the sailor who fell from grace from the sea.
my brain feels hard in places. i caught up on bizhan's website and it made my heart thump to the bottom of my belly. its important to send letters to your friends, its important to send letters to your friends, its important to send transmissions and encoded communiques to your loved ones, every single day, and i don't. i don't.
what happens: i am a waitress in a tavern, which is fascinating the way that most everything is fascinating, and i enact small sociology and behavior experiments on them in my head while struggling to remember which tables need bread, which tables need sweet teas, which tables need food plated and brought. and lean against the bar with the crossword, gazing into the floor with all my memories eroding into a milky fucking mush. this year, what are years, and on and on.
at the punk show we danced like maniacs while the jacksonville kids sat in tight circles, saying hi to one another with a practised mildness, and we danced even more maniacally, as if we were testing a theory for the thousandth time. we recreated the experiment and found the data sound. the theory of some people dance all crazy and its not unnoticed that the majority of people are not even watching the band, and this fact, in its own way, become fuel for the dancing.
oh the night and the parking lot, the noise, and the hands clasped to shoulders. later i stood still and tried to separate my mind from the world, swaying gently from all the alcohol, and thought, this is good now. but when i am forty years old it will not be okay to be here, at this punk show. so i guess i will have to write books then. maybe live somewhere remote, coastal, unamerican. fuck, i need to call wes and find out if we're still getting married.
lizards running allover the ground. i'm not going to make it.
yours, amanda L. at 11:24 AM [+]
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1. i'm trying Haloscan.
2. and i want to marry Blogger.
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.
