everything is excellent but my mood won't comply. i just had a 2.45 hour telephone conversation made of mostly exclaimationmarks and yesses and now am sitting outside in the (!!its a new season) windy air and still feel empty as hell. full of worms. i'm pretty great at motivating everyone i know. except i've got nobody pushing my swing, i think.
dear cigarettes and seasonal change, i am sitting on this swingset. and i need a push. carefully yours, amanda L.
i'm a teacher this week.
yours, amanda L. at 8:41 PM [+] | |
what i really loathe is mild mannered and reasonable.
last night i crawled into bed at ten oclock like a miserable snail. and outside of the closet i could hear people letting themselves in, to holler and search for alcohol. my roommates were gone but we have alot of great wolflike friends. at one point i wandered outside in my pajamas to watch the boys try to overturn a car. which was sort of hilarious. and i rubbed sleep out from my eyes and walked over to help them awhile. they lost interest, screaming why are we too drunk to move this car???!? and then spent some time drawing onto its windows with etching fluid. i sat on the steps, peering at them.
and its perfect. and so i couldn't sleep. and then went out into the world, two thirty am, two sweaters in the cold, police sirens allover my city, and i'm so much better at being by myself that not.
this morning the window had closed itself and i was backwards in the bed. and first, i invented a thing, because i am actually an inventor. and then i went out to steal some stuff, because i am actually a thief. and i wasn't sad, and didn't write messages using the mobile, and didn't call using the telephone, and didn't write emails using the internet, and didn't send telepathic statements with my telepathy (well maybe a small bit).
because, friends, a spell had been lifted off my head like a stack of precisely-balanced posture-traightening textbooks. because the ice chip had melted right out from my eyeball. because i am actually a scientist, with data recorded carefully into narrow-lined papernotebooks. because i actually have a Theme, and it is i think a nice mixture of fairy-tales and algorithms.
1. safety nets
2. neural nets
3. butterfly nets
it turns out i'm not that sad at all. which makes me feel kind of sad.
yours, amanda L. at 10:35 PM [+] | |
i live in a closet. lately we are filling it up with sack after sack of things from the thrift stores. hats and scarves and pillows and blankets and i am making a dream bed. that occupies all of the space in the closet. where we pull the door shut at night and its as if we are playing hide and seek from my bright drunken household.
i want a tattoo of a girl being eaten by plants. no, turning into a plant. both.
yours, amanda L. at 1:04 PM [+] | |
our hotel has a fucking hot tub and i sat in it until my sinuses were clear and my heart was on fire. on the way to concord NH we found a radio statio that played nothing but weed metal and other metals of the extremely fast and dark variety. today at work we beat the highscore by a thousand dollars. back in richmond in a day and a half. for halloween i think i want to be a zombie gunslinger nurse showgirl ghoul. everything is excellent.
yours, amanda L. at 1:05 PM [+] | |
last night i dreamt about teaching, and sleeping on the sidewalk under an overpass. at the same time. as in, i left the class with the aide and walked out of the school carrying two large white pillows (basically the same as the ones i was feverishly clutching in the hotel bed) and laid down on the sidewalk to sleep. then i got back up saying, oh christ i still have to get them on buses and fuck, this looks really unprofessional as i walked back towards the school with the pillows in my arms. and then peter corrie called on the telephone and woke me up and by the way he is so excellent!
yours, amanda L. at 1:06 PM [+] | |
i am sitting in the lobby of a best western hotel in pennsylvania. trashy sensational television is on and i am sunk into the cushions. i am slouched into the furniture. i can't make myspace.com work so i am googling the name "peter corrie". because i am a humungous dork and have been stabbed in the face by some brutal crush fairy. anyway i found this, and i don't know about you but i think it is the most blisteringly adorable thing ever but it is probably just me. me and my stab wound.
reading old things. when i write alot i am good at it. when i don't write for months i am not so good anymore.
my life is extremely interesting. but i can hardly prove it to you.
