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Genre: Drama; Geoffrey Rogers; 2020; writed by: Kerri Rogers, Geoffrey Rogers. 1:34 wait your eyes go from left to straight when u open them. Blind eyes opened tickets. What she needs is sum L U M B A G O and some T U R B U R C U L O S I S Read Less. You lost the war. Blind eyes opened movie trailer. I loved the theme of forgiveness and the reminders of Gods sovereignty in everything - even time travel. Blind eyes opened theatres. Here because the exhale video reminded me of this. The hell is Captain Marvel doing in WB studio.

I was tensed up and shivering for a very large part of this movie, and not because the cinema was cold.

 

Anybody here from Matsimus. Blind eyes opened 2020. Blind Eyes openedition. Blind eyes opened movie youtube. Me seeing the thumbnail “ no time to die” me thinking: Well he wont die in this movie. In Theaters Jan 23 The Truth About Sex Trafficking in America Blind Eyes Opened is a first-of-a-kind Christian documentary that dives deep into the sex trafficking industry in the U. S. The film exposes the darkness that fuels demand, highlights survivors' transformations through Christ, engages lawmakers, law enforcement, organizations, ministries and experts across the country committed to ending the atrocities, all while showing Christ as the hope for all involved. Exclusive Content related events.

Jesus opened blind eyes. If I were in bird box: Someone: FREE FOOD Me: OpEnS bliNdfOlD. How does she keep her hair so perfect with all that spinning around? My hair's like 'what, you moved one inch? NOW IM COMPLETELY KNOTTED. Blind eyes opened reviews. Im so glad, I didnt see the trailer of this movie before I watched it. Blind eyes opened documentary. 2:02 when you face a Uchiha.

Sceptical. Blind eyes opened showing. Why did this take so long to be released. Blind eyes opened netflix. People don't want to believe this is happening but it is. It has to be exposed for it to be stopped. Blind eyes opened streaming. This gives me chills. Blind eyes opened wiki. Blind eyes opened youtube. Lol the question was “how do u have s*x” and he was like “think about it its done in the dark anyways” lmaoooo 😂.

History isn't kind to men that play God. Haha, tell that to Elliot. I cant even close my eyes for a minute without looking. Awwww I feel so bad for everyone who can't see 😭😭💔 it really breaks my heart. This is gonna be hard to sit through without breaking down. Blind Eyes opened. The only good pimp is a DEAD pimp. Blind eyes opened website. Wait until the deaf people hear about this. Looks like bailey brought them back together again 😂.

