dear everyone ever,
this is a story. you read it from end to beginning, and move backwards through time.
everything in it is absolutely true and actually did happen.
ok see you later.
yours, amanda L. at 3:33:00 PM [+]
a black hole for volition. c'mere, i will eat yours. today i tossed "four or five" basketballs out into the gymnasium and inwardly threw up my hands. play. do whatever you like. she won't give me the ball. he hit me. can you get him? and i say,
look, i don't care. just play. go. go play.
on the way home i wanted to jump off the bridge, and wanted a coat full of rocks, which used to be my favorite icon. the archtype of the girl who walks into the river with her coat pockets filled with stones. no. it was the sort of day that made me want to quit learning. forever. the exhaustion of doing things, of keeping my head above water, on and on, each day.
today i wanted to
1. move somewhere inland, like st louis
2. get a job requiring little thought
3. buy a television
4. and sit in front of it every night until i fell deeply asleep.
the kids make me weary, i was the gym teacher, and handed each kindergardener a frisbee and let them loose on the blacktop, because i knew it would be brutal and hilarious. i said i don't care eleven million times today. and thought, i want to stop trying. i want to be still and vanish. i want to not stay afloat.
later: called wes from the park, it was blue outside, i started the conversation with "where are you drinking?" then said, i'm in monroe park, on a bench. i'll be the girl sitting like a girl with no future and we sat around and exchanged hilarious stories. particluar attention was granted to the topic of Last Night, which i had missed on purpose ("i knew it would be awesome but you know, we're always awesome, and i don't have to be there for all of it, you know?") but involved a mutual friend not paying a bar tab at a popular bar and another friend, the bartender, chucking glasses full of liquor at everyone in the room. and in the midst of this: joey and luke and evan are inside the bar on their bicycles doing trackstands and getting drunk, because they've decided to ride their bikes for 24 hour without getting off of them, and part of the itinerary (which was typed up and photocopied and everyone seemed to have a crumpled one in their pockets) involved, of fucking course, heaps and heaps of alcohol. the 24 hour bike riders had arrived on cue to bizhan's this morning to escort me to work, because no one is ever up that hour and they looked brightfaced and insane, and i gave them coffee. by this afternoon the itinerary had unravelled and i was informed that the participants had commenced speaking in a six-word delerium no one could really follow.
i love my friends.
(just now) when someone wanders into their own bedroom and you bark, LEAVE ME ALONE! I'M AlMOST DONE! I FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING I FEEL LIKE SHARING!!! desperately while waving one hand in a frantic "shoo, shoo" motion, and then they calmly walk back out again and twenty seconds later call sweetly from the kitchen would you like a mimosa? you know they are a good person.
in two days, thursday, how the house flooded will be three. i expect three-year anniversary gifts of crystal, because leather (the traditional gift) is very very not vegan. you can mail gifts to anda lewis, c/o Biketown, 3 south allen street, richmond va 23220.
yours, amanda L. at 8:26:00 PM [+]
i have sun on my face. red cheeks. we rode out to the ditches. i am a failure and then i am not, and the three of us are in a better mood allover. except now taking turns collapsing onto the single bed.
as always these days, i have much to talk about but wholly cotton brained inside. i can see the stories in my mind. i mean, i can see what happened. i mean, i have memories. yes. exactly.
the options are:
drink coffee and go for walks until sentences come
nothing involving you.
i'm sorry it has to be this way, internet. its just that i am losing interest.
anyway, look at this thing i took a picture of.
yours, amanda L. at 8:19:00 PM [+]
if i had my own room and bed, i would be scary like a lion with all my fucking power.
1. because i need to regroup, i am staying awake all night and exploring the neighborhoods of richmond.
dear 311 broad street,
i miss you and your abject lonliness.
yours, amanda L. at 11:22:00 PM [+]
i went to look at what i was doing last year, and what i was doing was: writing a lot fucking better. please click on april 2004 and then read everything as if it is happening now. because its basically the same, with similar characters.
yours, amanda L. at 5:55:00 PM [+]
jefrey the cat is laying on my leg. i wrote a long story here two days ago but blogger ignored it, which is okay, it was probably dull and moody. now: the temperature outside is perfect, and coming in from all angles. i taught preschool friday morning. during centers they played police in the housekeeping center, and it went like this: three children sat in chairs clumped together as if they were driving in a car, and tyler pulled the dollybaby in its wooden highchair next to him to make the fourth car seat. trevaughn was the daddy, and driving; celeste was the mommy, and sat wearing enormous red high heels, holding a small plastic plant in her lap with a blue tablecloth wrapped around her waist because moments before she and trevaughn had been married. mark got the police hat and sat in a chair two feet behind them. driving and driving sounds.
mark: woo woo! its the police! stop the car! police!
