Thursday, March 17, 2011


"MURDER," He cried out in the night, words that cut like a bloody-tipped knife.  Murder is in the moon, full and big as the pupils that dilate when the mood is right,  the mood to annihilate like the nihilist waking inside with the lunar cycle.  We walk on...we become like the tip of a gun, poised and ready, cold-blooded and fatally facing the inevitable end.  We are one thing...or two things, we are all things (old and new things).  We become what we see, we melt into three from two.  But we only come out when the moon beckons, drawing us from sleep or deeper, in a fit of homicidal somnambulism beyond our control.

Photographs of Amber taken by Katelyn, Photographs of Katelyn taken by Amber.  Styled in a collaborative effort.  Photo manipulations photoshopped by Katelyn, edit by Katelyn.


Thursday, March 3, 2011


Months ago, a black hole opened up and your beloved gothmothers fell in, not knowing where they would be taken. We were lost, and with no concept of space or time, we knew it would be a while before we would be found. Spinning, seasick, homesick, our bodies & minds ached to return to what we knew. Finally, space opened and spit us back out. Enough kicking & screaming convinced it that we did not belong. When dropped, we landed amongst a landscape of stone & ruin. As we wandered & wondered & the sun burned our eyes & skin, some semblance of our lives before the black hole started to return. It appears that while we were falling back to Mother Earth, we took pieces of the late 1800s/early 1900s with us, making us seem even more bewildered and travel worn. Stay tuned as we regain our footing.

All photos of Katelyn taken by Amber, All photos of Amber taken by Katelyn. Styling was a collaborative effort. Photos taken at Lockridge Furnace Park in Alburtis, Pennsylvania.