“Man, I havent been here in years” Mickey said as we walked into The Black Umbrella, a run down bar at the end of the street adjacent to ours. She said it right as we crossed the threshold, almost as if on cue. “I wonder why. ” I muttered. Mickey sucked her teeth and walked ahead briskly. The Black Umbrella may sound like a black and neon concert venue frequented by hipster vampires or perhaps an Ivy League secret society but no, it is instead a dirty old dive bar with none of the nostalgic charm you might expect from a place like this. The one thing that set it apart was that, for whatever absurd reason, all of the drinks were served in beakers. It felt oddly familiar to me. I knew I hadnt been there before. At least not in the past five years. Two men sat at the bar, uninterested in our arrival. To the left of them, a hole in the wall. A gaping maw. Pitch black and inexplicably eerie. It didnt look like anyone had ever attempted to patch it up. We ordered our drinks. “Lets get a booth. ” Mickey grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the back of the establishment. I sipped at my whisky ginger in a flask half heartedly. I couldnt get my mind off of the strange hole in the wall. It resisted being ignored. I found myself glancing at it frequently. “When was the last time you were here? ” I asked. “Hm, probably when I was—“ Mickey took a sip of her drink, a vodka soda in a graduated cylinder. One of the only glasses they had that had a flat bottom and could be placed on the table. “Oh. I mean, I guess I havent been here. Just a place like this. Yknow. Forgotten. Kind of odd. ” I nodded. “Sure. ” I couldnt stop looking at that hole in the wall. As dusty and decrepit as this place was, it seemed weird that they would just leave it like that. The hole mustve been two feet long and a foot wide. There was no torn wallpaper around its periphery and it seemed too perfectly oval in shape. As if someone had punched it out with a comically large hole puncher. “Oh come on. As if you didnt frequent places like this in your rebellious teenage phase. ” “I didnt really have a rebellious phase. ” What I meant was, well, I dont know if I did. “Yeah right. I can totally see you rocking oversized band tees and, come on, what color was your hair? Purple? ” I tried to think back to my teenage years. I tried to think back to any time before five years ago. I couldnt. I had no memories from before my twenty-third birthday. I didnt even know when my birthday was, I simply called it that because its my earliest memory. I couldnt remember my parents or any family at all. Its almost as if I simply materialized one day. That day, March 27th, I remember standing in the street in the rain. Confused. I found keys in the jacket I was wearing, attached to a tag with an address on Bell Street. I went there and was welcomed by two strangers, Abigail and Amir, who were apparently my new roommates. They told me we had spoken online and on the phone. I didnt remember any of that. I lived there for two years before they abruptly moved to Shitfuck, Vermont and I couldnt afford the rent on my own. Ive been living with Michaela since. Those first two years werent uneventful, there were a handful of weird instances including some inexplicable disappearances. When I lived with Abby and Amir, I tried to be social. I had successfully buried the unsettling feelings that came along with my amnesia by becoming the ultimate social butterfly. But my friendships never lasted long, for various reasons. I remember approaching the parents of my only close friend, asking after her, because I hadnt seen her in weeks… I had been to their house before. I had spent the weekend there with her the prior Thanksgiving. They told me they didnt have a daughter. That the mother was, in fact, infertile. My question had opened an old wound. I told myself I mustve had the wrong house, the wrong couple. I had to convince myself of that because what else could I do? A year ago, I couldve sworn I saw her. At a gas station a few miles from my apartment. We made eye contact briefly before she got into her car and drove away. Whenever I would try to remember my past, I would hit a wall. Sometimes, I felt a tug and a quiet ringing in my ears. Thats what I felt then, watching my friends doppelgänger drive away. Its difficult to describe the tug. It wasnt physical or emotional. It was almost as if my vision, no, more than my vision… My consciousness was a table cloth and someone was pulling on the bottom right corner. Gently at first, maybe trying to get a grip. If I dwelled on my past for too long, if I tried to uncover any memories from before that rainy day, the ringing starts to get louder and the tugging stronger. I start to lose focus. Something innate tells me I dont want to know what would happen if the proverbial tablecloth was ripped off of the table. Something intense. Something explosive. “Helloo? ” Mickey was looking at me. The tablecloth snapped back into place. “Im just kidding. You dont have to look so serious. ” “My hair. It was green actually. How about you? ” I lied, taking a sip of my drink. The tables had holes in them for the drinks that didnt have flat bottoms. I felt like I was drinking my high school chemistry project. Mickey was silent for a moment. A contemplative silence. “I dont know. I dont remember much of my teenage years. ” I thought she looked sad. Distant. The moment passed. “But I did drink a lot back then. ” She laughed. As we were heading out, I looked back at the far wall. At the hole next to the bar. “What do you think that's about? ” I asked Mickey, directing her gaze to the hole. “What? ” “That hole in the wall. Its kinda freaky. ” Michaela was silent for a moment. “I dont see a hole in the wall. ” She said. ——————— Two weeks later, I was walking home from work. It was only 4pm but it was starting to get dark. As I turned the corner onto my street, I noticed something odd. I had lived with Michaela in our shitty house on Bramble street for three years then. The house contained four units, only two were occupied. Michaela and I lived on the first floor. To get to the apartments on the second floor, you have to go around back. Our house was the only building on our street. Even if that werent the case, the place would still be hard to miss. It was an ugly saturated mauve that contrasted greatly with its surroundings. On the far side of the house was a vacant lot, overgrown with weeds and littered with cans of beer and energy drinks. The lot on the side closer to where I stood had also always been vacant, except it was paved. I always assumed it was an abandoned parking lot. It wasnt vacant anymore. There now stood a small house. I guess I wouldnt call it a house. A shack? It looked like a pool shed. It looked completely out of place in the center of this desolate lot. It didnt seem to have a door. There was a person there. I couldnt distinguish their shape or features. It seemed like they were slowly shifting as I watched. When I looked away and looked back again, they looked simultaneously like a new person yet exactly the same. They felt familiar to me. It looked like they were tending to the outside of the shack. Once I was standing before the door to my house, I gave them a long look. They hadnt glanced in my direction. They seemed transfixed with what they were doing, which I could now see was wiping the wooden frame of the shacks single window. A window that, I noticed, faced my own bedroom windows on the first floor. The first room to the right after entering the house is Michaelas bedroom. Her door was cracked but I knocked anyway. “Come in! ” I walked in and sat on the couch by her door. Mickey was typing something on her laptop with one hand and reaching for an animal cracker with the other. Her auburn hair was tied in a messy bun. She missed the bag of crackers by an inch which forced her to divert her attention from the computer screen. “Whats up? ” She asked me. Her brows knitting together with concern. I realized I hadnt said anything. “Have you seen that pool shack that popped up overnight next door? ” “Yeah. ” “Dont you think its weird? Its so tiny and out of place. Where did it come from? ” “I do… Actually, look at this. ” She jumped off the bed, almost knocking over her laptop. She opened the bottom most drawer of her desk and rifled through it. Finding what she wanted, she came over and sat on the couch next to me. She handed me a piece of paper. “This is the listing for this place. For a few years ago, when I found this place. ” I wasnt sure why she was showing it to me. “Look. ” She pointed to one of the exterior photos. It was taken from an angle. You could see part of the street in front of it. Two cars were parked out front. The vacant lot was mostly visible behind the house. Except it wasnt vacant. The same little doorless pool house was present. “That definitely wasnt here when we moved in. ” “I know. “Maybe it blew away during some particularly strong winds and the owner has been meaning to rebuild it but hasnt been able to until now.? ” “Is the uh, character outside, the owner? ” “Character? I have no idea who the owner is. I didnt consider that someone might own that lot until now. ” “Theres someone out there now— Never mind. I just dont get how it popped up like that. This is just weird. ” Mickey shrugged and ate a handful of animal crackers. ——————————— That night I kept thinking about the eerie Keeper of the shed. How diligently they cleaned that window frame. How they hadnt glanced at me as I passed. They had seemed so disconnected from the world, only focused on their small, repetitive task. I wondered where they were now. They couldnt possibly live in that little shack. I suddenly remembered that I could see the entire lot from my window. Something primordial told me not to look outside. I remember hearing the front door open and close quietly before I fell asleep. ———————————— The next day there was a snow storm. My boss called me early to tell me not to come in. I spent the day reading until Mickey came home and came to my room. She seemed a little dazed. Before I could say anything she mouthed something. I was about to ask her to repeat herself when she asked, audibly this time, “what time is it? ” I looked at my phone. “5:25” “In the morning? ” She asked, unfocused. “No. PM. ” It was November so it was already dark outside. She sucked her teeth. “Right. ” Pause. “Hey… Lets go to The Umbrella! ” Mickey had three more drinks than usual, four if you count the one she dropped because she forgot that beakers cant balance on flat surfaces. She hardly said a word the whole evening. When we got up to leave, I noticed that the hole in the wall was gone. ————————————————— That night I couldnt resist the urge. I raised my blinds and looked out the window. There was a light on in the window facing me. I tried to make out any forms inside. The shed seemed too close. Although the lot was next door, it was a rather spacious plot of land. The house was in the center, which was more than a few leaps and bounds away from me. But somehow that distance didnt matter. I had the strange feeling that if I reached out, I would be able to touch it. I couldnt look away. The familiar feeling of my mental tablecloth being pulled resumed. I let it happen for a minute or two. I felt myself leaning to the right. My head felt heavy. I pressed my cheek to my collarbone. My vision started to disappear into whatever void existed at the bottom right corner of my consciousness. The ringing was more of a buzzing. I had the strange thought that I was hearing the sounds of my neurons firing. Suddenly I remembered where I was. I had let it go on for too long as now it was physically difficult for me to extract myself. I had to pull myself away from the void. It tried to pull me harder in the opposite direction. Once I was free, I stepped away from the window. The light in the pool shack went dark. I had a feeling that that was for me. I closed the blinds on both of my windows for good measure. As I was falling asleep, I heard the front door open and close again. ————————————————— The next day Michaela didnt come home. Her shoes and coat werent by the door. Though her bedroom door was locked, which I found a tad unusual because we never really locked our doors. I tried knocking just in case but got no response. I left for work an hour later and saw the Keeper standing on the other side of the shed this time. They were fixing something on the roof, which they could reach without a latter. I tried to say good morning but it seemed like they didnt or couldnt hear me. I took a few steps towards them. No reaction. I walked around them, a foot away from them. They seemed more familiar to me than before. For a moment, I saw something I didnt understand the truth of at the time. They turned and gave me the most cursory of glances but it felt like an eternity. They were Abigail. My roommate before Michaela. They were simultaneously Abby and Amir, her fiancé. Husband. I was somehow looking at both of them at once, yet at each one individually. There was a muted agony in their faces. Their face? I felt hurt by this mockery. I didnt feel like I had seen a ghost, I felt like I had seen the ghost of a ghost. A photograph of a ghost. A distorted facsimile. I felt like the Keeper was taunting me. Their eyes were entirely black. As black and unnerving as the hole had been the first time I saw it at the bar. I didnt see Michaela for three more days. Until that Sunday morning, when I woke up and she was in the living room, drinking a cup of coffee. She greeted me as if nothing happened. I asked her where she had been and she happily told me about a new guy she had met and how she had spent a couple days with him. I didnt want to poke any holes in her story because I was just glad that she was home. Her cheerfulness seemed exaggerated. I noticed she was holding her mug with her left hand. Was Mickey left-handed? My gaze found her right hand resting on her knee, bandaged up tight. “Jeez Mickey, what happened? ” “Oh, ” she