the ocw makes me clap my hands and squeal.
what i found today on MITs website (hey. muna.)
Why Study Language?
When a male octopus spots a female, his normally grayish body suddenly becomes striped. He swims above the female and begins caressing her with seven of his arms. If she allows this, he will quickly reach toward her and slip his 8th arm into her breathing tube. A series of sperm packets move slowly through a groove in his arm, finally to slip into the mantle cavity of the female.
When Dixie opens the door to Tad, she is stunned, because she thought he was dead. She slams it in his face and then tries to escape. However, when Tad says “I love you”, she lets him in. Tad comforts her and they become passionate. When Brian interrupts, Dixie tells a stunned Tad that she and Brian were married earlier that day. With much difficulty, Dixie informs Brian that things are nowhere near finished between her and Tad. Then she spills the news that Jamie is Tad’s son. “My what?” says a shocked Tad.
yours, amanda L. at 2:18:00 PM [+]
damn, rory looks so good...within the layout of this site...its has only to do with graphic design and nothing to do with messy hair and bloodshot eyes, honest
going on hour four of desperately trying to explain 1.linear pairs 2.vertical angles 3.the sum of the interior angles of a triangle are uh, duh 180 degrees and the 4. sum of the interiour angles of a quadrilateral are really! 360 degrees and
please believe me, i don't have the language so
i am cutting up sheets of paper in triangles and ripping off their corners and putting them back together saying see? see? a line. see? they fit together. 360. no, no, it always works. look. more cutting, fast. more ripping.
yours, amanda L. at 1:01:00 PM [+]
its changing. the weather. i have a pink rubber band. i was an algebra and geometry teacher. reading, trying to read critical path. dark brown hair dye. nina's house. painting on cardboard. taking about jazzercise. food not bombs, evrim, vegan banana bread. the beautiful beautiful beautiful sky. bicycles, physicality, punching, pushing, mean looks that are with meaning, creeping fears. the weekend. that party with the kids throwing bottles off the roof. that party with everyone leaning against the walls and no cups anywhere. playing the card game that andy low's grandfather invented, with the soundtrack. heckling kids at the commons and making up song lyrics about it.
no purpose. purposeless.
i'm going super ultra fast. i make promises to you that i won't write until i have something to really say, and then i break my promises wanting to reach out.
oh. can we walk through walls? all night? wake up with bruises? read books? do everything? now?
yours, amanda L. at 9:05:00 PM [+]
biking through the OH and feeling way sorry for myself, caught up with chad middleton who agreed to get extremely drunk with me, and we drank bottles of paul jones mixed with ginger ale on his porch; i attempted to explain how crappy it feels to remember your ex was dating a girl that was eerily just like you, not only physically but with similar interests and ways of phrasing goddamn sentences, causing one to feel gravely unspecial and carbon copied. chad says i don't know this girl, but youre cool and steve says nah, i like her better already, which makes me giggle. and hey-buddy-robert OFFERED ME A CIGARETTE which you know, reader, is CRAZY, and then he sat with us on the porch making thrilling conversation like
what time is it
when do you think the powers gonna be back on
i watch wheel of fortune and jeopardy;
and then the electricity actually came back on! and i tried to pilot my bike home and of course crashing into everything over and over and it was still early so christopher carroll and i ran around and everything in general was better and better but where the hell is muna h?
yours, amanda L. at 4:36:00 PM [+]
you've all lived and heard about the hurricane and i know i know
so i don't have to tell it
just a little
about how thursday night i rode my bike around and the trees filled up the streets and all the divisions between city and tree were broken down, everything stirred together into a mess, a choking pulpy smell, live trees, it makes my head hurt and i put my hands onto them and climb around and feel terrible and think of dead things and oh god, plants. you know, reader, how they are difficult for me to take sometimes
and the exciting world;
taking photographs in the blue blue morning. of this.
i keep reading stories from a book, an anthology, of stories about amnesia. the best is the one with the girl and boy who meet and have sex and the next morning they discover two weeks have past and they try to stay away from each other but then they can't help it (she puts her hand against his hair and he holds it tight there and looks at her) and the next time they stop they are in a different universe, a parallel one, and they begin to hate each other and the houseplants die and the cat looks starved and the third time they become homeless and live in a dumpster because they lost the world and lost time, screaming blame at each other, and the fourth time they become monsters that the villagers in the town are trying to protect themselves from, from their fighting and their love, and the last time, when the story ends, they are ameoba in the ocean trying to move grains of sand to divide the world in two parts because they can't live together in the same world
i cant stop thinking about plants growing and overtaking the city and i sort of want to make some art about it.
i get afraid of plants.
they worry me.
bicycling to all things. red wine from the bottle on the corners. i had a flu, lost my voice, gave the flu away to five people like a chain letter and could talk again, acted the part of a librarian at jones elementary school, sewed and sewed and sewed;
oh and the neighborhoods with no electricity i wonder at their houses and what they are doing. inside, with candles lit, with glasses full, etc etc etc love you bye
yours, amanda L. at 12:47:00 PM [+]
you know where i am the vcu library? when i tell them i'ma alumni they set up the internet for me.
someone left a disk here its red and labelled spanish.
now that i've got you, o thought process, i don't want to let you go. trying fill up the gap where i did not write for ever. i'm just sitting here. sometimes it is hard to move. i want to keep communicating, to never stop. i left the internet and lost touch and i want to connect, to get letters, to reach out.
more and more and more
to write something plain and topical
i am reading the grimms fairy tales book again
i am reading the production of reality again
i am listening to online MIT lectures on neuroscience and behavior
i am living alone and muna is living alone and one day andrew bourne called and i told him please come back i miss you. but somedays i forget he exists, a little bit.
everyone at the end of summer, with the air this way and their faces this way.
yours, amanda L. at 7:15:00 PM [+]
dear reader would you rescue me from my every notion, please
first day of school for the headstarters and we spend the day reminding them to say please and yes and to generally "use their words" and i smile real big and coax them onto naptime cots and with legs, arms sliding off and everywhere we tell them to hush and you can hear spitty whispers and hair beads clacking from vague points throughout the room, hidden spots behind bookcases and toy shelves;
oh space and place and area;
couldnt wake up this morning. i carry you in my movements, in the back of my throat, in the style of a secret code.
now: not sleeping so much. awake in the night, ceiling fans, bicycle rides, painful pains in the center of my head. hours upon hours visiting the boy in the storefront window, a creeping craving crawling addiction fast as time-laspe films of plants, but you can't sustain the universes you build in the middle of universes, i think.
a sort of universe of written-down-stories. like living inside a storybook. its compelling.
1. taking things further
2. sinking ships
3. the invasion by the future
4. "i always think of the birth of a deer how it sets its legs on the ground"
i want to ride bikes like i am 15 and profoundly sad. yes.
yours, amanda L. at 6:43:00 PM [+]
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.