kiss me with that country mouth so plain.

and all the kids in the south end

sing the greatest love song ever written

and carry each others' hearts

close

and they know all the words

and when to sing

and when to weep and

the words mean everything

close to everything worthwhile:

something something something else

trying to make better what i do what i do

but you can't make this better

if the roadblock is you.

rinse.

repeat.

walked along the sidewalks with a ghost and wondered if anything was worth saying out loud. how do we reason with the ones who can't see past themselves? what about when you knew them before they were consumed by themselves, before the time they thought everything that couldn't be understood in the measurement of self was either an attack or something to be discarded?

"stop being a victim" was all i wanted to say, but patience and courtesy are my two biggest vices, and so i let it pass. he wouldn't have understood.

everything's so damn lovely save for the things people won't let be. even the brokenness of everything. i mean i know life's not rainbows and sunshine, but if the beauty of all the downs and outs are overlooked just to race toward the onlys and the ups...... there's a great amount of life left incomplete.

oh.

we can't fix each other so we gotta just move and dance and save ourselves...

more later.

why am i on this journey anyway?

underwater turtle taxi

the fact of the matter is that i haven't been inspired to write.

it's not that i'm sad or depressed or blah or uninspired or whatever, i just go through waves where i don't feel like writing. i've been doing a lot of moving. walking. being. turning. moving myself away from all the things that have become normal or the things that i fear will become normal.

oh and i have a shit ton of homework to finish before winter quarter 2011 finishes me.

why do i work so damn hard to not fall into a pattern of anything when the truth is that i function best when i have a pattern to follow? i love patterns. i love math, which is no more than a series of patterns. i love making coffee, and that's nothing more than a series of action-patterns (with a keen sense of knowledge, i might add).

i hate monotony.

there we go.

i like everything too much to get stuck in monotony. it's a pretty big fear... and somehow it's all very comforting, and i keep turning this idea over and over in my head and try and make sense of it all... like if i read it enough times or delete it and re-type it it'll somehow make more sense to me or it will read as something more plausible than what it actually says.

because i mean exactly what i'm saying:

i'm terrified of getting stuck in a routine but i find routines so comforting.

i hate them, but i need something solid to depend on because my life is batshit crazy by nature.

no. ok hold on i take that back. my life's pretty average, i just happen to run into lots of crazy shit that i'm positive other people don't run into regularly.

that's why the better part of me craves a routine: i'm so used to things being so not normal.

everyone's batshit crazy.

i'm tired, a little pissy, and i have a mountain of homework before spring break.

i'm half counting down the minutes till happy hour at my favorite dive.

half not.

on a lighter note, it seems like the only routine i've managed to keep up lately is wearing this same navy sweatshirt for the last three weeks or so.

-love-

writers block

writers' block

again

again

again

today: i'm already over you. tomorrow? i'm over you, too. people come and go, but the days don't go anywhere, they just hang out and pass by and i'm still tired of them, save for those few hours when the world seems to fall into place (why not fall sooner than later? i guess i won't know that one).

i've spent the last few weeks listening to myself hum the same songs over and over and over again, like they're going to reveal some sort of excellent secret when i'm through with them (but not over them).

bon iver.

borrowed clothes.

same car.

different everything.

i don't know what i'm doing.

more later iguess.

drawn from two sources:

"Was I ever crazy? Maybe. Or maybe life is... Crazy isn't being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It's you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever."

right the hell now

shit.

i wasn't expecting to go back to reno so soon.
here i come, lovetown, let's make this one work.
for the team.

albrecht durer analysis

not the best. not the worst. at least i'm painting. more later.

shows

slummed around tacoma this weekend going to shows at the peabody waldorf in tacoma. part of it felt like high school: slipping out late just to be as close to the music as you can so you can't hear anything and forget about everything else in the world that could ever matter. the pictures are worth nothing... somewhere between my drive and the night ending i stopped caring about how the pictures would turn out, and just took them to keep the time standing... but the music was amazing, the company was excellent... it felt like stealing old nights in sumner for a while. it felt like everything and nothing.

birds & batteries played an excellent set. it was all the sort of music to make you forget everything just to move:

and, oh lord, goldfinch holds a place in my heart that will never die. they're the sort of band i know i love, but fall for more and more every time i see them live.

saturday night, summed up in a photo:

a blur of everything. crappy photos, lovely music, good company. it's been one of those weekends that made me forget all the shit going on because the music's been so damn good. elk and boar played the sort of music that reminded me it's not the first time a heart's been broken and there are better and worse things to come... and maybe even a hint that we're not all alone in this mess.

the last band to play last night was too lovely for words.... all of them were, but big sur especially.

i was so caught up in listening i couldn't think of anything but the lovely, moody songs to match all the empty hearts washed up and standing still in tacoma that night.

love.

sunday secrets

"it's not that i don't love you, it's that i don't love."

i'll take a hundred for every one in the cave.

welcome home
you're never alone:

paper hearts//yellow walls

i never really spoke the words out loud.

i knew it the whole damn time, too. long before he said anything, long before we even really talked about much, i just knew. what do we call that? intuition? reading coffee grounds? attention to detail? nobody had to tell me, and maybe that's what it is about being attached to a physical space: that you leave bits of yourself behind to be picked up by others. half the time i can't make up my damn mind about what i believe, but i know i think there's something to this... i guess it's the only way i can explain how i knew.

