i decided that whenever distracting influences invade my thoughts, i'll immediately think about french instead. and if i can't think of any french, then i will think about france. and if that still doesn't work, then i'll compile imaginary mix tapes in my head until the thoughts go away.
yours, amanda L. at 9:13:00 AM [+]
i walked everywhere and found a small white sign that said WARNING BEE'S SWARMING jabbed into a patch of dirt which made me laugh and laugh i found where the bees in richmond are i guess but i took it and soon afterwards ran into christopher who drank a mango juice and talked about how busy he always is as we drove around and during this i continued looking at my sign and laughed and laughed like a third grader laughs, and they have the best laughs, just uncontrollably rolling out from their bodies as they fall out of chairs and collapse onto each other; i am at home and still restless, and not housecleaning, and not this or that, jessie kelley's living room where bike zach convinces me without any effort to move along with everyone else to portland oregon this summer. i take no effort. people ought to not even bother with the convincing part. i ought to tattoo yes across my knuckles. yes yes
the sum of our fears
oh yeah, and that speech from that book
fear is the mindkiller---
hey remember that night where i found that church wholly unlocked and i went and collected you and we climbed allover everything and tried to get the spotlight on and i electrocuted my arm for the first time and it was so surprising and you asked if i wanted to do it again and i considered it for a moment before glancing at the outlet which made me unvoluntarily shudder hard and i said no i don't and for a long time that night was associated with richmond itself and my life in it and i was 18 years old
the girls were all orphans and they lived together by the lake; other things, medicine and illness and laudanum addiction, the countryside, the turn of the century, madness and mania and the rest of it---
yours, amanda L. at 12:41:00 PM [+]
if you walk from second street to baker street you will see a giant mound of cardboard boxes laballed hurricane, a huge amount of whoppers scattered all over the ground because there is always candy all over the ground here, the people that hang out in front of the store that doesn't have a name on the outside and the squat with all the bluejeans hanging on the clothes line, sometimes i talk with them awhile but today i am moody and walk on the other side of the street in a way i hope conveys i am moody and do not feel like talking with anyone today and not please yell at me because i am further away than usual, the worn down paths making diagonals throug the grass, and glass of every color covering the surfaces; i don't have any idea how to talk to you, and i can't figure out how you are, but i suspect it is not the way i suspected, and that if i demonstrate the reality of me it will not match the reality of you, and that you may be the sort of person that doesn't like that, and we will never communicate well, and all is fucking hopeless---
i wrote that this morning at then promptly started my period. riding bikes with boys every single moment makes my cycles short. with now constant bleeding, always fertile/not fertile/reset/start over. i've also got no hair. it was just like that time with the dntel song and the crying, except no crying and no dntel, i let adam with his sign haircuts one quarter cut it, in the street, with everyone around. oh the bizarre market was a chore. hide in the truck from the depressing moments but the depressing moments still caught up with me and said hi.
hi. there you are. and looking okay. i'm fine and not miserable. going back in the truck now. yeah. i'll see you.
and then i saw adam with his sign and i was so weary from this stuff
saturday. that was saturday. saturday turned out good in a songs of enchantment sort of way, i slept here and there, i cut more hair off, its impossible to stop once you get going, and there's then panda garden, and the always-bonfire at helltrack, collapse in an exhausted fever into jessie's pillowy bed for an hour with kids screaming all throughout the backyard; i wake up at eleven pm and just start riding around rubbing my eyes and blinking and heading sort of for parkwood street, not understanding a thing. and things just never make sense. but i do like the night when it changes fast, flickers like a screen. and those of us that go back and forth, spelling out letters made from the streets of the city, vectors, no, trajectories, oh crisscrossing richmond like we fucking own the place
in the afternoon my friends we spraypaint and decorate and coat all things with a gloss and finish it and tie up our loose ends. coffees in paper cups from 7-11. carly is broken faced, talking shit, i buy jessie a lottery ticket because it sounds as if she is put-upon and doesn't the lottery cure it?
if you walk from second street to thompson street up floyd you will run into me because i'm going to the faraway store just because my legs need a good walk okay love you bye
yours, amanda L. at 12:04:00 PM [+]
you can't get tired of bicycles.
pink and orange and black and white spraypaint. attaching the tot tote to any thing thats around, because everything can be ridden, and when it comes time to make a move we grab just whatever is interesting. attaching extra wheels and extra frames to one another. it doesn't matter, we can do it. i have this block against learning how it all works as a whole, though, that i need to get over. i just want it to go when i pedal and thats all that concerns me. christmas lights in the trees. the helltrack beautification project. sunday afternoons in a starry row; i need to make an escape and soon
its not that i don't like what we all do over and over. but we do it all over and over. the parts where there is a tiny shift, a slight change in the pattern, like riding bikes all night instead of going to parties, that is the best time. or waking up saturday at 630 am and walking around. and no one that i saw hours before will be awake, i promise, and the world is awfully ours.
a little bit tired of thinking about bicycles. oh god, and even more tired of thinking about bicyclists.
yours, amanda L. at 12:11:00 AM [+]
we are on a red and white activity bus. the parts of richmond that are dry and strange. sqeak is singing off key with utter relish and ramon is hollering over her and mr wilkins is saying mr white i hope you are teaching sqeak the computer because i want her to graduate and get a job, and not end up singing on the street--- and she throws her purse at him
the bowling alley in hanover. it was wheelchair day or something and every lane had wheelchaired folk pushing balls down little roller coasters that were attatched to their chairs. we eat humburgers and hotdogs and cokes and french fries and onion rings and pizzas and we bowl and the girls like kayla and roneisha and bonita and tiffany and jessica just toss the ball at the ground and spin on their heels and look as bored as they possibly can or they throw the ball with two hands and over and over it lands with a deafening thud, creeps along slowly, barely, but still they make strikes and beat the boys.