yours, amanda L. at 7:32 PM [+] | |
we jumped into the van at 14th and, hollering and hugging, immediately had drink poured down our throats and pills pressed onto our tongues as the vehicle pulled side to side around streetcorners. and then in a small alleyway in almost-south-philly we dragged bicycles from off the top of the car, and we rode through the night to the water's edge. to shove one another and climb on things, throw things, push into things. i rode up and down the pathway with jessie and dished alittle. its beautiful but my fingers itch for saturday and i want to fall asleep to make the morning come faster, which eventually happens, but not until 5. and the hours hurry by then, and suddenly its the afternoon, and even more suddenly i am sitting in the back of the truck drinking champagne and watching car crashes and even more sudddenly than that except not exactly suddenly we're hiding in boxes and we've got glass shards in our elbows and hair and its not so surprising really
i have half a black eye, and its luke's fault, i mean my own fault. i have a prison style tattoo of a paper airplane on my wrist and its peter corrie's fault, i mean my own fault, i think. i have a bright blinding daylightfaced mania over the future and its everyone's fault and i mean it this time. dear this weekend: + + + + +. sincerely, anda L.
yours, amanda L. at 11:38 PM [+] | |
cold air that makes us thump our chests with balled fists and then dissolve into giggles. and oh i am Shirking Work right now. sneaking off to play internet. a stack of fliers next to my elbow.
HI! (bright smile) WE'RE HAVING A POSTER SALE IN THE LOUNGE. (big smile) TIL SIX OCLOCK. (bright smile) CHECK US OUT. (big smile) ooh, can i have a cigarette?
haven't written in ages. the wordy parts of my brain are depleted from hours of nightly phone conversations with the Next Big Thing. and now, and now smoking: my fingers twitch. i stare off into space and all my thoughts --which are in the air-- rise up several inches into the sky and then refocus, down, back onto the topic of the boy. stop, gulp, calm oneself. and everything around me pauses, then lifts several inches off the ground. i look at it. everything is bonkers. and several inches above the ground. oh protect me--
what i do these days is live in hotels, wake up in the mornings, fix two or three coffees in the lobbies, drag the posters around, sell them. lots of them. what i do is: i stare blankly into space and think, i will say this later, i will tell about this later, i wonder what is happening, i wonder if i should ask What Is Happening, i wonder if that would mess it up, oh i don't want to mess any small part of anything up, how do i do this, oh i will mess it up its just a matter of when i will. mess up. and then look at the ground and everything in the room lifts up into the air several inches around me
i'm fourteen. i'm twelve. i'm a reverse trajectory through time. i'm all the emotions i spent the last two years slutting out of my heart. i woke up and was pure as a bird and promise rings and fat russian novels where they talk too much and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. and wait.
yours, amanda L. at 3:16 PM [+] | |
i spill salt almost every day. i've stopped checking to see who sees that, yes, i pluck at the tablecloth, avoiding certain catastrophe, while my right hand continues scooping plastic glasses and food-smeared plates into the bin.
i'm efficent and superstitious.
nathan and i bought a plastic pool which we filled and left in the front yard and when i can't think of anything to do i say, lets go chill in our pool. and this afternoon i broke out in hives for no reason and got to leave work early, because i had eaten benedryl. at home i offered nathan the benedryl so we could be on the same page, that is, retarded and sleepy. we tried to read books in the pool but it was too awkward and wet for reading. then we fell asleep for five hours. don't take benedryl as a recreational drug because it ruins your day.
what was i allergic to, i wonder?
yours, amanda L. at 2:10 AM [+] | |
we are challenging, us.
nathan and i wait for the gainsville people. leah et al. bizhan keeps riding off on his bike and i get fretful, wondering what is the best thing.
all i did at work yesterday was scurry back and forth across the restraunt, balancing and afixing and coddling, for four and one-half hours. then i biked home with seventy dollars in my pockets, and the sweat beaded allover my forehead; we took the car and the ocean was !!excellent! and the waves were complicated and in all directions and i wasn't scared to try to win them over for once, i have nerves of steel, steel! we exhausted ourselves and came home with the sunset, and then i sat down and sewed myself a shirt.
we're buying poppies off the internet.
sometimes i think what i need is a large friend (like a theoretical older sibling) to absolutely Sit on me, saying, you stay put. and i'd holler, get offa me i'm going to tell, get OFFA me. and they could say, no, no way. you need to stay put.
i want to meet the people who make staying still so compelling. and i want these people to win me over, so that i capsize myself against them and put down-payments on houses and take classes at the university.
