under the sun is to have no secrets. As is common in such small towns, in which everyone knows everyone, everyone knows everything about everyone. (These images of fields and community bring Midsommar to mind for me. That is the community I picture for this song, though the differences are stark)
After the work is done, it will be soon a time of rest, as related in (3c)-(3d). But not yet. In (3a), there is a ‘monument’ to be built. Like the harvest, this too is not the work of one individual, but requires the community. For some, the monument means the end of their work, so as related in (3c)-(3d), they may finally lay their heads on ‘freckled knees’. For others though, a ‘vessel pitching hard to starboard’ (i.e., a bountiful harvest) means it is time for trade. Ships (‘vessels’) so loaded with trade goods that they are ‘pitching hard to starboard’ have come to the community’s shores (their ‘summer’s freckled knees), and the product must be bartered for.
Here the chorus in (2) repeats. It has mostly the same interpretation as before, with calm, happy air, though having our ‘hands in holders’ in (2d) now means that we are standing hand in hand, in celebration. But when we get to (4), the second verse, the mood turns somber. It seems that a boy has died. Fittingly, he will be returned to the soil, from which the crops were grown. In this context, (2d) can be reinterpreted: having our ‘hands in holders’ in (2d) now means that we are standing in solidarity against the pain. (3a) and (3b) may similarly be reinterpreted. The ‘monument’ in (3a) built on a ‘plinth’ in (3b) may be a gravestone, built for the boy. So what was a happy time, is now a solemn one. (Side note: I love (4c), ‘lazy will the loam come from its hiding’. The imagery of the rest of the song is so light and dry, so this line about the dark and damp hits hard)

The core of my argument

The outro, (5), which resembles (1), is the key to my argument. We have come again to a turning of the seasons, in (5a) and so from summer it has turned to fall. In the context of the funeral in (4), we are primed to read (5c) and (5d) as depicting each neighbor sharing in their ‘neighbor’s burden’:, i.e., helping each other grieve and overcome the pain of the child’s death. But there is a more literal reading here. To ‘bear’, in (5c), is to bear a child: to birth. Bearing a ‘neighbor’s burden’, then, is carrying their child (‘carrying’ in the sense of pregnancy). Where the ‘labors’ in (5d) at first glance seemed to refer to the hard work of the harvest, we now see that these labors are the labors of childbirth, after which the child will be ‘borne’. (Side note: so many of these lines have more than one meaning, which is why listening to it is such a joy: I find something new every time)
This reading of ‘bear your neighbor’s burden’ triggers a reinterpretation of the chorus, which repeats again now, at the end of the song. And now we are poised to answer the question we began with: What it is that ‘nobody knows’ in (2a) is that the child to be born the next year (at the turning of the seasons from spring to summer) is a bastard son. The mother and father must be worried: will the child have the blue eyes that will give our infidelity away? But for now, nobody knows.
We are also triggered to reinterpret the death of the boy in (4). Is this just any child? It might be, but also notice that the time from the start of autumn (when you must ‘bear your neighbor’s burden’) to the end of spring (‘the turning of the season’ from spring to summer) is 9 months: the exact time required to bear a child. With this context, the “neighbor’s blessed burden” becoming “a burden borne of all in one” is the community coming together to celebrate the birth of the child. (As they say, it takes a village)
Upon re-listening, when we hear (4), we might consider that it is this child’s death (or a child like this one, conceived outside a marriage in the previous spring). This child is stillborn, or did not survive long after birth. For the community, this is bitter and heartbreaking. But for the mother of the bastard son, the feelings are more complex. Though she lost her child, the guilt of adultery and the worry of discovery has been lifted. Now to be ‘beneath the bold and brilliant sun’ in (2e) is ironic: there were secrets here, though they died with the boy.

Overall thoughts

This is a song about a community coming together for harvest, birth, and death, over and over. And I think, like the cycle of the seasons, this is a song that is made to be listened to again and again.
Of the Decemberists’ songs I’ve listened to, this is my favorite. I suspect that this song is a momentary stroke of genius, and that the other music is not the same. But my knowledge of their music is limited. Are any of their other songs like this? If so, what are they about?
And surely there are things that I’ve missed: songs, like poems, can be open to multiple interpretations. I’m more than happy to hear your thoughts.