said, unfazed. “Ive got this weird rash. Its totally gross. Ive been using cream and shit. I think its getting better. ” Her whole hand was wrapped up in a way that left her unable to move her fingers. I didnt say anything in response. That night when I came home from work, I immediately noticed that my blinds were up. I could see the mysterious shed. The light in the window was off. No. There was no window. In fact, I could only see hints of the wood paneling. Where the window used to be, there was now a massive gaping hole, perfectly oval and so dark it made my heart sink. I was overcome with this strange feeling that, despite it being inanimate and lacking eyes, that the hole was watching me. I felt exposed. I slept on the couch that night. The next morning, I noticed Michaelas shoes and coat were gone. That night I dreamt that I was the Keeper of the shack. I was repairing a panel of wood that had become askew. Up close, I could see how rickety and unstable the shack itself was. It was a miracle it stayed up at all. I knew I had to keep the shack closed and secure. I felt it with every fiber of my being. I put my ear up to the wall. It had a heartbeat. Slow and steady. I knew something was growing in there. I felt its hunger. Then I felt hungry. Terribly, horribly hungry. Our hungers were indistinguishable. I was it. It was me. Suddenly the heartbeat went quiet. I was overcome with loneliness. I looked down and in my hand I was holding a black umbrella, dripping what looked like blood. When I woke up, I was outside, my back inches away from the shack. I ran back to the house as if someone had lit a fire under my ass. Several hours later, I heard the door open. Mickey snuck in, took off her coat and shoes, and entered her room. Still half asleep, I followed her. I stood in the doorway, obscured by the lack of light, and watched Mickey sit on the bed, seemingly out of breath. She unwrapped her hand and let out a soft cry. The moonlight filtering in from behind her blinds illuminated a gruesome sight. Her hand was a mess. I could hardly make out her fingers. It looked like it had been crushed under a heavy weight. It looked like it was… melting. As the moonlight hit her hand, I could see there were no fingers. Whatever this ailment was seemed to be extending up her arm now. I swear I saw it dripping onto her jeans. I gasped. Michaela looked in my direction but didnt react. It was like she couldnt see me. Like she was seeing beyond me. For some reason, I felt that her seeing me would put us both in danger. In the morning, I convinced myself what I saw the night before was a dream. But I didnt see Michaela that day or for two weeks after that. Her door was locked. I tried knocking every time I left for work but she never answered. —————————— Those two weeks were monotonous as hell. Every time I left for work I would see the same ethereal figure of the being I had dubbed the Keeper, tending to some other part of the shack. The Keeper never acknowledged me and quickly I stopped paying them any mind either. I started leaving the blinds open because I knew whatever weird void-dwelling being lived next door could open them at their whim anyway. The light in the shack stayed off. Three days after I had last seen her, I walked around the side of the house, my back to the shack, and decided to look into Michaelas window. There was something wet on the windowsill. It was thick. It was dripping over the edge and onto the ground next to me. I dont know what I hoped to see. Part of me thought Id see the Keeper leaning over her bloody carcass, biting into one of her kidneys. I could hear them behind me, using a tool to tend to something on the roof. It seemed there was always something about that shack that needed repair. I took a deep breath and looked into her window. There was nothing strikingly out of the ordinary. Except the stain on the bed. More than a stain. A strange viscous spill which covered most of her bed and some of the floor. It looked like baby puke. If someone had mixed puke with slime. As I stared, I noticed that some of the liquid trailed to the window. Like it was trying to escape. It was the very same liquid which was dripping onto the ground to my right. I was overcome with the nauseating feeling that the slime was aware of me. I quickly looked away. There was a thin trail of slime leading to the shack. I thought of who I could call. I didnt know a lot of Mickeys friends. Or at least not well enough to know how to reach them. I had never met her parents either, though I knew they lived just outside of town. I wondered, if the roles were reversed, who Mickey would call for my sake. There wasnt anyone she could call. I tried to remember someone. Anyone. A guardian. A teacher. A parent. I was met with the same block as always. The nagging nothingness where my memories should be. The mind is capable of understanding so much. It is capable of making connections faster than we could ever consciously fathom. In fact, the human mind is so advanced that it even also knows when to purposely misunderstand things or refuse to comprehend them at all. This is a mercy. This is the creators, whoever they may be, if they exist at all, greatest gift to humanity. The inability to correlate certain things. I knew there was something I was subconsciously ignoring. I spent the next week and a half going about my life. I started going out for drinks with coworkers. We would go to an Irish pub twenty minutes from my house. None of them had ever heard of The Black Umbrella. The more time I spent with them, the less real they felt. I kept finding myself thinking they were actors or that I was imagining them. I kept telling myself that that was crazy but I couldnt shake the nagging feeling that I was the only person left in the world. One night at the pub I ran into my neighbor from the upstairs unit. This guy with sandy hair named David who we rarely saw because he was in a competitive graduate program and worked two jobs. He had a cotton shirt wrapped around his right hand and a large bandage on his neck. “You look awful, ” I told him. He smiled at me sadly. “I havent been sleeping well. ” When he stood up, he left behind a sticky spot on the bar. One night I came home earlier than usual. There was a vague buzzing in my ears, which I ignored because it wasnt anything unusual. The auditory distortions came and went without cause. They usually didnt get worse unless I strained myself. I passed out almost immediately only to wake up several hours later, laying on my back, staring into a familiar void on my ceiling. It was almost comforting. Once the familiar tugging began, I averted my gaze and sat up. I sat against the wall which divided my room from Michaelas and put my face in my hands. I wanted to cry. I wanted to feel something potent. I wanted to mourn Michaela because I knew she was gone. I wanted to feel fear. Fear of the unknown looming above me. Fear of what would happen next. I felt something touch my back. It was a gentle, incomprehensible prodding. It felt like someone was massaging my back with a baseball bat. I couldnt move. Something resembling fear shot down my spine. I was frozen. It moved across my back slowly but intentionally. I had the thought that maybe it was trying to get a grip but couldnt. Because it didnt have fingers. I quickly turned around. There was nothing there but the wall. I didnt dare look back up at the void. I left my room and stopped in front of Michaelas. Before I knew what I was doing, I had broken her door down. Aside from the broken door, her room seemed neat. There was nothing viscous on her bed or on the floor. I stood in the doorway for a minute, unsure of what to do. On the couch to my left, I found a note inside an envelope with my name on it. I tore it open. It read: “I lied to you that night at the bar. I did see the hole. That was the third time I had seen it. The previous two were in the apartment. As stupid as this sounds, I know it saw me too. I didnt say anything because I felt that the more I acknowledged it, the more untethered I would become. I kept seeing it after that. Everywhere I went. Some nights I would wake up somewhere totally different. Only to blink and be staring at the hole on my ceiling. The person outside. They started acknowledging me. One night when I was particularly inebriated, I asked them what the fuck they were doing there, day in and day out. They didnt even turn to look at me. I heard their voice in my head, “I like to keep busy” They said. It said. I said. It was my voice. It was my goddamn voice, coming from that thing. The time after that, I couldnt resist. I climbed right into the void on the wall between our rooms. I couldnt stop myself from going in. I saw things I wasnt mean to. I went somewhere devastating. I ended up inside the pool shed. I wouldnt wish that on anyone, especially not you. I somehow managed to escape. I couldnt tell you how. But its too late. It has me. Its destroyed me. Literally. I can feel myself being disassembled. All I want is to be back inside the shack. It feels safe there. I feel that Ill be safe there. But these dont feel like my thoughts, my impulses. But I cant resist them much longer. If I know anything, its that Ill be gone when you read this. I had to know what it was. I shouldnt have gone. But I did. Dont do what I did. Its better not to know. If you see me again, it isnt me. Please be careful. ” With the note was a stack of photos. There were about ten of them, each a few years apart. They were all of the ugly mauve house I knew so well. In some of them, the shed was visible in the background. In others, just an empty lot. The shed seemed to come and go inexplicably. I grabbed my shoes and a fleece and walked to The Black Umbrella. There was David, to my left. He gave me a polite smile. He looked healthy. Healthier than I had ever seen him. No more bandages. Seeing him made me uncomfortable. I ordered a shot of vodka which was served to me in a test tube. I returned home at around four in the morning. The street was abnormally quiet. The air seemed thick and there was a palpable tension. Every time I tried to ignore that damn pool house, I felt my gaze inexplicably being drawn to it. Riding on a rare surge of bravery and adrenaline, I approached the house. I had been right in my observation; there was no door. I didnt let that stop me. I hesitated before entering but I figured I had nothing to lose at this point. I blinked and found myself inside. The only light was coming from the street lights outside filtering in. The Keeper was crouched over something, working it with their hands. They didnt react to my entrance. Their presence didnt unnerve me for some reason. I tried to distinguish their form but couldnt. I could see it clearly yet it still evaded me somehow. It was as if I was only seeing a small fraction of what they were. What it was. It was as if my human senses were inadequate for the task of comprehending what was in front of me. I felt that surrounding their human form, there was something bigger. Something overwhelming. Something otherworldly and ancient. In that moment I understood that the Keeper was only a small part of it. As disposable as a limb to a creature that had hundreds and the ability to regrow them at will. I started to hear the familiar ringing in my ears. I let that thought go. The Keeper was massaging what looked like a pile of clay. It sat on the wooden floor. It was two feet high and shaped like a person. It was a person. A clay sculpture of a human bust. I felt like they wanted me to see it. It was a bust of Michaela. It looked so real. A mound of clay sat to the side of the bust. But it wasnt clay. It had a nauseatingly viscous quality to it… The bust blinked. A quiet agony in the clay eyes that no longer looked like clay. I looked at the Keeper. Where their entire face had been, there was now a void. A gaping primordial maw. Although it had no teeth that I could fathom, I heard the sickening wet sounds as it devoured my roommate. Watching it eat was the single most repulsive thing I have ever seen. I couldnt fathom how a jaw could be so malleable. I remembered the image I had concocted of the Keeper eating Mickeys kidneys a few nights prior. This was far worse. I couldnt have concocted this image myself. She was looking at me. Michaela. I couldnt read the expression on her face. It was over in less than a minute but it felt like an eternity. I have no way of knowing how much of Michaela was in that bust. I have to keep telling myself she was dead long before that. The next thing I remember is waking up. In my own bed. I had no recollection of getting there. I wiped the remnants of sleep from my eyes and went to get a glass of water. My heart fell into my stomach and out of my ass when I saw Michaela, bright and jovial as ever, making breakfast in the kitchen. “Whats that look for? ” She asked playfully. I could hear my heart beating between my ears as I watched her salt the eggs in the frying pan. “I dont feel so good. ” I told her. I dont know why I bothered saying anything. Maybe because I didnt want her… I didnt want it to suspect anything. I walked back into my room. In my periphery I could see that the shack was gone. I lay back down in bed, wondering why it hadnt eaten me too. I thought about the first time I had met Michaela. We had met at a cafe after talking online. She had been half an hour late. I tried to push further back. Remember anything. Something. I heard the buzzing. I felt it in my skin and bones. I was too tired to fight it and soon it washed over me. I had fought this spell for years, feeling that it was the precursor to something I should avoid. I wish I hadnt resisted it for so long. The tablecloth was pulled from the table and I truly woke up for the first time in five years. ———————— “I think… Oh my god! ” “Holy shit. Holy shit! ” “Get over here! ” “Hey! Can you hear me? ” I knew that that was directed at me but I wished they would all shut up. The voices were so loud. Everything was so