yours, amanda L. at 2:27:00 PM [+]
alliteration is consonant sounds that are alike all together in a line and assonance is vowel sounds. gwendolyn brooks is way most interesting than i remember her being when i was in highschool reading we real cool. i sit down in a chair in front of tobias, sophin, kishin, antoine, shanette and cevin, my fifth block is made of my favorites, and i read paragraphs about brooks's life, and i wonder how the fuck i got here, in this place. i'm a fucking english teacher. antoine and tobias and now kish, who is my most favorite after sophin and chelsea because he smiles and makes beats on the computer and is apparently a gemini---the three of them are constantly wheedling me to go on dates with them to red lobster
kish: my birthday two days after schools out...wait, wait, wait up. ms lewis. ms lewis. ya'll, listen. ms lewis...
me: what is it.
kish: i got it. you ready for this? i got it all here; okay, so on june 19th we go out to red lobster...
kish: and then, on june 20th we, you know, talk on the phone, get to know one another...
(class is entirely talking over him and laughing)
kish: and then on june 21st...i'm eighteen!
me: (laughing) you think i'll date anyone as long as they eighteen???
kish: all i'm saying is...i'll be eighteen ya'll. june 21st.
me: we gotta get to know each other better first.
kish: so let's go to red lobster!
me: i promise, the second i get a craving for red lobster, you three are the first i'll get in touch with.
yours, amanda L. at 12:01:00 PM [+]
walk down the street, swing canvas bag around, i heart helltrack shirt, imaginary conversations, monroe park; running into the following people, in this order:
1. ron! 2. new-tight-brohan-eric! 3. bri 4. lafff 5. billy! 6. aaron-who-has-a-video-projector 7.ian birthday 8. katie-who-i-have-met-before 9. steve wiley the marriagable
connected to connected to connect to. everything leading seamlessly into everything else. arrows with invisible lines. like when you let go and the world alines itself and every single thing is a coincidence. a little jet stream. i'm feeling so happy
last night was stuck fast and wandering listlessly around, in the cold where we are unsorted and slipping, could not make a key copy, could not begin to get better over anything, all of that stuff; the remedy was, in this order: 1, 2, 3 and 4, or comfort food, studio, library and my house, or lauren healy, pretty matt, andrew and luke, or going badly to almost to safe to chortling over the telephone book; okay: cooking and talking about books and i really like it when people come over and we smoke cigarettes and one is up and other is down, moods vs. drugs, drink leftover wine and bookworm matt's suddenly alot better to be around, now newly improved with a safety catch to him, which makes him nicer even though he is a traitor. and luke, who visits, plays all the musical instruments in the apartment and again lets himself be convinced to wash our dishes, like the best kind, and is always nice to be around, and thats all there is to say. except i need to go back over my internal list of favorite sorts and add kids that wash my dishes because i fucking love it.
at the moment everything is terribly good in every single way, and when today is good it colors yesterday all over with good as well. when andrew and i wake up we immediately yell about the cold air. jason laferrera is going to help me build a mechanism that will power our video projector with bicycles. he's wearing the volvo hat i bought in france for 53 cents, takes apart a piece of richmond labelled WATER, helps me through my day
amanda do you know tim?
i turn around and its tim shearer.
dee is introducing him to some other amanda.
i haven't seen tim in awhile because he is not here, he's in germany.
we look at each other and i burst out laughing.
he moves to one side and i notice he is wearing flourescent green pants.
and i laugh even louder.
a book called the curious incident of the dog in the night-time which is told from the perspective of an autistic kid, and has paragraphs like this:A lie is when you say something happened which didn't happen. But there is only ever one thing which happened at a particular time and a particular place. And there are an infinite number of things which didn't happen at that time and that place. and if I think about something which didn't happen I start thinking about all the other things which didn't happen.
For example, this morning for breakfast I had Ready Brek and some hot raspberry milk shake. But if i say that I actually had Shreddies and a mug of tea I start thinking about Coco Pops and lemonade and porridge and Dr. Pepper and how I wasn't eating my breakfast in Egypt and there wasn't a rhinoceros in the room and Father wasn't wearing a diving suit and so on and even writing this makes me feel shaky and scared, like I do when I'm standing on the top of a very tall building and there are thousands of houses and cars and people below me and my head is so full of all these things that I'm afraid that i'm going to forget to stand up straight and hang on to the rail and I'm going to fall over and be killed.
yours, amanda L. at 5:56:00 PM [+]
1. your church is red
2. its a new decade
bicycles afixed to the back of the car. new york city, and its bridges, and its almitra, who i love. above and over. walls and drawings. parks. polish neighborhoods. the black heart procession. abandoning the car. baltimore. stars above, the highway, the trucks, the maryland police. daydreams that infect every moment. i flee the city and every place
yours, amanda L. at 12:37:00 PM [+]
schools out, finally, i am not meant for work each every day, skipping practically, down my much-loved second street, past the juices bar which i stop in front of for once i walk past here every day! i need a juice! please! and kalif and i talk random meeting each other talk as he pushes carrots into the machine, one, two, three , and ginger is precious and skip, skip, skip.
buy me a soda, baby.
no way sorry.
hey, buy me a wine then.
you know what? maybe another day, baby.
i like saying baby back to the baby-sayers. i feel less like a meaty morsel if i harass them back. my other technique, which unfortunately my kid brother witnessed on broad street last night, is to threaten children less than half my height with grave physical harm.
