hey i've just noticed i'm at over 10,000 page views.

thank you.

i went to los angeles to bury our dear maila nurmi.
i'm out of sorts in every possible way and so Gabrielle made portraits of me.
at this point i have to admit pleasure with the results. not doing so would be disingenuous.
the hard truth of it is, i've never felt so beautiful.
i'll be posting them for some time.
if you're anywhere near the los angeles area and want your picture made, i highly suggest that you hire this woman. not only is she a joy to work with but she is one of the most talented photographers out there with a creativity and focus that is inspiring.

for those of you who have requested print options, please go to her page and purchase away.
~BrazenPhotography




on my rock photography account, ~drowningwoman you can find approximately 70 new pictures of Killswitch Engage and Lamb of God from December 2007.

nothing makes any goddamn sense anymore.
i'm not good at this game.
would you tell me, please, which way i ought to go from here?
that depends a good deal on where you want to get to,
i don’t know where. . .
then it doesn’t matter which way you go.
'why is it that in my life, no one has understood me except you?'
'-because i have no expectations.'
i am beginning to process.
everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.
fuck sake this hurts.
all of it hurts.
i am a fucking alien.
i don't understand people.
begin at the beginning,' the king said gravely, 'and go on till you come to the end: then stop.
i become stranger and stranger.
he's always had me.
even when i can't see him, he's holding onto my wrist.
oh, you can't help that. we're all mad here. i'm mad. you're mad.
how do you know i'm mad?
you must be. or you wouldn't have come here.

falling farther down the rabbit hole.

what she was to me will remain a complicated and beautiful thing, much like the lady herself.

she was a legend, an icon, a figure to be revered. and yet she was a woman, an old woman with a face that could turn tides and change history. i have never known someone so sharp, so biting and filled with so much to give that she simmered beneath her velvety paper-thin skin. eyes the colour of frost, she had it within her to turn them to you and pour her stories into your soul until she expanded the parameters of who you were entirely. she could turn on you with the quickness and venom of a serpent and make you feel absolutely insignificant. her warmth and fondness existed in nuance and compliments that required one to pay attention. her humor, as with all things concerning this lady of vast spirit, was sophisticated and bitter and pointed.

she saw us, each of us that was invited into her controlled life. she viewed us with the eye of a skeptic. not a victim but someone accustomed to being used and wrenched from all sides, and determined not to allow any such nonsense again. she would open slowly, delicately like the most precious of orchids, filling your senses with a perfume that lingered to haunt you long after your time with her had passed.

she knew the rules and didn't care to follow them. her path, her expectations of others, her life, was her own. we should all be so fierce, so intelligent and so powerful, to own ourselves, our decisions and failures, and our minds.

i will treasure the memories of time spent with her. i will always be grateful to matt and gabrielle for making the introduction.
her lemon tree.
the blood welling on her arm.
when she modeled her first article of gothic clothing.
coffee at the diner.
indian food.
the clasp of her hands.
the commandment in her laugh.
her conspiratorial whisper.
the harsh intake of breath that transformed her into the dragon-lady.
her ferocious faith.
her love of my voice and my letters that will forever remain compliments that force me, almost unwillingly, to look at myself in a different light.
her wicked and delicious wit.
her daggers and walls and labyrinths to keep herself safe.
and that she left me with the undeniable knowledge that we are all children, whores and liars in the face of such magnificence.

she deserved so much better than she had. she deserved so much better than us. but we loved her desperately. as she loved us in return. with passion and reserve and resentment and what is required to truly be family.
peace now, grandmere Maila.
your darling matt and your grand-daughters will miss you, everyday.

Maila Nurmi
December 21, 1921 - January 10, 2008

a letter

another letter



My Love,
It's never over, is it? Will my wounds ever sew themselves shut? Will we ever stop seeping and bleeding and crying? Will we ever be able to care for our elderly, play on the ground with our children, heal our sick and nurse our own souls? Will we ever be able to trust again? Will we ever be able to forgive? Will we ever feel safe again?
We crawl into beds and bottles and casinos and syringes and hospitals and we crawl home. Home. I hold onto that comfort until I damn near strangle the life from it.
Your children are going mad, GrandMere. Your children are being raped. Your children are being murdered. Your children are forgetting. Your children are giving up and letting themselves die. We've stopped talking. We're growing more and more angry. But your children are still fighting.
I still stay up late into the night, I still hold your hand in the dark. I still plant in your soil and I drink more than I used to. Waves crash, structures collapse, buildings burn, friends are lost, and a city screams. There is still no escaping it. Still. Still. Still.
I want to crawl into your mouth and make a place under your tongue.