Wednesday, January 17, 2007

news from the crippled front


so i found out that i have arthritis in my right index finger, from overplaying. It's been bothering me for months, since about september, but i've been doing almost nothing about it. now i'm facing the ice and the arnica.
despite that news, i sit here and type away, exacerbating the problem i am sure with my clickity clackity habits. late last night as i was bemoaning the state of my sad swollen digit and washing out a wine glass in the sink, the glass exploded (i was NOT drunk, yet) and gashed a half-dime-sized chunk out of the finger on my OTHER hand. so now i'm a fucking bi-lateral cripple. actually, i am writing this using a stick in my mouth.

the rest of the night was good. we took all the cash that we'd collected for the pan 9 fire disaster (give at at the onion cellar and steven counted it on my kitchen table and all the piles of cash were funny so noah and becca and katrina and i set up the table to look like a drug den. we used white face powder for cocaine and dumped it all on a falco LP (yes, "rock me amadeus" falco). steve bundled up the tens and twenties while i shot pictures, trying to make everything look incriminating. if the feds come, i'm fucked. maybe this entry will prove me innocent.

the responses from that last entry destroyed me. how many times do i have to say it? yes, i read every comment. every comment on myspace, every comment on the website journal page.
it blew me away to imagine so many people within such a short time reading and responding. must have hit a nerve. i will come back to this. it got me to thinking about why i love this so much, why i do it.

i am constantly called on to explain, to journalists, to whoever, why i do what i do, why i write, why i perform. i feel like it's taken me years to discover (admit?) what it is about this that's compelling.
people laugh nervously when i tell them that i'm not passionate about music and never really was. i've always been passionate about what music DOES, what it CREATES. when and if i find other ways of doing it, it's all the same.
making theater can be similar. music has it's own special magic that nothing else touches, nothing achieves. but being honest about it seems to ruin the fun for people, for fans, for journalists. i don't LOVE writing songs. i love having written them, i love HAVING them. i love watching them WORK. it's hard to explain. i try:

when i was 10 or 11, i remember being really bored one summer weekend and coming up with a fantasy that i could create a fair/circus in my parent's backyard. oh my god, i was unstoppable. i wasn't as concerned with the details of how to arrange for people to attend this stupendous event as i was with spending every waking minute of the next three days sitting behind my parents ancient apple IIe and creating a FLYER for this non-existent wonderland. i created a map of what it would like like, where the rides and vendors would be, what you could buy at the merchandising stand. this was, fucking, 1986. then i got distracted by the likelihood that it would be an abortion-like, unromantic yard sale with the neighborhood kids and i moved on to other things.

when i was 18 or 19, i remember living in the basement of eclectic, the society i belonged to at wesleyan university. i had somehow gotten ahold of a 3-disc collection (stolen from the college radio station, i'm pretty sure) called "the beat generation". it was a compilation of wicked hip 50s ephemera, music, spoken word, it truly set the scene. allen ginsberg, lenny bruce, recordings of kerouac reading aloud, bop and more bop, burroughs....they were all there. i was unhip. i'd had no idea. it was like all of a sudden someone had walked me in the backdoor of a place i'd been craving to visit since birth. i remember freaking my shit out night after night thinking "what are we DOING???? we're doing NOTHING!!! fuck. we could be DOING everything!!!!" i felt like i had found what i came to college for, but instead on it being on campus, it was on compact disc. eclectic was an old house with lots of character and there was a large room across from mine, in the basement, with a padlock on the door. i found the key from someone and came upon an empty, dingy space the size of a large living room and my mind went wild: "yes, YES ! here ! this is where we'll put the tables and chairs. this is where we'll put the stage. i'll make coffee. we'll drink whiskey. we'll chain-smoke. fuck this is going to be AMAZING." i even (and this part i'm embarrassed to admit) started donning my hip russian sailor shirt and hep fifties beret when cleaning out the space (oh yes, with awl and broom and vacuum, it took days, and my papers and grades suffered most likely). i was so convinced i would create bohemia for my campus. the only problem was, i had no friends and no idea what to do next, after i'd cleaned it. so i got distracted by the likelihood that it would be an abortion-like, unromantic cesspool of unsuccessful beer-drinking and uninspired chain-smoking, much like the parties we were having weekly on the top floor, where even things as hip and hep and shooting heroin didn't have any substance, everyone was just so blase, bored and over it all. i moved on to other things.

when i was 24 or 25, i moved into the cloud club and immediately started organizing events. the cloud club is a fantasy space, four floors of architectural exploded vintage wonderland gaudi bliss. pope would help me run the parties...we would have 300, 400 people over. we called them (after the shadowbox theater that i was running at the time) the Box Events. The first was Box I, the second Box II, and so forth. I booked performers of all kinds...bands, dancers, poets, filmmakers, whatever, we squeezed it all in and people performers upstairs in the attic-space, in the garden, in my bedroom, in the empty apartments, wherever there was space. but i noticed something about my quality of time during these events. i was RUNNING them, not really attending. much like the brigade nowadays when we're on tour, i couldn't really enjoy what i had created.

but i sort of enjoyed it that way. i sort of loved floating around all night, wearing a stained and ripped kimono and always having a sloshing wine in one hand and a nat sherman cigarette in the other and feeling like i was some sort of self-made art deco portrait gone bad. greeting people, meeting people, but most of all (my favorite) wathcing people come into the house and seeing their reaction to the atmosphere. watching people light up, watching people get inspired, excited, everyone sharing some feeling that we were somewhere special, all together and maybe never to be repeated. good conversations come out of a space like that. it that sense, i always assumed, that's what these events were for. the art, the performers, the stained kimono were just there so that person A might actually get into a better conversation with person B than if they met at a downtown sports bar. i loved running through my kitchen to by bedroom to grab something and seeing people i barely knew sitting on my couch, engaged in some sort of profound conversation. my head would turn and see them and say YES YES YES ye sYES !! this is why i do THIS//////but i could never slow down to sit there and be a part of it. i was always moving too fast. this is what it's like at shows. no matter how much i want to enjoy the world i've created, i'm usually too tired or too busy and distracted. i always wish i could bottle it, take it home and enjoy it in peace, in small and luxurious doses.

here;s the thing. in a totally bizarre way, i feel like the blog fills this gap. though there's no hep music and no intimate mood lighting to enhance your experience, these calls and responses are basically distilled essences of profound party conversation. even better, they're here for me to peruse at my leisure and respond to at will, without having to rush off and make sure the house/club isn't on fire. the quality of the comments is exactly representative of the party swath. some people don't respond, they stand in the corner and smile and clutch on to their beer for dear life. some people add sharp and short but perfectly timed comments. some people talk a blue streak (i was mesmerized by the 2-foot comment one of you left about your entire life and ex-girlfriend sasha and how it';s all intertwined. jesus. but awesome). but the fact that we're all here at the same time, riffing on the same subject, this is miraculous. there's an incredible book by nicholson baker called The Fermata in which the protagonist has the secret power to stop time and move through the world as everybody and everything else holds perfectly still. this is sort of how it is: the blog is like a fermata at a perfect party. you can stop at one conversation and enter it. you can skip forwards and backwards in time and find those things and utterances with which you connect. the band did have to come first, but jesus, now there's tHIS? how did i get so lucky? i finally went to visit pete wentz's blog to see what he was writing about. i was disappointed. i want DETAILS, motherfucker. give me some soul. lets' not even get INTO avril's blog., it's a tragedy. the only thing i regret is that the comment section of these things doesn't work like a forum in which you can comment on people's comments and actually start a conversation. this would be more interesting. maybe you can do that. i am a luddite.

anyway that is my I Am Amazed By technology speech of the day.

i was driving home yesterday (in my benevolent landlord's car, which is named cloud one, which is what the license plate says, since the volvo is resting peacefully in inert woe) from having dinner with my folks out in lexington. this fucked up thing had happened earlier in the day to the driver's-side just broke off it's track and jutted out of it's window-bed like a huge menacing triangle. it wouldn't roll up or down, it was just stuck and letting in all of the freezing rain. i cranked the heat and was barreling down route 2 and listening to NPR, which had been loaded with martin luther king (jr) speeches and stories due to the holiday. somewhere, the windshield wiper in front of me stopped working. i mean, it moved, but the wiper blade just crapped out completely and the freezing rain collected in front of my field of vision, blurring the road completely. i tried, at two separate red lights, to get out and wipe the blade off, straighten it, tame it, but it was fruitless. the blurred patch in front of my face (whihc was really only about 4 inches, but it was EXACTLY where i needed to see the road ahead of me) was still covered in frozen schmutz.

