Black Widows Tour March 2025 Pt. 2

What is it like to come home from tour? Just as much of a shock to the system as being on tour is. I think there was a moment, on the second week out, where I was like “omg I’m committed to this and there’s no escape”, a minor moment of anxiety that was just settling into the idea that I’m not on my typical schedule. Now as much as I love my sweet little schedule, I love getting out of it too. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and it rings so true. I missed my town, I missed my bed, I missed my walks. I was fortunate to get a really good hike on a day off in Rhode Island, but to not get my regular exercise and mediation and alone time was hard at first. Now I’m home and it’s hard to settle back into being alone.

I thought for sure I’d crash into a depression upon coming home, but this tour has left me feeling so inspired for the next thing. Coming home I just wanted to go out and see local shows and spend time with my friends and family. Something softened in me even more on the road, maybe it was just the proof that I can do it. And all this work, all the years of hard work, really do pay off.

It is really hard to balance having very cool life experiences while the rest of the world and our country burns. How can I justify my joy when innocent children die every day in a genocide in Gaza? When people are being abducted on the streets and deported? Traveling with the Surfragettes, two of whom live in Canada, showed the anxiety they felt being in the US now, something they’ve done for years safely but now with heavy hearts. When we played in Mississippi, during their set a bunch of legislative representatives had come to the show and were buying our merch, happily drunk and seemingly ignoring the anti-Trump merch we had. One man bragged to me about how he “tricked 25,000 people into voting for him”. I said “you know the band playing is from Canada? They are terrified to be here.” And he responded “Maybe they’ll just have to stay”. Absolutely disgusting behavior from a government official. But am I surprised? Sadly no. Sometimes I forget the bubble I live in, and being in the south where racism and bigotry is in your face is a bit of a culture shock. They don’t hide it like folks do up here I suppose.

So you just kind of have to acknowledge and continue to learn and advocate for the suffering in the world and US while still living and enjoying your own life. Which sucks, and is conflicting all the time. And as I return to little work, I try not to let it get to me and reevaluate how I spend my money and time. Somehow it always works out.

Black Widows Tour March 2025 Pt. 1

This is the longest tour I’ve ever done at 4 weeks and it was honestly such a special and cool experience. But it also pushed me to enduring functioning on minimal sleep and maximum social battery. Obviously the cool stuff is what everyone expects, traveling to new cities, eating amazing food, playing music almost every night and getting paid to do so. I wouldn’t discount any of this. But tour is not like it’s presented in books and film. Maybe if we were a bunch of dudes it would be, idk. The reality is most days are driving all day, and your lucky if you get to a new town with enough time to check into the hotel and get ready, but a lot of it is driving straight to a venue, doing sound check, setting up merch, going to get food to go because there isn’t enough time to eat before playing and you hate playing on a full stomach, finish the set, work the merch table while trying to pack and socialize, getting back to the hotel room after turning down offers to party because we have to drive 7 hours the next day, shoveling cold food into your face, using the last bit of energy you have left to wash off make up and brush your teeth, put in noise canceling headphones and hope to get at least 7 hours of sleep. Rinse, repeat. That is how it’s done when you don’t have drivers and a tour van to sleep in all day. Not that I think that’s any easier, but it is a job that is also really cool and fun.

There are many misconceptions on what it means to be a touring musician, glamorized by documentaries and movies. On a smaller level like ours, where there are nightly interactions with people who came to the show, it is totally socially draining. And you have to be on all the time or people will think you’re ungrateful or an asshole. I mostly really enjoy meeting new people and talking and hearing their stories. There are exceptions however, especially in a genre that lends itself to an older male fan base. There’s the men who always ask “whose your favorite drummer/guitarist/bassist?” which I know is a way to bond, but it’s really fucking annoying. I don’t have a favorite anything because I don’t absorb media to make check lists on whose best and worst. I enjoy listening and playing music, I don’t need to know everything about it. I appreciate the folk who do operate that way, but man is it wild to have a man ask who your fav drummer is and you say “Karen Carpenter” and he responds with “oh wow, she isn’t even the top 10 drummer of all time”. Like what? You asked MY favorite drummer. So as a goof we started making up musicians and as an experiment used these fake names in response to see how many men would act like they knew who we were talking about. Is it a bit mean? Probably. I acknowledge this.

Then there were the men who had to neg us before giving us a compliment, and they did the same to The Surfragettes. I do not understand how men still communicate like this. It’s a choice guys, no women the entire tour EVER did that, but many men did. I get it, you like to razz your buddies, that’s just how men socialize, yadda yadda yadda. Well guess what? You actually don’t have to do that. I’ve dated men who like to do this, but if you give it back they get so upset. What if we actually just said kind, genuine things to each other? I want to live in that world. And I don’t mean to get all “I hate men” because I don’t, truly, I love so many of them. But being on tour with 2 bands, all femme, really showed how we all have universal experiences with shitty, awful, abusive men. Every single one of us had stories that were the same, and outcomes that were the same. Listening to women justify being abused by their partner is the saddest shit in the world; like an addict who can only get clean if they really want too, you can only help someone in an abusive relationship so much as they want to help themselves. I encourage anyone in an abusive relationship to love themselves enough to leave.

Of course it appears I’m bitching about the negative things, and maybe I am, so what? It’s just the reality of being women on tour. However this was on the best experiences I’ve had in my life. To be able to be flexible and adaptable to being on the road is key. I felt at home everywhere we went, and I cherish every single memory, even the hard ones, because it’s so cool I was given this opportunity. It often felt like summer camp, bonding with these women over being silly little goofy guys and what a wild way to live this is! I really love all these women so much and am endlessly grateful for every moment this month gave us.

Texas Retirement RV Parks & Healing Parental Wounds & Time With Friends

It is a hard to realization that the people who created you, cannot give you what you need in your hardest hours. It becomes a bile of resentment, built up from years of not getting enough as a child and a cycle of hyper independence as an adult. But you know what is actually pretty easy? Meeting your parents where they are at, and radically accepting them for who they are. Once you stop blaming them for fucking you up, which that’s not to say they didn’t, but once you accept that you are fucked up and you are the only one responsible for fixing yourself, it becomes so much easier to heal the wounds they created.

Spend time with your parents. Unless they are so toxically abusive of course. I advocate for anyone to have low to no contact with the ones who harmed you the most. But it’s become palatable later in life for me to forgive the emotional neglect, as I see them as children who suffered the same at the treatment of their own parents. I can see them as children who bore responsibilities no child should have to shoulder. I ask them about their stories and relationships. I don’t excuse the behaviors of continued neglect and emotional blow outs, but it is an easier pill to swallow when you realize that is all they know and maybe as they soften in the years they can heal too. Or not. But accepting them for who they are and where they are at feels so much better than being angry and sad about it all the time.

