๐'๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐'๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ใใNIRVANA
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โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
๐ฟ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ฎ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
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โงโหโง. ๐ท๐๐๐๐ ๐ด๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐: Nirvana Wilson Gish
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Birdie (a childhood nickname that slowly became just a name), NWA (this is only by her father)๐๐๐: Nineteen to Twenty-something
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Goldendale, Washington
Residence: Seattle, Washington
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐: October 3rd
๐๐๐๐๐๐: Libra๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: she/her
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: card-carrying femme-leaning lesbian๐๐๐๐ & ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Japanese-American
๐๐๐๐๐: Rina Fukushi
๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐:
#81A56B
#D9AC82
#D4C49A
#A88BAA -
โงโหโง. ๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐: Raven hair with a slight curl.
๐๐๐๐: Deep brown eyes.
๐๐๐๐๐๐: 5โ5โโ
๐๐๐๐: Olive-toned with a speckling of moles.
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: Gauges that are usually decorated with dangly earrings, an industrial piercing in her left ear, a septum
๐๐๐๐๐: coming soon.
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โงโหโง. ๐ป๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: drifting, insightful, stubborn as a mule, neurotic, introspective (only by force, though), laid-back, quick to say yes to anything, false indifference, silence often mistaken for judgment, sarcastic, suffocated by memories, loyal like a rescue dog, sweet (though only after someone is kind to her), thoughtful
Raised with her parentsโ inhibitions left Birdie with the mark of hippiedom: sheโs easily movable, constantly changing her favor. Sheโs never been one to be held-down by conventional attachments, including material belongings or casual friends. However, her personal views can be said to be the exact opposite. Verbose, verbal maniac, coming up for air only when necessary (or when she finds the silent stares too much to handle). Wavering to the other side of the spectrum, sheโs known to sit in silence, constantly battling for the upper-hand in situations where she feels thatโs required. Still, she knows the time and places for such dominance battles, and sheโs willing to โgo for just about anythingโ when it comes to spending times with people.
๐๐๐๐๐: prank calling people, Scream, The Breeders, the stomach-drop when she presses on the gas too quickly, solitude (kinda), commercial jingles, Daria, moshing, an American Spirit or a b0ng hit, three a.m (AKA the witching hour), doing tarot readings, exploration
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: inadequacy (her own and others), milk chocolate, when her parents act like her friends, crowds (ironically.), numbskulls, beards (though, perhaps, men would be more accurate), side-eye glances that are not her own, ruined atmospheres, perspiring heat, potted plants dying, being laughed at when sheโs being serious๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: drowning out with her headphones, smoking, reading a book that would be a red flag if a man was reading it, doodling her โlil guysโ, making โbig thinksโ, prophesying the end of times, making fanzines, doing all of the above in the backseat of her Toyota FJ60
๐๐๐๐๐๐: drawing, street smarts (sorta), hair-dying and -cutting, hiking, ranting๐๐๐๐๐๐: putting an ungodly amount of hairclips in her hair only to take them out at the slightest inconvenience, pulling at loose threads until theyโre gone (even if it rips the clothing in the process), always fiddling with a silver dollar coin, jangling her friendship bracelets
๐ ๐๐๐๐: the police (though, primarily because she drives like Jesse Owens runs except far less graceful), what comes after death, becoming an old fart who cares only about the stock market and the line in his khakis, never having enough tea, never amounting to much of anything (except, it is hard to do something when one doesnโt have a goal in mind)๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐: In her car, a Toyota FJ60, the woods, or at some sort of show.
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โงโหโง. ๐ญ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐:
โ โ coming soon bc lazy๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐:
โ โ Up until she turned seventeen, Nirvana loved her life. Rather, she adored it, constantly holding it on a pedestal that until then, she held far above her head, a constant umbrella. Her mother, Poppy Sato, is a Japanese second-generation immigrant who ended up being sucked into the Grateful Dead and the protest effort. Enter Winston Gish, a small-time musician, trying to make it on the folk trail. Except, his lyrics were always considered a bit too dark, a bit too loud. Welcome to the Summer Glen Festival, Winston Gish! In the crowd, Poppy stood, smitten with the harrowing reality his cadence depicted. From there, they were fast friends. From then, they slowly fell in love. And finally, they became husband and wife.โ โ Not long after the Arwen-Aragorn-esq wedding, Nirvana was brought to Earth. Living on the edge of the woods in Goldendale, Washington, it became apparent that her parents did not get the antennaed cell-phone from the 1980s, telling them that they were here. However, they quickly caught on, attending a fateful concert on a night when they, finally, got a babysitter for their wee one. The Bird was a local haunt, hidden in the earth of Seattleโs buckling buildings. In attendance was Poppy, Winston, and The Fartz. An ironic name, given how they single-handedly set off the next phase, the 2nd evolution, of Birdieโs parents. They were sucked into the vortex of punk, ready to sell their soul for the next anti-capitalist movement.