so i was getting freezing-rained on while trying to figure out which was wiser: try to adjust to the blurry version of the road through the frozen schmutz or try to artfully tilt my head to one side, to the left or the right by 4 inches, to get a clear view of the road in front of me. while i listened to martin luther king rallying for the general strike in memphis. it occured to me that this was fucking life, most of the time. you don't ever get a clear view of whats in front of you, the wiper can't be fixed, and you';re basically left with the decision of whether to adjust your eyes to the blur or crane your neck. your choice, but you gotta make it or you're going to crash, motherfucker. when king started to ramp up the speech to the part about not fearing anything and how the march had to be and stay non-violent, i lost it and started to bawl. three days later he was shot. this really helped in the visibility department. wait, it gets better.

as i pulled onto storrow drive, i started to get static. this has been happening every day for the past 2 months, since i've been driving on storrow to get from boston to cambridge. it's only with NPR, it's just like a void that cuts out. you can get about 45% of whats being said but i usually get so sucked into the news that i deal with the static for that 3 minutes, knowing it will go away. it usually sounds something like this: ".BRRRZZZrrrrrttttsaid that the US shshshshhhshhhhtackle the violence or it would spiralsshshshshshsggghhh as a result of Shias killing Sunnis anzzzrrrrrrrrrromments came after 70 people ZZZZrrrrrrrrSHHHHH injured in a double bombing at a Baghdad univerZREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEblew up outside Mustansiriyah UnivzzzrrrrrrrrrrKAAAAARRRKKKKAAAAAsuicide bomber then targeted studeBBSSSSZZZZZZttttt" etc. sometime there's some beats form a nearby frequency in there to give the news some nicely needed soundtrack/irony. anyway, i was dirving into the static pocket and for some reason, instead of just static it was a complete warp between two stations. i recognized the song. o, did i recognize it. it was "lost cause" from beck's Sea Change album. the universe was definitely lining shit up. it was pairing up the song (beck would have loved the poetry of this i'm sure) with MLK jr's "I've been to the mountaintop" speech and it sounded sort of like this:

pzzZSHHHHHHHHHHZZZZHhhh/KKzzzi'm tired of fightingzzzzzzzrrrrrreZZZZZZZZZZhhhhthe nation is sick, trouble is in the land, confusion all aroundzzzzzzhhhhhthe masses of people are rising upzzzhhrrrrrr assembled today, whether they are in johannesburg, south africa; nairobi, kenyazzzzzzzhhheeeI'm tired of fightinghRRRgggggyork city; Atlanta Gerogia; zzzzzzzrrror memphis, tenessee, the cry is always the same: we want to be freeZZZZZZZHHHHHHfighting for a lost cause.....

it dried my tears and made my entire night.

p.s. no word from mr. dark haired/hat man.
then again, i haven't emailed him.



Andreas said...

i feel the exact same way about writing stories. i like them when they're done. not in the process.

i'm not trying to get first post, i am just checking my mail when you post and here i am. again.

wridget said...

so, I'm writing this from one of those drug studies where they pay you to let them give you generic versions of drugs before they put them on the market and see what side effects you get. If you ever see a commercial for something called Ultram, and one of the side effects is lightheadedness, that was me. Hooray for starving artists. Anyways, it's after "lights out", and I'm huddled in one of the bathrooms reading your blog because I can't sleep, and getting that buzz one gets from doing something slightly verboten.

In any case, it's a crazy, sterile environment, so I for one am grateful for the hep party you're throwing out here. I've been one of those people sitting in the corner, watching, listening, but not saying anything, often because the amount of comments gets overwhelming, and most people have already said what I wanted to say anyway. But there's only one comment thus far, so it seemed like a good time to come across the room from crazy lab rat world and say hello. Thanks for being human tonight. It helps.

Natalie Rose said...

You destroy me, Amanda.

Yes, I was actually a big enough asshole to reply with a comment that may have been longer than your original entry.

I don't talk as much as I write, but, Jesus, do I write. I stopped apologizing for it a long time ago, and am repressing the urge to do so right now.

And so, until I return to my senses, I'll stick with this refleshingly short comment and save my rant on music as being the closest thing to real magic I've ever encountered for another lapse in my better judgement.

Thank you for... existing. Nevermind all the amazing things you do on top of it. Like icing on a chocolate zucchini cake.

Erika said...

hmmm... hi. well, the whole idea of this being like a party is making me think in the mindset of actually BEING at a party, even though i'm typing. it's a party i've been to a couple of times but i've never talked to anyone. people i don't know by name, just one or two faces look familiar.... it's only the space we're in that i recognize. the sounds, the smells, the host. i do sense however, these are the people i want to be surrounded by.

though i have things to say i feel too new to really butt in to the conversation with all of my views on a topic. it's just the time come out of the dark corner where i've been standing by myself and say hello, make one thought known.

i will say that what art does, be it music, film, sculpture, painting, theater, etc, etc, etc......
what it does, how it affects, is sometimes more powerful than what an artist can feel or experience in the making of it. but then really doesn't it just go hand in hand? the full effect of art's potential isn't achieved without both? the struggle and frustration of making art and then the conversation, enjoyment, provoking, thinking, inspiring....... the enjoyment of provoking conversation on inspirational thinking? ha. well......

since i voiced my one thought, i'll go back to my corner, still stirring around other thoughts in my head, until someone will come talk to me. or until the next couple of drinks really hit me and i'm "brave"/ drunk..... in a figurative blog commenting sense.

- eri

Anonymous said...

now that you have addressed that you will read even the longest comments, i'm sure that this entry will be flooded with the 2-footers.

i suppose i'll collect my thoughts for NEXT time.

Len Tower Jr. said...


the most magical thing to me, is that we are: feeling, thinking, sensing, sharing (there could a two foot long list of these adjectives) - the total gestalt of us all.

art, including music, is just one set of the spells we share, create, use, incant, (2 foot ;-), ...

best -len

Len Tower Jr. said...

a's fingers

Mom and Dad and all their relatives swear that Glucosamin with-or-without Chondroitin with-or-without MSM helps their arthritis

several friends of my brother found that Glucosamin and fish oil eliminated the pain of arthritis in six weeks

i suspect that vegetable sources of omega-3/6/9 oils would work as well, with less mercury ingested

best -len

broken0wish said...

Hey Amanda,

I think glucosamine works well for arthritis, you can get it in tablets or in apple crumble flavoured fruit bars (yeah, the latter is a little bizarre, but tastier than a tablet!). I know this because the amount of writing I do with my law degree caused me to get a bit arthritic too, with lumpy clumpy fingers (esp. index finger and middle finger) and glucosamine worked rather well to dull the lumpyness and the pain. Love you heaps,


Jonas Marczy said...

Sorry guys but as a German it's really "funny" to see you getting all arty about tossing in German words.
No, this is not meant as an offense, I merely wonder what this German suggests in your opinions? Just German cabaret?... why not French? Everywhere I went, German was associated to Hitler and Rammstein.
Please, do explain.
Just my two Deutsche Mark.

juxtagon said...

I gets ya on the that: You're the Hostess wi the Toastest. The aftermath is good but I still prefer the act of creating.

Sure you just didn't bang your finger on the keys too hard for too long? Had something similar to my left index,but that was due to switching from heavy gauge unyielding strung guitars to light gauge strung .Tho the idea of seeing you wearing mittens whilest doing gigs does sound ...

"I'll get me coat"

feral_sherryl said...

Amanda, if this is a party, then I want to thank you for opening my eyes and introducing it to me.
In the ‘real world’, I hate parties. When I do go to one (rarely), I’m usually the one that stands in the corner, hoping for it to end. Otherwise I’d imagine ways to make it more interesting. Normally, I just picture myself fitting in with the crowd… talking to them like best friends… connecting… But in reality, I know that I’m not like that.

