i live in a closet. lately we are filling it up with sack after sack of things from the thrift stores. hats and scarves and pillows and blankets and i am making a dream bed. that occupies all of the space in the closet. where we pull the door shut at night and its as if we are playing hide and seek from my bright drunken household.
i want a tattoo of a girl being eaten by plants. no, turning into a plant. both.
yours, amanda L. at 1:04 PM [+]
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our hotel has a fucking hot tub and i sat in it until my sinuses were clear and my heart was on fire. on the way to concord NH we found a radio statio that played nothing but weed metal and other metals of the extremely fast and dark variety. today at work we beat the highscore by a thousand dollars. back in richmond in a day and a half. for halloween i think i want to be a zombie gunslinger nurse showgirl ghoul. everything is excellent.
yours, amanda L. at 1:05 PM [+]
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last night i dreamt about teaching, and sleeping on the sidewalk under an overpass. at the same time. as in, i left the class with the aide and walked out of the school carrying two large white pillows (basically the same as the ones i was feverishly clutching in the hotel bed) and laid down on the sidewalk to sleep. then i got back up saying, oh christ i still have to get them on buses and fuck, this looks really unprofessional as i walked back towards the school with the pillows in my arms. and then peter corrie called on the telephone and woke me up and by the way he is so excellent!
yours, amanda L. at 1:06 PM [+]
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i am sitting in the lobby of a best western hotel in pennsylvania. trashy sensational television is on and i am sunk into the cushions. i am slouched into the furniture. i can't make myspace.com work so i am googling the name "peter corrie". because i am a humungous dork and have been stabbed in the face by some brutal crush fairy. anyway i found this, and i don't know about you but i think it is the most blisteringly adorable thing ever but it is probably just me. me and my stab wound.
reading old things. when i write alot i am good at it. when i don't write for months i am not so good anymore.
my life is extremely interesting. but i can hardly prove it to you.
yours, amanda L. at 7:32 PM [+]
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we jumped into the van at 14th and, hollering and hugging, immediately had drink poured down our throats and pills pressed onto our tongues as the vehicle pulled side to side around streetcorners. and then in a small alleyway in almost-south-philly we dragged bicycles from off the top of the car, and we rode through the night to the water's edge. to shove one another and climb on things, throw things, push into things. i rode up and down the pathway with jessie and dished alittle. its beautiful but my fingers itch for saturday and i want to fall asleep to make the morning come faster, which eventually happens, but not until 5. and the hours hurry by then, and suddenly its the afternoon, and even more suddenly i am sitting in the back of the truck drinking champagne and watching car crashes and even more sudddenly than that except not exactly suddenly we're hiding in boxes and we've got glass shards in our elbows and hair and its not so surprising really
i have half a black eye, and its luke's fault, i mean my own fault. i have a prison style tattoo of a paper airplane on my wrist and its peter corrie's fault, i mean my own fault, i think. i have a bright blinding daylightfaced mania over the future and its everyone's fault and i mean it this time. dear this weekend: + + + + +. sincerely, anda L.
yours, amanda L. at 11:38 PM [+]
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cold air that makes us thump our chests with balled fists and then dissolve into giggles. and oh i am Shirking Work right now. sneaking off to play internet. a stack of fliers next to my elbow.
HI! (bright smile) WE'RE HAVING A POSTER SALE IN THE LOUNGE. (big smile) TIL SIX OCLOCK. (bright smile) CHECK US OUT. (big smile) ooh, can i have a cigarette?
haven't written in ages. the wordy parts of my brain are depleted from hours of nightly phone conversations with the Next Big Thing. and now, and now smoking: my fingers twitch. i stare off into space and all my thoughts --which are in the air-- rise up several inches into the sky and then refocus, down, back onto the topic of the boy. stop, gulp, calm oneself. and everything around me pauses, then lifts several inches off the ground. i look at it. everything is bonkers. and several inches above the ground. oh protect me--
what i do these days is live in hotels, wake up in the mornings, fix two or three coffees in the lobbies, drag the posters around, sell them. lots of them. what i do is: i stare blankly into space and think, i will say this later, i will tell about this later, i wonder what is happening, i wonder if i should ask What Is Happening, i wonder if that would mess it up, oh i don't want to mess any small part of anything up, how do i do this, oh i will mess it up its just a matter of when i will. mess up. and then look at the ground and everything in the room lifts up into the air several inches around me
i'm fourteen. i'm twelve. i'm a reverse trajectory through time. i'm all the emotions i spent the last two years slutting out of my heart. i woke up and was pure as a bird and promise rings and fat russian novels where they talk too much and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait. and wait.
yours, amanda L. at 3:16 PM [+]
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1. i'm trying Haloscan.
2. and i want to marry Blogger.
anda gail lewis 2005. stop crying every day.
