Tuesday, September 17


i took a sweater and sewed birds and worms and airplanes all over it.
if i were rich, i would go to this.

yours, amanda L. at 4:05:00 PM [+]

Monday, September 16



yours, amanda L. at 12:07:00 AM [+]

Sunday, September 15


rust and erode into lists

last night after i scissored the red balloon off the antenna of an SUV on a dealership lot and tied it to the back of my bicycle, vaguely thinking that i wanted to give it as a present but the person i would give it to has disappeared and so muna and i rode quickly because the sky had turned white, about to rain

yours, amanda L. at 7:08:00 PM [+]


muna and i. webpages. housebound. we are building skeletons and structures and listening to the dream of evan and chan over and over again, looking up from the computers and holding our eyes closed and hollering "i. love. this. boy. singing. i love music! music is so fucking awesome!" and the more we listen to it the more maddening the feeling becomes, in a sort of feedback way; we send our love to the song and the song plays itself over and over again each time with more fervor.

yours, amanda L. at 6:44:00 PM [+]

Saturday, September 14


i feel the flu gaining on me. who takes care of me when i am sick.
who will bring the soup, the blankets, the thermometers.

on how we ought to glue those photocopies i made last week to some walls somewhere.
the first person to read this, give me a sign. meet me for a bike ride, out in the night. no. become a telepath. we will talk that way.

i am very tired.

yours, amanda L. at 1:04:00 AM [+]

Friday, September 13


time periods

when i was eighteen i would twitch my fingers uncontrollably when i walked, and would send regular letters to karen horner in philadelphia, and eat only grapefruits for days on end. red grapefruits, which are fleshy and pink and sinewy when you open one up.

yours, amanda L. at 8:34:00 PM [+]


when i was nineteen i would draw complicated patterns across my face with black eyeliner and wear boots and ridiculous lace outfits and then go out dancing, looking like this. i would push and shove with the boys to skinny puppy and ministry. i would ride the richmond buses to their furthest points and sometimes fall asleep on them. when i was this age i once slept with jason mcphillips when he arrived suddenly in my bedroom drunk one night, and then later when he wrote me letters, i was afraid of the future and did not answer them.

yours, amanda L. at 8:29:00 PM [+]


when i was twenty i would walk alongside the river listening to the red house painters and mazzy star on my walkman. i would walk away from riverside and past the wall that said independent tropical wales and into tiger bay neighborhood, which smelled like bananas and sounded like horns played behind closed windows. sometimes i would take the train to london because i did not know what else to do with myself, i was so sad, and once there i would wander vaguely without destination and occasionally see a rock show.

yours, amanda L. at 8:23:00 PM [+]


a map of richmond
when i walk i have to walk very slowly because if i shake muna's discman around the music will skip. and because of this i have time to look at all the bright orange Xs all over the ground and crunch the dry leaves with my toes and stare meaningfully at people that walk past me. "my mind and the world cannot be torn apart" and its like richmond is my cleaned room, making every action deliberate and measured. i am wondering if i'll get the phone call i want.

this girl was walking on the opposite side of the street and just as i looked over at her she grabbed a handful of lavender from a shrub growing next to the sidewalk and just held it close to her face, breathing deeply. i looked away and felt suddenly as if i couldn't breathe, because i was trying too hard to breathe, but then suddenly i could and all i could smell was vinegar. everywhere. i was next to eric miller's old apartment on park ave, the one that had a green light out front, the one that ann and yvonne lived in. the first night i was to sleep in my very first apartment i was afraid to go home to it---i didn't really have any idea exactly how one was supposed to sleep at one's own apartment---and so i slept on a sofa in eric miller's room in the evening and then walked around all night instead. the room was on grove avenue, 2101 or something, near the tabernacle church electric sign. i never unpacked my boxes there, i hated it, i had stopped eating, andrew boyd was always telling me we were just friends, i would spend days upon days at walker's house talking about what i can't remember now except that it made me profoundly sad when it ended; after a month i moved into alicia funeral's old apartment on monument avenue with alexi chisler and it was the happiest day of my life when i finished pushing all my stuff down those stairs and then ran like a six-year-old, flying, down lombardy street to 1608 grove which felt the same as climbing over a fence in 1985 to play with the kids in the next yard over

yours, amanda L. at 6:00:00 PM [+]

Wednesday, September 11


on goosebumps and sunsets

i am not sewing. i am moving extra fast. andrew bourne talks about his newest cure and his extroversion infects the house. now, sitting at muna's laptop and not my laptop, slicing apart a tiny red 99 cent teeshirt and eating pasta (pasta spelled wrong is paste) off a large flat plate. thumping my feet against the wooden floors. i feel everything is in a sturdy balance and that i am real and in fact, exist in the current space time with all the other things that exist. it is a great feeling.

i want to put the world in my mouth and hold it there. and i want to roll sideways down grassy hills, and tame lions, and kick medicine balls.

yours, amanda L. at 7:29:00 PM [+]

Saturday, September 7


some one is at the door

yours, amanda L. at 6:51:00 PM [+]


a little temperatured

elizabeth is visiting. my futon is opened up in muna's guestbedroom. she buys a weakerthans cd at plan 9 and wears a skirt today and holds her arms outstretched at jonathan. i ride my bicycle everywhere, and when i have nowhere to go to, i ride back and forth across the city.

last night the three of us went out and did everything. we walked along the street with a million kids our age and wandered in and out of art openings. mostly out, and talking on the sidewalk with all the other people that only talk but one friday a month. we grow giddy from all the conversation, from talking to the whole world one after another. i am in a bad mood and snarling but in a hidden way. later when we get the bicycles with the sky opened up above us; it is cool and dark and i feel much better. i feel it clearing. we bike fast in a straight line to the dancing club and there is a line out front but elizabeth is brave and opens the emergency door, which opens onto the dance floor, which is loud and strobing and hot. we think about the consequences but then suddenly we are through the door and scattering in all directions, blending and avoiding security guards who lock the door but some kids unlock it again once they leave.

we dance without pause. at two or so the lights come on and they tell everyone to go home. we scream at people we know from our bikes. i see lauren and talk about the knitting machine
are you knitting yet?
oh my god, amanda, on my god...
is it fast?
it is so fast.
when can i try it?

yours, amanda L. at 6:49:00 PM [+]

Tuesday, September 3


code-breakers by profession

1. cellular automata links.
2. i'm reading about self-organization and emergence theory.
3. the international society for artificial life. (all the posts are by God!)
4. vieartificielle!
5. something interesting to read.

yours, amanda L. at 5:17:00 PM [+]

anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.

April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005