This party however, I can truly be myself. You’ve opened up a world where I can finally speak and not worry what people think of me. There’s no judging of people or personalities.
Reading your blog and reading other people’s comments, I feel like I can connect to them, and to you. It’s a party where everyone is welcomed with open arms and valued. The kind of party that I’d always imagine being at. You’ve welcomed us all with open arms and I thank you for that. We all do.


TongaLH said...

It's weird how technology can bring together such a mess of beautiful people that enrich us by just typing their it not?

Funny your landlord's car is duped "Cloud One". I have a friend who lives in San Fran. He and his partner retrieved an older Buick from the grandma who resides in the midwest. They named her "Puddin' on a Cloud". How fancy. And cute. My car names are always complex. Like Valhalla or Sesquipedallian or Mnemosyne. But that's me for ya. Complex. Or so I like to think.

Cheers m'dear.

Paul said...

You absolutely must come to Latitude in the summer. Don't even perform. For once you could be in that conversation, on that sofa, witnessing this unique event and talking and thinking and smoking and rambling and sloshing and doing all the things you don't get to do because you work too fucking hard, Amanda.

Not that we don't love you for it. Every time I meet another Dolls fan it's like that sofa just materialises behind us. Maybe a break would be good, though, since you're broken at the moment anyway.

atonalruss said...

Hi Amanda,

I find myself checking my rss feed each night to see if the "party" is going on. Thanks for the OC. After seeing it I understand the challenges you faced. I walked away a bit confused about ART's contribution, but was grateful to finally hear you and Brian live. Now rest your voice! You've certainly earned this break. I'll be finishing my blog entry on the performance later today if you want to check it out.

Keep blogging.


p.s. - Thanks to you and Brian for introducing me to Neutral Milk Hotel on Saturday night. Your encore of Two Headed Boy was amazing. I've been listening to their music all week.

R. Jones said...

I sat by you at closing night of "The Onion Cellar," and slipped a note on stage for you after the show was over, not knowing if you would receive it or if it would get swept into some dustpan with flower petals and trash.
So. Forgive me if you did find it and this is redundant, but incase you didn't and this isn't-
I wrote something along the lines of how your show made me finally accept that I am not in love any more. I have been foolishly holding on to a ridiculous situation that has lain rotting in the death grip of my hands for far too long, and sitting by the stage and sobbing like an idiot the second you started daring me to "go on, find yourself without me" was the most simultaneously miserable and magnificent sensation.
I didn't have any paper other than that which was bound into my book, so I had to tear a page from Kierkegaard and thank you for creating a place and a time that allowed me to wake up.

Reading this post, it seems like you've been doing that same sort of creation for years, so me telling you how wonderful and necessary it is would be wasted and futile. But I'm going to avoid pushing the "backspace" button and keep that encouragement here in my comment, regardless.

I'm really not ridiculous and gushing, typically. I apologize if I'm coming across that way, I just needed to make sure that you recieved my words of thanks.

Whatever you're doing... it's working.

the Kate said...

This doesn't feel like a party...
It isn't rheumatoid arthritis, is it? I skipped class today, don't tell anybody. I'm getting drunk and painting instead. That will feel like a party.

Damien said...

You have two online mirrored presences, already, so i'm loathe to introduce another to a self-confessed luddite, such as yourself, but (he stated with apprehansion, pausing for fear of what pains this might bring)... There's Always LiveJournal.

You are able, there, to reply to each and individual comment, creating threads within threads, conversations that spiral out and fractal in on themselves... Beautiful and complex patterns of conversation and meaning.


Just a thought.

Len Tower Jr. said...


is better in some ways, but like the blog software here on, it leaves a lot to be desired.

Livejournal puts all of the threads on one page, which makes it hard to track what's recently posted.

Does anyone else know of any other alternatives?

I like to see a blog site that worked like this one, with the addition that each reply would also appear as a thread starting post in that user's blog. With back links, etc. to make it all work. That way you could look at one thread at a time.

Be nice to also have an option that only showed replies on a thread that one hadn't read.

best -len

Len Tower Jr. said...

a's fingers


there are other ways to input text beyond two handed keyboards,
including voice recognition software, and one-handed keyboards.

Here's a place to start:

best -len

E.M. Green said...

I've read these last two entries of yours interrupted by telephone calls about students asking to get into classes that are full and instinctively hearing that the electronic stapler needs replacement staples and offering them on the spot. I'm a few inches from insanity, the socially acceptable kind of insanity that everyone is supposed to have so they can talk about their common neurosis together during lunch or smoke breaks I don't take or in the middle of long stretches of silence and longer stretches of caos. Time is fuck all around here.

I get it. Everything you've said. Maybe not in the way that it was supposed to be gotten, if it was supposed to be gotten any specific way. In the way a veiwer "gets" abstract art, taking it in from their own perspective, is how I get it.

You're black and white and read all over, Miss Person.

You know, (this is what I wanted to say I just remembered) I used to be of the mind that all that glittered on stage was above me. I would never compare myself nor ever see myself in any way as "cool" as the person who was wittily or sincerely expressing themselves.

Now, I still get giddy in the face of celebrity. I squish my cheeks and show my little buck-teeth in embarassed glee, but for different reasons. I can say, "Oh yes, just like me. That person, I can relate to that person. He/she/it's not a foriegner. She's a person, not a Dresden Doll. Though she is that as well."

Regardless of my not worshipping the celebrity of performance (beyond the giddiness I feel), it is pertinant to say to you that you've not existed in this world without effect on people. Your writing (mostly your blog, actually) has inspired something. I'm not telling you what, though. It's a surprise. I don't even know the answer.

So for lack of any more ramble I offer this:

Do it--never put off experience if you can help it.

And never assume that one answer is meant for just one question. In the same way that all questions have multiple answers, all answers (in turn) have multiple questions.

note to self: follow own advice

Natalie Rose said...


First, on LiveJournal, since it will be shorter: I think in terms of following a thread, LiveJournal is probably the best outlet. (BillH already reposts Amanda's blogs over there in The Dresden Dolls Community). Granted, when you're getting a few hundred replies, it can get pretty overwhelming with multiple threads dangling down... The other option would be, of course, the forum, i.e. The ShadowBox, but I personally find conversations within threads on forums pretty hard to follow. There's usually at least 3-5 streams of conciousness going at once, though the advantage being the "quote" feature. Of course, you could do almost the same thing here with a little effort and/or basic knowledge of HTML.

*deep breath*

I agree with your most poignant point, that the real magic is from gestalt of us all, spurred by whatever artform. Recently I discovered some of the more free-flowing and beautiful benefits of "public art," and realized that it was never the finished product that made all the hard work worthwhile, but people's reactions.

About a year ago I started a sort of public collage that became more of a type of controlled graffiti. People would write and draw the most random things on the wall, and I would just stare for hours, attempting to follow a stream of consciousness. For next term, my head is overflowing with ideas to decorate the dorm to promote others to make public art. (Ranging from the blank collage again, to a found item collage, to posting pictures in request for captions, to collages of quotes or song lyrics or pieces of advice specifically... I think it'll be the most wonderful way to decorate our communal living space.) Of course, one has to be prepared for all the negative reactions too...

Music, though, to me has something so unique... that it has forced me to dedicate my life to it.

When I was younger, my Mother used to get goosebumps when listening to music. For a very long time I didn't understand this, even found it a little frightening, until I started to get goosebumps of my own. Music is better than sex to me; literally, not figuratively. (This may be a bit more of a reflection on my previous sexual partners than it was intended to be... but, meh.) And now, as part of my undergraduate education, I find myself at the very gates I had once forsaken. "No more music," I thought, "...just a little on the side." And suddenly I'm right back where I started, telling my plan committee that I'm studying "the science and psychology of music." Which, I suppose, ultimately just means I want to know precisely how to play with people's emotions through music instead of doing it somewhat incidentally. Or, more likely, I just want to understand how something so simple and natural could be so powerful, especially when we as humans are harnessing said power without any sort of definitive understanding of what we're doing.