then he jumps up shrieking get out of the car! police! police! get on the ground! and grabs trevaughn's hands and holds them behind his back. trevaughn howls, it wasn't me! i didn't do nothing! i didn't do nothing! and they wrestle to the ground, whereupon trevaughn jumps up and runs to the block center and picks up an L-shaped block and holds it up sideways in his hand like a gun, but gangsta style, points it at mark and goes BOOM BOOM BOOM you're dead police!, shooting up the whole of the housekeeping center and knocking his wife out of her chair. celeste pitches forward and can't catch herself on account of the heels, and lands on her face with a thud and i wince, glancing at the desk to the stack of index cards with everyone's emergency contacts written on them in sharpie.
and ms johnson the aide and i were like, whoa-whoa-whoa-WHOA.
i say, put the block back in the block area trevaughn. EVERYONE ITS CLEAN UP TIME.
later we take the cards and make everyone repeat their addresses, which is cute. i still remember my address at age five, and repeating it on command to any and all adults who were constantly asking, fifteen oh ten carlbern drive centreville virginia two two oh two oh. fifteen oh ten carlbern drive centreville virginia two two oh two oh.
there was alot to last night. i'm beginning to feel like this website is too public these days.
yours, amanda L. at 1:54:00 PM [+]
i crawled meekly into the day.
woke up on kelly's couch. it is impossible to resist the richmond springtime nighttimes. (at some point today: "is it incredibly beautiful outside AGAIN??!") certain events did in fact happen: watching pinball after pinball and babbling about spain, and probably books; the camel reps arrived and suddenly everyone had cigarrettes, i couldn't steer the bike up the hill without running into obstacles, and drank more than is even believed possible. i impress myself with my abilities and in the morning cannot open my eyes without first clamping my hand against my forehead. one eye, two eyes. whose couch is this?? the first thing about the room is that there is a window leading out the window and i go for it. find myself on all fours on an old firescape with the ground turning figure eights through the cracks, hundreds of feet below, and i throw up a little over the railing and crawl back inside. good work, team. its actually awful, I Hate My Self stuff and What Am I Doing With My Life, until i fall back asleep, re-do the morning, wake up again and this time holler is anyone else here?! at the ceiling and am then fed tasty vegan food. yes. first place at waking up this wednesday goes to anda.
at which point i siiiiiiiiiit on a couch and waaaaaaaaaaait for the asprin to take hold.
then i draw all afternoon, like a girl who has meaning to her. i also see stephen and, because i am retarded, manage to get the bike i was going to make for jason l. stolen. the bike that was to replace the other one of his bikes that i got stolen. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME
the kids at the slaughterama looked like this:
1. lil dave
7. bizhan + bad cactus
A. drink relay
B. the rainy day
C. the rasul pull
D. taking the hill
E. me looking tough on someone's bike
its too late to write about it, or maybe too tiring. everything went very well, and we offically made it spring, and made everyone drunk, and dirty, and everyone hates deleware but somehow we are all friends now anyway, and i will really really tell you but i right now haved to go visit tasha at her work and then jessie at hers. where i will get poinsettas. which are champagne plus cranberry. i don't have to teach kindergarden until noon tomorrow. i will tell you things.
yours, amanda L. at 10:58:00 PM [+]
i flew in airplanes.
it is the afternoon and i am am drunk. i love richmond. everyone wants to marry one another. i sort of want to go into hiding.
+ + +
i came back to stay here awhile. richmond owns my heart. i'll teach in the daytimes. i'll sew in the afternoons. and i'll drink in the evenings, then creep around in the night, engaging in surfaces. or just looking at things. start over and then repeat. i am a yo yo. one month and the spell will wear off. i guess.
two days ago wait wait wait. three days ago, it was thursday, and we arrived in richmond after spending a night in an overpriced Days Inn in the disabled bedroom, which was excellent because of the enormous bathroom with silver handles in every direction and the biggest ever bed ever. oh that bed. and what occurred. but richmond thursday night was the waste shooting their bloody zombie video at the club. we stood around and i hugged old friends. hello, hello, i am here, and we are bloody, and this is living, and we are professionals. i worried over where my friends were and then i saw jessie k holding the blood cannon and evan flinging red wet bits into the crowd as the band started into their tenth version of the song. oh there they are. they are manning the gore. evan reached out his hands and clasped my face and i had sticky red cornstarch streaks down my neck and arms. richmond you own my heart:
the following afternoon i hadn't seen wes so i biked over to biketown and found everyone in a fever of production, and when i called laurie 40 i was invited to man a checkpoint for the scavenger hunt, and everything lines up and works out in the usual style. when i fling my arms around wes for a hug [there are some people i just so need in my life] the tequila flask falls from my basket and shatters. so i buy a more reasonable-sized bottle. and we play basketball all night. can things get any better, these days? we tape the scavenger hunt clues to the basketball hoop post and leave for the bar. i forget what happens next. talking about books? later everyone meets together in the alleyway to pout drink into cups and award one another points. evan's glasses are stolen (50,000 pts), and then returned. someone hands me a small parcel of hallucinagens. there is a boxing party. there is a second boxing party. i have more hellos, and where-have-you-beens, and how-was-spains. its disorienting, because i feel as if no time has passed. infact, i feel less groggy than sleeping for an hour after drinking all morning, or teaching kindergarden and then having vodka for dinner. i feel smart and sharp and perfect. hello, all you friends. i have slept quite awhile and yet you are all still also sharp, and smart, and perfect.