(turning around after a chip bag was thrown at my head) hey. don't throw shit at me.
i didn't throw nothing at you.
i know you didn't. your friend did.
he say he wants some of your pussy.
well you tell him he better watch his mouth or i'll fucking kick the shit out of both of you.
(to zach as we walk away) some of my pussy! they aren't tall enough to even reach it!
idea club treasue maps. its post workshop aladins, my workshop was i'm afraid not very useful or informative, afterwards with falafel we talk and we are easy to talk to, the two of us. we are friendly secret-tellers, and not crazies or melodramtic traumatics and that is the truth, and today is the nineteenth! and that is the anniversary of the end of running away ten years ago! that is a decade, all sealed up and bottled like a time capsule, and maybe i have to start new now, newer even than new years day.
i ride around and consider just going for a walk the entire night. decide for sure, but then i telephone a friend with a simple question and am as a result led to house when the doors are flung open and diana saying, come in there's vodka and cranberry juice! and those that sit around the coffee table loud and telling stories, singing along with songs, later when a boy named david is lost i find him asleep under the kitchen table is he breathing? yeah, you can hear him breathing and it is the most adorable thing i have ever seen. diana hoists him up by the armpits like a little girl carrying an enormous cat, she's drunk and suddenly caretaking him to the toilet to help him pee, when he comes out a few minutes later he is rubbing his eyes and saying where are my glasses? and she hands him a cup of water and i hand him a cup of vodka; everyone in the entire house falls asleep and so i bicycle with giggling mark to the studio, which is filled to the brim with my painting studiomates, who are all staring at their paintings wth looks that are somewhere between vague interest and horror; pick up the jungle and curl up on the couch and fall fast asleep, its sleeping drink they gave us i think, its morning now and my hair smells like oil color.
yours, amanda L. at 11:13:00 AM [+]
dave callls, no, i mean, i call. i am wasting time. calling. we decide that since its st patricks day, we'll drink with some kids, somewhere i'd never been to, somewhere that was not diana's house but included diana. that is phrased like a logic puzzle. dave and i dish and gossip about crushes. i have fallen off the wagon, again, the third wave of a recurrent crush, which is rather incapacitating for me. oh fuck, i'm so serious, and its absolutely the worst, and i would walk down the straight and narrow if you would please just fall asleep with your hands tangled in my hair oh and we dish dish dish. i tell stories and roll around on the floor like a pretzel and we drink and grow ridiculous and invent a new game: drunk dial roulette. you go through your phonebook and call every single number no matter who it is, in order and i had a nice conversation with almitra as a result. even though i was embarrassed withmyself all throughout it
we gave up somewhere in the a's.
yours, amanda L. at 11:37:00 AM [+]
remember how in the movie until the end of the world sometime in the middle the entire movie sort of changes and everyone becomes addicted to watching videotapes of their own dreams?
oh fuck nevermind
yours, amanda L. at 5:48:00 PM [+]
the plan keeps coming up again i was so togethered and gathered. this stupid winter. what happened, richmond? around eight o'clock last night everyone started falling apart, and like chance said, worst spring break ever; and jk growing miserable and red-eyed on the couch, and houses filled with it, and i go home late and pull the blankets over my head. how many cried in their their sleep last night raise your hands.
1. blue electrical tape
2. ballet posture
3. 29.97 frames per second
4. the world is always separating
5. synethesia. on how those headphones finally broke me. now the left side of my body is yellow/blue instead of yellow/warm colors and the right side is blue/red instead of blue/cool colors, and that somehow seems the same to me, two school color combinations, and i ought to give the left and right a mascot as well, the left side leopards and the right side rengades or something dumb
time to read poems to each other
last night i stepped out the door and my fingers froze instantaneously and infront of the
door on the sidewalk were a couple of children's books, and how i seem to be looking at the ground alot lately and it is covered with candy, books and perhaps toys as well.
unstable molecules they want to
yours, amanda L. at 9:33:00 AM [+]
there is a fight in the red room. its between dre and the white kid. mr. williams gives up and goes home and all the ISS kids are let loose back into the school, like the flu, like elementary school kids at recess, like puppy dogs. i stop kam at the door.
you're not coming in here.
i'm in this class ms lewis!
no you are not
aren't i in this class randy?
you're not in this class. go away.
(randy) dre fight that white boy?
man, the red room is krunk!
get out of my face, kam. go. away. randy, quit talking to him.
ms. lewis, i'm in this class!
no way, kid. bye.
its chaos. its raining. it feels like a snow day, like a friday, everyone is crazy. the principal is gone so nobody cares about any one thing. i watch mr. williams walk past my door, coat in hand. bye. the lit books are blue for ninth grade, green for tenth and purple for twelvth.
there are screams coming from the next room
high school is crazy
yours, amanda L. at 2:08:00 PM [+]
the cities i am supposed to live in, according to this curious quiz elizabeth found.
6. prodivence, rhode island
5. baltimore, maryland
4. hartford, contestable
3. sacramento, california
2. las vegas, nevada
1. honolulu, hawaii
yours, amanda L. at 12:51:00 PM [+]
when my house is clean i stay in. except i don't.
yesterday our english class wrote poems. i thought, how unbelievably difficult, but they all did it and it was the greatest. my favorite lines from yesterday:
you live a mysterious life
i want to become your wife
jk and carly and i bought all the five dollar bikes in richmond---is normal---and then i wandered off in a fog, the weather makes me moody, i like richmond when it is quiet from no students, i bought the food i was craving (smart dogs, mustard), i walked it home and took this complicated mazelike route, hoping to run into anybody---jk on the phone
zach's cooking all this food.
i really feel like staying home.
well, call all those boys and tell them to come over at least. i don't have their numbers.
luke and ben and them.
and i sit around looking at my toes for awhile until it occurs to me that helltrack is the worst of magnets. and i can't stay in. i haven't any willpower.