So I went to visit my parents in their retirement RV/Trailer park in Mission Texas and had a hell of a time. Those folks are retired, but they keep busy. Line dancing, pickle ball, “horse races”, poker, pool, water volley ball, concerts, reading clubs, volunteer clubs, etc…there are many things to do every day and watching my dad become a social guy in his later years is a treat. He’s on the board of the RV park, and did karaoke with me. I sang Strokin’ by Clarence Carter alone as a dare and that somehow gained me the respect from these folks I didn’t want or need, but I won’t live it down. I witnessed the whiteness that exists in their community, and hoped that in close years there is more diversity in these homes and in social circles even among my own communities. There were cliques and drama, but mostly mild in nature. Funny to think even in our 50’s-80’s people can utilize their boredom and insecurity’s to make everything about themselves. Ego is a funny thing.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have parents who payed for my ticket to visit them, and that they wanted to spend time with me. And I feel the same for the community I exist in at home. What a beautiful thing to be alive, what a beautiful thing to suffer, what a beautiful thing to love.

Winter Road Trips & Avoiding Self Sabotage

Hello again friends. Winter is upon us in full force and myself and my friends seem to have a hard time dealing with the overwhelming grief and sadness as we transition into a scary administration in the US. Finding the balance of being informed but staying rested, contributing to community and filling our individual cups, and staying loving while maintaining a motivating anger at the state of things is kind of becoming a cyclical routine of doom vs. joy. I do truly and wholly believe that love and community will get us through the next four years, but my heart is heavy for everyone losing their rights and personal freedoms we were supposedly granted living here. Being a femme who has experienced multiple occasions of SA and grooming in my lifetime, it is so hurtful to see a predator, rapist, racist orange fuck head lead our country just speaks to the societal fact that well, as a whole we don’t respect women. A lesson I’ve learned in my own community frustratingly; the fact that people aren’t willing to listen to victims and brush them off as just hurt feelings is kind of wild, especially when you give direct evidence of an abuser’s wrong doings. But this just helps me weed out with whom to associate with, “when they show you their true colors, believe them” -Oprah or someone.

I spent the holidays visiting friends in Kansas City and Nashville, meeting their toddlers and families and lending an ear to a friend grieving an abusive relationship that ended a few months prior. I hate to see when a person takes the spark away from another in a relationship, treating them so unkindly they start to believe they deserve it or leaving the abused partner so wholly convinced that the abuse and manipulation happening is normal it takes them years to get back to themselves. Years to unlearn the bitterness that comes with leaving an abuser and cheater. Years to soften the heart back, as it hardens like a shell with defensiveness and projectivity. But perhaps that’s not a bad thing, maybe it’s good for a someone who has been in a volatile situation to take as much time as possible protecting their tender heart and coming back to themselves in no hurry or rush.

Driving alone for 10 hours a day was a lot easier than I though it would be initially. Podcasts helped the most, as well as a giant big gulps full of Cherry coke. I’m not really a soda person but those really got me through the thick of long haul days. I feel ready to do this big month long tour with the Black Widows in March now. And I came back home to start second shooting at work, as opposed to the photo assisting I’ve been doing steadily for almost 9 years. More money, more responsibility. Gotta make sure I don’t fuck this up for myself. They say things come to you when you’re ready, and I have to say I probably wasn’t ready even a year ago, so it feels really awesome to finally be in a spot where I’m confident and and doing the damn thing. Getting what you’ve worked hard for looks a lot differently than it did in your mind. It certainly doesn’t just fix all my problems, but there is a sense of ease that has satiated my yearning for more. It feels like all these things are coming to me but the world is burning down at the same time. And I’m trying to sit in my appreciation for the good and enjoy it and be present and also mourn the planet that is crying for help. But as they are saying, multiple things really can be true at once. And that little phrase acts as a bandaid for these times.

xoxo-

madalyn

End Of Summer Rituals; Better Late Than Never

“Better late than never!” I say to myself as I upload a few rolls of summer AFTER I already posted the fall ones. But if I had to be open and honest with myself, that is just how I operate. I am not timely & organized, and while sometimes I get caught up in the illusion that somehow if I just could be either of those things, then I’d be much more successful in my endeavors.

But that means I’d have to measure success in the way I was brought up too, and I just know it in my bones I will never feel comfortable conforming to those societal standards. And perhaps that keeps me a bit behind, maybe less reliable, less approachable but who cares? Probably no one. Just me and my ever present self judgement. I am realizing that I hold myself to seriously high standards and might appear to expect the same of my peers, but I don’t. I would love to live in a world where we are all on the same page, but maybe that would be really boring? Idk regardless, to those who’ve felt my wrath of self judgement and taken it personally, I apologize. If you think I’m hard on you, imagine how I am inside my own head. When you were trying really hard as a child to get any ounce of attention and support from parent’s who just couldn’t give you that, it makes for an adult with unrealistic ideas of how to maintain relationships. These aren’t excuses for my behaviors however, and please know I am working hard on trying to fix how I interact with the world.

I am stuck in the end of year crises where I do the whole “wtf am I doing?” kind of vibe thing that helps keep me un-stuck; even if while I’m feeling this way, it feels like I’m stuck. 8 years ago I started this damn blog to “process my grief”, but documenting it felt really trite after awhile. I don’t think there is a proper way to visually and wholly describe grief and the years of life it takes from you. 8 years later and I still get very, very sad this time of year. Sometimes it doesn’t even feel like it’s about the same grief anymore, as it’s evolved as I do and experience more “less than ideal” situations. A visitor came by unannounced and dropped off things from my previous residence. I wasn’t ready to see her and I’m glad she just texted. I have yet to respond. Her timing was, as it was last year when she kicked me out in a amphetamine fueled paranoia rage on the week of Christmas, impeccable. A mere few days before the 8 year anniversary of the worst day of my life. Left with my things, a text that was devoid of emotion, in the way an active addict’s language is, no matter the 20 years of friendship you once had where you were used to speaking your own made up language together. But it held none of that playful banter that once was, and a quick “I’m sorry it took so long to get these things back to you”. Now that pissed me tf off. Oh you’re sorry it took you a year to get my stuff back? How about “I’m sorry I kicked you out on the week of Christmas with one month to move. I’m sorry that you broke out into a rash for 2 months after moving out because of the stress? I’m sorry you had to cash out your 401K so you could afford to live alone? I’m sorry I am staying in an abusive relationship that is causing not only myself harm, but those around me as well? I’m sorry I just showed up at your new place, the one which you did not give me your address too, only for you to spiral into a PTSD panic attack for 3 days because you’re afraid of where I could be at mentally?”.

Well of course she can’t apologize for things she doesn’t know, and she is probably already deep in her shame for her own choices. Or maybe she isn’t. Addiction and mental illness really cloud our perceptions of each other, from the user to the people around them. But my grief also let me spiral and I was so sad that I can’t just react like a normal person when these things happen. My body just remembers how I felt on that night I found my fiancé’s dead body and goes right back into fight or flight mode. And then when the person who birthed me couldn’t even take the time to reach out, even after my oldest sister called her to tell her I was in a rough spot because of the anniversary and the visit, well that became the icing on the cake of what has now been a 3 week high functioning depression episode that I’ve absolutely used self isolation and a glass of wine every night to deal with. And then my grief, as it does, turned a bit to anger because Jono was supposed to be my husband and we’d die together after figuring out all the hard stuff with each other. But I’m stuck here in the trenches of a world that is very wounded, trying to figure out the hard stuff all alone.