"All art aspires to the condition of music." --Walter Pater

I’ve always considered myself a writer first (maybe just so I can justify writing so damn much all the time? And definitely because I have never considered myself “good enough” to be a professional musician—such is the product of being classically trained.), but what inspires my writing more than anything is music. Music inspires me not only to write, but to draw and paint (despite lack of talent), to think, to dream, to imagine, to create… Music, or it’s “condition” that I think Pater was referring to, needs no medium like a painting need a canvas, but, moreso, instead of encouraging intellect, it suspends intellect and attacks the emotions directly.

Music is such a magical experience for me because of the other-worldliness is conjures up in my head. All I have to do is slip on my headphones and suddenly I’m no longer “me” and I’m no longer “here.” Suddenly, I am every and all possibility that I can dream up. The images I see in my head will make me smile, make me dance, make me cry and hyperventilate, and the right rhythm or note can make me stop dead in my tracks, break out into a run, get goosebumps on my arms and legs, or even be outright orgasmic… and equally as painful.

It was sometime in high school that I reached this place, that I was convinced I reached that “other plane” my choir teacher would rant on about. But, now in college I’ve realized there is no one magical place… there’s as many as there are listeners, as there are ears and brains. Everyone listens to music differently, which I think is wonderful, but… some people, apparently, don’t see anything at all. Such was the case with Sasha. I was completely floored when she told me that she didn’t see pictures in her mind when listening to music, in fact, she saw nothing at all. For her, almost always, the most important part of the song is the lyrics… but… I still don’t understand how she can enjoy music as much as she does and… see nothing at all. And yet, in the context of her, it seems to make sense. But it makes me sad. And I wish… I wish I could give everyone the opportunity to experience music the way I do, or rather, give everyone to experience music to the fullest of its extent in their own way.

The beautiful part, though, is that slowly but surely, I’m learning to listen without slipping on my headphones. Listening through headphones is listening to a pre-recorded sound, and as disturbing powerful as it is listening to something that has already happened, its ever more exciting to latch on to something as it’s happening; whether it be The Dresden Dolls playing live on stage and their explosive energy gushing out all over the place, or the sound of the wind through the trees or your own footsteps. Its hard to listen fully to things we’ve dubbed as “noises,” but, there is the same intense energy and beauty there… it just takes more effort to find.

Music, I’ve come to think, really, is motion.

Clive said...

Well after seeing you guys at ART, and buying Yes Virginia, and stumbling across your NPR interview, AND reading that you have arthritis in your pinky (I can sympathize as I began to creek a while ago), I'm even more convinced that you need to write more songs. Look after the pinky, sit down and write a MUSICAL - something about a girl who carn't find love and goes home with a stranger.

Maybe he takes here back to his flat, but he takes here back to her building, what a coincidence, then to her door - now its weird and inside its a male version of her flat, same books, same music, its her place with an Y chromosome....... lots of room for theme development

Clive said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Kitri said...

So, I'm pretty young. When people ask me what I want to be when I 'grow up' I'm always tempted to say "Amanda Palmer". You're just so damn cool.
Just thought I'd leave something, since you read all the comments and enjoy them. I've listened to your record(s) more times than I can count and reading this blog makes me have this weird somber-yet-completely-relaxed feeling. It's tight. Keep writing. Blogs, songs, anything.
Just keep writing!

Ramsey said...

I’m glad you can make blogging work for you. Me not so much. Truth be told, I think blogging and comments are doing me more harm than good. Took lots of deletions on many, many different blogs of various nature to figure that out.

The internet parlor thing is a good idea, I think it will work well for you. Me personally, not my forte, I originally got into blogging and comments because everything to me was kind of vague, yet intense. I used my blogging experiences to clarify things, and now the thing most clear to me is the exit door. This isn’t my room. Thank you for just letting anybody post. My comments gave me some real insight, and really help me to dig deep and challenge myself. But I also think to continue posting would be to consciously take advantage of you, as opposed to the unconscious taking advantage of you, which if is the case I apologize for profusely.

You kids keep a rockin’. I am sure dark haired/hat man will be in touch with you shortly, although it might take him a while to process all this. And then after the processing, he has to figure out what to do. Or , send him another email, just to say “Wassup!”.

CallAnAmbulance said...

i made this account just for you.
i would respond on theSPACE,
but blogger is so much classier.

i want to write something profound and meaningful, but i'm sure it won't come out right.

but i have to say,
i think it's strange how whatever i think about doing, you do first.

no, i was never planning on getting arthritis.

but there have been plenty of things i have thought about doing.
some AMAZING plan,
and poof.
amanda already did it.

circus tent in the backyard?
preform in it .. ohthewonders. .
then i heard/read/radioed an interview where you and brian talked about wanting to preform in a circus tent.

we're the same person.
i'm pretty sure.

just yesterday,
sitting on the bus.
[since my volvo decided to die.]
passing the blurred-out snow banks.
listening to YOU.

an idea popped into my head for a song,
what if amanda lost her hands?
think of the things she couldn't do.
no piano.

it would be tragic.
the world wouldn't stand for it.
someone would have to fill in.

and ladada, the bond we'd have to make.
relationship between singer and pianist.

maybe, it's a bad idea.
i don't know.
that's not the point.

i think about you loosing your hands,
and this is what happens.

you're loosing your limbs one digit at a time.
this must be stopped.

[Lucent][Victrola] said...

Eeeesh. Arthritis is a bitch; it hits the people who need their hands the most. Artists, writers, musicians (my dad's getting a nasty case in his right fore-arm from playing piano too much/hard), they seem to be the ones who get it. Not fair at all. I think I might be getting carpal tunnel or something from all this typing, writing stories and comments and everything, but I'll just deal. I'm just paranoid like that.

Will these pictures be surfacing at any time? They sound hilarious.

I write stories, mostly short (I don't have the patience to write long stuff), and I've found that I don't enjoy the writing process. It's torture. When the words are flowing out, it's fine, it's great, it's like someone's typing this beautiful story out for me. But once I start thinking about it, wanting to finish, that's when it gets ugly. I start to hate the story, hate what I'm writing. I feel the need to erase everything I type. I tried making a playlist with songs that fit the mood of what I was writing, but it did nothing. I get distracted and start checking my mail obsessively, IMing my friends, posting on Livejournal, checking Myspace, anything to get away from the story. That doesn't help at all. I begin to rush through the story, speeding along the events, trying to get it done, chop chop. There's some proverb, "'Hurry, hurry' spoils the curry." I concur. But I can't help it at times. I don't enjoy writing; I like to get it done, post it, get feedback. The feedback is the best, people telling me I'm talented and how amazing the story is... I just read the comments over and over. I suppose this is the way everyone is. Always hurrying to get done so they can enjoy the fruits of their labor. But it's jam yesterday, jam tomorrow, and never jam today. The novelty of each comment really only lasts until I reply to it. Then it's gone, and eventually the new comments stop and it's time to write again. I don't know how authors do it, write for years. Or how artists work on the same painting for a long time. I paint, too, but badly, and I've never had the patience for it. I always want someone to pop up and tell me how good it is. Maybe I'm a narcissist

On another note, I do wish we could reply to the comments. That's why I love Livejournal. I'm currently having a huge conversation with someone regarding the lasting psychological implications of being bullied/hated in school and the horrible thing that is homophobia in the comments of some post... it's so fun, and totally different from e-mail or IM in that anyone can see the conversation, stop in and pitch in their two cents, and it's amazing to see this whole tree of comments stemming from me complaining about how someone called someone else a "faggot" when they really meant "asshole."

I used to plan things like that when I was little. One time when I was... 3 or 4, I think, I planned this whole Christmas extravaganza in our yard complete with pageant, directed by me and including singing and grand costumes. I was an imaginative little kid. Unfortunately, my backyard was/is puny and filled with cactus plants, so the idea was short-lived

Another time I wrote this dramatic tragedy, which I think I've mentioned before in a comment. I imagined beautiful hand-painted-by-my-artistic-friends-and-I Asian-esque backdrops, authentic-looking costumes, and a tear-jerking death scene, and I ended up with my friends running around in really really fake-looking "robes," acting out a mockery that made the judges LAUGH. They fucking laughed when Ping Yo took her life in the shade of the bamboo tree, and that broke me.

