Folkmore Are My Narcotics - Blog Posts

the queering of taylor swift

“not only does a queer reading of folklore further validate all the earlier queer readings of many of swift’s other songs, it also opens up possibilities for more nuanced, equally rewarding readings of swift’s songs”

🙌 THIS 🙌

Vox

From Kaylor to Folklore: How Taylor Swift became a gay icon

Fans love to speculate about Taylor Swift’s queerness. Folklore only bolsters their theories.

——-

just call it the kayloring of taylor swift

who here wrote this article about Tay and Kar 👀?,

i know

old news

late to the party

completely missed this article though

and i thought i had seen

every fucking single tree in these woods

before finally seeing daylight

still convinced that my google searches 😂

made me never ever hear from TS™️ again

after them telling me to wait for the next steps

so taylor if you do decide to do a concert tour asp

flip the algorithm please

like full reverse

🌈 -🔄-🌈

“the gaylor pride tour” or whatever

call it what you want

but take your time

we’re not going anywhere ✌️

————

folkmore

Coney Island

The question pounds my head

"What's a lifetime of achievement?"

If I pushed you to the edge

But you were too polite to leave me

And do you miss the rogue

Who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?

Will you forgive my soul

When you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?

'Cause we were like the mall before the Internet

It was the one place to be

The mischief, the gift wrapped suburban dreams

Sorry for not winning you an arcade ring

And I'm sitting on a bench in Coney Island

wondering where did my baby go?

———

Coney Island Baby

And the straightest dude I ever knew

was standing right for me, all the time

So I had to play football for the coach

And I wanted to play football for the coach

When you're all alone and lonely

In your midnight hour

And you find that your soul

It has been up for sale

And you're getting to think about

All the things that you done

And you're getting to hate

Just about everything

But remember the princess who lived on the hill

Who loved you even though she knew you was wrong

And right now she just might come shining through

And the

Glory of love

Glory of love

Glory of love, just might come through

———

“and obviously aaron dessner is in the national

and he has completely changed my life”

same girl same

Wait what!? Are they for real?!

A DANDELION

And is Justin Vernon literally pointing at it while wearing the albatross face mask?!

I didn’t see the signs no (well the albatross ☑️)

🎃

HAPPY FREAKING HALLOWEEN TO US?!

What parallel universe did we step into

🎃 Imagine this. You are walking through your yard. It's one of your favorite places, all sprawling garden rows and vibrant green grass. There are herbs for cooking and spell casting. There are daisies - so many daisies - in every shade of your rainbow. Up ahead you spot a small cropping of weeds, and set your foot on each stepping stone of the path that leads right to them. The house is a little farther now, but you are still within the confines of your tall and impenetrable fence. Nothing comes through that fence. Not now and not ever. Within it you are safe. Your lover and your fresh baked buns are safe. (The buns, of course, are in the oven turning golden as you speak. It's an old family recipe, jotted lovingly on a recipe card.) You reach the weeds and pluck a dandelion. Caught up in a moment of buoyant childlike whimsy, you make a wish and blow, blow, blow. Hundreds of featherly florets scatter. You laugh. You watch as they ride the breeze, one floret in particular. It drifts and dances like all the others, but as the wind changes direction it swoops over the fence. You lose sight of it, and send a silent apology to whoever ends up with a cropping of dandelions in their yard. Did you know that dandelions don't need to be purposefully planted all at once? All it takes is for one small seed to catch on the breeze, and by then it has spread irreversibly. You'd never know where the initial seed came from, because it has started so small and floated so far. You swallow, staring at the fence. It was you who blew the dandelion in the first place. It was you who ventured too closely to the edge of the garden. It was chance and weather that landed it where it did. You breathe in, and deep and out, expelling the growing anxiety from your body. You turn back to the house. You have those homemade buns to tend to, after all. But as you reach the door you can't help but cast a furtive glance over your shoulder, to the spot where that dandelion floret disappeared. You can never blame someone for the dandelions that sprout in your grass. It’s untraceable and irrelevant. They all come from the same place anyway: a private moment performed too near the property line. Of course the recipient would pluck the weeds so unwittingly planted. Of course they, too, would blow, blow, blow and spread the florets far and wide. Once you blow a dandelion, you never get it back. It isn’t yours anymore. 🎃