BUT I WILL BE OK. “You’ve always been able to figure things out”-my mom. I mean she’s not wrong, but I wonder if she knows my hyper-independent lifestyle stems from her emotional neglect. And I forgive her this because I’m sure her mother did the same thing to her. While it hurts not to have a mother or father I can seek for comfort, I do have a large community of friends who I can. And while I’m still in the training wheel period of asking for help when I need it, it’s getting steadier every day. So oops! This was another not so positive post, I think that things are heading in a better direction as I learn every day how to cope with this world and love harder than I ever have before. Maybe I’ll try being softer tomorrow.

Anyway here’s some photos of summer and wonderful people I love dearly.

A Walden-Esque Escape aka White Woman Seeks Peace in The Woods Alone

I decided that I’ve been living too carefully and needed to do something out of my comfort zone. Sure I’ve traveled alone, but typically stayed with friends. And to be quite honest, since moving out and living alone, the only kind of travel I can afford now is of the camping variety. So in early October this year I packed up the Tacoma and headed to the Porcupine Mountains in Michigan, because I saw an episode of Joe Pera Talks With You where he went to this place and it looked really pretty, and it was a mere 5 hour drive away. And let me tell you, that drive was beautiful. Sure the leaves hadn’t quite peaked to their full fall color potential most of the drive, but as I made a turn about an hour away from my campsite, among the greens, reds and yellows started popping into my view so vibrantly I actually started clapping and cheering and thanking the trees for being so breathtaking.

As I cruised along, taking mental notes of good signs and such I saw along the way that I would for sure stop to snap a photo of on my way back, I realized how wonderful it is to travel alone on a roadtrip where I could darn well stop whenever I so pleased. And as The Clean’s “Anything Could Happen” was playing on my radio, I noticed in a big sign that said “PUMPKIN FESTIVAL TODAY” in a town called Bessemer and I cranked the wheels toward that small town festival. While I was anxious to get to camp and set up ALONE (the first time setting camp alone is incredibly humbling), I just had to walk through this little main street and delight at the treats, get myself a hot dog, and appreciate humans doing seasonal human things.

Once I made it to camp, I set up, humbly, as I had a new tent that I’d never put up before. My site was just along the Superior and just down a flight of stairs along the bluff, I got to sit at the side of the most beautiful body of water in the Midwest and catch the sun setting along the horizon until the lake swallowed it up like a big orange-yellow egg yolk. The first night I was there was a Friday and the campsite was full. I was once again humbled as I attempted to build my first fire. Now I’ve built a damn fire before MANY times, enough so that when I was at the small town grocery store I scoffed at the fire starters for sale and confidently though to myself “I don’t need that”. Well I did.

I had grabbed lots of small sticks brought plenty of old paper grocery bags but after 45 minutes of trying to get it started, I was feeling very defeated. It would start up then just die. I did everything I could think of, including moving the logs that were HOT around and in my haste burned my finger. Instead of being angry, I laughed at myself. Because rushing and being hasty is somehow ingrained in my very being so much so that no matter how much I remind myself to slow down, it’s sticks like undercooked spaghetti. Now not only do I struggle with rushing, but also asking for help. Maybe it’s pride, maybe it’s trauma related, but it’s damn hard for me. But I went on this trip to do something different, and I swallowed my ego and approached another femme solo camper who was my neighbor on the site. Right away she said “struggling with your fire?” with a smirk, and I’m sure I looked about 2 feet tall when I said “yeah…I am being humbled”. She gave me a log of birch, didn’t over explain or try to start my fire for me but told me how flammable the bark was. It worked a charm. And then next day when I did my first hike 15 mile hike on the Superior trail, I was sure to fill my pockets with any piece of dead and dried birch I could forage. Her name was Erin, thanks to her I was able to have a fire every night for the next 5 days. Thank you Erin. It took going somewhere on my own to realize how much I do need others in my life.

Staying Positive Is A Full Time Job

AND I QUIT!

Can I just revel in the negative for awhile? Can I sit with the bad and let it overcome me while I transform in to the bitter spinster whose stuck in her career? Can’t I wont for a spiral downward into the abyss? I can make good friends with the bad feelings and we will laugh at ourselves. Sometimes it’s kinda fun to be a cynical person.

But that’s not how one get’s ahead. Sure there are so many disadvantages I was dealt in my career and hobbies, but focusing on them is not doing anyone a service ever. It can be true that I feel I don’t get work because my parent’s aren’t connected to the industry, or my best friend’s mom isn’t a producer, or my best friend isn’t an art director, or that my gender keeps me underpaid and not taken as seriously for the role of commercial photographer; it can also be true that it takes time to make those connections organically, and that the longer I assist the more I can learn every day on how to be better at photography and lighting. Giving up is not an option, I am way to stubborn for that. All I know is when I’m hired as a shooter, I’ll be using my privilege to bring in those who are in the same position I am in now. The overlooked, the under-connected, the passionate. I hope in 2 years, I will be writing another post about how I’ve made it to shooting. That is my goal. Here’s to growing, staying the course, and allowing myself to feel bad about it just a liiiiiiitle bit.

Halfway Through 2024 And, Well...

Is my nervous system regulated yet? Can someone truly explain what that even means or if its possible? I can self diagnose my CPTSD through Instagram therapy Reels because I can’t afford health insurance for therapy, and learn to be present, hike for hours, ruminate less and breathe more. But it really seems to be time, taking time, to slowly heal those wounds. I am writing this months after dealing with another traumatic event in my life, but it doesn’t make it any easier to write.

I am in mourning. Mourning a person who isn’t actually dead but the person they once were is, the person I loved for 20 years. I feel like it’s easier to grieve someone who has died because you know they are actually gone. But to grieve an addict who you had to cut ties with for your own mental health, a best friend, and brilliant, talented adventurous soul who pushed you out of your comfort zone to better yourself for years, was always always there for you and everyone they loved; there’s really no words to describe the feeling.

They pushed away everyone who truly loved them for an abusive boyfriend and amphetamines. Pushed you out of the home you shared with them the week of Christmas, which is a few weeks after the day you lost your fiancé years before, so you already hate that time of year. I watched someone go from being a normal amount of neurotic to completely delusional, paranoid and irrational, and blaming me for their choices. This was the second time I lived with an addict who (tried) to hid it for months, and while I understand it’s a disease and some people are more prone, it was ultimately her choice to start using the first time when her boyfriend offered it to her. I don’t mean to sound un-empathetic, but we have to find a middle ground between understanding their choices and enabling them. I believe my friend kicked me out because she knew I didn’t deserve to watch another person I love deteriorate. I still love her very much but I have to live life as if she’s gone. And I hate that. I hate that I have to feel the guilt of “should I tell her family?”. I hate that her POS rich boyfriend introduced her to amphetamines, and I hate that his parents enable his addiction by paying his mortgage and car payments, I hate that she knows better, but stays anyway. I hate that this same man has done this to countless other women and will continue to until the day he dies or actually commits to being sober. Kind of wild how one person’s choices completely affects an entire community of people, even those they may not have ever met. So good bye for now old friend. I love you so much still. I hope hope hope you can get yourself out of this. I know you can. I’ll be waiting for you when you do. I’ll keep living with the space you left unfilled, I’ll think of you everyday; honestly at first it was with anger but now it is with love.

