on what happens
decided to ride the underground randomly, maybe to the edge of town somewhere, choose stops based on the loveliness of their names. in typical style however, i got off at moorgate to follow and spy on a boy who had been sitting diagonally across from me wearing his hair in his eyes and a suit jacket three sizes too small. it was a a trick, a witch in disguise; and once i climbed into the light i was in an empty alleyway with maze of tall grey banks crouching overtop of me and blocking out all the sky, and suddenly it turned five oclock and bankers began pouring from the doorways. and turning corners fast, and everywhere echoed and was holy, and everyone was wearing black and severe faced and on all sides, swirling me and getting me confused as hell. then i step inside a pret à manger to escape, a bicycle messenger follows after me and asks the lady behind the counter for free croissants. i stare at them. he leaves and i timidly ask her for some free croissants, getting three, skipping out now, light as air. free free free/ i decide to keep going, and rummage mittened through my pocket for the starbucks coupon; together me and the cashier take our time in constructing the expensivest drink possible while bankers line up behind me, tapping and tsking. he adds it up slow. plus soy milk plus extra shots plus flavour plus plus, and i hand him the coupon grandly and then we grin at one another. free.
its cold and i head to the basement to curl into some chair. its okay that its starbucks because warm and free trumps corporate like paper beats rock; find a copy of the Times and page through it with an ear to the conversations in the room. there is a story about a lady who is killed when she throws her body in front of her daughter as jewelry thief was about to shoot her, and for some insane reason reading this makes me start to cry. the daughter lived. her names was xanthe.
here is the article:
February 25, 2005
Mother shot dead saving daughter from gem gang
By Russell Jenkins
A JEWELLER was shot dead by an armed robber as she flung herself across her small shop to protect her daughter, Stafford Crown Court heard yesterday.
Marian Bates, 64, leapt in front of the gunman aiming the handgun at Xanthe Bates, 35, the court was told. She slumped forward, fatally wounded by a shot through the chest and, as she fell, the gunman said: “Silly cow.”
Gregory Dickinson, QC, for the prosecution, told the jury that there was no doubt that it wasthe bravery of Mrs Bates, a mother trying to protect a daughter, that cost her life.
Victor Bates, 65, her husband, pulled an epée from the jewellery shop wall to tackle the gunman and his accomplice, who was armed with a crowbar, he said.
He too would have been shot if the gunman’s self-loading pistol had not jammed. Mr Bates’s daughter leapt on the gunman’s back, wrapping her arms around him preventing him from taking another shot.
The two robbers made their getaway on a motor scooter with two rings, a pendant and three pairs of cheap earrings. Mr Dickinson said: “It was a pathetic haul, worth only £1,120, that cost the life of Marian Bates.”
The jury was told that the man believed to be the gunman, named as James Brodie, has evaded capture since the robbery on September 30, 2003. Peter Williams, 19, has been charged with murdering Mrs Bates because, the prosecution alleges, he was the accomplice who watched the shooting and helped the killer to escape. Mr Williams, of no fixed address, denies murder.
Mr Dickinson told the jury that Mr Bates and his wife had run the Time Centre selling clocks, watches and jewellery in the main shopping precinct in Arnold, a suburb of Nottingham, for 30 years.
Shortly before 1pm, Xanthe Bates was behind the counter, talking to her husband on the telephone, when two men wearing crash helmets entered the shop. One carried a pistol and the other a crowbar.
Mr Bates was immediately confronted by the man with the gun who pointed the weapon at him, ordering him to step back. Mr Williams then broke into a display cabinet, said Mr Dickinson, as if he knew in advance which one contained the most valuable items.
The gunman turned the weapon on Xanthe Bates and said something like: “This is an armed robbery. Put the phone down.” Mr Dickinson said: “For a moment Xanthe did nothing. She was so paralysed with fear she did nothing at all.
“Seemingly because she did not react quickly enough, the gunman started moving towards her, pointing the gun directly at her. Xanthe’s mother, who had been towards the back of the shop, at this stage started moving forwards very quickly, her arms outstretched.
