Eva Moe

  • He’s Not a Trick, He’s an Illusion: Analysis of “Holy, Holy”

    Author’s Note: I’m fine! And if my parents are reading this, do not worry! I never had to use a particular set of skills <3

    …

    “Be yourself is about the worst advice you can give to some people.” – J.B. Priestley

    …

    It’s May 2021 and I’m sitting across from an awkward man, the kind of gangly white man who looks like he’s been pressed together in a trash compactor. His head and eyes move quick and anxious, like an owl that’s scared of what’s behind him. And I wonder not if, but how he’d murder me if I kept seeing him. I’m guessing strangulation. He takes out his gum and squishes it firmly to his dinner plate. Strangulation for sure.

    This is my third attempt at being a sugar baby and after seeing the man put that cold hard gum back in his mouth after his spaghetti, I know it’s my last. Turns out, you really can’t pay me enough to eat with people who need to buy attention in the first place. The effort it takes to neutralize my frown of disgust! Too much!

    A few years later I’m online with other Geese fans and they’re talking about Geordie Greep. This name has come up enough times now that I wonder if he’s like 100 Gecs, who I still hadn’t listened to because something in my gut told me it was for raves only. [2026 update: I’ve listened and still cannot tell.] Geese, Geordie Greep, 100 Gecs? What’s with all the Gs? Puzzling.

    “Holy, Holy” is 6:03 minutes and rules immediately. Intense staccato triplets? You better believe I’m INTO IT! And the music video is in a bowling alley just like Geese’s I See Myself. But then Geordie Greep pops into frame and holy shit! It’s Gum Boy! No I’m kidding, but that would be crazy.

    The lyrics start and I sense a familiar type of character. Not another one of these losers, c’mon not this again. Every ball is labelled “10” and he bowls a strike repeatedly, dancing in front of the pins just long enough for an editor to rig the game in post. Classic fake strike.

    What I love most about this song is its true danceability. You can rock tf out to this bad boy no question. What I love second most is that in 6 minutes, Greep establishes an arrogant, confident character who reveals he’s only an insecure person with money. With feeling! With lore.

    The barmaids know my name
    I’ve had them all before
    You are new – I’ll have you too
    It’s time to give in

    Ick. The façade fades in the second half of the song. Marked by an asterisk* on the official video‘s lyrics, the song is divided in half both lyrically and musically at 3:20. In the first half, he declares himself the big guy ruler of the room. In the second, he’d be stickin his gum to a dinner plate if you gave him one.

    Why hide your true nature? There are people in this world who are all talk and all trick. The people who run my country, for example. So in the first half he’s bold:

    You must have heard about me Everyone knows my name
    Everyone knows I’m holy

    Pair that with the final verses and you’ve got yourself an actor.

    And I want you to make me look taller,
    Could you kneel down the whole time?
    How much would that cost?

    Which half happened first? If we go chronologically by First Half = Arrogant, Second Half = Big Reveal, it feels like a guy who crumbled the second he got the woman’s attention.

    However, it’s fun to wonder if the second half was the two of them arranging a deal before they walked into the bar. Then it becomes First Half = Fantasy Plays Out, Second Half = Flashback to the Planning Stage. With the final verse, that idea holds more weight.

    Thank you so much / We’ll meet the same time next week / And the next week after that too / And the next week after that / And the next month and the

    It cuts off mid-sentence. He leaves satisfied. Despite nearly impossible requests to look unsure of herself, unimpressed, and then blush, his lady of the night did her job so well that he wants to see her again.

    Both interpretations are valid in my book, but I do enjoy the second idea more. It feels like a movie, like a heist. Either way, the second half is a little embarrassing. Like watching someone fumble their keys.

    Released in August 2024, “Holy, Holy” is no longer news in the music industry. But the rivalry between fantasy and reality is ongoing. With “the male loneliness epidemic” becoming a meme, it’s worth a shot to take the reins of this joke and steer it back to its origins.

    The speaker represents a specific type of person who yearns for affection with no social skills to acquire it. What do you do when you have no game? Work on your game? No, that would require you to get off that damn phone. Instead, you fantasize about being important. And for many people, status is a valid replacement for charisma.

    It’s valuable to discuss this part of our culture. Not necessarily about the nature of sex work (essay for another time maybe) but highlighting the rolodex of personas people wear on a daily basis. So much is done to replace true human connection. Roleplay videos on YouTube, AI chatbots, phone addiction. Like the black rectangle at the end of the music video, showing up as an actor just writes your life into an empty story. But authenticity is still available as an option.

    So no, the whole world does not think the narrator is some kind of sex god. The barmaids probably don’t either. He’s more like an employee of his imagination, working without benefits. Story of my life. Don’t read my journals.