Springtime Is For Learning How To Not To Be So Dumb 2023

For a slow work season, I sure crammed a lot of shit into February-May, in this the year of our lord Grimace 2023. Crush Scene recorded a whole ass album, we did a video shoot, we are planning a tour. Tomboy(y) toured through Nashville and Asheville. Pondering was done and budgets were cut but we made it happen. From where I’m sitting it’s hard to complain, but as it goes it’s not perfect. One thing is certain and that is I am pretty fucking happy with the life I’ve built for myself and my strength to get better at choosing things that are best for me every day. Especially when it’s a hard decision that maybe hurts a little in the moment but will save me and others a lot more hurt later.

So many people I love are in pain right now. It’s hard to watch people learn, but all you can do is be gentle and supportive and loving. I am grateful for those who did this for me when I used to be an asshole a lot, or when I still indulge in asshole-like behaviors, to others but to myself in particular.

Now that I’m used to being alone, I kind of love it. And when some sort of interesting person comes along, it’s almost annoying. I’m not afraid of intimacy, but I hate how much I thought it was something I needed before. Unlearning so much about what life looks like lately and it’s beautiful to continue to find out there’s no right way to accomplish anything. I hope I can focus on writing the next few months, and there is a lot of music and touring happening that I also am so excited for. I’m glad I’m not burnt out but constantly inspired by doing things and stuff. What a wonderful community that keeps growing around me!

Love u,

Madalyn

2022 You Silly Little Guy You

Well, another year goes by and I once again feel conflicted about the experience. There was so much love and compassion and joy and discoveries in each day that they almost outweighed the painful heartbreak and suffocating grief that also came (thankfully not daily). I think I’ve gotten better at loving the negative experiences as much as the beautiful ones, but it’s a practice and some days I’m just too tired.

This year I had to hurt someone’s feelings. I hated every second of it. It aches to recall; but I know it will set us both free, and someday we’ll both understand that. And then I had to deal with someone who seems to think hurting people’s feelings is a full time job. There’s an empathy that always follows when encountering someone so broken that they leave a trail of collateral damage through most of their relationships. Not that being so damaged is an excuse to take no accountability in your shitty actions. I hope this next year I get better for myself but for everyone around me. I think the phrase “it takes a village” should remain relevant our entire lives, and I want to be a positive and comforting presence in my community.

This year I learned women do all the work.

This year I got to love so many people. The support and care and bonding that was shared felt like the warmest hug. I think of the incredible people I’m so lucky to know and it never stops feeling so sweet. Thank you for being here, I really can’t wait to see how we all grow together.

This year I was more vulnerable with my music than ever. Sharing what I’ve written is terrifying, everyone is a critic and as a woman I feel extra pressure to write great songs so I don’t get written off as less talented because of my gender. But maybe that’s my own internalized misogyny speaking.

This year I learned that the stories I tell myself are not true, that I am not my thoughts or my feelings. This helps me a lot, when I’m feeling overwhelmed by trying to feel in control.

This year I cried more than ever. I am so glad I’ve allowed myself this, what a relief it is. My grief changes as I change, but it’s still there with me and at this point I think I’d miss it terribly if it went away. I tried running away from it for so long it feels good to just sit in it.

This year I took photos. Here are a selection of them, some what in order of People, Food, Windows, Interiors, etc. Grateful to my friends for taking me in, and all those I met along the way.

Love you,

Madalyn

Half* A Pandemic Later

I’m writing this in Februrary 2022 but the scenes featured are from May 2020-September 2021 (with some left over shots on a roll of film from LA in 2019).

It’s fitting and laughable to me that it’s been almost 2.5 years since I last wrote in this blog. Not like I was ever super consistent with it anyway, but isn’t that how the last 2.5 years have felt? Everything put on pause, time seems still yet moving quickly as we remain stagnant in our careers and hobbies and relationships.

A whiteboard calendar hangs in my apartment and in my handwriting still reads May 2019 in faded red Dry Erase, which was the month I went abroad. I used to change it every month before then, I enjoyed writing and organizing my schedule myself because it made me feel in control and responsible. After coming home I remember feeling like that trip with my band was the coolest thing I’d ever do, and then just kind of sank into a familiar yet light depression for months. Fast forward to March 2020…well we all know what happened. And that calendar still says May 2019 almost 3 years later.

Now I know how stupid it is to think like that, like what a freaking self-perpetuating sad girl trap I was stuck in for so long. I would get slightly sad during monumental moments like traveling or being around people who I loved so much, because I was busy premeditating the way I’d feel when I returned to my Groundhog’s Day existence instead of just enjoying myself entirely in what I was doing. I don’t know when I started to define what I thought was happiness around “BIG LIFE EVENTS” and normalized feeling like shit for not living that life 24/7. I forgot how to be bored and content, I was confusing pleasure and success for happiness.

I truly feel bad for everyone right now. I think most people have never really experienced the trauma and sadness and general ennui that we are collectively feeling right now, for many people this pandemic is the first time in their lives that the rug has been ripped from beneath their feet and they are experiencing the slippery feeling that we really don’t have any control of our lives, as we enter sophomore year into a modern pandemic. Not that having past trauma makes me better at processing it, or that any of our experiences can every truly be objectively shared. But I have had my life change in a second before. I have lost everything in one minute. And I after processing and not processing it for the last 5 years, the only thing I can say is

“Just give into it and love it.”

“Look it in the eye, look yourself in mirror, and just say ‘hey I love you, even though you really suck and make me feel like shit, I love you and I love this process because it’s all a part of the human experience’”.

I never would have felt that way before, it would have been off-putting and “woo-woo”, but finding a way to love the worst times in your life and yourself as the worst version is the only logical way I found I can positively survive.

So here are a few rolls of the last few years, which I am incredibly grateful for. I camped for a week on the beautiful indigenous hills of Paha Sapa with Colin, something we probably never would have planned if not for the time the pandemic gave us to do. I was able to rescue a new friend with an old friend from a toxic living situation in the UP, somewhere I’d never been and wouldn’t have done if not for the pandemic. My bands were able to fit in small Midwest tours and safely perform after what felt like years off. I tried to do many “staycations” and explore places in the Twin Cities I haven’t been before.

So I guess I have learned a lot about myself and how to appreciate “right now” during this pandemic. Which sounds gross and selfish when so many people lost their lives, and I grieve for every life gone, and I continue remain isolated most days and weeks to ensure I am not the cause of someone’s untimely death. Vaccines as of yet still haven’t stopped the spread, and if something I can do is as easy as not going out every day and bopping around town and wearing a mask when I am out, well that’s pretty easy for me. Because everyone’s safety is more important than my temporary pleasure.

But I have to find some positives, and the greatest one I received was setting boundaries in my relationships. I have always been a people pleaser and felt like I had to keep everyone entertained, and wow if that isn’t exhausting. Realizing that it’s ok to have space in certain relationships but that doesn’t mean they are over, just healing, and changing, like a wound on our skin.