* * *
i like the fires outside. i like the tenative raining. i like the falling over backwards laughing like eight year olds, and i like ideas and talk, and how the night before always makes the next day so possible and pregnant with plans, i like the trip home by myself
on the way up the hill i could hear this weird noise and all at once i knew it was the crazy structure on 12th street that musics every half hour, amazingly out of tune and demented sounding in the center of commerce and worker lunches, and i used to drive my bus past it eight times every thursday and sometimes i'd get it right, aligned with its jangling, and i'd turn down the a.m. static i'd i be tourturing the busriders with and laugh delightedly, waiting for the light to change. and last night, last night, when i was so drunk and miserable with happiness, i could hear it all the way on second street, and earlier i'd actually been remembering the bus-driving time, and that is proof about how things line up in that style.
in the morning, in the morning, its a new day, the alarm clock, which i learned myself how to pause, how i can hear that its raining, i don't want to wake up, and i am growing used to sleeping all by myself, i don't know if its okay
springtime makes me so impassioned over everything; everyone
yours, amanda L. at 8:58:00 AM [+]
but listen, friends! because i do not want to talk about that stuff! winter is over, and cruelty out the door with it! and meaningless out the door as well! and mistakedness and troublecore, each and every day: also gone!
this morning i woke up talking. like i do sometimes. andrew is crossing the room, putting on pants. wha--time isit? i murmur, and other bits. andrew is reading and i get up and walk around zigzagged rubbing my head; do you ever wake up with motion and action in an instantaneous style, making you charge around blindly like a wound-up kitten? i pick up a book and squint at it, climb back in bed, i am a warm alive person and it is sunday.
we are talking from our respective beds, volleying talk overtop the bookshelves. the familiar stuff. it starts because i am fretting over nicholas's mention that he is now dating stephen's adrienne, which is profoundly strange, and i keep wanting to call mune to pick it apart, entirely, my whole life in fact, but i can't because i have to remember every second that she's quit me. and so i explain that situation (on the topic of muna) as best i can to andrew, because it is on my mind in the very front, it always makes less and less sense each time i attempt to unravel the mystery
it made no sense at all, it was so weird, i think she's just in a really bad space.
yeah. but everyone's in a bad space lately.
i'm not, i'm not! i'm out of my bad space! starting last week! with springtime!
well thats good i guess
we are talking about our ridiculous winters. about all the consant mistakes and mess-ups and self-inflicted trauma. and suddenly the next thing you know we have come up with a new philosophy! and it is called The Living Calender!!!
i wrote it all over the whiteboard. --write it down! write it all down!!! --okay okay okay! and it is all about how for all the years we are in school we are conditioned in the school-year calendar, which puts fall at the beginning of the year, winter as the zenith/middle and summer as the rest period. but that makes no sense! because we are all TOTALLY MISERABLE AND LAZY NOT TO MENTION FREEZING TO DEATH in the winter. and to make ourselves feel better for not getting our shit together, we commence having ill-conceived casual alliances, nonstop drunkenness, take upon shitty jobs we hate and lay in bed all day staring at the ceiling and wondering what our goddamn problem is. now listen up! forget school! don't you remember how in college it was so awful to be trying to make all your serious artworks in february when all you wanted was to fucking die?
right now, spring is starting, and all ideas are starting, and everyone is full up and brimming and crazyheaded. spring is the beginning of the life cycle, right? trees bloom? baby birds? here is what we do: we embark on all projects now, work full force until fall, doing everything and all things, having so much fun because is is not cold and we are not always and forever sad every day, and then in winter we chill out and coast and rest and do nothing, quit our jobs like usual, but don't feel awful about it because that's the point, winter is absolutely NOT for work, winter is for hibernation and sloth. if all your projects are realized then you won't be angsty about not doing anything. winter is the new summer! pointless and messy!
andrew and i are goddamn geniuses, we decide.
i biked to the world. there was a happy birthday balloon in the trash, floating above the trash, i tied it to my bike.
yesterday i was solid. i said inside my head, i will stay in, in, in. people that want to see me will telephone and invite themselves over and i will entertain and such but otherwise stay in, in, in and make mix tapes and read books and cut and paste zines. and with a telepathic flourish my friend dave calls immediately and he hasn't ever called before
what are you doing?
eatin panda garden to go on my red floor.
where do you live?
200 east main street.
is it alright if zach and i come over?
so d and baby z sit on the floor too, dave and i smoke, i play cds for them, jessie kelley calls
you totally missed ALL of the horribles over here today on helltrack.
ALL of them.
well, i can't hang with those horribles anyways.
um. i don't know?
what are you doing?
eatin panda garden to go on my red floor. and entertaining children.
oh. i wanted to get something to eat.
you could come over here!
we'll probably come over in a little while to ride the track.
we rode from here to there. garren made a fire in the volcano. i learned myself the track again, because ever since it became taller and more frightening i could not do it without the foot down. now i can, i can. i am a show-off. i do it. over and over. on different bikes. nyah nyah nyah, the entire world. it is saturday. kids stay up late. more birthday parties. more everyone ever. and how did i end up at this party? when i mean to stay in in in?
i love richmond and its populace.
my teeshirt however says i heart wildflower
yours, amanda L. at 1:27:00 PM [+]
dear city of richmond, i have alot to say to you. and you're my endless method, as well as my faithless enabler, i'm going over to the studio to make a fucking awful mess of thread and fabric bits and otherwise, and i would like for you to please bring me a mad dog---yellow to deep orange-colored will be fine. YOU'RE THE BEST PAL! love anda.