    Most of us have put another person on a pedestal, yearning for any crumb of affection they could possibly bestow upon our sad, thirsty little hearts. And in our limerent fantasies we imagine ourselves worthy of these people, or worthy of the illusion we fabricated. But in moments like “Holy, Holy” when you’re sick with wanting, sometimes all you can truly do is dance.

    Sincerely,
    Eva

    …

    Check out The New Sound on Bandcamp.

  • To the Iranian People,

    This website has a relatively small audience, but sometimes my words travel far. As a citizen of the United States, please know I stand with the Iranian people in this reckless war. President Trump is a terrorist. He should’ve been removed from office and prosecuted for his crimes a long time ago.

    I’ve urged my representatives to stop him immediately, but my government is made up of cardboard dolls in suits. The American people do not want you to die. We do not want you to wake up with anxiety. We do not want you to know the sound of bombs and gunfire. Your history is rich and long, and the world is better for it.

    I don’t know how today is going to go or when this will end. I hope you are safe. But if it has to end in bloodshed, let the toll be one.

    Sincerely,
    Eva Moe

  • my special song for big moments

    Ever since August 2008, there’s been one special song I play before every nerve-wracking endeavor: Bennie And The Jets by Elton John. I’ve played it before giving my 2-weeks notice, asking someone out, the first day in a new country and a new life, you get the idea.

    The first time I heard it was in the movie 27 Dresses, and that summer was orchestra camp. It was an hour before our big performance and my nerves wouldn’t let go of me. At the time I kept telling myself, “the song will be the same no matter how good you are or how bad you suck.” Some kind of anchor. And now it’s my tradition! Happy belated birthday, Elton John!

  • song of the day + site update

    the song of the day (a thing i’ve done every day for the last one hundred and eleven years, don’t believe me? go check) is Gustav Holst’s Venus: the Bringer of Peace. It’s a song for lush meadows and cinderella birds

    now for the scheduled March 25th 2026 update: i’m migrating this site to another host…which sounds like a sci-fi movie i don’t wanna watch

    so if you experience bizarre issues here in the coming days my apologies, it’s only because i do not know what i’m doing <3 luv u #loveyou #thanksforreading #musiclover #IThoughtAboutHiringSomeoneButRememberedWhatIDidToMyPocketsThisMonth

  • March 18, 2026 every morning the news is worse than the day before and

    I just need to see some punishment.

    My new mattress arrives in the next few weeks so maybe I’ll be able to sleep through the night again. It’s been a few years. And maybe I’ll sleep so well that my dreams will get longer and stronger and they’ll plug into the power grid, travel to wherever he is. I have so many nightmares to choose from, they are kept in cartridges compatible with the Nintendo Switch 2. My own morality.

    There’s this really good one I used to have a lot. Not gory or gross but it’d get a lot of mileage out of him. It was always a beautiful summer day. I’d be on a track running from a monster, some creature I couldn’t see, but its cold breath would pulse at my back. And just before I’m out of there, out of reach and out to safety, my upper body goes into slow motion. My legs can still move ahead but the rest of me is weighted down, like it’s caught in one of those rubber resistance bands. Feet kicking, trying to tug at the ground to pull me forward but failing.

    You can’t move forward. You can’t get away. Almost. You are almost able to save yourself. And then your body goes limp as you realize. The monster was always going to catch you. There was never a speed you could reach that would save you. Perhaps right now we’re watching him run. Perhaps right now he still thinks he can.

  • Lightening in the Middle of the Day [Poetry Zine]

    Hello! I recently went to my local library’s zine fest & had a great time. There were so many booths and wonderful artists that inspired me to make my own zine! If you’re familiar with my site, you’ve probably seen a lot of the zine’s content, but I figured hey – let’s put a lil somethin together.

    lightening in the middle of the dayDownload

  • not until it’s too late

    Inspired by astrono77153462

  • Review: Cameron Winter at Rockefeller Chapel 12/17/2025

    Right now it’s 1/29/2026 in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Alex Pretti was murdered on Saturday, and on Sunday I joined an ICE watch zoom training. Tonight, an old friend of mine will give me a refresher on gun safety. This is a terrible introduction to a Cameron Winter show review but just hold on. Most of my time now is spent thinking about what skills I must acquire for the revolution, and then learning them. There’s no need for tinfoil; you know what’s happening. Does paper beat bullet? All I have is a pen. And as much as I love my Zebra Sarasa Clip 0.5mm, I’m not sure it’s mightier than an AR-15.

    Camera back on Cameron. It was a brisk day in Chicago on December 17th, 2025. He was set to play at Rockefeller Chapel, so my friend and I took a flight down to see him. As we hopped on local transit, we could guess with 100% accuracy who else was headed to our destination. What are we called, new hipster white people? I’m surprised I did not find my doppelganger (where are you?!).

