On Tour with HOLYCHILD Pt. 3

In the third installment of her four-part weekly tour diary, HOLYCHILD’s Liz Nistico anticipates her birthday, meets some southern locals, and welcomes fall with open arms.

September 30

It’s almost October and it’s almost my birthday and I’ve already failed at the majority of my pre-October 8th goals that I set—mostly I have not lost 10 pounds like I plan every three weeks. I also am still not on time anywhere and I don’t really care, and beyond that I’ve been very grumpy in the mornings. I’m scared of my birthday. I’m scared of some greater epiphany I’ll have when I realize all the magic in the world is gone and I’m “average” or “normal” and everyone else is just as sad as me but we’ll never hold hands. This world makes me crazy. I want to break all the rules.

October 2

I’m in Kansas at our hotel and though it’s fall outside the crickets are chirping thick. After the show tonight, I stood outside while Sylvester photographed a pair of twins on a shitty car. They were in the front row and I remember making eyes with them but I never expected to see them there and it made me realize that I just want to run away. I would rather not be seen than giggle awkwardly and try to consider a current rendition of my role. I didn’t speak for five minutes then I buried myself in the van.

October 3

We’re driving through fields of fields of Kansas, or maybe it’s Oklahoma by now. It’s windy but I’ve never felt a more picturesque fall day. We stopped by a grocery store to go to the bathroom and I liked seeing the old people in their sweaters and camouflage getting produce and swearing at each other. It made me feel at home.

October 5

It’s warm and there’s a football game happening inside the cafe. We’re still full from last night at Booty’s, but Lou and I have a table on the street and I can hear the older men bark with excitement at the TV inside. A guitar is riffing and every person who passes has spoken to us. First we met the eccentric filmmaker on the train tracks. Then we met Mr. Lee whose skin was so milky dark and beautiful. He was about 60 in a crisp black suit and he shook Louie’s hand twice but never mine. It’s a sleepy Sunday in New Orleans.