“She was shouting out ‘No’. She was clearly determined to put herself between her daughter and the man with the gun. It was an instinctive act of bravery by a mother protecting her daughter and it cost her life.
“Without hesitation the man with the gun pulled the trigger and fired a single shot into her chest. The gunman called her a ‘silly cow’. It was an indication of the contempt he showed to the life of this lady.”
Mr Bates picked up the epée and advanced on the gunman, who pulled the slide to eject the spent cartridge, reloaded, pointed the gun at Mr Bates and pulled the trigger.
“Mercifully it was a misfire,” Mr Dickinson said. “He would have fired again but for the fact that Xanthe jumped on the man’s back and wrapped her arms around him and did her utmost to restrain the gunman from firing the gun.
“Victor Bates did his best with the sword, prodding the gunman to subdue and detain him in the shop.”
Mr Dickinson said that Mr Williams had seen the gunman shoot Mrs Bates. He hit Mr Bates with the crowbar in a series of “heavy and deliberate blows”. The gunman was able to break free.
Mr Dickinson said: “Peter Williams was not the man who pulled the trigger but he was party to murder.”
Mr Williams has also pleaded not guilty to conspiracy to commit robbery, having a firearm with intent and causing grievous bodily harm to Mr Bates.
Craig Moran, 22, of Bestwood, Nottingham, and Dean Betton, 23, of Broxtowe, both deny conspiracy to commit robbery. Lisa Unwin, 23, also of Bestwood, along with Mr Moran, each deny conspiring to pervert the course of justice.
The trial continues.
yours, amanda L. at 10:33:00 AM [+]
i'm in london. i have good stories but no internet time. dance party/paper forms. i'm putting up your stickers, they get pulled down, and i put up more. yes. tomorrow we'll be in paris and then i'll be able to properly function. STAY ROBOT YA'LL.
yours, amanda L. at 6:09:00 AM [+]
tasha and i kidnap little james into a field trip to the FOR THE LOVE OF JESUS thrift shop because he turns up during our coffees; he doesn't seem interested in anything in the store per se and instead cranes his neck scrutinizing buildings on the way there and back, commenting when one has ledges. i love buildings with ledges.
the girls at 17.5 cafe tell us they sometimes find him asleep in their doorway when they arrive in the mornings and we decide that this is adorable.
yours, amanda L. at 6:51:00 PM [+]
weary, heavy body. its the best kind of day, and in the morning we cycled down the hill, following new turns; where are we; look where we are! we are above the city, we are taller than the clock!! to 17.5 for more drawing (why don't i ever see baby james there? there are clues like a conversation in a school desk) and more dice throwing. my pockets are full of dice. later the sky grew weird and grey and electric, and i ran to the cuban restraunt for beans and rice before i expired, and the cats took turns sleeping on my legs. i should be sewing but i am instead reading the far back entries to richmond people's livejournals, which is something i never really did until lately. i got stuck, i read leeza's for almost a half-hour, until i was back in time and in the middle of last year's slaughterama. now: the past has officially gotten me down. richmond richmond richmond. how much can i hold onto you? memory plus stories plus connectors plus associations plus coincidence plus other people, and i think my chest will fucking burp open and unload the wet wet wet wet wet weight of shared richmond experience. if i can't unlearn the tendency to admit i've also thought that same thought or committed that same act each time anyone says anything, i will collapse from the longing. to not lose ahold of everything.
yours, amanda L. at 4:36:00 PM [+]
luke and i prop the tandem bike unlocked against a trashcan in front of the dining hall and ask two H&M victims with gold ballet shoes and half-bleached hair to scan us in. we are dressed for springtime.
i have pink eye, again. i get pink eye all the time. luke eats french fries, and keeps telling me not to touch anything so i don't give him the pink eye. and i say, i'm going to lick your eyeball and give you pink eye. i'm going to lick your eyeball and then lick the other eyeball. and he says i'm going to punch you in the trachea. and this makes me laugh so hard i kind of pee myself alittle and then i tell luke this detail and this makes us laugh harder. its like 80 degrees outside.