If you’ve read up to this point, I love you. I’m proud of you. Please reach out if you need it, I may not be a main character in your life but I’m always cheering for you.

Outie 5,000,

Madalyn Mae

Fall 2019

My first trip to California was incredible and not in any of the ways that I thought it would be. I mean, I never gave a shit about the desert before, but now I totally “get it”. I get why the big sky and expansive terrain that morphs and changes yet always stays the same, and stretches around you and protects with its big mountainous hug. I love the desert. Artists in Joshua Tree, punks and screaming Christian’s in Slab City, aliens and hippies and Pappy & Harriets. I met my desert uncle at an open mic night in 29 Palms, a long bearded guy who shared my last name and we talked about our East coast relatives. I mean we probably weren’t really related but the idea was funny enough to keep talking to him for awhile. I discovered that walking a desert mile is the equivalent of 4 regular miles, and if you’re going to Bombay Beach you definitely have to get out of your car and check out the shittiest free museum in America. It gets cold at night in November which I wasn’t expecting being from someplace where it’s cold 80% of the time and you’ll sweat all day and shiver at night when you walk from the Santa Monica pier to Venice beach. Of course I loved LA, I’ve already fallen in love with the idea of it. Aside from the smell of piss and tar pits down town it was exactly as I loved it in my mind. I cried a little when I saw the Hollywood sign for the time. I already can’t wait to go back.

November 2019

I got really ambitious this weekend and told myself I would make a song and a video in one day. 3 days later I finished it. I like to make stupid little songs in Garage Band with my T-Pain microphone for fun and therapy and I usually keep things to myself, but every once in a while I like to make myself feel 100% vulnerable and put something that feels really personal out there into the wacky, wild web. I made this video with the help of my talented partner Colin Thieme and a bunch of Christmas decorations and in camera effects with toys and faceted crystals,

Summer 2019

These photos go back in time from my most recent tour in September with The Toxenes to Chicago, Green Bay and Madison, to the MN State Fair, to a forgotten roll of film from Spain. 4 months went by very quickly, and when I came home from my Europe trip in June it was hard to get back into myself. I was so sad it was over, I felt like I had done this monumental thing, something I never really thought would actually happen, touring Europe playing music? That doesn’t happen to me. But it did and now I’m wondering how I can continue to conquer my goals. I’m fighting myself a lot not to become complacent, I’ve gotten way too comfortable working 3 jobs trying to support my career, waiting for that call from Playboy that they want me to shoot for them.

Tammy 2019

Elmer Glueskin

Spain, Portugal & Morocco 2019

Spain, Galacia, Catalonia, Valencia, Portugal and Morocco as the five senses I experienced this summer.

Taste

Salty tomato jam and crispy baguettes that cut the roof of your mouth, smokey meats and sweet sangria, savory paella that you can barely eat because you’re so sick and salty sea air, chunky orange juice, sweet shisha, greasy snails and plump mussels, cheesy pizza that bookers bought for your show, bright fruits and spicy olives, effervescent vino verde and cheap red wine, knock off Doritos on the road and custard tarts from castle towns.

Sight
Car windows and chasing windmills and mountain castles in the distance, brown and green, colorful graffiti lines the drive, blue skies and low clouds, bright building balconies with lush gardens, rows of orange trees and grapevines, flowers toppling over walls, people walking downtown and sitting in cafe's and restaurants all day, dull streets and dirty walls, alleys and beaches, trees and buildings competing in height, big skies and crowded bars, stained glass in castles and broken glass in the mornings.

Sound
Rolling r’s and fast paced words overlapping each other, horns honking and people clapping, melodic songs that echo and bounce between alleys at 3am like a drunken lullaby from the city, rock and roll clubs and crashing waves, heated voices explaining why America is the enemy and why Fascism still exists. What’s App dinging and guys yelling to you from the street as you drink wine on the balcony, the bass of techno music thumping constantly in your brain as you nurse a hang over.

Touch
Soft sand and hard cobblestone streets, silky vintage clothing and bumping into strangers on the street, light kisses on the cheeks and cramped car rides up the coast, it feels like learning to be patient again, hot sun burning your shoulders but cold shadows that make you put your jacket back on, salt water moving around you as it makes you more buoyant while you float weightless in the sea.

Smell
Hand rolled cigarettes and drunk urination on the streets, perfumed flowers blooming and perfumed women walking quickly by, paella cooking all day and tagine in the afternoon, spices float through the air and exhaust makes you cough, salty air mixed with coconut sunscreen and hints of spliffs float around the beaches, seafood and meat lingers in your skin after eating and a sharp sting of white wine first thing in the morning because it’s cheaper than buying water.

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Grandma's Camera

My grandmother Alice passed away in her home on Valentines Day. I'm not sure if the significance of the date even matters, but I loved her so much it seemed appropriate she would pass on the evening of the day of love that Hallmark probably invented. She always said "I want to die in my house", and she did, a true woman of her word. I inherited some very meaningful items, including her wedding ring (which I soon wore as my own engagement ring) and a handmade quilt she made for me. The quilt was supposed to be a wedding gift, all my sisters and cousins got one when they married. She didn't make it to my wedding and well I guess I didn't either, a date that both did and didn't exist. But the quilt now provides me a comforting hug at night, when I need it the most. I put it on my bed after I moved last July because I was having PTSD nightmares and I thought the quilt she made by hand HAD to have some magical properties from the hours of her hands measuring and sewing the blanket together. I like to imagine her swearing under her breath and sucking her teeth (a habit that I resented on long drives to the cabin but now miss that clicking sound) while concentrating on the geometrics of the pattern. The blanket and her ring make me feel connected to something, my family and my lineage that I never thought I had before, because I thought white people had no culture (this both is and isn't a joke).

I also got a camera from my grandparents home, a point and shoot Kodak Star 535. There was one photo taken on the roll, the rest left for me to create my own memories on. When I developed the film I was so excited to see what photo my grandma or grandpa had taken. When I opened the scans and found this image of their living room window, I could smell it. Grandpa's freshly smoked salmon and cedar, fresh pine Christmas tree; I could taste the sharp sweet tang of Tahitian Treat and salty ham on my tongue; I could feel the cool marbles from my grandpa's solitaire peg game on the tips of my fingers; I could hear classical music, strings and swells, in my head. The wave of nostalgia was intense and sad and sweet. 

But yeah so anywayz the rest of the photos are from the same camera, from about August this year to December. These photos are like my memories, they're grainy and foggy, there's light leaks and the film is so expired the colors are all off, not at all how I imagined they'd turn out when I took them. 

I miss this house so much, and I wonder why grandma or grandpa took this photo but I'm glad they did. 

Here is a photo of Colin taking the same photo that just took.

I swear I'm having a good time, edibles 2 strong. 

The sunset turned blue on expired film. 

Still feeling #blessed I got to play Roy Wilkins with my best friends, here's Momo showing me some love.

They asked me to take their picture so I asked if I could take one for me. 

