erin parochka (bio)

“As we share our ideas & efforts we reach higher & happier heights.”
— I.AM.YOU.

I pIay the keyboard in a band called the internet. I’m not aspiring to be someone else – If I’m me for the rest of my life then so be it. Ask about my personal demons.

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My name is Erin Michelle Parochka. Aquarius 1981. I was born in Alaska on Feb 6th and lived in Germany as a child. I have visited to Italy & France and over half of America. My father was a Captain in the Military. I am an Artist. Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I’ve ever known. I live in the reflections of television screens, rearview mirrors, picture frames, and glasses. Sometimes I forget to look down at my body or out at my hands or in a proper mirror, which I try to avoid for as long as possible, and begin to think of myself as merely a memory or an intended thought, suppositional and ornate but utterly inconsequential and translucent. And then I look at something that I’ve made, an indent on a bedspread, a mess of blood on the carpet, a series of spirals on the back of a notebook while trying to get my pen to work, and I remember that I’m sometimes around and alive. That’s a jarring thought, which I’m also sometimes ready to accept. I have a son named Jude. He is the air I breathe. We lost his father and my best friend Theron in a weather related car accident Jan 6th 2009. I don’t know you. The only thing I know about you is, you’re reading this. I don’t know if your happy or not; I don’t know whether you’re young or not. I sort of hope you’re young and sad. If you’re old and happy, I can imagine that you’ll smile to yourself when you hear me going, he broke my heart. You’ll remember someone who broke your heart, and you’ll think to yourself, oh yes, I remember how that feels. But you can’t, you smug old git. Oh you’ll remember feeling sort of plesantly sad. You might remember listening to music and eating chocolates in your room, or walking along the embankment on your own, wrapped up in a winter coat and feeling lonely and brave. But can you remember how with every mouthful of food it felt like you were biting into your own stomach? Can you remember the taste of red wine as it came back up and into the toilet bowl? Can you remember dreaming every night that you were still together, that he was talking to you gently and touching you, so that every morning when you wok