Three guys, stranded on a desert island, find a magic lantern containing a genie, who grants them each one wish. The first guy wishes he was off the island and back home. The second guy wishes the same. The third guy says "I’m lonely. I wish my friends were back here."
yours, amanda L. at 8:45:00 PM [+]
1. my new new bah new new.
exhaustingly u up up up. we're sick of the internet it's my valentine to you, city of how the house flooded. now out for a walk in the wet night. to kiss one another in corners, o richmond. i'm afraid of the future. i like to take leaps. i'm going to teach joey rositano to play piggyback with dice and we'll stay up late over books. everyone should be reading m f k fisher and writing me emails won't you? p.s.: xiu xiu.
yours, amanda L. at 11:32:00 PM [+]
we bike around, wearing layers, talking fast, driven to distraction.
yesterday was as:
1. east end
2. climbing allover a floodwashed sideways SUV, with the trees growing around it like a crashed airplane in the jungle
4. my afternoon with luke stevens, who drives a truck and has a plan. we make our day as complicated and list-based as we can muster, with an inner structure of random errands in the usual fashion, and get things done (buy a desk, go to Salvage Barn for disgusting crap, sit around making mix cds with lots of alkaline trio) like we are PROFESSIONALS at LIFE. <3
!!last night NICHOLAS L. came to richmond from out of the past as if it were no thang, newly 27 and only barely not married. he brought, or followed, aaron who nodded to sleep and disappeared sometime during the third bar, and aaron's girl, who was curiously neurotic and suspiciously anorexic. but, so, as a team: yelled in bars and swallowed milky-looking shooters and found jessie with a smile, where then she expertly/drunkenly piloted me to randolph on her handlebars, and everyone sat under the smoke at howdy's in the style of an evil afterschool rec room, arm wrestling and table soccer and having cigarette after cigarette, drinking vodka from recycled water bottles. this morning my voice was broken in two. i open my eyes to the bright plastic sheet over the window and think, its important to get outside as quickly as possible. (coughing) i think i lost a turn or something. and shuddered over the coffee. don't play too hard, won't you.
bizhan and i rode our bikes, and continued to overtake the universe, because we are a force to be reckoned with.
5. i like strange dice
yours, amanda L. at 5:48:00 PM [+]
brningatthestake: my parents make SOOOO much money
brningatthestake: and they want to just give me the business
stopsandstarts: yer a rich kid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
stopsandstarts: trust funder!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
brningatthestake: they just now are becoming rich
stopsandstarts: sure, sure
brningatthestake: when i lived with them they wernt
stopsandstarts: silver spooner
brningatthestake: haha eat it
stopsandstarts: i cant talk to you, the class difference is too wide!
brningatthestake: lick melted butter out of my asshole
yours, amanda L. at 9:24:00 PM [+]
on strong and frightful maladies
i had the flu and laid in bed for upwards of 20 hours while my muscles moaned and curled. we watched film after film, with the television against my cheek like a cold insect eye. when away from the bed i'd look at it, shocked. it was almost in my lap. i had the televsion propped up onto my throat. its so enormous! but i watched 8 mile and loved the cinematography but grew bored of the story and kept pressing the buttons to fastward to the battles, and did not leave the house. bizhan sat in the bed getting himself drunk with leftover spiced rum that was leftover in our freezer, keeping a running drunken monologue that was notable in both its sweetness and utter rambling constancy. i mean, i am certainly a champion talker, but i lack that sort of endurance, reader. i divided my ears between reality and unreality and occasionally pressed the pause button to give full attention to either and now when i try to think about yesterdays input its a mess of interwoven fibers.
fell asleep into a hazy overstimulation.
barcelona. sunshine. barcelona. sunshine.
