when i have stories to tell, i will tell them. my days are a long long pause freeze stop wait. i have lustful daydreams and busily absorb pop culture until my heart can't stand it; i pull the grey suitcase off the top shelf and empty its contents, looking around at the closet in bewilderment: i have so much stuff? i try out milk in my tea, listening to the song lover i don't have to love sung by (don't make fun of me or i will burst into tears) bright eyes over and over, walking around the neighborhood with my favorite camera and carefully taking pictures of suburban objects; trying to read french, making a list of the rock and roll shows i will see in europe next month (black heart procession, the faint, and the aftermentioned bright eyes (don'tmakefunofme)) etc etc etc etc always with a cat on my lap always fighting politics with my mom always speaking IM with jason laferrera or nicholas
yours, amanda L. at 6:56:00 PM [+]
oh my god; on how i have not been writing anything and instead took photographs of the airplanes at dulles
it is saturday. no: it is sunday. morning. 2 or 2:30. i am a little drunk, from the drinking that happened to-night. the vodka, and then the whiskey. i said, i am great at drinking whiskey. i can pour it straight down my throat. and then i hiked up my skirt and peed in the alleyway. and then i went dancing.
the music was terrible i missed richmond painfully; and when they played the one fischerspooner song (you dont need to emerge from nothing you dont need to tear away) i felt alittle better but more embarrased for the dc people dancing and left shortly afterward to wander around thrugh the cool air in the dark and absentmindedly think about
so there, muna.
yours, amanda L. at 2:28:00 AM [+]
a story to read that you already have read if you love me. and i sure do love you
how the curtains mold and fell
i am just trying to keep moving, to stop from freezing to death, to stop my blood from clotting, to stop from turning into stone or clay; i am just avoiding the moment when the girl looks at her hand and says, how do i know if i have bones too? and panics, and gets shut away. my friends are practicing yoga and planting trees all day. i feel dead.
when space goes away it is tricky.
it is the moment in the car when i got sick thinking about space and physics. about us moving fast, with the car, but not moving, because of too much thinking about eliminating space, thinking about it so much that when it happens, all at once, space disappearing, how it really creeps in not of course because i actually was trying but because it just creeps in the way it has and makes me sick, a little panic, a thrill, a nonsense part where you can't directly look (think) at it but sort of at the opposite; and anyway, i'm in the library and suddenly trying to appreciate how crazy it is that i can think about you back in the house and talk sort of within a connected space here at the same time and then focusing on the distance between this chair and the house and experience says you are diagonally away from my left shoulder but ha ha its not really true is it? i will leave and walk in a direction but i suppose i'm not really moving anything but my consciousness////
too much valerian and not enough swimming.
and to drive around and a round forever and be in the dark and never find the water even. so and all my bones are turning maleable, no i suppose mutable ?right, but somewhat like modelling clay, and we watch the television and remember how on monument avenue i would watch ER but alexi didn't enjoy it as much as i did which is curious because she is a bigger hypochondriac. (how she'd sit at the kitchen table and then suddenly sigh and announce, i think i have diabetes. and me saying, you do not have diabetes. "yes, yes i do, because i was reading about the symptoms and...") the downtown area is one third ladies towing little kids sort of connected to one arm and they stop and chat with other ladies attatched to children who swing about and pull and keep moving. and i am on day 15 or something so just endlessly thinking about having babies, which scares absolutely everyone usually, which is funny. and walking along the mall remembering to remember about interconnectedness and the rest of it while they leave the christmas lights in the trees all year round and i forget that part, eternally; lately the only thing i can understand quasi-correctly are the levels of tension in the air. and all my cultivated mixed up sense reactions///
muna is cooking one of the fancy frozen pizzas for (us)// on the way here i bought her another dress which is sortof hard to look at, a dark blue with white dots allover-- she is cute, as well as: blinding//
when i try to remember exactly what is was we were talking about i think of a shape like a boxy S (lefts with rights), and fields, and bridges; feeling like karen. but with headaches.
how the elevator
i am wandering around with a sore, hard belly and ugly with haircut and dress, photography books with pictures of scandinavia, iceland in the 1930's, and they are all so beautiful these women with incredible looks in their eyes and hips, then a frozen collapsed passenger balloon in the arctic with two tiny figures standing in the midst of it and everything else bright white it is like a reversed x-ray, edvard munch taking pictures of himself in the clinic he went to when he wanted to quit drinking, when i read about him and see pictures i always imagine him utterly alone, his whole life, except for maybe a half-dozen models that pose sporadically with long hair when it is freezing outside; on the fourth floor the elevator made a piercing loud bell sound and at the third floor the sound was just as loud but also echoed somewhere deep and far and i knew the elevator was going to drop me fast to the floor and i, dizzy with fear, held my cheek against the wall and closed my eyes and swallowed; feeling fragile in the head. "this world and the contents of my mind can not be torn apart--" etc. somewhere cold. can we go somewhere cold, all of us, together? i spent time lately plotting how to escape by myself but i want to wake up as my (now vanished) friend elizabeth, circa 1994, with long hair and a wool sweater; i'd wake blinking sleepily at bright snow, with boys who are fixing tea at the stove and have stayed awake for days writing or maybe fishing; out of this daydream and into richmond humid and unlovable--- yours, a.
better bourbon for young mothers
i had to use up the rest of a roll of high contrast slide film so while wandering around taking pictures of ugly things and feeling mildly how richmond no longer loves me, i have obviously betrayed her, i found the sunflowers that grow between strawberry street and the cement park and thought, i will make it up to everything someday, somehow apologize in some apt way, while at that moment focusing closer and closer and closer, brave like the powerpuff girls; last night at 4:41 i woke up abruptly and fast began a groggy frantic search for pain medicine, throwing up orange juice and BC powder and crying angrily at the bottom of the bathtub and briefly thinking about how you were missing this; "today it is up to you to create the peacefulness you long for" i ate the only fortune cooky in the house, made buckwheat pancakes from the mix that is still here, felt sad and made my way on buses to barnes and noble where i sat for hours reading erotica and biting my lip.