yours, amanda L. at 11:45 AM [+] | |
today at nine i found out that i didn't have to work until five and then i ran around the house hollering nine to five! nine to five! i am hard playin from nine to five! like playin is my full time job!!!!
yours, amanda L. at 1:24 PM [+] | |
the sailor who fell from grace from the sea.
my brain feels hard in places. i caught up on bizhan's website and it made my heart thump to the bottom of my belly. its important to send letters to your friends, its important to send letters to your friends, its important to send transmissions and encoded communiques to your loved ones, every single day, and i don't. i don't.
what happens: i am a waitress in a tavern, which is fascinating the way that most everything is fascinating, and i enact small sociology and behavior experiments on them in my head while struggling to remember which tables need bread, which tables need sweet teas, which tables need food plated and brought. and lean against the bar with the crossword, gazing into the floor with all my memories eroding into a milky fucking mush. this year, what are years, and on and on.
at the punk show we danced like maniacs while the jacksonville kids sat in tight circles, saying hi to one another with a practised mildness, and we danced even more maniacally, as if we were testing a theory for the thousandth time. we recreated the experiment and found the data sound. the theory of some people dance all crazy and its not unnoticed that the majority of people are not even watching the band, and this fact, in its own way, become fuel for the dancing.
oh the night and the parking lot, the noise, and the hands clasped to shoulders. later i stood still and tried to separate my mind from the world, swaying gently from all the alcohol, and thought, this is good now. but when i am forty years old it will not be okay to be here, at this punk show. so i guess i will have to write books then. maybe live somewhere remote, coastal, unamerican. fuck, i need to call wes and find out if we're still getting married.
lizards running allover the ground. i'm not going to make it.
yours, amanda L. at 11:24 AM [+] | |
we watched barfly, and it did us absolutely no good. three trips to the ABC via bicycle for many bottles of cheap champagne, until we commence being both geniuses and astoundingly brilliant. dance party of two to kanye west, out the door weavingly; we climb the stairs of a hotel on san marco to outright ask some elderly tourists if we can hang out with them. kevin is only wearing swimming trunks and neon pink rimmed sunglasses shaped like triangles. our endevour to drink for free with the tourists is so sucessful that we stagger home so i can put on my "give me lots of cocaine" dress: the plan is to go out and get wasted on rich people's tabs. at kevin's i apply a fake tattoo of a panther lunging from out of a tribal design overtop my right breast, he puts on a button-down shirt and tie but keeps the trunks. then we take pictures of ourselves looking glamourous. then we get high and pass out instantaneously, curled together into a 4pm nap like preschoolers.
later, getting wasted for free unravels a bit, and kevin finds margo and aaron finds franny and kelly finds leah, and everyone's objectives are following straight trajectories, and so i sip the wine i discover next to the couch and page through an olympia press anthology. and wait for them to leave two by two. which they do.
yours, amanda L. at 3:22 PM [+] | |
to Induce partial intoxication, to control unruly children, and the plant was given in large doses along with tobacco to women and slaves to deaden their senses before being buried alive with their dead husbands or masters
ridiculous sunny oceans drunken messes i've got a tan and a fixed gear bicycle and last night i had nightmares about crashing it but luke was there and bought me tylenols for the pain after i fell and then we rode to the party downtown and you were all in your very grown-up party outfits and there was punch on the table in a glass bowl and dust on the floors and it curled into our mouths and the record player was on the floor.
yours, amanda L. at 1:28 PM [+] | |
we rode bikes to the ocean, and the tide was out, and so the beach itself stretched on and on like a desert, and the water itself was low so you had to swim and swim to get to the waves. and everything glittered crazily. we had bought rum at the store, everything is so sun bleached, and when we were laying on the sand you couldn't help thinking about being stuck fast to the side of the earth by way of physics, and i had the sand pushing on one side and the sun shoving me down on the other. and everything shone and pulsed. i have a good wolflike friend here and we cackle and draw up plans of action
1. the line this job is getting you nowhere. so why don't you quit right now and come to the beach with me
2. homemade alcohol
3. ghost tag club, where we gather at the fort around midnight to play chasing games. wearing sheets with eyeholes cut out. (you'd have to first have an idea of the "ghost tour" culture in this city to understand the brilliance of this idea)
4. dragging our selves across the street for fried foods and beers.