loud. I tried to say yes but all I could do was mumble and drool. Somewhere deep down I could hear questions bubbling, struggling to reach the surface. They would have to wait. I was so tired. “She seems stable. Let her rest. Shes been through a lot. ” Bea was always the sensible one. Id have to thank her for that later. My eyes shot open. I knew who these people were. I remembered. More memories were coming back to me every second. I could name all four people in the room… Beatrice, Paulette, Thomas and Hayden. My friends. “Im awake” I managed. ———————— During the next several weeks, my entire life came back to me. And with the help of my friends, I finally had answers. I recovered relatively quickly. My health didnt seem to be compromised. I had come back with everything intact. I had met Thomas in college. I went on to go to graduate school with him. I went for Cultural Anthropology and he went for Surgical Technology. He met Paulette, Beatrice and Hayden through his program. Paulettes parents were world renowned in the medical field for their development of experimental therapies. Because of this, they were often traveling, giving lectures, changing the world… Which left us with access to their private laboratory. There were several others who were involved with this arrangement but we were the core group. Mind you, I was the least qualified so I mostly just observed. We used to concoct all sorts of unsavory experiments at that lab, only to clean them up before Paulettes parents returned. When it was all new and exciting, Thomas had suggested we come up with a name for the laboratory. To make us sound clandestine and mysterious, like a secret society. “Quick! Get the radioactive samples to The Silver Temple! ” Thomas had shouted dramatically. “Something like that, yknow. It sounds cool! ” “That is terrible, ” Paulette had said and rolled her eyes. “I know, ” I had said, glancing at my backpack against the far wall. I could see its contents spilling onto the floor. A chapstick. A notebook. My trusty black umbrella. “The Black Umbrella. ” And so it was. For a while, playing scientist lost its charm. Until Hayden discovered a strange biological mass in the cave structure he had been exploring. Im not sure if he had gone to explore because he suspected he would find something or if it was an accidental discovery. I guess I should ask him. Anyway, It was small enough that he easily contained it and brought it to the lab. I remember sitting on a stool, waiting for the test results, anxious and curious. I remember listening to the technical jargon being thrown about and not understanding a word of it. I asked them to explain it to me like they would to a fifth grader. The tests had come back unlike anything they had ever seen. The mass was apparently made up entirely of brain tissue. Elements of the tests were inconclusive and/or confusing, the brain tissue seemed to be both human and something else. In fact, consecutive tests came back with slightly different results each time. We were all so excited. It was a completely unheard of form of life! Hayden dubbed it “SBE” for Strange Biological Entity. Soon we started calling it “SOB” for Son of A— The more we studied it, the more confused we got. The lab results seemed to be meaningless with how different they were each time. We could find no consistency among them. That was our first hint that we were in over our heads. The first contamination had occurred when Hayden invited over some friends from work. He had been bragging about his discovery and felt the need to provide proof. At first, we were just fucking around. I remember we were drinking whiskey. Using Paulettes fathers expensive equipment to impress the coworkers, we did full brain scans. The super crazy kind where we catalogued the individuals entire brain and created a coherent map of it. Its probably either not as cool as that sounds or way cooler than I can comprehend. Hayden was properly drunk when he brought out the SBE. Hes lived with the repercussions of that decision since. One of his coworkers, David, ended up being overzealous and handsy. In a moment of excitement and curiosity, David had touched the mass with his bare hands. It immediately attached itself like the worlds most bloodthirsty leech. The majority of the mass had dropped off after a couple hours, but the part that had come into contact with Davids hand had remained. Attempts to extricate it were unsuccessful. We stayed in the lab for days, attempting to work out a solution. It only took a few days for it to devour him. The part of the mass which had remained on his skin seemed to crawl up his arm, hugging it like a sleeve. We did amputate his arm when we realized it was spreading quickly. I vaguely remember the sounds of his cries. After the arm was removed, we found traces of the biological entity in his blood stream. He was being eaten from the inside out. When it was over, the SOB left no trace of his body. But during the following weeks of testing, we discovered something interesting: brain waves. On a hunch, we cross referenced them. They were Davids. Over time the waves would do some interesting things. I dont understand the jargon well enough to know exactly what. But I did understand the implication that David was still alive, in some way, within the incomprehensible organism we had discovered. We agreed not to reveal the mass to the world. We were in too deep and we were scared. There was another breach a year after the first event. This time, three of our peers from the same graduate program failed to follow proper safety protocols. I wasnt there and I didnt ask for details. All three of these students were infected and devoured. There were many attempts to save them. Some seemed really promising but none of them were successful. Still, they learned a lot. We couldnt save them and we were too scared to get authorities involved. They were kept in quarantine for their last days. Those last days were quiet, as we all awaited their fate. Its hard to say for sure but we think one of them infected me somehow. Paulette showed me the framed photo of her deceased peers that she kept on her desk. The photo was from university. Paulette stood in the middle, her hair much shorter. The girl all the way to the right, I recognized as Michaela Wood. She looked happy. The other two were Abigail and Amir. “I lived with her. ” I said, holding the framed photo gently. For some reason I was afraid I would break it. “What? ” Paulette asked, confused. “In there. We lived together for three years. In… In there. ” I wanted to cry but I didnt. Instead I asked the question that had been marinating in my mind since I woke up, “Why am I alive? ” Paulette shook her head. She didnt know for sure. They assumed I was a genetic anomaly. The SBE couldnt “read” me as easily. Thats not to say it wouldnt have devoured me whole if it had had the chance. But alas, my friends had learned a lot from the deaths of Michaela, Abby and Amir, and managed to extract it from my body. But it had reached my brain quicker than they anticipated. The medication stopped it from spreading throughout my entire brain. Despite that, I had fallen into a coma. My brain activity had been so minimal, they had almost declared me brain dead. But there was enough activity that they held out hope. “You had shown signs of waking through the years, but you never came back. Until now. ” I didnt know how I was supposed to feel about that. I was still looking at the photo of Michaela. Paulette explained to me that the SBE had been properly contained since my incident. That absolutely no one comes into direct contact with it anymore. Theyve been discussing passing it on to the proper authorities, after all of these years of hoarding it to themselves… “Can you do something for me? Can you see if Michaelas brain waves are still… detectable? ” An hour later, Paulette and Hayden returned to my room. Hayden wheeled in a giant monitor. It reminded me of high school, when the substitute teacher would let us watch a movie. It was weird to remember high school. He turned on the monitor and immediately a clip of brain waves appeared, along with a bunch of numbers, symbols and graphs I didnt care to try to understand. The waves looked active. Alive. I felt a brief flash of happiness before I remembered that this was a visual representation of a prison sentence. I felt immensely sad. “Those are Michaelas? ” Hayden cleared his throat. Not a single trace of hers. These are yours. ”.
Sebastian finding captain america in the past.
Who knew.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 I think Im going to die here. Im not trying to be fatalistic but things have come apart. Theyre all around us, watching. All we can do is wait. So Ill keep writing. Its better than staring at the screen or the shadows moving between the trees. It all started with the book. “Well? ” I asked, trying to lean over Dodgers shoulder to read from the page he had open. We were perched on a simple dirt trail at the top of an embankment. “Ill give you the SparkNotes in a second, ” he said, glancing up. “Just keep your eyes on our friend. ” I turned to look for Doc. He was sleeping, back against a tree near the edge of the path we were on. Holly was sleeping as well, curled up in the grass not far from Dodger and me. I didnt know how either of them could sleep in the cold. The thin shirt I was wearing provided no protection against the chill. There was a bite in the wind that rustled the trees around us. The night air was crisp and smelled like pine, the stars above us provided an unnatural amount of light. I noticed webs in the forest, billowing silk that fell across the trees like tinsel. The wind stirred the branches and I shivered, wrapping my arms around my chest, trying to keep my body heat from fleeing the sinking ship that was my sorry ass. I couldnt resist looking back towards Dodger. He had the strangest expression on his face, confusion and worry displayed in equal measure. “What does it say? ” I whispered. Dodger shook his head. “Its rambling. Part journal, part I dont even fucking know. ‘ He dies and the world dies with Body fails, the Mind begins to reach. Theres just so much weirdness here. Little slices of crazy scrawled across the pages along with a daily journal. ” “Whats the journal about? ” I asked, leaning closer. “Doc. About one of his trips here. If this is right, ” Dodger flipped between pages, “then Doc and his group were here for Years? It doesnt make sense. But it does seem to be from Docs point of view. Jesus, listen to this, ‘He waits on the cliff, attended by the taken/we all hold our borrowed breath, from dying dreams He awakens. Kinda fucking odd, dont ya think? ” “Everything here is odd, ” I mumbled. “Everything is wrong. ” Doc and Holly were both maimed by the trip. Josh. I couldnt stop thinking about Joshs final words. I dont want to die here. The house trapped him, pressed the air from his lungs and the life from his body. Slowly, horribly. “Christ, ” Dodger whispered, flipping towards the end of the book. He looked up at me, his sharp, blue eyes catching me. “Docs friends. So many people died here. ” I moved so I could see the book. Dodger didnt protest. The handwriting was a mad scramble, black ink stagger-dancing across the page. What I saw was part-journal, part-poem or maybe a fever dream. “The blind seer has shown me. He is fragile, He holds us on shattered shoulders. We walk through Him, we must tread gently. Should he stir, history remembers and recoils. His name is the whip of the ages, ” I read to myself. The rambling verses rushed together into more conventional prose. “Day 88: Johnathon fell down this morning and could not get up. The blood loss was too much for him. We took turns dragging him, none of us had the strength to carry him, not while he struggled weakly like a gutted fish. Annie wanted to bury him but this isnt a place to waste anything. Who knows what the doors ahead might-” “Where did you find that? ” Doc asked from behind us. Id let myself get distracted. I wasnt watching him, hadnt seen him approach. His footfalls were muffled by the fallen pine needles covering the ground. Doc stood on the path looked ragged in his torn flannel, gray hair tousled and stuck with leaves from where hed slept against a tree. He didnt look angry, or concerned. His well-wrinkled eyes just looked tired. Dodger closed the black book and leveled it like a dueling pistol at Doc. “Be honest with me: are you completely fucking crazy? ” “Calm down, ” Doc said. Dodger stood up. I sheepishly followed. It felt like wed been caught snooping through Docs privacy. Then I thought of the unsettling scribbling in the book and I felt considerably less guilty. “Dont tell me to calm down, ” Dodger said, taking a step towards Doc. Doc stood his ground but raised his mangled hands. “Easy. Ill answer whatever questions you have, just take it easy. ” “Im as easy as a goddamn Sunday morning, ” Dodger snapped. Doc made a soothing motion with his hands. “Dont raise your voice. ” “Im not, ” Dodger said, raising his voice. I glanced around trying to peer through the shadows between the trees. Did I hear the faint ripple of chimes or was it my imagination? Either way, a slow, animal dread climbed my spine like a ladder. “Dodger, ” I whispered in warning. “Whats going on? ” The raised voices must have woken Holly. She stood just off the path, her skinned hand wrapped in Docs flannel. Even in the low light, I could see the bundle was soaked dark red. Holly took a step towards the rest of us, stumbled, caught herself. Her injury was clearly taking its toll but she seemed the most composed out of the four of us. “Dont yell, ” Holly said. “Sorry, ” Dodger said, sounding frustrated but cowed. “But something isnt right here. ” He tapped the book. “Its like an immune system, ” Holly continued, ignoring Dodger. “This house. Its responding to us like were pathogens. ” She looked at the bloody flannel covering her hand. “When we get afraid, upset, thats how it detects us, I