p.s. why did ryan stop linking to me? hey. ryan. hey you. i see you.
yours, amanda L. at 4:44:00 PM [+]
in the grocery store going big in the produce for my baby. there is candy all over the ground. who has been here?? yellow lemon poppy cake core. springtime mix tapes, i can't stop making mix tapes, if you see me out in the world and you ask politely while catching my eyes with yours, i'll give you one i will. all you all. or i will just offer it probably
chose your own adventure story. finished mix tape #1. you take a shower and use the blue shampoo with the fragrance that always floods your mind with memories of cardiff you cannot put your finger upon and each shampoo you hope it will linger in your hair but it doesn't and sometimes you keep greedily adding little dollops of shampoo to your hair until you've used way too much, an irrational amount, and forget what you are even doing, just for awhile. you rub your skin with cremes, and look at your bruises with interest, and check out your left nipple to see how its doing and its okay. and outside in the apartment A and J are loudly listening to the new blondredhead album, it is A's birthday and he's sitting still in the chair looking tired and a little morose and there is a stripe of sunshine that is striping across the floor and into his lap and onto his face. you are in a good mood and feel less like a dirty kid and more like a cremey girl with tangled wet hair and lots of time to do All Things.
if you grab a pillow and lay in the sun on your belly turn to page 49.
if you then feel a sudden shakiness in your heart and wonder if someone is speaking to you telepathically or perhaps something immense is about to occur and the world kind of spins and you think, this is how i always felt when i was in junior high school, this coiled up explosive prophetic stomachache, and decide that you have a specific illness where both the past and future are constantly invading your present, turn to page 15.
you put yourself in order and with headphones completely covering your ears blocking all sound you walk lightly up main street, humming softly. three times you look up and see the same airplane starting across the sky like a skipping record and you are reminded of your new illness and you frown at it and silently will time to pass, instead of just skitter. up ahead there is a car parked erratically and as you get closer you say to yourself, no, that car is crashed and it is interesting because there aren't any polices yet. once upon the car you turn around and impassively examine the front where the damage is for a few solid seconds because it is free country and you are allowed and damaged cars are curious.
if you then turn around and notice a boy sitting on the ground with a second boy standing and smoking over him, turn to page 122.
and then if the boy looks up at you with nose mouth and hands covered in blood, in a slow motion film way, music in your headphones ringing out and nothing else and you lock eyes and hold them, turn to page 29.
you pull one headphone off your ear and touch your phone with your left hand. has anyone called the hospital for you?
the mix tape lasts 20 minutes in my bag. i give it away to jordan who cooks at harrison street. that night, instead of going to parties and things, i stay in and fix coffee after coffee after coffee, reading books and making three more tapes for saturday.
in the morning this morning: start to wake up and its cold away from the bed. realising that once the weather is warm, staying under a mountain of comforters will not be quite as pleasurable. go back to sleep
yours, amanda L. at 4:19:00 PM [+]
oh nothing ever owrks does it
i can't do a thing right, you all.
except win at scrabble and sing loudly from a bicycle. no.
DAYLIGHT FRIENDS. everyone is all nighttime all the time and in the morning dispersing and dissolving into bits into their daytimes and i so want just to follow the thread instead of flounder until its dark again
but i don't. oh, its me too. i wake up and panic and get myself hidden before everything goes awry. no, yes, no, yes, yes, yes and run and race off and bye.
all starting over, all the time
the reset universe
oh break my heart, friends. no, really, do it.
this is a public diary. i write in it. you may read it, beginning now. but! if we speak in the tangible world together, i would just as likely tell you everything. but i would rather just sit by the goddamn river and take a look at one another
it's andrew's birthday. i've got a present i'm working on. and it is called filling our refrigerator with food. because if it's one thing we don't have, its food in the icebox. nowadays: all the bikes from the hall ended up inside our apartment. i love andrew and never want him to leave. the upstairs door was mysteriously locked. all our leaks are getting fixed. i swear one day i'm gonna leave this town one ear to the headphones all afternoon. oh god, i am an english teacher. only a month; i have favorites: kish, sophin, deron, latasha. (what happened to nate green?) i also like tonisia and jarel and kamron and ramon, but they are brats and i can't show it. na-na and i talked astrology all second period. i am a terrible teacher. they think i'm a huge dork. c'mon, reading is cool, ya'll. "WOW WELL YES LET'S READ POEMS AND GREEK EPICS AND ALL THINGS TOGETHER HEY COPY DOWN YOUR SOL 10.5 OBJECTIVE INTO YOUR NOTEBOOKS PLEASE---"
today cortez was telling his friends about how it was pointless to just get drunk and wasted every single day and how dull that was. i put my head on the taechers desk and stared at my knees for twenty seconds. the bell rang
re-reading beautiful mutants deborah levy. was one of my favorites when i was seventeen. i forgot about getting The Innocents tattooed on my arm, but then again, there's supposed to be a boy that has a matching one. today my mood is: that's never going to occur, ever. today my music is: endless supply of mix cds that flow forth from j laferrera. JIMMY EAT WORLD, AND HONESTLY I DO BELIEVE IN YOU RICHMOND
i like the kids that say yes to everything
but the book makes me remember poetry. no. i mean, impossible (ideal) paragraphs. the innocents sit by the river, she's holding a cigarette and a violin bow. she bows his ear and he makes the sound of a violin in his throat. she hands him the bow and he bows her ear and she makes the noise of a violin in her throat. they are drinking sherry and when they finish the bottle they throw it into the river the end. oh. at what point did all idealizations become impossibles: Richmond: At What Point Did Pretty And Sweet And Love Become Unreal And Unfathomable? feeling soo poorly. a million decks of fortune telling cards, walks at night, mythology, birthdays, vodka splashing down our arms? mind-reading? all the things that were themes but now seem really far off from the real?