I guess we all have these delusions of grandeur.

Pete Wentz's blog depresses and confuses me. I get really angry whenever I read it, just because I hate the fact that there are people on this earth who are that sad and I can do nothing about it. Plus my friend always gets overly emotional about his blog entries, and it upsets me when she's upset. What I like about your blog is that even when it's not a happy subject you're talking about, it doesn't depress me that much necesarily; rather, I feel inspired, inspired to write and hope that maybe you'll see what I write and feel a little bit better. As if my words had that power, which they don't. But it gives me hope, dammit. Because I like to think that I'm heard by someone out there who can be affected by words, unlike my shallow peers. And this is really the only place I can just type away and not have to filter my words, because I'm pretty much anonymous here.

Also, as I said before, Livejournals can make great discussion forum type things while also being blogs.

[Lucent][Victrola] said...


I can't stand parties either. I'm one of those people who is scared, utterly terrified, of meeting new people. I tend to assume everyone is shallow and won't like me. I suppose this is a product of having been an outsider nerd all my life. Easier to just stay away from people than be hurt by them. Online, however, I'm a totally different bird. I'm outgoing, slightly egotistic, and I "talk" so much that if I really were talking, I would have lost my voice from it all. This IS a party, and more enjoyable and enlightening than any other I've ever been to.

-Miranda. I always forget to sign these.

Natalie Rose said...


Are you familiar with the collective consciousness?


You certainly have the disposition to be a writer (honestly, they're all that neurotic about their work).

I feel inspired, inspired to write and hope that maybe you'll see what I write and feel a little bit better. As if my words had that power, which they don't. But it gives me hope, dammit. Because I like to think that I'm heard by someone out there who can be affected by words, unlike my shallow peers.

You're wrong, your words do have power. What makes you think they don't? How do you define power? Many more people are reading your words than you realize, some of them even responding. How many people do you need to affect for your words to have power? 1? 2? 10? 100?

Though, be careful not to rule your peers out so soon. I almost did, and it turns out that age is often irrelevant-- it's about finding the same, shall we say, genre of people. And the people here, who are reading Amanda's blog along with you, are probably just the people you want to be talking to instead.

Hunger For The Great Light said...

I'm sitting here, eating a cooling bowl of chicken-noodle soup, from which the noodles have tragicly run out.

I'm not going to say that you should contact mr. dark haired/hat man because that's not my place. Only you know weather you SHOULD e-mail him. And something funny tells me you already know. But if you're going to do it, I suggest you do it soon.

Ahhh, the broth is wonderfuly salty.

I'm enjoying the party very much. Meeting wonderful people, listening to great stories, and passing time that should be speant writing papers and analyzing baroque chord progressions. This is shurely your best Box yet. I do hope it goes on.

feral_sherryl said...


It’s times like these, I wish blogger had a ‘reply to comments’ section. I understand your frustration Amanda!
Anyhoo, I understand you completely because I am exactly the same. Well, most of the time. The internet breaks down all my walls and social insecurities. It takes forever for me to trust people in real life. In fact, I doubt anyone really knows the real me, not even my family. They all struggle to understand me. Myself included.
On the web, I can break out of my shell and speak openly. People still may not necessarily know me, nor do I give out my trust to anyone, but the barriers are brought down anyway. I speak. I socialise. I don’t worry about hiding behind other people. People still may not know me, but they do see a side of me that no one in the real world ever sees. Some of them do, sometimes. But it’s rare. I have all these people around me, acquaintances, but no one close. No one I can open up my heart to. No one that understands me. No one that I trust. I’d like to have that one day. Like Amanda, and some other people who have commented, I too desire someone to hold onto. My pillow may be comfortable and secure, but that’s all it is. I want more than that. Maybe I’m asking for too much, but all I really want is someone who understands me completely. Someone who I don’t have to hide myself from. I guess it’s everyone’s desire to have that in their lives. Some people already have it, some of us will eventually find it and some are just lost causes.

I’ve totally gone off track from what I originally intended to say but oh well. I’ve said it now…

What I wanted to say is that I understand where you’re coming from. The internet is a place where everyone can be themselves or be who they want to be without fear or rejection. We can express ourselves and connect with others yet still keep that sense of anonymity.
Like you, I love this party. It has opened up my eyes and brought to me a world I’ve always imagined living in. It has given me insight into the lives and creativity of many a people and it’s a party I never want to leave. If only all parties could be like this one.


[Lucent][Victrola] said...


I guess I just feel like no one would listen to me, because I'm nothing special. I'm just a kid, by most people's standards. 14-year-olds aren't worldly or wise or experienced with life. My words have power when I have no face, but when people see me, the freshman with the face of a 12-year-old, they usually laugh and think I'm "precious" or "cute" or "so bright for her age," not intelligent or important in any way.

I know not all of my peers are the same. It's just that most, even my friends, don't seem to value things as much. They've let the teenage ennui and apathy take over. They laugh at how whenever "Sing" comes on on my iPod I close my eyes and almost start crying. They laugh at articulate word-use. They are too afraid to take anything seriously, because they might not look cool. And that is why I value these words so much, because everyone here seems to care what people have to say.


Yes, this is definitely the most thought-provoking party I've ever attended. I just wish I could talk this way. When I type, the words are poetic, graceful, but when I talk, they're full of "like"s and "y'know"s and they're choppy and imprecise. If only life were like this, with every word having a purpose and nothing pointless. Where everyone listens and relates, and one can write on and on without people complaining. If only.

Natalie Rose said...


I'm sorry that you're stuck in high school for the time being. It's a miserable place and time. By the end of my sophomore year I wasn't talking to anybody, under the decision that it was better to be alone, but have my emotions carefully safeguarded. But, lucky, during my senior it dawned on me that instead of being annoyed by all the festering immaturity (or "blossoming maturity" I used to sarcastically call it), I could sit back and laugh. Some of them did say the most hilarious things...

But, I haven't actually learned to stop caring about what other people think or realize what "be yourself" truly means until recently. Of course, it's a continual battle. Finally finding people who are on the same wavelength as me, both at my college and in the Dresden Dolls community, has helped tremendously.

I wish I could give you some magical cure-all, but, just know that there are people who take you seriously-- faceless or not. People who take the time to think about it know that wisdom conforms to no age.


I too am guilty of a quiet, mousy nature offline... but I can't help but wondering what's really all that different? Sure, wanting to say something to Amanda just after she's left the stage is much harder than replying to her blog here, where we're reminded that she is, in fact, a "real" person, or rather, a well known musician who is not corrupt by this fact. But, really, why are we so much more open on the internet?

Is it that no one can see our face? It's that we have a chance to go back over our words without having to worry about awkward pauses, "ums," "likes," "you knows" etc.? Or is it not so much that no one knows us, but we don't know anyone so we don't worry so much about what everyone else thinks? Certainly, there must be potential to translate this into real life.

I was talking with a close friend of mine about a prolonged bought of depression I was having and she said she thought if I was more natural, more myself, she thought it'd be a step in the right direction. Small steps, she suggested. For example, start with if someone asks me, "How are you?" how do I respond? Since Americans have come to regard "How are you?" as a greeting equivalent to "Hello" and nothing more, I often just say "Good" or "Fine" and smile and walk off. But my friend said to be honest, say what's on my mind: if I'm having a crappy day, go ahead and say it, respond honestly and if that wasn't what the person was looking for, it's their error for asking. And people do, believe it or not, respond well to said honesty. Even when I say something completely silly or outright stupid, the people who care about me, and even people I don't know that well but who are on the same wavelength sense the openness and respond so well to it.

I just... as someone who was, for all her life, so notoriously shy and silent, I'm starting to wonder what's the point? I've been so petrified of embarrassment or saying the wrong thing or looking silly... but, really, who cares? What matters is why I think, and if I enjoy what I'm doing or think I'm doing the right thing... I can't go wrong. I just keep asking myself, what do I have to lose? What's the worst thing that could happen?

mdhatter said...

I heard you on NPR at rush hour today. Every NPR affiliate - nationwide - and sounding very smart in the offing!! Well done.

