mary kelly. i am reading a book made from a work she did in 1973-1977 called Post-Partum Document. and it is incredible. and obsessive, and scientific.
today: documents. card catalogs. libraries. archives.
yours, amanda L. at 5:30:00 PM [+]
i cannot be proved
reading about kurt godel.
reading about alan turing.
yesterday was my birthday. i am a grown-up. i have grown up into what i am as a grown-up, as in "what do you wish to be when you are grown up?"
i am happy because i have managed to stay as a liquid and not a solid.
when i grow up, i want to push and probe.
when i grow up, i want to read minds!
on the day of my birthday
muna's garden. a teapot. accidentally inviting guests over when i had little interest in speaking or entertaining. i had much interest in standing in the kitchen smoking cigarettes and listening to built to spill instead. boys who make noise and push chairs and fake instruments. muna's sister. the insides of my sewing machine. the edges of richmond. the place to hide a dead body. the AM radio. the airport and its flashing. the SR-71. the weird blue countryside. fatigue; staying awake until exhaustion---i like that.
yours, amanda L. at 2:43:00 PM [+]
you my bell-clapper, me your bell
what is nice to listen to >>
what poem the line above came from >>
it is more october than ever outside. i ride my bike everywhere. it is not october. it is may.
my birthday is soon.
yours, amanda L. at 5:35:00 PM [+]
you shouldn't put dirt on your mouth
and sit still waiting for me
i slept for three hours, hard, until the hammers started. my bed was very cold because i left all the windows open and the coldness of it smelled like some other time, from out of the past, that i could not place. then the people came and began hammering on the ceiling and making red brick dust rain down my south wall and pile in front of the photograph of nicholas, the copy of gravity's rainbow, the pink eskimo doll with three faces (happy, sad and plain) and the jar of buttons kyong let me take home and someday i know i will do the art projects i meant to make with them. tabetha called to tell me i was going to be taken into the countryside, to mechanicsville, to eat grilled food and lay on wool blankets and listen to records under the sunshine. which happened just like that.
between those two events i saw brent cody and his bonnie at a coffeehouse. we talked more about folding paper more than eight times, which is definately a theme now or a symbol. the symbol of the problem of folding paper more than eight times in half. i showed them my very very beautiful multisided dice that i won as a prize for guessing the correct time at muna's party last night and have been carrying around now and examining with delight as well as balancing one of top of the other. we discussed what the dice could be used for. complicated games, we decided.
yesterday at muna's garden we ate arabic food and drank keg beer with our parents. our parents talked about monsters and logic and art and sanskrit. kyong brought a strawberry cake and a bucket of strawberries she had picked that afternoon after getting fired from the clinic.
"so, are we friends now?"
"i don't think so."
yours, amanda L. at 7:38:00 PM [+]
birthdays in may are the best
i'm having trouble writing this now; because i was suddenly struck by how silly this part is, the part where i follow patterns and try to---especially today, where everyone graduated, just like in the movies; but i had a wonderful time, and everything seems so crisp and exact and (now) i'm exhausted from talking and constructing little threads; its GREAT to talk to people i hardly know and its GREAT to say yes to everything and drive all over the city and balance dice on top of other dice
yours, amanda L. at 6:05:00 AM [+]
1. when he sailed into the harbor.
2. when i said, "you have grown thin."
3. when the fifth month comes.
4. when i was a girl.
1. why did you keep finding me where i was?
2. why do the lilies google their tongues at me?
yours, amanda L. at 12:36:00 PM [+]
on the sharp edges, holding a feather
i started this on thursday.
it was going to be an email to muna and adrian.
but i am running low on everything and want to use it here.
when i rode my bike straight up main street today into the sky which became grey and the whole world felt like the top of a full glass of water; just at the very very edge before popping open
i like things to be right before, for forever. to be always not at the top of the hill, not yet raining, etc. the heightened tension; the strings very tight; the waiting-for-an-answer.
now (saturday) the weather is nice and wet. i spent a very long time
copying this passage from peter hoeg's Tales of the Night:
"The boy's eyes were focused on the ceiling in rapt concentration and Charlotte Gabel felt each tiny fair hair on her brown skin rising, felt an overwhelming multitude of promises being fulfilled, felt her hand on the boy putting her in touch with the fundamental meaning of life.
For a second or two she floated in that state of utter happiness that unites perfect harmony with the keenest alertness.
And then she had a scientific vision. Down along a neverending procession of causes and effects, Charlotte Gabel saw into the future and what she saw was that the happiness she had at this moment succeeded in isolating in the laboratory could not last. With overpowering certainty she realized that only like this, close to the boy and with her hand on him, could she be happy. But outside, the world was moving on; in a little while life would call then out into the sunlight and the boy would look at her with an interest that was already fading, for that is how it is with men and perhaps also with most women. She could call him back to her, but it would be only temporary, happening in spite of the forces that, moments later, would sweep him away again. With a sense of gazing into hell, Charlotte perceived that the Eden toward which her whole life was oriented could never be anything but a fleeting state of order in an escalating state of chaos, that it would never be possible for her to abandon herself to the happiness that she held in her hand right now and that she had always imagined, once she had attained it, would last forever, it being the way of the world that love is bound automaticaly to decay.
She stood there stock-still and her thoughts, maddened by grief, launched themselves off into space. And...."
"....in that instant she understood that she would become a great physicist and show the world that the truth about love is that there comes a day when it is over.
Slowly she drew back her hand and walked out into the garden, and the others followed her with the heedful silence that children always accord one of their number who experiences a great hurt."
even more now, saturday;
andrew boyd wrote me an email, which can only
mean that a movie based on a comic book is
opening in the theatres, or that he is moving
again. i'm assuming he'll read this message
tonight nicholas will play rock and roll music at the hole in the wall.
my cats are licking their hands.
in an hour the kids will come in a car, i mean a van,
and we will go to see the exciting spiderman film.
i used to live with kids who read comic books.
another time i lived with future art teachers and painters.
once i lived all by myself. and
in the last two years i have lived in six different places, sort of.
sometimes i was not living anywhere.
last wednesday i went dancing and it was strange in the sense that it was not any different than before, that no one had aged, that no music had become different music, that some kids go in the same pattern as kids four years prior, it makes me think about when i didn't want to do anything i had seen in a movie or read in a book, its sort of like that. here is the textbook, here, etc. when they told me this kid i used to know had called them and talked about old times, and that it was weird, i felt worried and did not want to also be weird. but then i climbed on my bike and rode away through richmond and the night, leaving dancing too early, and felt great. i can do whatever i wish. i am not afraid of patterns, because the world moves in patterns.
here is something nice to read about heat dissipating.
yours, amanda L. at 4:30:00 PM [+]
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.