real = cardboard copy cutout this weekend. its friday. whaterwe goin to do. city-dwellers: hey! lets meet up in the night. at somebody's backyard. cups in hand. a fucking army. of over and over
--------------------------------------------------------------mix cds and
OH! YOU PUT THIS SONG THIS SONG THIS SONG! WITH JUST HER SISTER AT HER SIDE---I CAN SING THIS WHOLE SONG! AND NOW WE MUST PACK UP EVERY PIECE! OF THE LIFE WE USED TO LOVE! YAY! jdl is a good friend and he knows it, the earth looks better from the star thats right above from where you are, i associate this song with nicholas's messy room at 320 harrison, the room we didn't use because of all the junk, i mean treasure, and the mamasan or how its really spelled that was the only piece of furniture to sit in Besides next To The Window Spying On West Avenue, stephen mayer, who i suddenly miss awfully with a pain in my throat and hands, he and i sat one time and listened to this album FIFTY BILLION TIMES AT ONCE; when everything was totally unravelled and fucked but i still miss it somehow
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
wait. they don't love you like i do.
yours, amanda L. at 10:14:00 AM [+]
it is eight thirty. second street, point A to B, i'm a going-to-worker, i have headphones that cover my ears; the song comes on next is that one by the band that mostly all died in a van accident, bright upbeat brightness and i am not prepared at all for this, and get nauseaous immediately. oh god. van accidents. this song has absolutely no forshadowing of this event. dead kids. for fuck's sake.
first day as my one month as a for real teacher. english. they rotten, i'm rotten, everyone rotten all together. i forgot about greek poems. how excellent they are. the fates. the lotus eaters. the years and years, the vengeance, everything. girls overturning desks, screaming at me. its crazy. i love you all bye
yours, amanda L. at 12:04:00 PM [+]
"yesterday i saw (jessie/some other cutthroat/an IC member) at (harrison street/821/the vcu library) and we got real excited talking about (springtime/the slaughterama/idea club) as well as (something that involves minibikes) and (something that involves my studio). we made plans to meet later (harrison street/jessie's house/my studio/821) and (get drunk/ride bikes/sew something)."
yours, amanda L. at 11:59:00 AM [+]
bike polo in the cul-de-sac, like it's the suburbs of norfolk. i think i'm becoming a boy.
i can't be a boy. i'm very almost period: i'm angry, i'm too happy, i'm dizzy-minded, overly emotional, crushes on the worst kids, the ones that share all my bad habits, i'm absolutely lost in space, i'm crashing bicycles into everything, i'm scary as shit and i know it
the studio is the best place in the universe, lately. we are taking over. paul and i walked to coffee this morning, i was holding my head on, and we climbed around in dumpsters like kids who find treasure every second of every hour; i sewed new things, clean clothes, found object art, IDEA CLUB SNACK CLUB; when i looked at the sidewalk which was covered in little m&m's and shrieked there is candy everywhere in richmond, on the ground!!! who is doing this? and then our plan was formed shortly after
weather turning sour. going to work is a challenge. i want to listen to the yeah yeah yeahs over and over, with my forehead against the sewingmachine; a long long long time ago, i had someone to come home to, now my house is a desert
books about the brain.
less reading when matt's not around.
did i mention how much i adore helltrack and its users?
my kid brother's vegan straightedge and way girlier than me, by the way.
yours, amanda L. at 10:24:00 PM [+]
on going from still, purposeful and good to erratic, messy and miserable
1. walking home from fairfield court, the yellow house that looked like a dream someone's had, trying to memorize particulars for a bike ride back later; i can't stop chopping parts out of my hair. no mirrors anywhere but lots of scissors laying around. calm concentration, focus and deliberate actions, and a brightness in all things
2. the studio. sweeping the floor. placing colors into their places. candy all the time. lukewarm (entropy is for real) bloody marys and percoset to stabilize my mania. it doesn't help, it just makes me feel like a spinning top, all wonderful all over, all misdirected emotions
3. talking about sewing to fifty billion strangers. the ability to speak. to. everyone. ever.
4. at this point i kind of lose the thread. i left? to go somewhere? its warm outside? i am happy?
5. one place. then another place. sneaking away. warm warm nighttime air and that no one knows where i am when i am between places and by myself feeling. Stopping in Front of Houses to Talk. Going To Parties. Here and There.
6. friends that can't stop talking about love, in a way that makes it not sound like archeology and dinosaur bones (which it is and i am sure about this)confusing movements: i leave the awful place, and then somehow arrive back. like a tape loop. i leave the awful place again---as its grown increasingly awful---and somehow arrive back, again. car crash type things, and staring, and traps of the mind.
7. successfully exiting the evening by way of tim carroll, who joins me in traversing the fan twice more, from belevidere to boulevard, talking about saturday usual, i think. i keep dropping the broken phone trying to locate the sort of people i could possible locate at 3am. can't get anywhere, can't go anywhere. tim carroll makes a comment that i find highly shitty and uncouth, and i think remotely that it's going to be difficult to communicate that he's not a good person to muna when she won't speak to me. he turns right and i go straight, like a girl who knows the way to get to her house.
8. my house is not right. fall asleep at the studio, on the carpet next to paul's space because my space has no carpet and that wouldve have been too close to where christopher was sleeping anyways. (oh. i took paul to that party? and left him there. found him drunk and on a bike, like everyone else. i hope he turned out okay.)