think. ” “Germs it wants to squash, ” Doc muttered. “Okay, ” Dodger said, pacing on the path, glaring at Doc. “Fine. Well be calm. But I want to know about the book, I want to know how many people died before you brought us here. ” “Where did you get the book? ” Doc asked. “Did you bring it from my study or did you find it here in the house? ” “What does it matter? ” Dodger responded. I remembered the second, false study wed passed through, the re-creation. “If you got it here, you cant trust it, ” Doc said. “The house is only trying to get to you, to piss you off. ” The wind cut again across the path and I shivered. The trees with their tatters of web and leaves seemed to bob up and down eagerly as if they were listening. It dawned on me then how much I hated the house, as if it were a living thing. Perhaps it was. And like all too many living things, the house appeared so needlessly cruel. If Holly was right and we were triggering some kind of immune response, why did it have to hurt us so much? Dodger shook his head. “Maybe, maybe, I dont know. What I do know is I dont trust you, Doc. ” “We need to stick together, ” I chimed in, feeling like a child trying to pipe up at the adult table. “Why did you line us up with Josh in the back when we first started? ” Dodger asked, ignoring me. “I dont understand what you mean, ” Doc replied. “You put us in a very particular order, ” Dodger ticked off a count with his thin fingers, drumming them against the cover of the black book. “Holly, you, me, Aaron, Josh. You put us in that exact order. Why? ” “No reason, just so we could move single-file. ” “Bullshit, ” Dodger spat. “You put Josh in the back because he was the biggest, he was the most likely to get stuck in that fucking hallway. And if hed been in front, we all would have been stuck. ” “Listen to yourself, Dodger, ” Doc countered. “Youre paranoid, seeing patterns in randomness. The rooms here, youve seen it, they dont make sense. Theyre unpredictable. How could I have known wed even pass through that hall? ” Doc held up his maimed hands. The bandages around what was left of his fingers were stained brown and shredded to rags. “Does it look like I know what this crazy house is doing? Something has riled it up, much worse than Ive ever seen it, and youre not helping. That book is s like a nest of wasps youre carrying. Its affecting your judgment. ” Doc reached out and Dodger pulled back. “No, no, I havent sorted it all out yet, but this is screwy, ” Dodger said. He pointed to Doc with the book. “You stay here, well go on and look for the next door. Once were out of here well, I dont know, send help. ” “Thats not going to work, Dodger, ” Holly said, gently. “We cant leave anyone. ” Doc glanced to me. “Ill need your help. Just hold him for a sec, I think the book is fucking with him. We need to separate them. ” I opened my mouth, not sure how to respond, but Dodger was already pulling up defensively. “Dont try it, ” he warned me. I wasnt really planning to, I thought. Doc took a step towards Dodger. “Hey, just calm-” Dodger shoved Doc backward. Doc stumbled, eyes wide, then pushed back. In the blink of an eye, they were on each other. I heard chimes ripple somewhere deep in the woods. “Hey, ” Holly, yelled, trying to pull them apart. “Stop. ” I did my best to wrap my arms around Dodger and separate him from Doc, but he was strong for someone so wiry. While I was pulling from behind, Doc suddenly lunged forward past Holly and he and Dodger collided. The two of them went off the path, rolling down the embankment at our side. Holly and I could only watch as they slipped out of sight into the treeline. “Idiots, ” Holly whispered, then she was moving, sliding down after the pair. I did my best to ignore the quiet chiming all around us as I followed. We found Doc at the edge of the treeline, scraped but unhurt. Dodger was deeper in the woods. As I came down the slope I saw Doc scramble towards Dodger, grab his arm as best he could and try to drag him back to us. “Help, ” Doc shouted, turning towards Holly and me. “Quick. ” The starlight was weak here in the shadows of the tall trees. But even in the low light I could see the panic animating Dodgers face. Thats when I noticed the webs, what seemed like acres of them, covering the forest floor like dust in an abandoned house. They started near the treeline and Dodger had landed at the edge of them, half stuck. He was thrashing. “Please, ” he called out. “Oh, God please pull me out. ” I heard hissing from farther back in the trees. A shadow the size of a large house cat dropped from nearby branches. It was a spider, dark brown and bloated. The thing was hissing as it cautiously approached Dodger. His panic intensified. Dodger was hyperventilating and I saw him tear small patches of clothing and skin as he struggled to pull himself free. The spider suddenly skittered forward, fast as a whip crack. But Holly was ready, the toe of her boot catching the thing under its left legs as it came close to Dodger. It flew back, making a sound uncomfortably close to a shriek. The spider rolled as it fell, then reared up on its back legs, exposing its underside. Its belly split vertically and I saw a set of perfect, flat teeth. A human mouth nearly the length of the spiders torso opened. The shriek came again from the thing, then a gurgling sound, like it was choking. Or maybe it was laughing at us. It made one half-lunge forward, then pulled back, skittering off back up the tree it fell from. “Help me, ” Doc yelled. I tore my gaze away from the high branches where the shadow of the spider had disappeared to find Doc still pulling at Dodger. Holly had situated herself behind Dodger, stepping carefully to avoid as much webbing as possible. She was leaning into Dodger, pushing. I joined Doc and pulled from the other side, struggling to ignore the terrible certainty I had that the laughing spider would fall from the branches above onto my back at any moment. Dodger was more hindrance than help, still thrashing against the webbing and us. Hysteria had a firm grasp on Dodgers mind for the moment. It felt like hours, though it must have been only moments, when Dodger finally ripped free with a sound like bedsheets tearing. All four of us stumbled back. I saw more movement on the forest floor. Spiders, some as large as a hand, and many others nearly as big rolled towards us like a living carpet. We scrambled, running and tripping back up the embankment. “Shit, ” Holly screamed. Shed been the farthest back, and I saw her kicking out desperately, trying to shake loose a few palm-sized spiders that had latched onto her legs. I turned to help pull her up the rest of the slope. Doc reached out, as well, and even Dodger had recovered enough composure to grab Hollys arm and pull. The four of us landed back on the dirt trail. Dodger tore off his shirt and began whipping it down at Hollys legs, attempting to knock the creatures away. One of the spiders was torn away and Holly shrieked. The thing had been holding on with the human teeth on its belly and ripped a long piece of denim and flesh away from her calf. The spider landed near me, rearing up in mimicry of its larger relative, hissing. I was very glad Id worn heavy hiking boots on this trip. My heel came down on the creature like a gavel and there was a madly satisfying crunch. The other spider was on Hollys ankle, stubbornly holding on. Dodger couldnt seem to knock it loose. Quick as a gunslinger, Doc shot a hand out and grabbed the creature between his thumb and what remained of his fingers. With an efficient jerk, Doc popped the thing from Hollys leg, taking denim and skin with it. Holly rolled away, letting out a weak spurt of vomit, whether from the pain or venom I didnt know. Doc tried to fling the spider away but it had wrapped legs like knitting-needles around his fingers. He stared down at it in disgust. Instead of biting, the palm-sized horror pulled back and spit a thin stream of murky liquid directly into Docs face. He screamed, ugly and raw, and fell to the ground. The impact knocked the spider free. This time it was Dodgers boot that came down, heavy and final. Doc was writhing on the ground, hands over his face, moaning. Holly was curled in the fetal position, a small puddle of sick next to her. She was silent. Dodger and I stood frozen. Then, like a dead clock jarred back into operation, we both moved at the same instant. I scanned the trail frantically for any signs of spiders. It seemed none of them had followed us up the embankment except the two attached to Holly. Dodger dropped down next to her, cradling her neck and tearing his shirt into a tourniquet, wrapping it around the leg both creatures had bitten. “For the venom, ” he said when he noticed me looking over. We waited there for ten or fifteen minutes before Doc and Holly could move. Hollys pulse was rapid, her pupils dilated and skin clammy, but she was able to move with assistance. I prayed whatever venom was in her wasnt lethal. In the real world, I knew most spider bites aren't deadly, but the wildlife in this house made the worst parts of Australia look like a petting zoo. Doc, despite not being bit, was doing much worse. His face was a pulpy mess, red and swollen and wet. Worst of all were his eyes, clouded with a milky grey film. “Its really dark, ” Doc said after sitting in silence for a long time. “I cant. I cant…” “Well fix it, ” Dodger promised, still next to Holly. “Its just temporary. ” He sat shivering, holding Holly close. I could tell Dodger blamed himself for her injury, probably for Docs, as well. Personally, I saw it all as a big clusterfuck. Just like the entire trip through the house. An ongoing accident unfolding over the course Days? I struggled to track exactly how long since we went through the blue door. I was hungry and I was cold and I needed a drink like a god needs worship but all I could do was dab uselessly at Docs eyes with my sleeve and squeeze his shoulder. He looked small, frail, sitting with his face down and arms wrapped around his knees, more like a kid than a man at the tail-end of middle age. Dodger looked drawn out as well, thin and pale. I doubt I looked much better. d been through the wringer. Even though she was the smallest of all of us, the most hurt (I guess Doc could argue that point) even with all of that she was the one to keep us moving. “We have to go, ” she said, bracing against Dodger to pull herself up. The action seemed to cause a wave of nausea to hit her but she swallowed it down. “Staying here just means dying slow. ” “Might be better than dying fast, ” Dodger muttered, but he was standing as well, propping an arm around Holly, which got him a nod of thanks. She removed her tourniquet. “Its not going to make much difference now, and we have a lot of walking to do, ” Holly told Dodger, handing him back the torn remains of his shirt. But thank you. ” I helped Doc to his feet and played the dual roles of crutch and seeing-eye dog. We were a sad little parade walking together on the trail. But we were still moving. There was perpetual night in the forest. Im not sure how many hours we followed the path but the sun should have gone up, if there was a sun to rise. Strange voices called out to us from the dark of the woods. They whispered and they threatened in half-formed words or garbled languages. I remembered the spiders with the human mouths on their bellies and I sent a prayer to anything listening that whatever was in the trees would stay there. The trail terminated in an open clearing. White wicker furniture dominated the space. Chairs and lounges and tables lay scattered on the manicured grass. There was more light in the clearing and the moon shone blue-white and low to the ground. At one edge of the glade was a massive movie screen. It looked so surreal, standing on its own with no walls for support. “We should move on, ” I suggested. “Quickly. ” The words had hardly left my mouth before I heard chimes from the woods around us. “Shit, ” whispered Dodger. The clearing was surrounded by faceless children. Even though her features were only a blur, I recognized Hollys abandoned imaginary friend standing at the edge of the forest. Dozens of other blank forms encircled us. In the trees above them, dark shadows moved and made gibbering noises, skittering from branch to branch. “What is it? ” Doc asked. “You genuinely dont want to know, ” Dodger said. “Werrounded. ” “Why arent they moving? ” Holly asked, leaning against Dodger for support. There was a dull silver gleam on the massive screen. I couldnt see a projector but detected the faint pop and whirl of celluloid film. I sank into the nearest wicker chair. “Maybe were supposed to watch a movie. ” After a few moments of hesitation, everyone else found a seat. Dodger and Holly kept scanning the treeline. “I have a strong feeling were not going to like whatever we see, ” Dodger muttered. Doc chuckled, a sound that rolled into an exhausted laugh. I think he could sense us staring at him. Doc winked one cloudy, blind eye. “Of all the shit the house could throw at me, watching a film is the one Im least afraid of. ” The insanity of the trip, of finding our group stuck in a clearing, surrounded by monsters, forced to watch a fucking movie, it broke something in me. I laughed. After a moment, Dodger and Holly joined in, the laughter of the tired and lost. Weve been sitting here waiting for nearly an hour for the movie to start, long enough for me to type this up. My phones battery, modern wonder that it is, wont last much longer, so Im keeping it off as much as possible. The ring of blurred faces hasnt gone away but it hasnt come closer, either. Holly is doing worse. She keeps throwing up and shivering. Doc, somehow, is sleeping. “Do you still have the book? ” I mouthed to Dodger as we waited. He only shook his head then looked back to Holly as she shuddered next to him. I could feel Dodgers guilt, and his fear, but I was having trouble feeling anything at all. Only tired.
Yoooo the lady with the blue t-shirt eye color is sick 😮.