i miss muna, which tells me i must be up to no good.
yours, amanda L. at 3:12:00 PM [+]
i forgot to say, last night we pedalled through southside where its quiet and abandoned, the oldest parts, ghost-town style, with howdy on the moped making us sound real tough. with its rumble. we turned dark corners, crossed the mayo bridge, arriving at evan's bar to spin around and around in the rolly chairs and sneak beers from our purses and pockets. its evans birthday today and i must remember to give a call
yours, amanda L. at 4:52:00 PM [+]
perfect morning. tasha opens the door with her bike as i stand in the kitchen with a bowlful of some crunchy, healthy mess, with soymilk. we make the coffee together and sit on the sagging porch smoking gauloises, together. small talk about her marvelous sculpture, a baby deer with two heads. i say, i really like two-headed things. she hasn't slept. we determine that we are starting our periods again soon and this seems too early to me but i shrug and mentally cross my fingers to hope we don't murder one another. and then, its grey but not cold, i ride the now yellow and beautiful painted bike downtown, across the king bridge, i am a bright yellow loved being speeding overtop trains, my city, everything; passes 11th 12th 13th streets and thinks fleetingly about the boy working Somewhere around mcv and i don't know which building per se, and then on to mosby court and MLK middle school.
its an LD class, the school nurse is gone home and no one has taken their medication; they throw chairs, staplers and security comes. the gym teacher from RAP is now the gym teacher at MLK and we laugh in the center of the classroom, catching up. one little boy with a high cackly laugh freestyles about my body and this gets on my nerves so i pick up the dice on the table and toss them out the window into the grass below. i have to hold myself back from laughing at what i've done and this does not go over well. tattling on me to parents is invoked. the dice are his, i've stolen them, i've lost them, i've littered. my mood is grey as the air. what dice? you're not allowed to have dice in school.
i feel the flu again, in my bones. gingerly moving the body. i expected to see luke today with a pickuptruck, like the personification of rabbit rabbit, or the first day of a new calender, but he's still in the beach. i keep feeling like holding my breath. no, no, no, i feel verycalm. yesterday was brilliant, so brilliant that when i woke up my eyes were fucked and i could see sparkles everywhere i looked. i had woken up by myself for the first morning in a week and everything in the world fucking glittered like crazy.
yours, amanda L. at 4:15:00 PM [+]
i will remake the webjournal with birds and forms. plus will carry on like a crazy lady in the borrowed car hollering SUN! ROOOOOF! at pedestrians with my hand waving out from the sun roof and pointing at myself and my passengers until people cringe. also, i will leave hard candy all over the floor and in front of the doorway of 206(?) lombardy street apartment 2, accomplishing this feat by
A. buying hard candy at the european candy store and lombardy market
B. mashing all the doorbells of apartments 1,3,4,and 5 with all my fingers, like a toy piano, until someone buzzes me inside.
and then calling thank you! up the staircase to the sounds of doors opening. and then walk in a big triangle through randolph and around through the fan, stopping to look calmly at a house that has six billion blank tombstones crammed into its front yard, thinking carefully over the situation at hand.
oh running away season. i'll be trying not to pick pockets, and i'll be lying about that. sew all your openings closed, please. please please!
cherry ludens cough drops
and gauloises, and febrile sleepwalker-core, and that snapping sound dave makes with his hand, and this poem which i read hesitatingly out loud to a handful of 17year olds today, and i'm going home to draw pictures in bed, friends. because the world is on its head BTW.
yours, amanda L. at 7:26:00 PM [+]
i decide on the following things: hard candies and having them always in my mouth, miso soup, two cigarettes a day but only expensive ones, reading nothing but literature about the Revolution, that my bike needs a severe overhaul, and that bizhan is totally fucking rad. the end. its nice outside and you can find me laying on the ground with one arm over my face if you need me. like in maymont. slurping on a peppermint.