Neon Queen/// \\\Shop Country Club

I got lucky so fart (this was a typo I decided to keep) this year with two dope shoots already under my belt, I got to design a set like a crazy person and shot on location at the beautiful yet kinda shitty W.A. Frost in St. Paul. I have to say that I feel so lucky to live in Minnesota and to have connections in such a creative and supportive scene. That being said, I also struggle with trying to "cater my portfolio" to what fits the "midwest aesthetic" so I can actually get paid to work commercially. I remember having this issue in school as well, which work do I display so I can get hired and support myself with my photography? Or do I keep doing the work that excites me and remain a broke bitch? Where is my line between wanting to create "fine art with meaning" and "just a nice pretty picture"? Or do I not even worry about all that at all and just do the damn thing. Somehow things weirdly work themselves out and I've found that if I just do the thing, then everything will fall into it's place. I won't forget to enjoy the what I love. 

NEON QWUAN \/\/\/\/\/\/

Styling and Model : Katrina Haugen aka @meowornever

Hair and Makeup : Jennifer Des Lauriers aka @jlauriers 

Photo Assitant : Jessica Santiago aka @fluxequalsmad

SHOP COUNTRY CLUB \/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Stylist and Clothing by Amanda Morell aka @shop_country_club

Model @ladyroue

Hair by Javier Juarez aka @javihairjuarez

Going Through the Motions pt. Deux

"Are You Depressed or Just an Asshole?" 2017

Almost a comfort because it’s something familiar, Depression is a part of me that I’ve been “coping” with for years, but as part of the grief process I feel myself regressing sharply into the hopelessly narcissistic void of sad. Depression seriously makes me the most asshole version of myself, seemingly self-involved and full of sabotage to said self. Being around anyone is exhausting for more than 15 minutes, I can’t fully listen because my head looks attached but my mind is a mylar balloon drifting 15, 20, 50 feet away into the sky, a shiny dot that reflects the sun one more time before it burns your eyes and some animal chokes to death on it a few weeks later. ANWAY. I want to be present and enjoy things and people, but trying to remember if I logged out of Facebook before looking at porno sites is work enough (I get paranoid). It’s frustrating when people can’t rely on you anymore, and you are letting them down, but you lack any energy to try harder. Because you’re using all said energy to block out the negative thought cycle, the ones that put a fog on anything enjoyable and scare the fuck out of you.You really stop caring about yourself and your future. "I don’t want to kill myself, BUT if I got run over today that would be fine, IF I slipped and fell onto this knife in my kitchen that would be dope, IF a deranged individual decided to bash my brains in with a rock while I’m on one of my walks I could be in the paper AND also not exist anymore so that’d be a fun 15 minutes of fame". OK I feel like I need to follow this up with some uplifting things so yawl don’t put me on a ‘watch’ so I’ll reassure you that the wind on my face and even just like one weeks worth of attention from a cute, smart guy reminds me that there are so many beautiful, real things in this world that I want to discover and that are not dead. I know I’m not done with this shit yet, this experience yet, this life yet, I know it’s still just the beginning and at the present and I am ok/dealing with this, with only a dash of apathy for the process. But that’s what it’s like to feel Depressed, you can side wash the thoughts and “decide” to think another way but that doesn’t stop them from being a part of you, humbling you, misleading you.

  And while it’s hard to interact with 99.9% of humans in your life when you’re Depressed, if you’re lucky you meet one (or more if u r really lucky) of the few out there who speak the same fucked up language as you. You’re connected in a broken, crooked way that you know isn’t right but you feel comfortable immediately because you never have to explain your thoughts or feelings, you can just exist in the world together and not expect anything. You can both be assholes to each other but never take it personally because you know it comes from a place you both share deep down inside your guts, like a shitty dull gem in a nihilistic version of a Troll doll. You can make the darkest jokes and rather than feel uncomfortable they will laugh with you, at them. But you wonder if this kind of connection is good for either of you, or will you just bring each other down more? Binge drink together more, get too real in the dumb feelings you share? 

And trying to find a balance of being social so I can stay out of my head and be alone so I can recharge my attention is impossible and anxiety inducing. Because I like meeting new people and interacting, and I like being alone with myself, it’s a conflicting cycle of guilt-of-fomo/pleasure-from-others/guilt-from-actually-enjoying-my-own-company and I’m not even Catholic or Jewish so I don’t know where that shit comes from. And it’s hard to be disappointed in anyone else’s behavior, because you know your own is shitty garbage poo-poo-cynic-sad-girl-crap that ricochets from humor to despair and is equally annoying to put up with. And the (IMO) worst part of Grief Depression is that you CAN NOT DISTINGUISH between what is part of “the process" and what are your true feelings that you’ve always had inside. Grief throws everything off and you either can acknowledge that you’re feeling the way you do because you’re confronting your truth OR you’re feeling the way you do because you’re avoiding it and letting dumb, menial things become greater to you than they are. I talked before about how IDGAF anymore and it’s a beautiful thing but also, in contrast, I’m holding feelings too deeply for things/people that I know are fleeting, but, they glimmer a slight ray of hope on the faded VHS copy of Jerry McGuire that is my life. 

I tried to avoid my birthday this May because last year Jono proposed to me on my bday, and also 29 is a bullshit age so who cares. And even though I pretended it wasn’t my “big day”, my wonderful coworkers made me a beautiful, delicious cake and they all sang “Happy Birthday" and I held back tears because I felt with so much certainty “I don’t deserve this, I’ve been such a selfish asshole lately, this is so fucked”. But I appreciated the fuck out of it. And then just a few days ago it would have been Jono’s 30th birthday, and that I couldn’t avoid. It happened to fall in the midst of me moving out of our apartment, which I chose to stay in through our lease being up. Sooooooooooo many people asked me how I could stay there after everything that went down (and honestly I don’t blame them at all, because from an outsider’s perspective, that would seem so weird and sad), but to me I was able to push that aside and found comfort in staying in the place we built together, so I could still hold on and pretend my life was on track. But it’s time for me to move on, and this has proven a more difficult process that even though I “prepared” myself with, in anticipation of, I was still caught off guard by how much it fucked me up. I played a show the day I got the keys to my new place and moved all my books in (priorities! I have a book-nook now so at least there’s that) and fell apart halfway through the set. I mean, I still played OK but I can usually turn my shit off and have fun. Not this time though, I half-heartedly finished the set and then quickly scooped up my gear and RAN out of the venue, hot garbage tears boiling in my eyes until I made it to the solace of my Scion (bars) and let it all out. What upset me is how it’s all real now, this life I have to start over, on my own. A fuck ton of change in a few days time will really mess with your head. And stuff like giving away the clothing of your lost love to Goodwill takes an emotional toll that even watching Homeward Bound can’t match. So, I’m sorry to all the employees of the Griggs Street Goodwill that had to awkwardly help me load his clothes into the bins, while tears streamed down my face and they attempted to give a hysterical women her a coupon for the donation. It felt like I was just throwing away this person I love/loved (I literally never know what pretense to refer to him/us/our/we/were as), even though I waited until his clothes didn’t smell like him anymore. I can’t tell you how many times I sat in that closet just inhaling his lingering fragrance like that would bring back a lost memory I needed to desperately remember at that moment in time. But this is all part of the shitty process I have to deal with, and as much as I love and appreciate everyone’s pleas to help me, I have to do this alone. I have to be a big girl and Deal or no Deal with these things. 