I heart your aesthetic. I could gush about how your shows make me feel that other peoples shows don't. You've got some very strong mojo going on. The crowd you's like a goddamned pixies show, but much less likely to pee on the side of the theatre afterwards.

we enjoy you enjoying us enjoying your show

You so obviously feed on the crowd, but it is not a one way thing. It's a snake eating itself. art imitating life imitating art. It's all very complicated and very beautiful, and I find it to be better with coffee - but what temporary pleasures aren't?

A lot of people can get a crowd going. Not a lot of people can - or would - generate that wall you have up at the ART. You keep it fun to be a fan.

So take good care of your fingers. As the Zen sounding people say, "the most important place in the entire world is the tip of your finger"

and don't die in a stupid car crash, that would be lame.

lyrical lie said...

I feel the same way about dance. Sometimes I hate going to class, learning new things, choreographing stuff at home, but I do it anyway because then when it all comes together and we perform it, its perfect. I love the compliments from people, especially from the little 3-year-olds that look up to the "big girls" because I remember being little and thinking of how cool and amazing the "big girls" were, and how I can't wait to be like them.

I hope that your arthritis gets better.

You should email him, it may keep him from picking up that safety pin.

FireAngel said...

Wow... It's hard to think of the MLK speech and Beck song combo as being an accident. It's just too synchronistic, too perfect and poetic.

As far as your blog goes, in the virtual world everything is possible. Why not add a background to your blog, with a living room with torn nasty couches, a guy with a guitar in the corner and people on the couches leaning into each other clearly engaged in intense dialogue? It would be easy. If you took some pictures in a favorite place of yours, it could also act as sort of a muse while you wrote.

Ben said...

Just a quick story to share about your "I Am Amazed By technology speech of the day."

I do photography and remember back in 1998 receiving an e-mail about how nice a b&w photo I had taken was. I thought the message was from someone who had seen my book of work. I was shocked to hear the guy making the comment was from Sapporo, Japan. He had seen my photos from Kodak Online Galleries. So six of my photos are apprecaited by someone living 6200 miles from me. The net lets us see, hear and read things we never would have otherwise. The planet is just too big.

[Lucent][Victrola] said...


I wish I could be unafraid of what People think, but it's just so damn hard, especially in highschool. It's keep my mouth shut except around friends or be hated, it seems. And I would pick invisibility if it wasn't so stifling.

I sometimes wonder what The Other People are really like. If they're really that shallow or if that's a pose for the public eye. If they ever think about things as deep as I do, or if their brain only goes as deep as what eyeshadow will bring out their eyes most and which pair of Uggs to wear with their new miniskirt. I accidentally typed "minishit." I love typos that aren't just keyslips; they're so telling. Do Those Normal People think about stuff like that? Irony? Do they see the irony in things they read? Do they read at all? I don't know.

Anyway, I think you're right; the appealing thing, the opening thing, about the internet is that I don't know who I'm talking to. Well, sometimes I do, but most of the time, I don't. I may feel like I know someone, and I often feel like I know the people I'm talking to from the first thing they say, I feel like I know you and Carina, at least a little bit, but I don't. This is why I love acting. The bright lights shining in my face turn the crowd into big black mush. And I'm in a costume, saying things I'm not saying, being someone I'm not. No one knows me and I know no one, and therefore I don't have to worry. It's only when I know a friend or classmate is in the audience that I get scared. And it's also the attention after the show, of course, the "Oh, you did so well"s and the flowers my grandma brings me. All of these things keep pulling back together. Human nature, I suppose, is made up of wanting attention and wanting anonymity. This must be why people are so confusing, so conflicted; we all want conflicting things. Fame while being in the shadows. On a huge stage, but not seen by anyone we know. In the spotlight and in the dark.

Amanda said...

Oh, Amanda.
Arthritis is a bitch. Even just the stiffening that comes from it being cold outside. My hands do that all the time when it's frigid outdoors. They get a mauvey-shade of purple and quit working. It's ridiculous. I love that you view your blog as a party. That's a beautiful way to see this space between everyone. Thank you for being such a gracious hostess. I look forward to your blog every week, not only to read what's going on in the world of Amanda Palmer, but to understand life outside of boring ole Wisconsin. Yesterday, it was freezing rain here, and before I left for work, I was trying to make the windshield wipers work better, so they wouldn’t stick and leave remnants of ice on my windshield. It didn’t work out so well, and the blade is now completely opposite of where it should be. It’s almost as if it wanted to wave hello to the rest of my fellow drivers. My friend Mandy and I thought we should put a small plastic hand on it to wave to everyone that passed us by. It’s pretty much doubtful that will ever happen though. It was a fun idea. Any hoo…What I love about you is what you create. The atmosphere at a Dresden Dolls show is like being at home. It’s a comfort zone that I can’t even explain. I’ve been to other shows, and have had fun and have loved the bands, but they’ve done nothing for me like you have. The ambience of a dolls show is so fantastical. A couple of years back….’98 or so, my mom and I went on a vacation to Boston and Rhode Island. It’s too bad I wasn’t old enough or anything to attend a cloud club event. That sounds like a place of euphoria to me. I look around this crappy city that I live in, and wish that we could have even a fraction of something that lovely. The three things people do here are bowl, smoke and drink. I can only do two of those and it’s not even all that much fun… I feel that I get a taste of that cloud club when I’m at a concert. Once again, I really can’t describe how beautiful it is, and how liberated I feel when I get to attend your concerts. The way you explain things on here blows my mind. The entries speak to me like your music does. I guess I’m the girl in the corner with the beer in my hand, watching everything. My eyes hurt too much right now to read everyone else’s thoughts. Maybe I’m the drunken girl in the corner, who’s ignorant to everything around her, but thinks it is all very comical. Maybe I’ll participate in the party more later. It’s an interesting blend of people. We’ll see where this goes.
Much love
Sorry for the incessant rambling. I promise not to gush so much next time.

mouthwashboy said...

im not very artistic. i jst read things and enjoy them, i dont really look for much meaning. when i listen to ur music i pretty much hear the pretty tunes and rather than finding the lyrics emotionally connecting i find them clever. i don't really get art. all i really look for is something that i can call my own and that no1 else can have in the same way as me. is that art? and the whole theory that everything happens for a reason... i dont really believe it. things just happen. i think people just look for signs because they're insecure and can't make the decisions themselves. they're just asking for advice from a random collection of events. like humour. i pretty much find it everywhere. i laugh my head off when terrible things happen to me, like when i burnt off the skin on my left hand and could see the bone. i laughed as if it was the funniest thing on earth, because if i didn't laugh id have probably cried. is that art? just comforting urself, amusing urself because u cant face the unbearable truth that justice, peace and all the good things that everything supposedly strives for are never going to happen. all u can do is get a certain amount of people who are loosely akin to u, feeling just as alone/miserable/horny and sticking with them because loneliness is the worst thing in the world, excluding having to assemble a bike using only your penis and a pencil sharpener. anyway as for dark haired hat man jst contact him if ur that lonely. jst find out wot he's like. u dont have to do anything with any discernable romantic overtones. u can jst meet, chat and, if he seems to be a nice guy, might as well jump him. sure, maybe he's just trying to sleep with amanda palmer with the dresden dolls coz she's famous and his feelings are purely superficial (even if he thinks they're genuine), but anyway i cant stand the thought of you feeling lonely. and even if he really is a nice guy, should u really use him like that? dont people deserve more respect? then again, sex doesnt really mean anything, does it. its jst something two people do. meh, just do wot u want to do. fuck my advice (im aware of the irony). fuck everyone else's advice. jst amuse urself. thats all i do. then again it's left me miserable and unhappy. but i blame that on my heritage. theres a history of mental illness and manic depression in my family. dno y i shared that, altho it doesnt matter. u dont know who i am, amanda palmer. anyway, all i want is the best for u. u seem like an awesome person, albeit a smoker (dirty dirty), bt meh im here to judge, not to come up with fair conclusions.
lots of love
mouthwashboy, who's real name shall be revealed... never. i like my privacy.

Erin said...

