i made this today, i've been making a great many things lately, so irrationally housebound in peter's apartment, listening to downloaded songs and chewing on my fingers. its not all polish beers and a brand new bicycle today; i'm carrying my body in like camels carry arabs allover the desert. slowly.
yours, amanda L. at 6:12 PM [+] | |
(series of vertical lines)
i should get back to my book. but i can't tear myself away from wikipedia, and downloading weird songs onto peter's laptop. like french hip hop. and the thomas dolby song from the movie howard the duck. i'm drinking dark dark polish beer and eating saurkraut and mushrooom pierogies. hello, i need more skeleton gloves in my life. and a laminating hook-up for these spoke cards.
i heart steven johnson. because he is a smarty.
yours, amanda L. at 2:04 PM [+] | |
NPR, coffees, crosswords and mornings. like a movie about grown-ups that urbanely adore one another. this is the first time i have visited new york and not woken up on a floor with one hundred of my best bruised friends and found i had slept with my arms slung across a bicycle wheel all night.
yours, amanda L. at 2:05 PM [+] | |
the night everyone left for the bar and i caught the chinatown bus instead.
and the best part is when you drag your bicycle from out the bottom of the suitcase area and feel so autonomous. so i tore around in the city at seven AM on the orange bike, and had french toast at some random place, and i am a professional at Life. then spent the day pretending i was visiting some combination of everything i can remember about being in other countries, which we accomplished by only going places where people were not speaking english and had shelves full of that carrot juice drink with the bear on the label and milka chocolate bars. and then i watched peter corrie get an tattoo across the front of him. and then we ate spring rolls outside sitting ontop of the car. ha, i'm in new york. yes!
yours, amanda L. at 2:10 PM [+] | |
i'll just sleep it off, thank you
i dressed up for the Art Show in a fancy tights and dress combination but the bicycle fell apart into parts and sent me kneecaps-over-wrists into the wet asphalt. everyone's hair was stuck to their foreheads with rain and someone pointed out that the handlebars had disconnected entirely as they waved them around as proof, and my knees bled, and i decided to not do Anything until dancepartyo'clock but sit on the porch grumpily. (also, i ate leftover mushrooms washed down with pbr and peanut m&ms that were discovered in a tea strainer.) later, i decided to move to new york and then not move to new york and then certainly move to new york and then certainly not move to new york and then, fuck it, move to estonia, several times. for breakfast i sort of wept into the mimosas with headache and highfived everyone at the table upon learning that emily from philly has the same birthday as me. i really like people that have the same birthday as me.
yours, amanda L. at 4:13 PM [+] | |
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 [+] | |