"I Don’t Need Tinder, Tinder Needs Me (I Have Nothing 2 Give RN EXPLICIT Version)" 2017

I guess this phase I’m in now is just like, just Taking. Taking from others with nothing to give in return. And that sucks donkey dick. I love being a listener and my friend’s go-to for help/advice/jokes. But now people are like “(complains about something in their life)...oh, but I mean what I’m dealing with is NOTHING compared to what you’ve been through”. Hey, thanks for reminding me! Let’s just fucking compare tragedies and I’ll always win, thank you for gifting me a trophy for the most fucked up life, does it come in gold and red? ‘Cuz that would totally match my mantel perfectly. Ok, that’s pretty mean, and I know when people say stuff like that it comes from a genuine place BUT PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP. I hate that my friends feel like they can’t complain to me, because I’m usually the problem solver/savior/2 cent therapist and I need that still, especially now so I can avoid my own shit, DUH. And don’t be upset if I don’t open up to you completely, it’s really, really hard for me. I’m just now, after a few months, able to look my therapist IN THE EYES and not talk about my theories on Furries the whole session, so good thing I’m paying $50 a week for that (jk though therapy is dope and everyone should probably get some for a little at least once in their lifetime 'cuz we vain ass individuals and sometimes it’s better to pay for that shit rather than put it on those around us). But on the flip side, I am ridiculously grateful for everyone who has stuck by me in this time of selfish grief, because grief is selfish as hell. I can hear myself talking too much about me, and not listening to you, and from the third person perspective I can sometimes disassociate from, I am so mad at myself. And mostly what I bitch about is really baseline, dumb shit like boys and not the real shit I really feel-‘cuz it’s still too fresh and real and raw. 

When I moved I ended up only having one friend help me (s/o to Erin for being just an amazing human overall but also putting up with my ridiculousness), and it’s not because people didn’t offer but because I’m a stubborn asshat of a human and I’m like “I CAN DO IT ALL BY ME-SELF, I DON’T NEED YOU” . But I do, I need most of you. And I know I’m doing such a shit job of showing it. I never got around to sending those Thank You cards after Jono’s funeral (although I still stand behind my initial thought that this is a stupid expectation of someone who is grieving, in particular a slacker of a human such as myself). And I probably haven’t answered your text or email or voicemail and it’s because doing those things is really, really hard right now, and I hate that it’s so hard. Trying to balance daily life activities is draining in a way I can’t explain and even though I “have this excuse” it still doesn’t make me feel any less shitty about it.  

But-so-yeah I am really, really sorry but I have nothing to give to you right now. There is no god damn way I could, I have to fix myself before I even attempt to fix you, or at least be there for you. Because try as I might I’m attracted af to broken jokes of a human like myself, and, as stated previously, mostly because I get it and you get it and let’s just lick each other’s wounds like the sad pathetic fucks we are. Oh, you have mild alcoholic tendencies and are self-deprecating with no direction in life but you can mouth-woo me with articulate yet bizarre language? WELL JUST FUCK ME UP BOY! I LUH DAT SHIT! Let me fix u baby pls baby pls. But I don’t really want to do that, I gotta focus on me and my career (which is quickly depleting) and my cats because at least they won’t ghost me. So I need you to be the strong one and leave me the fuck alone, because we both know that I can’t say no to witty repartee and sad, stupid eyes. And maybe it’s ok to just give each other attention sometimes without any expectations, actually that’s perfect and what I need rn, but that’s not really fair to you, or to me, either. I’m not ready, and I won’t be for a long time. And this is so hard, meeting people I have a connection with but knowing it’s not going to end well for either party, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. Because I know pain passes from one to another, Jono got to escape his pain but that’s only trapped me in mine. And I mean I don’t blame him, I know he’d never want me or his mom or his friend’s to be feeling the way we are right now. But that’s how pain works, you hold it inside yourself or you pass it along. 

AND ALSO PLEASE DON’T THINK FOR A SECOND YOUR DICK IS GOING TO HEAL MY PSYCHIC PAIN. It blows (haha lol hehe blows) my mind that I even have to say this but there are a few out there who have tried/attempted/joked about this and while yes, that is kind of funny, no dude, no. Just don’t. Not tight. And when it comes from a self-proclaimed “woke" individual who apparently has no sense of irony or shame it becomes all the more pathetic. Shame on you dude, preying on a vulnerable widow like that. “Oh girl I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, but if you just let me eat your asshole all that pain will dissipate” he said, unselfish-ly with nothing to gain on his end (edit-sarcasm). ‘Cuz this is what the chivalrous Disney prince of my childhood dreams would say to me, right? I have never in my adult life received so much attention from penis people (i.e.-cis-gendered people of the penis persuasion, just to clarify) and the timing is fucking odd. It’s gross and I see through it, because my pride supersedes my desperation for that kind of attention, and for once I’m glad I have too much pride. I am not a game (yes this is a Ty Segall reference, you’re welcome) or a prize, I’m a human who is going through a lot and fuck you if you want to put me through more bullshit. Just because I’m Taking right now doesn’t mean I want to take ur dick. This has been a PSA from widows/esses everywhere.

Everything Is Dumber In Texas

Just kidding, shit was tight! I got the full college grad student experience I never wanted, cheap beer, discussing gnosticism while watching Cabin in the Woods, getting yelled at by under grads ("you're creepy and you're old") and participating in rituals only people afraid to step outside into the real world would undertake. Here look at some pics, all shot on 35mm, a mix of Ektar 100 ISO on my Pentax ME Super and a Kodak Power Flash disposable camera for that real vacation feel baby. 

13.

This is my dog Hunny, she lives with Jess and clearly is being neglected hence the cone. (JK Jess you're doing a great job)

Oh Brian. Bums me out this didn't turn out well, but I ran into Brian at Kroger around midnight. He was in full Obi Wan gear, buying paper towels, chocolates and tonic water. I still think about Brian a lot.

Jessica H. Thompson 

Going Through The Motions

Grief is a hell of a drug, and the so called 5 stages of acceptance are total bullshit. I don't think there's any way to really do this whole thing correctly, and I am certainly no expert or psychologist but I'm going through it and I can only hope that my stupid life can help us all feel "normal" during this bullshit process. 

So here are my personal stages of grief this far, almost 3 months after the death of my fiance, about 89 days since our last kiss, the one where I tried so hard to breathe life back into his body, 2108 hours since our last exchange of "I love you" over the phone, 11 1/2 weeks since I sat in a Catholic church wearing a black veil sobbing as I looked at his urn encased in flowers and a 1990's WWE Ultimate Warrior replica championship belt, laughing through my tears.