@savingmarion1: due to copyrights for the music... It can't be mobile. Blind eyes opened near me.

 

Soy la unica de mexico aqui? te amo sabrina mi sueño es conocerte ven a la CDMX de gira porfavor adoro tu música LIKE SI ES TU CANTANTE PREFERIDA DE TODO EL MUNDO. Blind eyes opened imdb. Just the trailer itself is beautiful. This movie WILL be great. Blind eyes opened movie trailer movie. Blind eyes opened running time. Blind eyes opened film. Get Tickets Blind Eyes Opened 1 hr 55 min NR Get Tickets Please allow approximately 20 extra minutes for pre-show and trailers before the show starts. 1 hr 55 min NR Jan 23, 2020 Movies at AMC. Blind eyes opened fathom events. Blind eyes opened rating.

Artist: Taylor Swift Album: Lover Released: 23 August, 2019 Label: Republic Records Listen: Spotify / YouTube / Apple Music / TIDAL r/popheads megathread #1 / r/popheads megathread #2 ‘The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die. ” “You will not certainly die, ” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil. ” Genesis 3:2-5 When I think of love, I think of this picture I took of my best friend on her graduation day, in a bright yellow dress (though you dont see much of the dress, only the gold shade of her skin in the sun, and when I say that she is gleaming and brilliant, like some precious metal, I need you to know that I am not exaggerating) lying in green grass, her hair tangled and her eyes darkened as she squints. The look on her face is one of such pure, unrestrained joy that her smile creases from the width of it. My best friend, it should be said, cant stand Taylor Swift, or her music (the separation of these two things is important, and will come up many times in this write up) and would probably be annoyed with me mentioning her in the same sentence as Taylor. (Too bad. To me, Fi, you are the embodiment of love, and I cannot talk about love without talking about you. I have a more complicated relationship with Taylor Swift. I grew up with Taylor. She was a deity among us young, lovesick (or desperately waiting for someone who would make us lovesick) Southern girls, and we did what the devoted do for any deity: we worshipped her. I still remember the first time I heard ‘Our Song (in my middle school gymnasium, in 2007, on the recommendation of a girl Im not friends with any longer) and at the time, I did not understand the concept of ‘having a song, but I knew ‘Our Song was going to be my song. Over the next nine years, loving Taylor Swift came in and out of fashion. My friends and I adored her gowns and cut pictures of her from magazines for our walls and screamed about short skirts and bleachers in the backseats of our parents cars. Then we said she wrote too many songs about her ex boyfriends. We had opinions about her relationship with Harry Styles. (We didnt care about Jake Gyllehaal yet. But, still: hers was the first episode of SNL I ever watched. (I still have her monologue song memorised, partly because my brother and I rewrote it to be about our dog, and we called it the dog-alogue song. Loving her and hating her feels now like it was a fundamental part of our (Southern) girlhood, because when we loved her, it was an act of defiance — we loved her in spite of the hateful words of those who did not, who called her gendered slurs like ‘slut and ‘whore, words that had their claws in us from early ages — and when we hated her, it was an act of a different kind of defiance — we were girls, so we were supposed to love Taylor Swift and her pretty dresses and love songs about the famous men she had dated and we wanted to date too. We were girls, so we were meant to want to be her: tall, thin, blonde, beautiful, heartbroken. (Sometimes, we did. Often times, I still do. Girlhood, as Taylor and I both know, means never being able to win. By the time Taylor Swift started making pop music, two things had happened: everyone I knew now loved Kanye West, and I had learned what intersectional feminism was. Over the last few years, my opinion on Taylor Swift has not wavered: her music has shaped who I am and fostered my understanding of what I find important and beautiful, and I treasure all of it. At the same time, I can no longer love the image of Taylor Swift, or the person who wears that image, in the blind, devotional way I once did. I think this is important to disclose, as it shapes my interpretation and adoration of Lover. Before we move on: think of what love is to you. Keep that thought in your mind. PART ONE: EDEN Lover is not a complex album. In the final minute of it, on a distant-sounding voicemail recording that suggests shes moving out of frame as it fades, Swift lays the albums thesis bare: she ‘wants to be defined by the things she loved, not what she hates, or fears [interestingly, this could be considered the exact opposite of a statement she had made more than a decade prior: in the liner notes of 2008s Fearless, she says, “To me, ‘Fearless is not the absence of fear. It's not being completely unafraid. To me, fearless is having fears. and, accordingly, Fearless is an album almost entirely about what the then-18 year old Swift feared] or is haunted by”. (The text of this voicemail is also the album booklets opening. Lover was never really a guessing game, and its made obvious by the voicemail that Taylor herself (and not the person she sings “youre my lover” to on the title track, though whether she labels them as such as an act of deception or to align them more closely with herself is ambiguous) is the titular lover. But, like all Taylor Swift albums, her seventh album, arriving nearly thirteen years after her debut (for the uninitiated, thirteen is Swifts subversive choice of lucky number) is made richer by its context, and then, it becomes something else entirely. This write up is centred around a thought that did not strike me until I rewatched the opening of the music video for ‘Me. those few seconds when a snake dissolves into a cabal of pastel butterflies, one of the first images of the post- reputation era) and thought extensively (and self-reverentially) about being a girl in the American South in the 2000s: Lover is Taylor Swifts Eden, untouched by the ‘sin of a womans choice (to bite the apple, to defy God, to listen to a snake, to be the snake. Briefly, the story of Eden, for those who may need it: in the Judeo-Christian narrative, Adam and Eve were the first humans, modelled in Gods image — Eve having been created from the rib of Adam in order to serve as his companion. They lived in the lush garden of Eden, a microcosm of the world God created, and had been allowed to eat the fruit of every tree but one: the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. A snake in the garden deceives Eve, convincing her to eat the forbidden fruit. She gives the fruit to Adam and convinced him to eat too, and the pair gain the knowledge of the Tree. As a result, God banishes them from Eden, and in particular, curses Eve and her descendants (childbirth, menstruation, and obedience to her husband) for disobeying him and listening to the snake. (The story of Adam and Eve varies across the Abrahamic religions, this is the Christian tradition — Adam and Eves decision to eat the fruit is know as the fall of man, and created the state of original sin, the foundation of the belief that all humans are sinners. Lover, as both an album and an era, is Eden in the moment just before Eve listened to the snake, when all the players (God, Adam, Eve, the snake, the fruit and the Tree) existed and were perfectly placed to act, but did not yet know what game they were playing. In general, the album and many of the statements made by Swift during promotion of the album, are an attempt at reversion and reconstruction (to keep things simple, lets say now that the public image of Taylor Swift is the Eden she is trying to return to with Lover, as it was what was damaged by her self-referenced fall from grace) but, at the same time, she keeps an eye on the future she already watched play out (the album is littered with parallels and references to reputation that come up suddenly and loudly, like warning sirens. Resultantly, Lover is a transitional album, existing in the space between the self-immolating Taylor Swift that made reputation and the Taylor Swift that the former explicitly killed off; it is an Eden that is aware of the fall and seeks to undo it before it can occur. This might explain, but not excuse, some of the most frequent criticism of the album — that it had large amounts of filler (there are 18 songs on Lover, four of which were released prior to the albums release) and the songwriting was weak. Viewing it through these two parallel lenses, as an album that seeks redemption and in doing so is mostly transitory, lends a hesitance to its moments of bombast and garishness (such as the lead single, ‘Me. which well discuss as a product of Eve-Taylor later on) but the narrative that surrounds Eden is not the only thing that Lover resembles: Lover is, visually and sonically, an album that blooms and, at points, withers. It arrived in a haze of fauna (there were seven palm trees and she was definitely, wink, counting down to something) and pastel tones, with a spring-release lead single and beginning-of-the-end-of-summer album release date, entirely new territory for Swift. The albums aesthetic has been lush and careful; the cover of Lover itself (designed by 24 year old Colombian-American artist Valheria Rocha) is a sunset of pinks and oranges and pale blues, a pink heart painted in glitter surrounding one eye. The rest of the albums imagery has had the same shades, and Swift dresses whimsically and in colours, a stark contrast to the dark gradients that dominated reputations visual messaging. And then, of course, there are the snakes that have been turned into butterflies, their populations bolstered by CGI and back tattoos and emojis. There are other moments of magical realism (talking traffic lights and haunted clubs, the former bearing a certain resemblance another Jack Antonoff line, from Lordes ‘Green Light, “I whisper things / The city sings them back to you”) on the album, interspersed between warbling piano keys and drums that resemble a heartbeat. Swift maintains her appearance as a master of multiple genres, moving from a sugary collaboration with a Disney-esque hue (‘Me. to a ballad with a Dixie Chicks feature (‘Soon Youll Get Better) and the stylish pop that she had perfected on 1989 (‘Cruel Summer. While there are fewer songs that seem purpose-built for experimentation than there were on reputation, there are still some obvious risks: the childrens choir on ‘Its Nice To Have A Friend and ‘Careless Whisper saxophone on ‘False God are standouts in a fairly diverse (bearing in mind that this is, ultimately, still a Taylor Swift album) sonic landscape. The last part of the resemblance Lover bears to Edens garden is a thematic one: literal and figurative growth. Taylor turned 30 on the 13th of December, and the end of her twenties was a key point of focus in both her promotion (for her cover of Elle, in March, she wrote a list of 30 things she had learned before her 30th birthday, the insights ranging from practical to gut-wrenching to cheeky) and critical (and tabloid) contemplation of Lover. Taylor Swift had more or less come of age in the public eye by the time she released Red in 2012, and Lover is an extension of and meditation on her growth, both as an individual and in her relationship with the English actor Joe Alwyn (now her longest linear relationship to date — Alwyn was also, presumably, the subject of several songs on reputation, and while a rare few boyfriends have seemingly been referenced on multiple albums [Joe Jonas, Harry Styles] none have ever monopolised two albums like Alwyn) coveting both senses of the word ‘lover she uses on the album. As was mentioned earlier, many of the first images of the era involved butterflies, which are commonly used to note change through references to the process of metamorphosis, and from such a meticulous artist, this could not have been anything but deliberate. Next: we discuss 2016, both for Taylor Swift and the world as a whole, as the fallout from her recorded phone call with Kanye West shapes Lovers promotion in the same way it shaped reputations lack of the same. PART TWO: THE FALL My favourite song on 2017s reputation was (the ridiculously underrated) ‘Dont Blame Me, where Taylor sings, voice echoing and