9. its eight o'clock. i am raining. no! it is raining, and i am bicycling home. lay down on the bed and try to make sense. andrew comes home right away and i fall immediately back asleep, and when i wake up my hair is curly, like the hangover has put a curl on my hair, all the plastic on the windows is rattling, take us off, its springtime, the one window thats open is next to all my clothes and clothes have blown all over the floor. and i am sad as hell, you guys.
yours, amanda L. at 3:28:00 PM [+]
2. a story about march 5, 1994, for those who listen to/and like storys
i was six years old. i watched the journey of natty gann on television and it destroyed me. i rode my bike around, mind reeling. i wanted to be travelling on trains just like her. going places, away and autonomous and independent, no parents, exploration, newness, motion. i pestered my friends. do you want to run away from home this summer? every spring, every season. i practiced being convincing. i practiced at suggesting things, and waiting for the catalyst. if you can find your catalyst, its on. i spun myself into a yes and looked for the other yesses.
i am sixteen. we are sitting in the car, and i've snuck out of my house just to be in the night, outside, and for some reason there is a rule against this which makes no sense at all. to have to sneak outside just to be outside in the dark, late. but its the rule so i've pushed the table across the room and crawled out the window. i could see the light coming around the cracks in the door to the next room where i was positive my dad was asleep on the floor with headphones on and a cd booklet fallen over his eyes and so i was so, so quiet.
i am quieter than ever in my life during this time, because i am in love with a boy who respects quiet and i am in love then. then the thought occurs to me just then, do you want to run away this summer? and when he says yes i am so astounded i can barely breathe. it lasts only a few seconds and i recover and---at this point everything changes forever; becoming addicted to Taking Things Further---and say, well, do you want to run away tomorrow?
yours, amanda L. at 11:33:00 AM [+]
everything, all at once, very fast the backs of my calves are entirely black and blue. last night, peeling off layers with one hand and with the other pouring orange juice down my throat, everything tastes like grit, and i'm laughing because i am covered in dirt and there is still no hot water, and this is funny: going in the morning to be a teacher that is battered and filthy from riding mini bikes around the track in jessie's backyard
ow ow ow ow; andrew, look at this.
i can see it from here.
do you see my bruises? do you see this?
i see them.
do i need to eat more iron or something?
my legs are totally fucked. i won't be able to walk. oh, ow owww ow ow.
AND YESTERDAY I HAD THE BEST DAY
i walked to lowe's and bought everything i wanted. i bought the following things:
1. a grass-marking spraypaint gun with wheels
2. flourescent green, orange and white upsidedown spraypaint
3. black and my-bicycle-pink regular spray paint
4. mailbox letters that spell Y E A H
5. a reflective thing on a stick
6. a new box-cutter/exacto knife thing and blades for it
7. a bungie cord
8. a new staple gun and staples
9. a bucket and sponge
10. masking tape
11. orange electrical tape
12. little spraypaints in light green, light blue and copper
and oh + + + + + + = = - - # ?
what i'd give for
they tore down that building again
and when i stopped in shafer court to hold a LIVING WAGE FOR VCU EMPLOYEES sign for a few minutes, saying hello to emily in that way, and then running into friends coming from opposite directions, everyone intersecting into a pretty geometry, i looked at the contents of the bags and said, i thought i'd go destroy capitalism later. want to join me? but they both had school.
went to the studio to take things apart. went with jason to the thrift store for more ammunition. more taking apart, with a little putting together, and drinking 22's. and later i tied my stereo to the smallest bike ever, with all the artists staring at the struggle of it, ten minutes of wrestling with the contraption, and with a new order tape blaring rode triumphant circles around the room. muna came in and out again and i muttered to tim carroll, i'm sorry i didn't get out of here fast enough. after all these years of it, i'm used to the tauruses and that sort of thing.
but nothing can get to me. i am bulletproof and prove it. across town to switch bikes for a better one, and the day had fallen into place and i would ride over to watch OC with those kids and i would say, lets go over to jessie's and ride that track all night and of course they would because nothing is better in the springtime than getting dirty and falling down alot AM I NOT RIGHT? and nothing matters at all, and yelling did you see me did you see me??? when i successfully ride over the first and second hills, so happy and not sad; and casiotone songs endlessly running in the front of my head so loud i have to sing them so as to not get headaches
blinding fucking mania.
i don't need love. i just need the weather to be nice.
its going to be awful when this mood crashes.
and its today again, its morning. i know this writing is no good, i did it too fast, i didn't care on it enough. revision later when i'm miserable. now: no work until 12:30. brown clothes to go with dirt skin. the backs of my hands are marked with green spraypaint.
yours, amanda L. at 10:24:00 AM [+]
there is nothing to do except sit at this desk and add bits to this string.
during lunch martha suber the principal came out singing going to the chapel at ms. stephanie ruff, with the hugest man i've ever seen walking behind her and carrying this pink and green and white cake. he's a security guard in a RPS security uniform. the ACDC is my favorite highschool. she sang the enitre song to the teacher table. i sat there practicing being invisible. calm and quiet and still.
nothing to do nothing to do
i'm reading the calendar entries to people's livejournals, 2003, 2002, 2001. eating shortbread cookies. its mrs. thomas's free period. i'm mrs. thomas, english teacher. other people's lives.