ps never mind i will be in cary town with lil dave
yours, amanda L. at 1:54:00 PM [+]
dug out my turtleneck sweater that says CHALET WOODS in busted ironed-on letters. that means i'm going to northern virginia of course. and have to represent my subdivision. sat and read a book about memory all morning. when some bitchy cunt tried to ask me a question after she had been in my face all period, i waved my hand irritable at her in the universal symbol for get lost bitchy 16 year old child you should have been nice earlier and now i'm reading a very interesting book and you can go fuck yourself or ask someone in the class what page we're fucking on. and she got all shrill and stomped out of the class and i was like, ah relief. before that, at the chalkboard, i wrote
-Read "Making connections" p 145
-Do "Quickwrite" (10 min) TURN IN
-Read "The Man Called Horse" p 145-154
-Answer Questions (1-7) p 155 TURN IN
in slow cursive. bitchface whined i already did that and i think, LIES!! but say cool, you can do the second assignment your teacher left. and then go too far in calling her out: i'll let her know to expect it from you. at which point bitchassMcBitch went apeshit and i gave her a look. and the look said are you fucking kidding me and do you realize it is 9am and i could be alseep in bed with my arm flung across the chest of some lovely thing with lovely features and well, are you fucking kidding me. and then the whole class laughed, at me. and i said, well i started to say something, but then ah hopeless i gave up mid sentence and she repeated back what i said in this weird voice and i thought what are you eight? jesus fucking christ but just shook my head and laughed and she laughed sharply back we are still playing repeat everything i say games i think and i shook my head again, and the whole class laughed again, at me, and i sat down, confused.
it doesn't scare me to be in front of a classroom. i think it might have when i was younger. but now i can be faced with a faceful of jeering laughter and will just stare at them incredulously thinking oh i am so pleased to not be in highschool. poor little fucks.
rode around. they take apart downtown. i find bizhan in the daytime and i like that. i get to brush and comb and cut and die tasha's hair. rite aid. i want to nap like its 1981. SPACE HEATERS, TREMBLY SPINE, DRIED SEAWEED, COLD CREME.
yours, amanda L. at 3:16:00 PM [+]
the bones in my cheek hurt and i lay my head onto a thick textbook and stare at the snowing outside while the 11th graders talk on their mobiles. i didn't sleep last night because we are much, much too excited over each other to sleep, and wake one another up repeatedly to say things and we organize our bodies into puzzles and take our clothes off and that is awesome, reader. red wine and purple mouths and frozen walks icy air and holding hands and the mounds of blanket piled high onto the (winter) dream bed, which is next to the window, which spills cold light allover the place in the morning and at what point did i fall fast asleep? in this warm bed. the phrase dream bed still calls to mind different emotions for different times but i close my eyes at that stuff, ignoring. now: reading poetry (about death) and i have no patience for this place because every thought in my head i want to turn (to the boy, who is not here, and this is school, not the bed) and share and my hands twitch at the telephone and my bones hurt. this text book! this poem about death! this interesting word! these kids talking about bryant! every idea in my crumbly head!
i practice at not coming apart into a scattery mess of bright and nervous and terrible happiness. i telephone. and say: its snowing. and then i telephone again and have nothing to say. eventually i manage i like you and want to wrap my hands around my face and die.
o cold weather style.
yours, amanda L. at 1:50:00 PM [+]
we eat thick pizza slices and drink wine and sit on the floor and laugh about shoplifting and communism and emotionally disturbed children and i have a secret but irrationally wear an i'm-in-a-good-mood dress and feel that everyone knows anyways.
yours, amanda L. at 7:57:00 PM [+]
yay yay yay yay yay
yay yay yay yay yay
yay yay yay yay yay.
i have had a good something happen to me.
also, today i drew beautiful worksheets and the kids leaned on their desks not sitting down but focusing and collaborating. and then i walked along hull street through manchester which is my favorite richmond neighborhood this week.
waking up in the night to a warm bedroom is good.
and the rest of that stuff.
yours, amanda L. at 6:25:00 PM [+]
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.