โ โ When Birdie was only three or four, she was uprooted from the glen of Goldendale and transplanted to the concrete gardens of Seattle. The transition lacked subtlety, but made up for it in ease. Her parents threw away the long, patch-work, quilt-like cottons (rather, they preserved them as hand-me-downs for their daughter) for the coldness of spike, leather, and the needles of numerous tattoos. Despite this, Birdieโs youth allowed her to settle in comfortably, and it wasnโt until the semi-alienation of her own youth that she managed to feel ashamed about this lifestyle.
โ โ However, before this, there was the sunshine of her childhood. The stuff that Birdie believes makes her person, the patchwork fabrics of her soul. On the weekends, her parents escaped to the local, underground clubs while Birdie was baby-sat by the punk fledglings that hung around her house because her parents are โjust so cool, but you know that right?โ Without Paola, her favorite babysitter and the prettiest alt girl she ever laid her eyes on, she would never have learned about STDs, tampons, and sexuality. Not that her parents didnโt care- they just assumed she must have already known. Paola was her closest friend until she left for the University of Berkeley (to which her parents told Paola to โraise hell and get thrown off-campusโ as they had done when they joined their fellow hippies eons ago). From there, Birdie was strangely alone. There were always hooligans around her house, but they were in a mix of thirty year olds to oldtimers. It was never the same. However, this wasnโt where the pedestal fell.
โ โ Then, she found her closest friend: Santo Lopez, the rambunctious Pinky to her Brain and another descendent of the DIY kingdom, and they discovered their own way to embody their parentsโ punk intuitions: grunge (or pop punk if itโs like 2003+ lol). Together, they managed freshman year together, armored in battle jackets and crust pants. Later, itโd be ripped jeans and low-top Chucks. Rather, if youโre Nirvana, too-big, bulging sweaters made for grandpas. Usher in sophomore year, and Jac enters. A flashback to her sweet-grass years of homemade granola, Nirvana took Jacquelineโs heart, wrapped her fingers around it, and squeezed. It was Jacโs, loud and clear, and from there, they were a couple, with Santo as the third wheel (though, he often made the tricycle a car). Peace swept over the high school scene, and Birdie felt at home with herself. Her soul laid upon the blankets of clouds.
โ โ Let the curtain raise on junior year! It passed by peacefully, with Jac participating in the spring musical and Birdie deigning to attend Prom. Graduation came for Jacqueline, and she decorated her cap in white lilies. A Summer Queen, Birdie had yelled after she crossed the stage. The sun appeared high in the sky, until it sunk low into the belly of the atmosphere. Pop up the background sets, along with the homemade props, and stare upon the final moment of Birdieโs faux everlasting happiness. This is where it ends, with Jac yelling at her after a show (Nirvana, ick), with her walking away, with her telling Birdie sheโs choking her, with her climbing into the icy steel of her Chevy truck that always leaked oil and killed the environment. Snatched from her, Jacqueline faded from the duo of B and J (an immature joke cosigned by Santo), making just a B. She was stripped, close to being just Nirvana, the person who was born, the one without much of anything to her except the illusion of infantile personality. However, the story doesnโt end here.
โ โ We find ourselves upon Act III. Months have passed, and Jacโs Chevy still sits in the driveway. The front end is crunched, a bit of car-sized foil. Santo brings a Rice Krispy Treat everyday, slipping it across the lunch table, as Birdie sits, borderline comatose. The same crack of the plastic tabletop, the jagged curves, become home to her. The gesture never goes unnoticed by her, and she offers Santo a momentary smile. Fading fast, though, itโs back to the crack. Sometimes, she stabs her finger into it, imagining it as the recalled airbag or a shard of glass.
โ โ It was a week after Jac broke up with Birdie. Santo had taken to playing sides, appeasing like Switzerland, meaning he was mostly on Birdieโs side. He thought that Jac would change her mind, that the fight would blow over, but Birdie wasnโt as quickly assured. The depth of the arrow into her heart proved fatal, and she never knew Jacqueline to not mean what she said. She failed to see her wrongdoings, though the years have taught her well. There was no space for Jac to be Jac outside of Birdieโs Jac. At the time, however, the logic was a fuzzy one-way mirror. Though, Jac was going to explain. The week wore her away, and discussion needed to be had. Rather, the alcohol told her that was the truth, and Santo confirmed on the phone that she should come over, unknowing about the nature of her state. Next to him, Birdie sat, salivating for the hope that she could win her back, win back Birdieโs heart in the form of Jacqueline. In fact, the fates had declared it was well-within the realms of this reality for Jac to become Birdieโs once more.
