fistfuls, handfuls, bucketfuls
current mood: hydrocodone.
these days. total mania. is does wonders for one's productivity to have what you want northward and in another city; you pine and pine and pine and pine and pine and then finally sit down to eat a bunch of pills and make eighty billion art projects listening to mission of burma real loud. from inside your closet. lately at night i take the orange bike out very fast, and i pretend i can do tricks, but mostly just take the bounciest routes. or i walk myself tired, because suddenly i am never tired, and creep into the mamma zu's garden to pick arugula or sit on the curb to work on some lottery tickets. reading the MIT website again. paging through Premises and coming up with ideas for massive performance photography projects. mostly i just wait for it to be nine oclock PM. i'm jealous of the people that can play instruments; i sorely need something to bang on. maybe some pots and pans and a wooden spoon, like a toddler on the kitchen floor. my brain is caught fucking fire.
last night i took a break from this, and instead went out with alcohol and tasha and luke, biking allover the whole place in the rain, bar upon bar upon bar, until we were pried away from the word dojo and my skirt was hanging on solely by one safety pin and my hand. and stood on my porch staring at the small pile of beers, which luke had left behind like a mound of fairy dust, and considered drinking them all, but instead passed out in ballet shoes.
but had the motor skills at least to unfold my bed
and still we were not satified
yours, amanda L. at 11:14 PM [+] | |