sultry, “I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy / And baby, for you, I would fall from grace / Just to touch your face / If you walk away / Id beg you on my knees to stay. ” The parallels between Taylor Swift and Eve are not exact, but they do not need to be: both Taylor Swift and Eve listened to ‘snakes (take this only figuratively, who the snake is in Taylors narrative depends on who you are) and initiated their own downfalls as a result. Taylor has, for most of her career, painted herself as an innocent figure; actions are mostly done to her instead of the opposite. (This began to shift around the time of Red, when she first started creating music outside of the country music bubble (with its defined roles for women and men) and began to engage more fully with pop and not the crossover pop she had built her career on. One of her most sonically striking songs, and a strong example of the fact that Taylor Swift is capable of making perfect pop music, ‘Style features her admitting blame for a relationships rockiness (“I said, ‘Ive been there too a few times”) these admissions continue on reputation (despite ironic titles like ‘Dont Blame Me and ‘Look What You Made Me Do) and then is mostly absent from Lover. On Lover, Taylor is mostly the picture of youthful arrogance and innocence (barring, of course, moments of cheek [“He got that boyish look that I like in a man / I am an architect Im drawing up the plans / Its like Im 17 / Nobody understands”] and the entirety of ‘False God, with its latent sexuality) and Lover, both aesthetically and musically, is charged with that combination. However, on Lover, something interesting does happen: a number of songs are about things Taylor did to someone else, or with someone else, rather than what was done to her by them — ‘Paper Rings being a key example. The year of her fall, 2016, was a difficult year for Taylor personally, between the end of her relationship with Calvin Harris and the beginning of a cultural war with her at the centre, and it shattered the careful construction of Taylor Swift as an innocent third party. Its unnecessary to rehash what happened for the thousandth time, but given that Swift did not do press during the reputation era (allowing the album to serve as her immediate reaction) her most clear feelings were expressed during Lovers media tour. Simultaneously, 2016 was also a politically harsh year; in Britain, where Taylor now spends a great deal of time (her boyfriend, Joe Alwyn, is a Londoner, and shes seemingly adopted the country as her own) populism lead to a referendum win for ‘Brexit-idealists that has sent the country into ceaseless turmoil, much of which she would have witnessed as she spent more and more time in the UK. In the US, a president who has now been impeached for abuse of power (and this is before we touch on his history of virulent misogyny, racism, xenophobia, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, and corruption, and as we all, hopefully, know, this is only the tip of the orange iceberg) was elected, and many Americans, myself included, were seized by terror. Taylor didnt comment on the US 2016 election, or its contenders, beyond telling people to vote. She clearly regrets this, as a great deal of Lovers promotional efforts have been related to activism: industry-related (masters ownership and sexism, both of which well touch on in the next section) and plainly political (LGBT+ rights in particular, and shes clearly learned more about the experiences of people of colour. She, and her mother, Andrea, endorsed a Democratic candidate in Tennessee's 2018 mid term, and while he lost, her vocal disgust with the political landscape of the United States has continued. (In November, it was announced that she was the subject of a documentary, and it was later revealed that Netflix will be premiering ‘Taylor Swift: Miss Americana at Sundance, ‘Miss Americana being a reference to ‘Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince, the dazzling political allegory at around the midpoint of Lover. The documentary will presumably look at Taylors involvement with the field of American politics, and much remains to be seen about the behind-the-scenes of her decision-making. Lover is, from the, until recently, apolitical Taylor Swift, a political record, a direct response to both her fall (and what she gleaned from it, particularly her relationship with Joe Alwyn, which began, as well, in 2016) and the fall of her country: “American stories / Burning before me / I'm feeling helpless / The damsels are depressed / Boys will be boys, then / Where are the wise men. Darling, I'm scared” Next: on fear, loathing, and femininity. PART THREE: ADAM (OR: GIRLHOOD II) In Billboards retrospective of Taylors albums prior to the release of reputation, Jonathan Bradley described Self-Titled Taylor as a contradiction, “a lovestruck naïf who slices her enemies with precision”, one of my favourite descriptions of her, because it describes what drew me, and many, many others, to her when I was young: there was a pervasive and graceful violence to the way she dispatched her ex-boyfriends that made us root for her, even as her sabre teeth grew dull over time and her hints at misandry took on new forms — red, wet eyes and hands clasped for Red, wine glass in hand, ready to be shattered, for reputation. Whether you believe her advocacy self-serving or encompassing, Taylor Swift has contended with and spoken out against misogyny for much of her career, and began identifying as a feminist in 2014. In many of her Lover -era interviews, she spoke about the creation of her ‘squad (a mostly white, mostly thin, mostly conventionally beautiful — and if you remove Lena Dunham from this group of women [as Taylor did after Lenas breakup with Jack Antonoff] the mostly thin and conventionally beautifuls become all thin and conventionally beautifuls) as a decision born from bullying when she was young, and how the criticism of her feminism as white woman-centric (shorthand: white feminism, as opposed to intersectional feminism, which accounts for race, sexuality, disability, gender, social capital, economic class, and a host of other things) allowed her to learn and develop her understanding of feminism and misogyny further. Originally, this section was created to discuss Lover as a ‘healthier option: it is the first album whose master recording Taylor Swift legally owns, and after six albums with Nashville-based Big Machine Records, her first with her new label, streaming giant and Universal Music Group member Republic Records, making her a colleague-of-sorts of artists like Drake and the Weeknd (and her friend/popheads favourite Lorde. Taylors navigation of her relationship, and subsequent breakdown of that relationship, with Scott Borchetta (the man who signed Taylor when she was 14, as Big Machines first signing, and was part of her development as an artist, as well as a man she considered a friend) hangs over Lover. (My deluxe edition of the album has diary pages referencing him. But Borchetta and Swift (and the catalyst for everything, Scooter Braun) have been discussed at length on this sub, and instead, Id like to talk about female anger: in this era (and to a degree, the reputation era, though then her reaction to what happened to her was manifested as an avoidance of media coverage, anchored by the phrase, “there will be no further explanation, there will just be reputation ”) Taylor Swift was furious. Returning, briefly, to Eden: Eve is a controversial figure in feminist theory (there is some debate as to whether or not it is degrading to refer to her as the first femme fatale, given that the archetype has deeply sexist roots that deny women their agency and sexuality, and given how women have attempted to both destroy and reclaim this archetype, including Swift, on ‘Blank Space) and, in her myth, she chose to disobey a man and was faced with far harsher punishment for it than the man who did the same action as her (in the Christian interpretation, anyway, in the Islamic tradition, Adam and Eve were punished as equals. In the 2010s, mostly white) female rage became more acceptable in the mainstream; the release of Gillian Flynns ‘Gone Girl (as a novel in 2012, and as a David Fincher feature in 2014) was a cultural turning point for the successful depiction of evil women, and Flynn has constructed an empire on the sharpness of her writing and the inherent violence of her novels, writing with a brutality that both conforms to and rejects patriarchal models: in ‘Sharp Objects (a book and HBO show. trigger warning: self harm) the main character carves words, including gendered slurs, into her body, hurting herself with them before anyone else can. One of Taylors mentioned favourite TV shows, Killing Eve, is strong representation of this evil white woman on the outside of acceptability: one of the shows two main characters is Villanelle, a childish, ruthless killer for hire, who tangles an unwitting Eve in her web and is sexually fascinated by her, creating an erotic atmosphere that hovers just over all of Eve and Villanelles shared scenes. (This sinister sexual tension is not a stranger to Taylor, shes flirted with it for years, pre-dating her most explicit references to sex on reputation and then Lover. Lover is not an inherently angry album. Its actually the opposite, purposefully covering very real issues in a sheen of pop gloss (‘You Need To Calm Down is the most glaring example of this, a song that references the LGBT+ community, but trips by attempting to compare Taylors brushes with being hated by the public to homophobia. Her most pointed song, about sexism, and appropriately titled ‘The Man, is watered down to hooks and obvious insights, with twinkling digs at Leonardo DiCaprios refusal to date women (models) over the age of 25, and even throwing in a gendered slur (bitch) shes expressed discomfort with being called (and which made an appearance in her ‘Look What You Made Me Do music video with a volleyed, “Dont call me that! ” that is never responded to) in the past. Taylors anger is most palpable, and palatable, and righteous in her interviews about, and personal statements on, Big Machine Records (and her masters) sale to Scooter Braun. She openly expresses disgust with and hatred for Braun and Borchetta, after what she referred to as years of loathing Braun (particularly his participation in acts of misogyny and assorted pettiness against her) privately. For many (even, I think, most, if not all) women, privately hating a man for things they have done to you, but which you cant speak about if you want to keep your job, or your friends, or your family, is an achingly common feeling. The fear, and the sadness, and most of all, the rage, palpable in Taylors statements about her politics, both personal (the sale of her masters) and public (the general political landscape of the United States) are painfully familiar. Its difficult not to think about how the fate of her master recordings must have hung over her as she made Lover, and regardless of whether it is done for a self-serving purpose, Swifts push for reform of industry practice regarding masters ownership is important, bringing an occasionally-cared-about issue back into the mainstream. Next: having covered a great deal of Lovers context, we finally discuss the music itself. PART FOUR: EVE Lover is built on a foundation comprised of three themes: religion, marriage, and youth (or nostalgia, whichever you find more fitting a description of what Taylor is singing about. Every motif that crops up with regularity on the album (alcohol, sex and sexuality, her lover) can be categorised under one (or two, in the case of wine, which is both a religious symbol and a symbol of adulthood, and sexuality, which is related to adulthood and marriage) of these themes. I said in my initial thoughts on Lover that this is a redemption album. Ive figured out how to word it more concisely since then, so what I mean to say is that the most central theme of Lover is not, in actuality, love, it is redemption: as I said in August, and have not figured out how to say any differently in the time since) what is love (and a lover) if not the embodiment of redemption? To be loved despite what you have done — is that not the peak of redemption? Religion / Religious Dichotomies ‘Cruel Summer Cruel Summer has cemented itself as a sub (and fan) favourite, sparkling pop with an undercurrent of danger. Opening with the phrase “fever dream high”, its some of the sharpest writing on the album (invoking past Taylor Swift albums with imagery like Taylor in the glow of a vending machine, a spiritual successor to the fridge light she danced in on Red) and has moments of pure ear candy (the screamed “I love you, aint that the worst thing you ever heard? ”, for one. Thematically, its an extension of reputation single ‘Delicate, about a fragile, secret relationship, and Taylor makes extensive use of dichotomies in the songs lyrics, angels and devils in particular, that lend themselves to a feeling of sinfulness and create a vaguely sexual charge to the song. The title, too, showcases another dichotomy: summer is typically regarded, and portrayed, as something sweet. Taylor calls it cruel, and accuses it of being a knife (and not merely knife- like, it is a knife) that cuts her to the bone, singing about both her relationship and the season as violent. (“If I bleed youll be the last to know” is a damning line, regardless of how you interpret it, but paired with the first verses “Bleed slow”, the song has an unmistakably gory tinge to it. ‘The Man A meditation on the dichotomy of men and women, The Man is, in essence, a breakdown of the things Taylor has done during her career and in her personal life that would be regarded differently if she was a man. (The title is a double entendre, referring to both being ‘the man, as she sings about in the chorus, and to The Man, the patriarchal authority. Its an unsubtle, bouncing takedown, and Swift rightfully points out that shes been subjected to extensive criticism for things that famous men, Leonardo DiCaprio being named and shamed, get away with in the eyes of the general public. I think the most concise summary of The Man comes from Taylors testimony at her 2017 sexual assault trial, in response to having been called cold (a descriptive term usually reserved for women who arent as warm as theyre expected to be) “I have an uncanny ability to solicit all kinds of new criticism. ” ‘The Archer Lovers pre release promotional single was mostly lost in the discussion of the rest of the album, but its a stunning ballad with an unanswerable question at its heart: who could ever leave a woman like Taylor Swift? Who could stay? The song is deeply personal, quietly delving into her insecurity (shes had issues with disordered eating, and has spoken about her issues with her body image and weight in the Lover era) and being torn apart by the expectations (the repeated line about being ready for combat, but not wanting it, but maybe wanting it, that eventually just becomes “Im ready for combat”, is not an unfamiliar feeling to me and my Southern girlhood. The dichotomy in The Archer that made me categorise it here is mostly contained in its title and chorus (shes been both the archer and the prey, she sings in the chorus, over a sparse instrumental with a soft drum that acts like a heartbeat) but it also touches on the theme of youth (“I never grow up / Its getting so old”, and a reference to the Humpty Dumpty nursery rhyme that is somehow brutal) and has one of the albums references to ghosts. The Archer is agonising (the line, “All of my heroes die all alone”, while a Jack Antonoff sentiment hes vocalised before, is a gut punch when you listen to it at the wrong moment in your life) and agonised, and it is absolutely crucial to Lovers narrative. ‘Cornelia Street Cornelia Street is easily one of Lovers best songs, with its echoing keys and backseat drinking. Referencing the house in New York Taylor lived in when she met Joe Alwyn, the sentiment of the song is one so strong it should be added to the pantheon of horrible, dangerous feelings Taylor managed to put into words: if her relationship with (presumably) Alwyn were to end, she sings, shell “never walk Cornelia Street again”, unable to go down it without thinking about him or their relationship. The beauty of Cornelia Street is in its lack of subtlety; the chorus takes place almost entirely in Taylors higher register, and while not screaming, like ‘Cruel Summer, it paints her love as something terrifying, something mystifiying. The song aches so much that the hypothetical (“if I ever lose you”) doesnt make sense until the “again” is added, an intriguing hint that, at one point, their relationship nearly broke down. ‘Soon Youll Get Better (featuring the Dixie Chicks) Soon Youll Get Better hurts. It hurts, and it hurts, and it hurts, and its brought me to tears and onto my knees. A ballad in honour of Taylors mother, Andrea, who loves the Dixie Chicks (it should be noted that the Dixie Chicks rise and fall in country music, due to speaking out against George W Bush in 2003, was tinged with the sexism Taylor contends with on Lover, and was an act of political activism in a hostile word) and has breast cancer, the sentiments in Soon Youll Get Better are deeply personal, and their expression is painful: Taylor explicitly makes reference to Jesus for the first time in years (shes had a relatively a-religious career, considering her country roots) saying she prays to him because of desperation. She canonises her mothers “holy orange bottles” (for those of you not from the US, here, most of our prescription drugs come in plastic orange bottles) and “paints the kitchen neon”, because Andrea has to get better. Theres a danger in talking about the illness of someone you are close to, because you dont want to make things about you. (I am often the sick person, having discovered that I have a life-threatening illness that attempts to kill me every so often when I was a pre teen, and I have experienced people talking about my illness in a way that makes me feel as though it, and I, am a burden to them. But Taylors adoration of her mother is plain, and she explicitly says, “I hate to make this all about me”, managing to walk the narrow line between expressing her feelings about her mothers cancer and harming her mother by expressing them. Its difficult to imagine Andrea would be angry with such a tender song, especially because Taylor admits the impossibility of her understanding what her mother is going through — but, she sings, shell never stop trying to. ‘False God Immediately following the agony of ‘Soon Youll Get Better is the ecstasy of False God, a song that can only be described as ‘sonically chill with a George Michael-invoking saxophone in its veins and an extended religious metaphor for oral sex. (The altar is Taylor Swifts hips, and an altar is where kneeling takes place. False God is patently hedonistic and even more patently sacrilegious, with Taylor admitting that, regardless of whether or not her and her lovers relationship is a false god (that new religion she mentions in ‘Cornelia Street) theyll still worship. It comes in sharp contrast to Soon Youll Get Better not only sonically, but in sentiment, but their pairing makes a certain kind of sense: Swift quietly shows the spectrum of human interaction with religion, from desperate prayers for healing to ‘oh my god! s when their religion meets her altar. Marriage ‘Lover Lover being about marriage is obvious, Taylor creates a set of vows in the middle of the song, and sings about a beautiful domesticity, referring to her boyfriend (or fiancé, or husband) with pet names (including the titular ‘lover. Its a sweet little song, and its obvious why Taylor loves it so, joy plain on her face during every performance of it to date. Its a purpose-built wedding song, too, and itll be unsurprising if we learn her relationship with Alwyn has progressed. ‘Paper Rings Paper Rings is earnest and honest, its chorus stating explicitly that shed marry Alwyn. (With paper rings, despite her noted love of sparkle and shine. Its a bouncy, fun little song, perfect for singing along to, and touches on more of the domesticity in ‘Lover with a wink, referencing dirty dreams to match the dirty jokes of her lover. Youth / Nostalgia ‘I Forgot That You Existed I Forgot That You Existed is a paradox, because by virtue of its existence, Taylor hasnt exactly forgotten their existence (‘they being speculated to be anyone from Kanye West to Calvin Harris to Karlie Kloss. Its the opener of Lover, and in the second verse, she makes explicit reference to her previous album: “Got out some popcorn / As soon as my rep started going down, down, down”. She says that the person at the centre of the song taught her some lessons, but shes since forgotten them, and the track is ultimately a misstep, with her cackling and spoken “So. yeah” taking on a forced tone given the songs paradoxical nature. But, in Taylor Swift fashion, it is catchy. ‘I Think He Knows A song that, like much of Taylors pre- reputation discography, hints at the act of sex rather than couching it in obvious metaphors, has a moment of self awareness that is stunning, previously referenced in this write up: “Its like Im 17 / Nobody understands”. The year she turned seventeen, Swift released her debut, self-titled album: she was still a teenager, and the nature of a teenager is to be misunderstood, but its difficult to imagine that no one would understand her, especially since she has, from the beginning, laid herself, and her emotions, bare in her music. ‘Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince Miss Americana is, at points, an allegory, comparing American politics (and possibly a dash of British politics too) to a high school movie set, with more explicit references to Taylors teenage years. Its a pretty song, one of the albums highlights, and there are moments of it that are sonically beautiful, like her “darling Im scared” and “voted most likely to run away with you”. Its not her best metaphor, but it is easy to understand how Taylor Swift would see America in 2019 as a high school that alienated her (and millions of others. ‘ME! featuring Brandon Urie) Me! has been discussed at length as a misstep, and it really, really is, the worst of Taylors terrible lead single choices, but what is striking about Me! is how blatant it is: when she wanted to shed her snakeskin, left over from reputation, she really shed that skin. Me! is aimed at another demographic entirely (“Hey kids! Spelling is fun! ”, which was removed from the album, but we all know is there) and sounds like it should be in a Disney movie. Its a strong departure from reputation, but, like that album, gives the impression that it was something Taylor had to get out of her system, for better or worse. ‘Its Nice To Have A Friend Its Nice To Have A Friend is my song of the year, and it is here because it is the most important song on Lover, at the centre of all three themes. The writer Donna Tartt said, in ‘The Secret History, that “Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it”, and Its Nice To Have A Friend is, somehow, with the plucked notes and the childrens choir at the backbone of it, terrifying. I said, when I first wrote about its importance, that it feels as devastating as one of my favourite Taylor songs of all time, ‘Treacherous, if in a very different way, and I think the ability to make such a sweet sentiment (a love that extends from childhood into infinity) feel terrifying and ominous is rare and precious. I also said that I believe it ties the album together: there's the idea of redemption (being with her lover from the beginning, so she never had to suffer anything else) of youth/childhood/nostalgia (the first two verses) a wedding, the minutiae of love (details like a shared glove and rice that looks like snow, tying back to the first verse) and religious imagery (the church wedding, the concept of fate. Its been months, and I still dont know how to talk about this track as anything but a masterpiece that I do not know how to describe except as the embodiment of beauty and, to a degree, terror. Which is interesting, because I know many people hate it (sometimes with a passion) and its in the bottom half of the subs ranking of Lover. This post will be continued in the comments, as it is past the character limit. And: please enjoy this meme I made when I saw Raykel also quoted the Bible in her write up.

Blind eyes opened review. Blind eyes opened theaters. Its been years and to this day this is my one of my favourite songs it makes me feel really happy I don't know but for some reason when reason Sabrina carpenter sings something It feels a certain way I can't describe it but its magical love you forever been here since the beginning 💖. Blind eyes opened scripture.

 

 

7.2/ 10stars