    Reports from Geese Nation’s discord server (Geesecord) said the first fans got in line in the morning. More showed up in the afternoon. By the time we got there a half hour before doors, the line was down the block. Out in the cold to see a man and a piano.

    Inside, sconces line the walls and the chapel’s ceiling stretches to a deep point, with iron lanterns hanging down. I told Geesecord I was wearing a bright green sweater and stood up, hoping someone would see me among the dark pews and I could make a new pal. And it worked! We met up by the entrance after the show. Being part of an online community and getting to meet those people in real life is truly one of the internet’s greatest blessings. Now I have another friend in Texas!

    I’ve been fortunate enough to see Geese perform twice, and was therefore super excited to see the kind of energy Cameron Winter would bring to a solo set. He switches the lyrics sometimes and you’re almost guaranteed to get a different melody than the studio recording. This is why Geese Nation has an archivist (s/o Emily!) and also why a live show is vital for a fan to see! I can only assume Cameron’s stage presence was lovely this time as well. Since I was in the middle with many heads to dodge in front of me, only one of my eyes was able to see him at any given time. Thank God I have two.

    The whole thing was beautiful start to finish, but there’s only one part I replay again and again in my mind.

    At the end of $0, after the God is Real part, he finishes the lyrics and it’s just the piano. The audience was captive the whole time. But now, we held our breath, quiet as the ceiling. The lanterns looked warmer and somehow even the air was soft, like how it feels to stay inside and watch the snow fall. A tear fell down to my neck. And as he hit the final chord, sniffling began around me. Applause broke out and many of us pulled out tissues to wipe our eyes and laugh. “I’m cryin’ right now haha,” someone said behind me.

    Cameron debuted a new song called “It’s Being Waited For,” which has a great line about a milkman. For the encore he played my personal favorite, “If You Turn Back Now.” Almost half of the songs were unreleased and yes, the next album is going to rule.

    He left the stage to a standing ovation. I left the concert feeling lighter and a little dizzy. Almost two months have passed since then. ICE has ransacked my city and murdered my neighbors, and the illusion of safety has been shattered once again. But whenever the need arises, I can close my eyes and return to that moment when I cried at church with other Cameron Winter fans. And for a moment I remember peace.

    Maybe next time I’ll get to see him with both eyes at the same time. Until then, the live recordings will tide me over.

    With love,
    Eva Moe

  • Boiling Frogs in The Kitchen

    There’s a new Animal Farm. One that’s bigger and better than all other Animal Farms you may have heard about. This one is in a big beautiful room called The Kitchen and today is soup day. The Claw Machines are all over the ceiling, whizzing about (it’s very exciting, nobody has Claw Machines like this, they’re the best in the world). They pick up a big batch of frogs and put them in a metal pot on the stove. Some frogs try to stop this, but those frogs are ugly. Don’t be ugly.

    There’s an old saying, “the frog doesn’t know it’s being boiled alive until it’s too late.” But that is a very stupid saying, and anyone who uses it is dumb and should die. That’s because all frogs know they’re being boiled alive. They like it! They really do, some of them even beg for it.

    “I don’t want to be soup today!” Ribbet cries. Ribbet’s always crying because he’s a loser.
    “You make everything about you,” Swatter says. She tells it like it is.
    “It’s terrible they put us in here,” Frog Leader sighs. He had another name before, but all frogs who are elected must change their name to Frog Leader and forget themselves.
    “But they’re just doing their jobs,” Swatter shrugs. Frog Leader agrees, reminding everyone it’s good for the economy.

    Ribbet hops around the pot, totally unaware of how many other frogs he’s splashing with hot water. “Maybe we could hop out and try to avoid certain death?” he suggests. Ribbet is very stupid and inconsiderate by the way, if it wasn’t clear already. He’s also a terrorist.
    “Don’t hop out!” Frog Leader yells. “That’s what they want! But more importantly, it’s illegal.”

    Ribbet is pretty sure the Claw Machines, or whoever controls them, do not want the frogs to jump out, and that’s why it’s illegal to do so. If they jump out, they might live. And you can’t live for your farm. You can only die for it. Living is unpatriotic.

    Swatter calms everyone with her impressive logic. She says it’s a lot cozier to be boiled alive than to risk a Claw Machine. They all spend the rest of the afternoon debating, until they stop talking altogether.

  • ICE Gestapo Slave Patrols

    ICE killed a woman in Minneapolis. They’re emptying the country like it’s nothing more than pouring a bucket of water back in the river. I wonder what kind of life you have to have in order to think you’re being heroic. Maybe you read about American slave patrols when you were a kid, heart wishing it could’ve been you separating those bathrooms. What kind of meaningless existence it must be to find purpose in murdering people. How bleached your soul must be. After they kill a person, after they grab them from the streets and throw them into a secret and an unmarked grave, do they put their hands together? Look up, thank God they had the strength?