I just heard your music for the first time over Christmas, and I've been on a Dresden Dolls whirlwind ever since. Just found out that my boyfriend had the opportunity to see you when you were in Manchester and didn't... his loss, I guess! Well, in any case, this is just me, poking my head into the party, hoping no one decides I'm too uncool to hang out for a bit.

Ohenz said...

Amanda, sorry about the drive and car malfunctions. Saw you guys in Boston and Berlin with NIN. I caught the Onion Cellar twice. Two great Fridays. Becks. Oh yeah. I hope that is what you were drinking. Stella sucks.

Come find me and we can compare arthritic fingers while you kick my ass.

Natalie Rose said...

You should email him, it may keep him from picking up that safety pin.

Lord if I know why I have to be such a downer, but: It won't.

I can tell you, Amanda, and I can tell the whole world, but chances are no one will believe me, or really understand, until they've experienced it themselves. It's human nature, heck, I'm that way too, but I try.

The fact of the matter is, people don't change, so it's impossible to attempt to change someone. However, a person's behavior and attitude can change. Unfortunately, this is something said person has to do all by themselves and if either of those areas need work, the person is probably reluctant to admit it in the first place.

Especially when talking about things such as self injury, which most people mistake for suicidal tendancies, only a decision on the part of the person hurting themselves can change anything. I know from a wealth of personal experience, both in the part of the injurer and the one trying to play hero. There are no real heroes because the one person any of us can save is ourselves.

It's not completely hopeless, though. As an outside, we can inspire. And I have no doubt that you, Amanda, can inspire anybody you want to, simply by being. By being yourself and doing all that comes natural to you whether that's writing music or blogging.

As far as e-mailing the dark-haired man... well, my advice is to careful evaluate your intentions. If your heart goes out to this man and you have that desire that so many of us have to suddenly sweep in and rescue him, then don't do it. You'll only end up hurt and disappointed in the end. If, on the other hand, this is a person you feel some connection with... well, take a leap.

tyler said...

You appear to be the sort of person that cannot help but enrich the experience of others with every thought you produce. You're a natural source of inspiration. Your ability to communicate to people, be it in song, writing, or any other format, is irresistable. I hope to understand how you do it.

Whenever I wind up in Cambridge I always find myself hoping to run into you, however briefly, so I could thank you in person. Knowing that you read this will do.

Marciel said...

My friend had taken me to see my first awesome DJ playing house music in this teeny tiny basement of a bar. I had only gone to bump and grind clubs before so this was new and facinating to me. People were actually dancing, like really well. And I did not see any ass cleavage or vagina either. Everyone seemed cool. I wanted to dance but I couldnt because I didnt feel cool enough. So I sat on the couches and just watched everyone. There was this beautiful girl. She was so hip and supafly. You could tell she was the type that was really pretty even in daylight, not just club lighting like most of us.
Anyways, she would walk up to the DJ booth and stand there and just raise her arms up. Her way of dancing was like a march or a skip. But it was so confident. I made eyecontact a few times and she smiled. It was time to go home, the lights came on. She was still beautiful and I became ashamed of my face. But I felt the need to stop her and say "I just want to tell you that you are really gorgeuos" and she said "Thanks" but I could tell I was not the first person that had been moved to tell her that and I wished I had kept it to myself.

So, I would be the girl at the party sitting in corner with my beer. And I would see you walking around, being beautiful and I would be intimidated.
I wish I had the confidence to just relax and enjoy life.

So I started a blog because any other form of socialization intimidates me. Stop by and check it out if you like.

maia got new stitches said...

dear amanda,
your writing gets better and better everytime. i love it. "nicely needed soundtrack/irony"!
we had a Wonderland Tree. it was wonderland, we were the tree-climbing sort, quick as hell. funny how simple tags can make something bigger or more inspiring. i really believe in titles for things, they have to fit just right.
i'm sorry to hear about your hands, do you think it could be viral rhumatoid arthritus? i had that as a least that goes away, or comes and goes.
i agree with you about deeper conversation relying on, or being induced by ambience etc.
i used to live with people who smoked Nat Sherman Fantasias - colourful and fucking expensive. :D
thank you for sharing certain degrees of detail, it really does make the difference. here's something i made when having an evil bout of insomnia if you want to check it out. no pressure.
"We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force." MLKJ
love maia (i have become a socialist)

andrea said...

i had that window problem with my first car. at one point i went to get an oil change and the guys working there made it stay up by putting floppy disks down in the track. then one night i left my car somewhere while i hung out with some friends and when they dropped me back off it wouldn't start, so i got out of my car to go call someone and when i shut my door my unstable window came crashing down and broke into a million pieces. that was only a small part of the problems going on with that car at the time. i had to laugh to keep from crying, it was so cold outside. maybe i should have had my radio on so i could have found some meaning in it all.

there, that was my small talk to ease my way into the party that i've arrived late to. this blog is one of my favorite places to visit. i feel safe, if that makes sense. i have a blog, but i practically never write there because no one reads it. what's the point? why should i pour out my soul if no one will read it? i have my personal, solid, pen to paper journal for that, that's why i usually keep my entries on my blog simple. when i write on my computer, your blog is where most of the action takes place. it's almost funny to think that you're one of the only people who ever reads what i write (aside from the other commentors/readers of this blog who skim through the comments). i think that's why most of us feel the way we do when we're here. we know what we write is not going to go unheard. we feel like we're a part of something. the simple act of commenting takes us off that wall and puts us into a conversation.

and since you sort of mentioned cafes, i don't expect you to remember this,howerever, i can at least put it out there. when you come to kansas city and you need a good cafe to just BE at. I recommend, very highly, The Crave Cafe, . It's conveniently less than a mile away from the venues you usually play at when you come here. It's the most amazing place. It's an old house turned into a cafe. The whole place. Upstairs, downstairs, go where you please. Weird, beautiful art and flyers on the walls and other various places. Comfy couches and chairs placed wherever they can fit. I spent 3 hours there yesterday and it was the best day i've had this year. It's just one of those places that makes you feel good and creative and inspired. Kind of how you're blog makes me feel. It was funny, when i was there i found myself at one point thinking, "Amanda would like it here". So, come visit, all of you, when/if you ever come to KC. It's pretty easy to get directions to just by searching the web.

so, to end my tangent, i'm happy that i'm able to come to these parties and be a part of filling the gap. i think we all help each other more than we sometimes realize.

all my love,


i'd love to see your drug den pictures. *hint* MySpace. =)

Bug said...

Wow. I know exactly what you're talking about. I'm always trying to do things, and my enthusiasm is never infectious. I like turning moments into wonderful, profound conversations. Actual conversations are frustrating, because people rarely know what I'm talking about. But moments can be such perfect, glowing experiences that stretch long and thin for years even, and it's awesome. My friend and I had a conversation about how much I love acorns. Later that day, she found a beautiful acorn, and she just happened to have a brown ribbon, so she spent a half hour hacking a hole through the acorn with the needle and stringing it on a ribbon for me. And later, I found it matches a third of my favorite clothes in color. I wore it every day for months. I discovered every few days a new kind of acorn, and called her and told her about it. We decided at some point that we and some other friends were going to communally adopt a Chinese baby, and I then found it amusing that I was then wearing a symbol of fertility around my neck. In turn, I made her a little round steel ball on a string, which she named "the herpetologist" and also wears all the time. Every time I see acorns I think about all of this. I think it amounts to a profound conversation. It takes the right people and the right time to make things work. And as for your boy-in-a-hat, you should e-mail him. But no words. Mail him pictures, songs, websites, book references, trivia. A connection that shows him what you want him to know about you. Maybe he wasn't ever physical warm love; maybe a soundtracked letter in a private moment is close to the internet and close to what you want and what he wants, too. E-mail is like a multi-media collage.
No indentions, all the time—Stella

[Lucent][Victrola] said...