Subject: ; and with songs
when i left from reading and climbed fast onto the bicycle pedalling stronger than usual and suddenly singing; quick along the streets and good loud songs in an unknown language, all the way home, and because i was trying to fix the problem of apple juice (it is yucky) i ended up cooking it with spices and as danny tried to unpuzzle the internet connection we drank it from fancy teacups slowly and our mouths numb because i suppose i over-spiced it/// i am back and forth. outside songs and indoors deliberate. the kitchen candle, coffee with cardamon, _art and lies_, whispering it aloud at times, with back held straight, which hurts bitterly but in the morning when i wake up i stretch forever in all directions; karen, who works, comes home without presents. she is reading alot and once again i am june miller; i am so happy and so incomplete and so the wrong girl for everyone. the very alone and singing version. write back with bells please, a long happy letter
up the mountain today was vibrant and better, more sunshine hours and climbing up the hill that overlooks everything with the castle, the john lennon wall and a hidden place among the trees, "hey amanda, i think this is another place where witches go", making postcards when the light and time is available and more and more hours devoted to keeping warm, now Air playing over the speakers which is nice after such a long walk and i am getting out of here in a few days, i am going into the high tatras to make a film for your music and song you're writing. i love you in both celcius and farenheit. i love you. don't collaspe yet. wait and we will tumble into a field together yes Subject: disoplacid
i drank mate from a proper gourd, then i bought my own instead of constructing one out of a baby food jar and razor handle like Gaby did, but no one told me how to Cure it so i got dreadfully ill; that was also the day when the plane left too; the best part is when i got to open my closet and there were all these books! and then, my dad the programmer explained the difference between interpretive languages and compiling languages, and i was giving him the leftover ginko biloba to try, and when he explained compiling he drew invisible pictures on the table with his hands;
place is a nice concept (today)/ place has my disapproval, existancewise (yesterday)/ miss you--- why don't you sit down and write me an epic, --a.
////spring-summer-fall 2000. my love to the reader
yours, amanda L. at 10:50:00 PM [+]
1. lemons as contraceptive
2. bugs build circuits
i wrote the word nanotechnology on my hand the other day.
centreville virginia makes me dull.
tonight i was, for real, afraid to stop the car and get gas; because it was 8:20pm, and last night the sniper shot that man at 8:15pm or something, and it was in manassass for christsake, and i drove around in my sister's funny car listening to the Faint and trying to imagine what gas stations the sniper would not shoot me at maybe because they were too well surrounded by other well lit northern virginia superultrashoppercenters or something, and its crazy here because the television or radio is always on, and they hypnotize you with the sniper analysis, and i argue with my mom over how awful israel is but the newspeople do not discuss this with us, and we eat spagetti for dinner, and i am obviously 17 years old and should be staying in and listening to weezer with the bedroom door closed maybe, and not----why does it always rain when i visit?
yours, amanda L. at 9:12:00 PM [+]
you are invited into this day please come i am restless as ever
this windowsill to my left has resting on it the following items: four warty gourds of varying shapes, a medium-sized lion figure that opens its mouth and roars when you press a button on its leg and it wearing around its neck a medallion inscribed with the words lexington youth triathalon, a bottle of carpenter's wood glue, the book about AI that i'm still reading, a stack of writable cds, a set of colored markers, a plastic capped test tube labelled sea salt with herbs 4/2002, a package of toy rings shaped like spiders and bats, a hammer, an ashtray and some other odds and ends.
on sunday night about 13 people or more gathered in muna's yard to run around and play sardines---thats the game where one person hides, and everyone else has to look for them and then quietly hide with them, until you have a dozen people all wrapped around each other holding their breath and peering out from the trees, and it is the best game ever---we went to fnb and then walked around inviting all our friends who were happily out of jail plus all the new kids we'd noticed with pretty eyes and bike courier backpacks to come over and play, and to bring 40s to drink, and the heartbreakingest one among them brought a million boxes of glazed doughnuts from the krispykreme dumpster, and later that evening everyone rode bikes to play midnight soccer except for nicholas and i who instead stayed behind in the alleyway, screaming at each other at the top of our lungs, and i threw doughnuts everywhere and smashed things until my palms were red and purple, because i guess i am crazy.
the next day everyone in the whole world had the flu
today is wednesday. i don't know how i feel about impossibility. i read catcher in the rye for the first time since hign school. i can't get enough of benjamin gibbard. i think i am leaving richmond, soon, soon. like this. was it saturday? that i rode my bike to the tan-a for noodles and mysterious sauces and tofu in a package. the days all flood together, and i'm cranky all the time, like an amnesiac, and all over the place, in denial, pushing for results, evidence, statements of purpose, telling the truth, chasing, catching, chasing. i am addicted to this world i am not sure if that is the right way. no!
what can we do, together, you and i?
oh give me a sign won't you
yours, amanda L. at 4:25:00 PM [+]
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.