it's soo time to put togther fake identities, friends
yours, amanda L. at 1:21:00 PM [+]
1. a story about march 6-19, 1994 for its impending ten year anniversary
one night, we were in st. petersburg. actually we were there in the daytime, while it was still light, noticing a sign that said dali museum, finding the town from the interstate we're experts driving around in a circular, somewhat lost way that we had grown excellent at; we had driven around for awhile and now it somehow was dark. the space between is a gap in my memory, but that is not because of my memory it is because by week two everything had become sort of confusing and dreamlike, and i'd fade in and out. we chose a hotel called the banyan tree. danny was getting a cold, he had a fever, his forehead was hot, he was babbling about how strange his skin felt and he never usually babbled about anything.
park the car. i waited while he went in the office to get a key. when he came back out, his face looked strange and sweaty. he got back into the car, started it up, stared hard at the man in the office who was staring at us, and then calmly swung the car out of its parking space and right into the car in the next parking space over with a good solid scrape and bang. the man in his office was still watching impassively. without stopping, in fact without any acknowledgement of anything amiss at all, we continued out of the space, drove across the parking lot and in front of our room.
unlocking and inside the room and i was excited because it had a little toylike kitchen, which seemed very promising. i will cook and be a grown-up lady in my hotel room i will play pretend florida domestic archetype. what do ladies cook in their hotel rooms for their pretend boyfriends? i will live here forever in st. petersburg and cook little toy meals in the late afternoons when i wake up from my siesta, exhausted from swimming all day, weary from my job doing something grown-up somewhere in the city, but far from home and autonomous with my hotel room and own volition. everything smelled like curry. we took a shower together because we usually would not leave each other's side, his head was hanging down heavily and his eyes would not stay open and then he collapsed on the bed, rolling around with fever. i put a washcloth on his head. we were children. he was murmuring about how that man in the office had made him feel like he was supposed to do something. like there would be a confrontation.
i worried briefly that someone would be cross with us for bashing that car, but had a feeling that nothing would actually come of it. and nothing did. the next day i fried apples on the stove and they were the most delicious thing.
yours, amanda L. at 11:52:00 AM [+]
i'm sitting in an english class at the ADCD. i'm the teacher. i think. here is the desk, its my desk, for a day, this computer, this room, all of it. i don't even know what's what anymore. the chaos of work is making my head strange. arrive, rapidly adapt, leave, forget.
yours, amanda L. at 10:44:00 AM [+]
the best part of my house is the blinding brightness in the mornings. awake with alarms and andrew shifting around in his bed and plastic on the windows making its little crackling sounds and a weird discomfort, the sort you realize has been in the background of sleeping the entire night, i notice the bed is filled with books, on top and under me, pages crimped and leaving marks in my skin. a book pressed into my spine, one with its corner against my neck. there's a funny change in the house. its the weather change trying to run through our windows. when i go outside it practically knocks me down.
i ran back inside. andrew, its fucking springtime outside today! and andrew squints at me from his sleeping bag
yours, amanda L. at 8:52:00 AM [+]
kristy fisher and i would every spring try to build a "cart" that could roll very fast down any number of hills in the neighborhood where we lived. this was a good concept. we would build this thing, sit in it and ride down the hills and wouldn't that be excellent.
we had no idea how wheels even worked, no concept of...anything to do with them. i still don't. so every spring, we'd accumulate an assortment of throwaway bikes, take them thoroughly apart until we had the most taken apart pile of bike parts you'd ever seen. a giant fucking mess. its so amazing that i never managed to learn anything about how bikes worked, i've dismantled so many. at that point we would ask everyone's dad for scrap wood until someone finally found us some, and immediately lose interest in the entire project. and then we'd sit on the little plastic skateboards her brother rode around on and ride down the skateboard ramp and down the driveway and into the street laughing our asses off. because springtime is fucking awesome
i used to walk around and around my neighborhood and think about stuff and climb into the rainwater drainpipes and walk through them, under the houses and streets, all the way to where they opened up and then eventually led into a little stream that led into chalet woods. i'd wander around the woods and sometimes find the cleared-out spaces where the metalhead kids would hang out at night performing weak nearly-satanic games and drinking beers and listening to iron maiden. i was really young, like seven or eight, the woods would be so quiet and i would look at the tree stumps carved with pointy font band names and feel sort of worried for myself and my safety
yours, amanda L. at 3:02:00 PM [+]
1. I flee the city, temples, and each place and its how when you wake up and you are like ???? ??? and ??????? and ?? and ????
the phone ringing at three or sometime when its still dark, gabe's house calling, if i'm not at gabe's house, then where am i; this weekend, though! trains and sparks, handfuls of rocks (its so far you need lots of rocks to hear them when they land) this place and that place, i've got blisters on my hands from the bike, the best part of yesterday might have been the moment at FNB where everyone was realizing that it was the most nicest day yet and we were all going to move through it towards the evening all together; pretending its really springtime for real, we do this with a barbeque, no wait the best part of last night was curtis suggesting a bike ride and that's my remedy for party anxiety and with a soundtrack of modest mouse among other things, listening to him talk about love and it is adorable and: sort of depressing. he's found a way out of the feedback loop, somehow? i just participated in the usual things, the standard pattern. no, no, better than usual. a little better. i can remember it in bits and tiny shards in the wrong order. mix tapes, library books, food not bombs, sunshine and fated things, polish vodka, burnt pie, chinese food and reading, napping in the cemetary, miserable trips to harrison street, boca burgers on white bread with lots of ketchup and mustard, the cure for heartbreak is never, ever drink and pills, the cure for everything is throwing rocks, or maybe soldering irons and string, i'm just trying to stay popular; and we still don't have hot water. showers are soo two weeks ago o my friends
everyone is too skinny. richmond, lets eat more. lets bulk up, and crush our enemies.
i mean, ?????? ?? ??????????????? because its totally ?? ??? ?????? ? ????? ?????????????????????????
yours, amanda L. at 11:04:00 AM [+]
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.