โ โ Though, a different stretch of time was chosen, and the opposite happened. Jacqueline became no more, ebbing out of the world just as she had dripped in: slowly, then with a sudden pour of the rain, metaphorical and literal. The news resounded through the neighborhood, with the first call being from Jacโs mom to Birdieโs mom to Santo to Birdie. Then, the world settled into a permanent thunder-rolled cloudy day. The same day repeated, over and over until it became clear the Parthenon of Birdieโs dreamy life had fallen, discarded in an ether of stoney dust. With the death of this falsity, food turned gray, days became sluggish, and even Santo failed to made a dent in the despair. Nothing was real, except the pain of what was, and that made her all the more ornery. This was senior year, which passed in a daydream that was too bland for Birdieโs liking.
โ โ By some grace, she graduated, missing a few key credits but ignored in the light of what happened only a handful of months prior. Poppy and Winston, still stuck in their fantasy land of DIY patches and spiked hair, didnโt fully notice what was happening to their daughter. It wasnโt until she barely left high school intact that they took stock of their once happy child. Yes, Jacโs death hit everyone hard, but she was unable to light the fire again. She wouldnโt even talk, open up the oxygen needed for a flame. Her life was a puzzle missing a piece, and in the process, she lost others. Rather, she destroyed a few. The impulsivity is what forced Poppy and Winston back to earth, back to being Mom and Dad instead of their first names. Their daughter needed them, not Birdie. In an attempt to bridge brains, they took her to the movies, to a few concerts (including Dinosaur Jr., her favorite), let her take a gap year, and even gave her the precious Toyota she spent so much time in.
โ โ It wasnโt that they wanted to throw money at the problem, but neither of them had parents who talked of therapists and psychiatric medications. It was frowned upon, rather, and they let this bias frame their tending to their child. However, that didnโt last long, as knowing people almost twenty years younger than their senior allowed them to learn of resources unheard of. Poppy was suspicious at first, and Winston scoffed. Then, they brought it up to Birdie, who sat in silence for a few minutes before saying to the floor, โIโll try anything.โ
โ โ Hopped up on a small cocktail of antidepressants (i.e. Zoloft), Birdie was able to be normal, create a baseline of sorts. Santo still worried, and Poppy and Winston looked on in shallow concern, quickly distracted by anything other than the hopelessness that filled their daughter. She got away with more than most high school graduates still living at home, including the commonplace glassware and the stolen gas money for late night drives. Of course, community college was politely forced upon her, and she took a small slew of useless classes in the art vein. Birdie encroached into a shell, quietly passing by the years with her classes and job at McDonaldโs. Her brain could turn off, ask people how can I help you, and fix her visor. Nights were spent with Santo, who remained at home for his brothers, and whatever hooligans they could get to tag along. The life of a degenerate, as painful as said knowledge was, made life bearable for Birdie, and she was content to the sarcasm-veiled illusion that she was doing better. In a way, she was. Shift the perspective horizontally and now she wasnโt. It depended on the day, and that was how she lived: by the day.
โ โ Even stagnation has its limits, and soon Birdie was escalating from a normal level of impulsivity to the red, slamming on the gas in her Land Cruiser until it was screaming at her, begging for an end. Santo had stared at her, shocked by the behavior. She shrugged, apologized, and took him home. Their nightly drive abandoned, she went home. It was at three a.m that she thought of the idea of a roadtrip. The endless asphalt in front of her, presenting an abyss she could settle into, filled with brief commercial breaks in the form of tourist traps and beautiful sights. It took two months, but she had saved enough of her penny-pinching minimum wages to fly.
โ โ Three a.m. again, witching hour supreme, and she was racing down the Interstate. Her car was packed with the necessities, including her momโs homemade granola. Birdie flies, air against her feathery hair.
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โงโหโง. ๐ฐ๐๐๐๐๐ .โงหโโง
โโโโโโโโโโหห หห โ หห หหโโโโโโโโโโ
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐:
โ โ The etymology of her nickname is partially unknown. Winston declares that the name comes from Birdieโs childhood love of birds. Poppy, who is nearly always correct and far more accurate in her memory (seeing as she waited to smoke pot until after she got out of high school), counters this by declaring that the name evolved from the former pet name โchickadeeโ.
โ โ NWA is another Winston nickname๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: wip playlist here
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: coming soon!