there are tiny shells stuck allover my legs. i am permanently pleased with my life and its direction.
we watch the movie can't hardly wait
we watch the movie downtown 81
there are things i want to take home from both of these.
last night we sat on the stoop and across the street a boy was dragging a large, flat square of wood down the road.
kevin joe. what are you up to.
joe (looks doubtfully at the wood) i'm doing some building.
kevin are you wasted?
kevin so what are you up to?
joe i'm going to go slide down my staircase on this piece of wood.
kevin and anda, simutaneously oh man---can we---hey, hold up a second!
the wood has been dumpstered from behind the punk video store. when joe flips it over, we realize it says YEA RIGHT in bubbly lettered spraypaint. hey, i made this says kevin. and everyone breaks up laughing, and then everyone collapses onto the living room. "i've had an impeccable day." "me too." that night my dreams were about rollercoasters.
yours, amanda L. at 10:58 AM [+] | |
all the roads go on and on. swamps and crickety sounds. sunscreen that makes you bronzed and a little wetfaced. i can't stop reading the death of the heart. i have pink-eye. and because i am magnetic and strong-boned, every time i leave the house i immediately run facefirst into glimmering bebicycled virgo children, bruised and shiny and absolutely evil allover.
i hate virgos. they pay careful fucking attention. and then they steal your game and parade it around the whole village. copycats, the lot. yes, yes, i play the lottery, mix tapes, and an assortment of films that you will have watched yourself in the last 24 hours since i last left the house and last ran smack into you, crocodile.
if i put the idea in your head then why are you breaking my heart
i found a job, i think, waiting tables at some warm tourist hole. i found a place, maybe, with a large kitchen and wide porch with a porch swing. my legs are covered in bruises, and i bike to the beach on a fixed gear. which is awesome. jumping into watering holes, fretting over my failed/budding internet friendship with the Past (and scienceprojects; hey shelby, write me back dummy), i had a birthday you missed in jacksonville florida, nathan writes with stories of junkies in the parisan catacombs, and i watch one movie a day with my relentlessly virgo friends. and eat acid. i love you internet and i missed you alot
yours, amanda L. at 2:11 PM [+] | |
small town carnivals and carnival rides, and anthropology, and being upside down in the spaceship ride
o pioneers! by willa cather
the movie breaking away
yours, amanda L. at 12:04 PM [+] | |
when i was small my dad wrote some program for our c64 that would draw color bars across the screen according to what key we hit. even though we understood it was way more primitive than alice in wonderland or q-bert on the atari, my sister and i still thought it was cool.
two christmases ago jason laferrera, Recording Engineer, helped me find and download an emulator along with a.i.w. and i gave it to my sister for christmas. she flipped. and it was awesome.in 1983 we couldn't even get past the dog but now that we are grown-up ladies we beat it in like twenty minutes.
yours, amanda L. at 9:25 PM [+] | |
1. this is what i am listening to.
2. we swam in the river and it was cold as hell. we dared each other in. at the last second i was struck by a miserable urge to Win, and shrieking mightily galloped into deep part, up to my neck, over my head, before everyone else. was cold cold cold cold cold. lee jumped from the tressles. our fingers turned red and smarted, i cut off my jeans legs into shorts with a knife.
this, taken as a whole, is an incantation for Summer.
3. the lion, the witch and the wardrobe. except with computers, music and the past. i think i have accidentally fallen into some sort of spell-like sleep. turkish delight.
listen: i am telepathic, and powerful, and beaming light in all directions!, but sitting in the shower for hours, staring at the tile until my hands are prunes, to avoid checking the computer for Signs.
momma: are you going to marry ________________?
girl (holding cat in the air above face and making a face like a cat at it): i don't really know.
momma: its you thats the problem.
momma: everyone else is ready except you.
girl (staring hard at cat): someday i'll make someone very, very miserable. don't worry.
5. no, i am listening to the aeffect.
6. no, no,
yours, amanda L. at 11:06 PM [+] | |
Everyone interested in the study of high frequency currents should not fail to study that discourse as it contains the theory of how this master electrician proposed to charge this lofty antenna with thousands of kilowatts of high frequency electrical energy, then to radiate it thru the earth and run ships, factories and street cars with "wireless power."
yours, amanda L. at 5:00 PM [+] | |