Holidays Are Dumb, 2016

I'm going to call this phase Shock, which is the best phase and I miss it dearly. When your body is in Shock, you don't feel anything and that is just the best. There is a vice like clamp on your lower intestines at all times and you can just forget about sleep. But there is a blissful ignorance about this phase I long for, nothing could harm me at this stage because the worst had happened and my skin was thicker than ever. I returned to work after a week off, kept going through the motions like it was nothing. The amount of attention I received during this period was, overwhelming. It just happened to be around the holiday craziness so I was never alone. Christmas eve, my parents took me to my uncle's annual family party and it was great for about an hour but then I was just emotionally exhausted. My parent's didn't want me to be alone Christmas eve but I was happy to be dropped off at 9pm that night. I think everyone expected to be a hot mess but I actually relished the alone time, I did laundry and watched White Christmas and Grease 2 (talk shit and I'll fight you about it) and I didn't sleep all night. But as I lay there I remembered all the things Jono and I had done for each other the 5 years of holidays we had together, all the ridiculous Mac Tonight memorabilia we collected on Ebay for each other, the dumb fight we had one year because of family conflicts, the fact that he loved to decorate but also trusted my taste enough to let me take control of the ornaments. So this Christmas eve, my gift from him was that I felt ok alone and happy with the memories that danced like whatever holiday euphemism you want to imagine. 

Life is Ok but Bed is Better, 2017

The next stage of my grief process is all about that large, sexy hot piece we all have in our bedroom, the one that calls to us with promises of relief: the bed. And I mean, look at this fucking thing! You have to hop up to get into it so may as well never get out! Cats, bed and tv was how I spent my days outside of the few evening hours I worked, and don't be fooled like 2 of these hours were used for sleep. The rest of the time idly slipped by while the X Files or the Office played in the background as I surfed Reddit for hours. The internet and books make it so easy to stay in bed. I Googled "how long does it take to form bed sores" more than once, because while you're grieving you can forget about focusing or remembering anything. I started drinking frequently so much of the time in bed was spent hung over. Bed phase is very lonely but you don't feel guilty or sad about it yet, Shock is still there but fuzzy around the edges and your situation becomes more real, but you lack the energy to fully comprehend it. Being in bed makes your mind wander but mostly on banal stuff like "when is it too soon to masturbate?" or "is that smell me or my garbage or the litter box or what?" and you still get to avoid/compartmentalize the real shit, the deep feelings just get shoved out of the way by an intense apathy. Also it would be advised to keep a roll of toilet paper next to big sexy bed because even in apathy your going to cry, a lot.

I'm So Wet, 2017

I've never cried this much in my life, at least my conscious life, maybe when I was a baby I cried more but who knows. And this is like, deep, intense euphoric sobs, all the way from my butt hole to the top of eyebrows which throb when hot tears and snot pour out of my face holes. Taking this photo was incredibly difficult because 1.) I was sobbing, and 2.) it felt so ridiculously self-indulgent I really didn't want to take it, like how dare I use my art to feel better, what a bunch of vain bull shit. I want everyone to think I'm a tough ass bitch and this is me at my most vulnerable, which is why I cropped out my eyes, it was too personal. This whole blog is too personal but sometimes you have to make yourself SO UNCOMFORTABLE in order to heal or whatever. ANYWAY this crying phase is so stupid I hate it, and it will never really go away, I took this photo a 6 weeks ago and I had to leave work tonight because I was about to cry all over my customers.

When I was a teenager my mom always said "It's ok to cry, it gets the sad out of you" but I hated that shit and can count on one hand the amount of times I have cried from ages 13-18. I used to relish at how strong I was for not being a lil' cry baby,  but now realize it was immature and I was denying myself my right to feel, so instead I did crazy shit like drugs and shop lifting (sorry mom) to feel something. There are two people in the world I feel the most comfortable calling when I'm crying, my oldest sister Kelly and my best friend Jessica, and thank whatever you believe in that I have them to just listen to me sob and try to make me laugh in between my gasps for air. Thank you ladies for letting me feel comfortable enough to take the defenses down even for just ten minutes and still thinking I'm a strong person. Because that's what everyone tells me, "you're so strong" but they don't have to live in my head everyday, they aren't there when I break down because I keep that as much to myself as possible, but it does happen and more often than I'd like to admit. But even now I can admit, finally, it's ok that it happens, it's ok to feel shit, even the dumb stupid gross stuff. 

I Don't Know Who I am Anymore, 2017

I'm in this phase currently, and it's dumb as hell. I've read all the existential literature and still am not as prepared for these feelings/whatevers as I thought I'd be. I feel that I've always had a strong sense of identity and who I was for (most) of my life, but I'm doing things and feeling shit I've never done before. One plus to this is my courage to finally be direct with people (especially dumb idiot people with penises). Which started out great! I told myself I'd be direct rather than passive about my feelings for once and it has only back fired on me... well, almost every time. But I'm actually really happy with my new found honesty, it's another gift Jono gave me. I hate to think some silly guy was what I needed to feel good about myself, but Jono without a doubt made me feel like I was so capable and talented and encouraged every endeavor I took on (even the ones he was jealous about). So I was in this incredibly warm, comforting soft cushion of a relationship and then suddenly I'm on my own again and all the insecurity bees are stinging me all over whatever bit of confidence I had left. 

Also now that Shock has completely subsided, I'm feeling ALL OF THE FEELINGS AT ONCE HOLY SHIT FUCK YES NO AHHHHHH!  Like did you know that grief can make you so horned up you decide hooking up with a guy just for just sex is a good idea? As if you could possibly emotionally detach yourself from anything in this phase? Even though that is so out of character for you but hey who cares you just wanna feeeeel good. And it does feel good (even though he reminds you of one of your exes because he loves Dinosaur Jr. and ass play,  but who cares?). And then he leaves, and the hot snot tears come back, but he still talks to you for a week and you enjoy his company but MAYBE THIS IS ALL A FARCE AND YOU DON'T FEEL SHIT FOR THIS PERSON BUT ARE ONLY PROJECTING LEFT OVER FEELINGS FOR YOUR DEAD FIANCE ONTO THIS POOR BOY. And then he stops talking to you and you remember how shitty dating is and how fucking stupid boys can be and how good you had it and god damnit why did he have to die on me? Why do you ALWAYS get dumped? You are a hot ass queen b, what the fuck is wrong with you that the one relationship that works ends in a horrible ridiculous tragedy? It's probably because of all the bad shit you did as a teenager. Wait no, that's crazy, you did plenty to absolve that. You'd feel better if you started playing guitar again! You love music so much! But what if people just laugh at your music? Or your photos? Or your dumb blog where you're probably being too honest but you're trying so hard to be direct and honest now! Shit now you're crying again. No fuck that, you got this, you got this, I. Got. Dis. 

And this is what happens on the daily now, or at least every few days. I'll be up, up UP then so down my cats are clearly eye balling me, waiting to see if they can start eating my face yet. I'll go out every night and day to shows or band practice or photo shoots or work because you can't feel anything if you're constantly busy! But that's total bullshit, and the feelings come up in the most inconvenient times, like at work or in Target while shopping for toothpaste. So then I'll stay in a few nights with just myself and my guitar, pissing off my neighbors learning the chords to all the Neutral Milk Hotel songs because I'm the saddest sack on the planet right now. And I can't even feel too bad for myself because there are so many people in the world going through way worse shit and I'm being a little baby. But I find comfort in knowing I'm not the only one who has to just go through the motions, who is also second guessing every action and reaction, because together we are just gunna have to fake it 'til we make it.