michael flynn - church clothes

i never thought the phrase "boiling the water in the fellowship hall" could carry so much romantic tension, but I have listened to this album 500 times and can confirm it does

god, i love to see you
god damn, i love to see yooooou

I realize I am terribly constrained by fear of judgment. I am ashamed of myself, in everything I do, not because what I do is shameful. But because I have been too many times hurt by others’ judgment that had little to do with who and what I really am.

I’ve been reading and thinking a lot about Twin Peaks and David Lynch’s other works. Even now I fear you — the abstract “you” — rolling your eyes. The baggage around a name. The takeaways. My demographics intersecting with stereotypes intersecting with partial experience.

I’ve had a lot of thoughts about a lot of topics as I’ve pored over texts, commentaries, and ephemera. And yet it’s been almost impossible for me to share any of it, here or otherwise, because I’m
ashamed of finding it interesting in the first place. I have become afraid of being interested in the “wrong” things, and unconsciously come to believe that most of what I find interesting is going to be dismissed by others.

It’s a strange feeling! What’s it based on? Definitely parental judgment, the specter of which I still can’t escape. Definitely the ambient and observed reactionary tone of so much public, social discourse. The utter lack of patience with something that has been filed as Bad. It’s exhausting.

I make too many of my decisions, or short-circuit the deciding, because I just can’t bear to have someone tell me I’m wrong when they aren’t actually listening to me. I can be wrong! I’m wrong a lot. I learn constantly. But at a certain point, the weight of being dismissed without being heard or interpreted accurately, no matter how clearly I tried to speak — which connects to so many pains and setbacks —

It was too much. It affects my ability to simply converse and correspond. A feeling that I have to produce a Good statement, when I have a decreasing sense that it’s even possible, due to my own internal jumble.

Just describing a problem and thinking of how to do otherwise.

bill wurtz — i'm a princess

last night I had one dream where everything was made of meat, all the buildings, everything, and got increasingly horrifying over many hours

and then i had a dream that the band lo talker came over, pretended to just be saying hi, but then secretly refurbished my entire house with ikea cabinets on every wall when I went out for groceries. I was so grateful

nirvanna the band - update day

the goatest. if you haven't watched their show, "nirvanna the band the show," do yourself a favor. No, you know what? Do ME a favor!!!!!! And watch it for fun.

Tiny Animals — Is This the Last Time?

great band, love to sing along with this album

bill wurtz — i just did a bad thing

listen. we’d all love if things weren’t so fucking hard for me all the time

Mark Frost, The Secret History of Twin Peaks, p. 58

I don’t know what the white horse “means,” but I think its silhouette here resonates.

Mark Frost - The Secret History of Twin Peaks

yyyyyep

Mark Frost, Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier

I’ve taken in a LOT of media and analysis of Twin Peaks in the last month, and I think this points at one of the hearts of the project. Whether it succeeds, or how we would even know…? But I see this, especially in The Return and its emphasis on split natures, its brutal depiction of common suffering, and its insistent reminders that we are… dreaming? … and I’m trying to reconcile Lynch’s work with meditation and raising consciousness with the grimy, visceral nastiness visible in so much of his art. None of it seems to be reveling in darkness; when it shows true horror, we are not meant to be entertained. That violence is a rupture in the persistent possible sweetness of mundane coexistence. Appreciation for the quiet moment, the strange phrase, the loving smile. But we all have to pass through, for some reason, the monstrosity of puberty, to feel our minds and bodies warp and twist, overcome by unknown forces, hoping we come out the other side a decent person. Most people don’t, not immediately; it’s our burden to reflect, to study, to bend our branches back toward sunlight, away from blood and towards the rain.

But we have a massive, massive collective problem. An awful lot of people aren’t afforded the space and peace to do that reflection. Some ends are served by starving and prodding. Twin Peaks illustrates these conditions, again to varying degrees of success for any given person. And I think part of why they show us moments of goodness, but then land in confusion or horror, isn’t because that’s “the truth” or inescapable. I think it’s a splinter we’re meant to work out.

Or maybe it’s all bullshit, and I’m projecting. Either way, I like this train of thought, and the idea of making art with these intentions.

Electricity — Power — Shock — Thought

panic! at the disco — collar full

realllllly love this album, still. oh, show me your love!