maybe it was the brokenness that attracted me. him. all of us. i don’t know, but wouldn’t it happen that zarathustra would point out that it's our weakness to give attention to pain... maybe that’s what drew me. maybe it's what drew everyone else in, too, you know? that need to repair whatever they sensed needed repairing... that desire to gaze after what is broken.

it's the same feeling you get when you slow down to look at a car accident, or when you can’t help but hope the waves will wash over all the tracks in the sand.

anyway.

i remember the night he told me. i was looking for company... really i was looking for anywhere to go but home, and i knew (by intuition or by habit) that someone would still be around. i swung by and we closed the place down: we cleaned and scrubbed and wiped down anything and everything... maybe just to try and clean the heavy weight the place had held. i drank to remember. he drank to forget. i could feel it coming a mile away, and i figured i was finally going to hear the entire thing beginning to end.

it was the heart.

it always is though, isn’t it?

it took everything not to drag out from him the words i already knew were coming. patience is not my virtue when i already know the answer, but it wasn't my story to tell. i don’t really know how i knew. it wasn’t intuition but it wasn’t spelled our across the peeling linoleum floor, either. the words slipped out, first quietly and then...

i've been told to never get old

...and we're just falling because

we're too beat to fall in love

and fill our winded pipes with

anything... least of which we'd hoped

was love.

so we're falling fast

to break our backs on broken bones:

the softest thing to call a home

for now

because we can't keep anything

down and out (aside from

the soft fall of nothing

in our stomaches).

and i wanted it too...

-h

it freezes your already cold heart

still in a timshel mood.
these are a few weeks old, but this is where i go home to.
love.

it will steal your innocence

but it will not steal your substance.

ohhh i could sing this song over and over again it sounds like forever and all the lovely things i lost hope in somewhere back there.... oh. this is something to not lose hope in.

but the water is cold. i guess the everything everywhere is cold. everything leftover is the drive down into the valley with the perfect view of the mountain in the distance. it's getting lighter, spring is coming around somewhere sometime soon, and i've slipped out of the quiet routine i acquired over the winter..... i'm ready to drive. somewhere, i don't know where. back to the places i went fishing over the summer... or something.
i've been spending every free time i have drawing/painting/cutting and pasting.... getting rolls of film in and out of my camera... saving up what little money i have.... living exclusively off coffee and soup. i feel like i just don't have time for anything else anymore.
homework, maybe. art for breakfast. art for lunch. art for dinner. music in between. film for sleep.

daydream believing.

oh: all the lovely music.
i think i finally have some work worth posting.
more to come.

swiss army romance

ten year reunion show tonight at neumos.
pretty stoked. i was fortunate enough to have a friend give me an extra ticket to the show. i don't know what i'm doing with my life, but i'm happy i have a friend who's a concert junkie just like me.

sometimes you're just too far in to pretend you're growing up and out of the things you fall in love with.
cheers
-holly

ps. buying a disposable for the concert tonight, photos to come.

i look like the trouble i caused

i look like the fabulous sort of trouble i caused. there's only a few pictures from when i was 19 and cut all my hair off (i'm now 22 and look nothing like how i used to). i caused a lot of trouble. these were the days when i moved out and lived with a couple girls i worked with and partied every night. this picture was taken right after christmas that year in my room at my parent's house with the notorious teal walls. my sister used to tell me this photo was asking for trouble, and to be honest, i didn't give a shit. i was fabulous. i could walk into any party on the hill uninvited. i had bands crashing on my floor regularly. i was kind of an asshole. i notoriously showed up for class hungover every morning.
it's only been three years.
three years? no... this photo had to have been taken when i was eighteen. four years.
things have changed.
a whole fucking lot.
i don't even recognize the girl in this photo, and i don't think anyone else would, either.

what the what

vendetta red's having a reunion show at el corazon (of course, if you know better it will always be the graceland).
this is the most important thing right now.

transatlanticism

isn't that one of the most lovely words?
is it even real?
oh...death cab.



i spent a couple hours killing time in my car talking about music and the old local scene seattle used to have roughly between 01 and 08... all the glory bands like daphne and ghost runner and what not. i had a mix in my cd player (not by coincidence at all, it was what playlist i'd posted a few days ago) and he'd asked what album the death cab song was on.
"transatlanticim"
it came out without any hesitation... there was no thought involved in my answer.
weird, huh? i don't know, i mean,
is that even what it's on? i don't own the album.... i don't think i have any death cab albums at all, and i don't think i've even listened to any of the albums it all the way through. it was just.... something i know. where did it come from? is it just a seattle thing?

but i love the way the word sounds. i've been saying it over and over again to myself, mostly in thought... but it's slipped out every once and a while.

transatlanticism....
maybe it's just a seattle thing.

frosty frosty sounds

1.) "maps" - the yeah yeah yeahs
2.) "i can't take it" - tegan and sara
3.) "the catch" - nyles lannen
4.) "re: stacks" - bon iver
5.) "postcards from italy" - beirut
6.) "california one youth and beauty" - the decemberists
7.) "a lack of color" - death cab for cutie
8.) "enjoy your worries, you may never have them again" - the books
9.) "subsong" - jel
10.) "tatou" - brand new
11.) "romeo" - juliette lewis and the licks
12.) "i am always the one who calls" - pedro the lion
13.) "flume" - bon iver
14.) "gone away from me" - ray lamontagne
15.) "mare mortis" - the appleseed cast
16.) "linger" - the cranberries
17.) "white shadows" - coldplay
18.) "manhattan" - kings of leon