that was friday.
then it was saturday. i have photographs of that stuff. but i need the internet to work in tandem with my computer to show you.
now it is sunday and i have done nothing but drink mimosas. sans jus de l'orange. come to my birthday party. i mean slumber party. fuck. just come over. OH WAIT, I AM HOMELESS.
yours, amanda L. at 2:56:00 PM [+]
6. Jour de la revolution
i am reading about calender systems.
last night we listened to this french jazz band. they started with a kurt weill song and had an instrument where you blow into a tube that is attatched to a keybaord. like a melodica, but a long tube instead of just blowing into the end/mouthpiece of your keyboard.
somewhere i have a fat book of all the love letters weill and lotte lenya sent to each other.
very sad today. no reason. maybe all the nightbuses. when i think about my impending two and a half days of travel, i feel better. i will take buses, trains, metros, small airplanes, large airplanes and cars. i will start in girona, a city i've never been to, stop briefly in england to watch television in bed with rory and then fly across the fucking ocean, to new york city. i will see four airports. i will buy coffee from machines, and eat sandwiches that come from plastic triangle-shaped packages, and squint at departure screens, and try to conceal my enormous suitcase on metros where it is rude to take up all the space, and i will nervously approach the boy who will be waiting in new york, holding my hand over my mouth because it is a tic i have when i am nervous and smile uncontrollably, because i have an ugly smile. and then throw everything aside, embrace and be home.
i heart wikipedia all the time, and i forget, and then i unforget and find out they have long entries on the threepenny opera like this.
And the ship with black sails, and with 50 cannons, will beseige the city.
yours, amanda L. at 6:46:00 AM [+]
one day, when looking at the human statues on the ramblas i noticed che and just as i said to myself, hmm, che, this lady's bag split open and two kilos of oranges spilled everywhere. we all bent to pick them up; che stepped off his pedestal. and at one point, as i dropped an orange into the lady's bag, i glanced up and he was right next to me, also placing an orange in the bag, and then we looked at each other and had a Moment.
three days later i put some coins in his jar and he threw his fist in the air and i laughed and he handed me a photograph. of him. and then i gave him a sticker. and then everyone laughed, all over the place. tonight i walked through alleyways, drank wine from the bottle, bought beers from the arabs. discussed politics, and leaned heavily against a wall in the Born, seasick, happy, well-read, nauseous. and now i am drunk in joeys lving room talking to owen from casiotone and everyone else is asleep and i do not know what iam fucking doing these days at all.
yours, amanda L. at 10:31:00 PM [+]
i love the tesco one. (tesco is the cheap generic grocery store in the UK and when i lived there i lived off tecso shit. all the packaging is exactly the same.)
yours, amanda L. at 8:14:00 AM [+]
nineteen eighty seven and climbing into rainwater drain tunnels walking to the creek, damp new world, kristy and i slicing all our jeans into cutoffs, windows open and kitchen sounds, staring at the pavement and going for walks. nineteen ninety six and biking to the synagogue to hide from work in the choir loft all morning. or spend two hours passing from row to row in the sanctuary, flipping prayerbooks the right way around. slowly, slower, slower. conversations with walker, and then josephine would emerge from the sidedoors, and he'd have to clean the toilets, and i'd have to bake a cake.
last summer, particularly waking up on the couch in the studio. wore the same clothes for days at a time. again, waking up on the couch. waking up on the couch. throat always dry, clothes always on, back always sore, ALWAYS that feeling of its a new day lets get to it. the most alone in all of richmond, with a daunting pile of fabric, threads, buttons, iron-on letter, lace and unravelled thriftstore items, like a giant mound of hay waiting to be GOLD. and i am LATE.
i wake up hard like that. like this. now its today and i'm pushing the contact lenses around into my eyes and switching on the computer to write this stuff down. the archetype of wakes up thinking of some other era.
i feel fucking poetic, but only in my bones, not fully in my mouth. we stayed awake last night talking about all things, drinking all things, those times when you can't figure out how to stop exactly, so you keep needing things to drink and talk about, and you forget how to go to sleep, and i forget how it ends. spring time. this morning. this morning i woke up and i was ten years old, no nineteen years old, and twenty six all at once, and my springtimes lined up neatly in my head at 3.7037037037037037037037 percent opacity apiece.
skateboarders in the plaza
yours, amanda L. at 7:31:00 AM [+]
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.