You're not late, just a little bit not-on-time. I think we all feel safe here, and that's why we pour our hearts out in these comments. At least, I do. I don't post any actual diary-type-posts in my Livejournal, just cause that's not how I tend to deal with my shit. I pretty much let everything slide on by. I'm optimistic like that. But in here, in here my mind opens up and everything I'm feeling gets articulated like it never does. I, too, think it's because I know I'm being heard. My only friend who actually reads my Livejournal has her own (self-centered) emo shit to deal with, and she tend to just say things like "*HUG* Poor Miranda :(" when I'm trying to be deep, not pity-me. But I know that here, the people who do read the comments are looking for thought-provoking parties, not pity parties. At this party, I used to be the girl on the wall, totally unaware anyone else was there, just posting one little comment. But now I guess I'm changing up my routine. And I love it.


Also said...

I have been going to the wrong parties... where can I go find the spaces you describe?

It has been said above me, and better than I will say it here, but the amazing this about this blog, is that it feels ok to comment, which is something I have rarely found other places. I do not know how you have done it.

- Adrienne

David said...

I love it when the universe lines shit up too. It's like music. No, it IS music. Harmony and counterpoint, the windshield wipers and the freezing rain. Blog on sister! Please get some rest for your fingers and your soul. You deserve it. The universe is lining that up for you ...

Joshua said...

I'm drunk. My girlfriend smashed a few things for absolutely no reason about two hours ago (ie: A nicely framed picture of my cat who died recently.) I'm drinking more too. But I am putting it all behind me because your blog makes me happy. Albert Camus knew that happiness was the topic of choice for humans who understand how fucked they are. Well I can be happy even if things are fucked. Delilah in the Onion Cellar made my best friend cry his eyes out. He cried because she looked like the girl who broke his heart 5 days before, because he drove 13 hours to keep his mind off of things, and went to your show sleepless. He cried because Brian's drum solo is the best example of 'misuk' that he ever heard, that the band that he dismissed as 'OK' in listening to studio recordings was the best remedy for heartache in a live setting. He cried because we love him, we who paid him to drive us to Boston. He cried because he needed to cry, and thanked me later because he secretly enjoys man-love. I'm going to go smoke a cigarette for my crazy, deluded friend, who is clinging onto hope that his relationship will work out for the better. He is hoping for pregnancy, I am hoping for sanity. Cheers.

bassguitarfreak4 said...

Isn't that a bad religon song? Hmm...I've never left a comment before, so don't tie me up and a box and beat me over the head with a stick then send me to france and make me change my name to vinny...but I've been reading your posts, and I've decided that since you claim that you read the comments, I'll make this one funny. Or attempt to be funny. Either way, its the thought that counts.

"How many add kids does it take to change a lightbulb?"

Answer: "Let's go ride bikes!"

There. Kapeesh?Kapeesh.

blupirouette said...

I killed myself last week. It started with the slow and calculated demise of my little empire. Before Thanksgiving my left arm was mutilated by a clients dog. My first thought was not "Will I be able to work with dogs again?" instead I blurted "That's my bridge hand!" When I came back I wasn't the same though. I've healed to the point I can play pool fine but, every time I was in the presence of a large dog my heart would race.
Right before Christmas I turned thirty. I had been dreading it for some time and was caught between do I get totally plastered or do I go somewhere quiet and contemplate everything I wanted to be at thirty and where I really am. I ended up choosing the former. I got my one wish though. The man I truely loved began talking to me again and before the night was through we were locked in a kiss I had been waiting for almost a year to feel again. I already live with someone and began to scheme about ways to kick him to the curb. I found myself drawn up in the lifesyle all over again before long. Working just to play tourneys and drink with him. He tatooed cuts on his ankles-representing his inability to run away. I had been getting various illnesses since the dog attack. First the flu,then an upper respirtory, then a common cold. I'd get better for all of a day or two and then be sick again. What's really sick about all that is how I liked the cold he gave me. By New Years I was still sick. At home I dreaded coming out of my room and seeing the man who really loved me. I was totally determined not to let my illness or anything for that matter stop me from enjoying New Years at 30. I snuck out, took some decongestants and went back to where I knew he'd be. I had one drink, a sunkist, his invention. 20 minutes before midnight I went to the ladies room. I had a puff on my pipe. Sat for a few and realized I'd better get back out there if I wanted my New Years kiss. I stood up and saw white. I sat back down. I thought I just need a few more minutes. The minutes went by. I just couldn't get up. Then, I heard his voice over the speaker, counting, I gave one more attempt. "Two...One...Happy New year!" I heard the cheering and happiness, the sound of those stupid little horn party favors and my whailing, in sharp contrast but still in perfect key. When I did come out I ran off. I didn't have the strength to try to redeem the night. I continued trying to build our disfunctional relationship in vain the next couple of weeks. I put in my two weeks shortly after. By the end of the first week I couldn't function anymore. I was scheduled the next day but that Friday night the guy I love, we'll call him Samael, had pretty much dropped me, my bouncer friend had to drive me home because I was too much of a drunken emotional wreck to drive. I got home and the guy I live with who loves me, I'll call him George, wanted to reach out to help me. When he does this something strange happens. I become so angry and hateful towards him. Before I knew it I had swallowed a whole bottle of Ambien and hydrocodone. I woke up two days later. Then I kicked George out. It's been a week now and I can't figure out how I could've survived that and have felt like everything that has happened since then is not real. I began thinking about ghosts, how they just keep going not realizing that they're walking dead. I have no job and no prospects for one. I have no lovers now. I am empty and unreal.

I did take a hustler/bum from Portland home with me for 24 hrs. It began raining cold and hard here in Phoenix that night and has not stopped.

I realize this has nothing to do with anything here except that they say art is life or life is art. On the other hand I've heard rummors to the effect of art comes from dead spirits too.

Lauren said...

Pity about your fingers.

I cannot say I am typing this from any cold corner, and I cannot say I'm a starving artist simply because I'm not. I'm sitting on a comfortable house, listening to melancholy music and watching the night outside and gathering up all my wits to actually hit "publish your comment."

You are an amazing person to find that much meaning in the littlest things and to remember it long enough to put it down on "paper" with such articulation.

My english teacher said I was "cool" the other day. By accident. I think.

It was strange.

For some reason, I thought of you.

Just thought you might like to know.

Irene said...

Dear Amanda,
I don't really know how to put this in a non-awkward-fan-like way...but if you could please reach into the corners (curves?) of your brain and try to remember: the last show of the onion cellar (2pm). I was the girl in the Ozzy shirt asking for a hug....

I didn't really want a hug, the words just slipped out.

I wanted to see if you were willing to listen a song I’ve been writing for a while now.

It was a song that I wrote in 8th grade, around the prime of the war. My History class had to write an essay or something on world events. As I was researching articles for my paper, I found diary entries from some of the people living in Baghdad: Soldiers, lieutenants, generals, journalists, and everyday Iraqi people. I cried while I read those entries. All of these people living in a time bomb. Anyway, I wrote song and added it to the end of my essay. My teacher loved it and asked me to read it out loud to the class. I was too shy, so I didn’t.

But I completely understand when you say you love the finished outcome of a song.

P.s. I was watching Meet the Press this morning, and they mentioned a POWERFUL organization called: MoveOn.Org. I know you mentioned it, and I saw a slide show they put together. Impressive.

Kat from Sugar said...

I cannot even begin to tell you how much your blogs mean to me. What's funny is that you always seem to answer the questions I have that day or calm the storm in my head.

I've said before, though i'm sure it's hard to remember everyone and eveything, that i'm in a cover band called Sugar and i'm also currently working on my first original band.

Today was a changing point in my life. I had my last day at my very first professional job out of college. And i'm leaving it to be a traveling musician. I just wasn't raised that way. My dad is a doctor and my mom is a teacher and both are extremely conservative and didn't exactly encourage me to follow my dreams. They're great parents...they just wanted me to stay on the ground and succeed in life and not end up in a trailer or something along that line.

So I did what they asked and I went to college (a rather decent one at that) and got my degree in graphic design...and I got a cushy job right out of college. and now it's all over, not even 6 months in, and i'm moving on to a totally new life of (what i consider) bohemia. and everyone in the band is older and professional and it's very business-oriented and we'll all do more than fine, but it is so scary. the thought of having an entire day to play music and lay around and go for a walk and read and paint and then go to a gig FREAKS ME OUT. noooooooorrrrrmal people just don't live that way. i don't know what to do with myself.

anyway, this is too long...shorten....

it's great to hear you say you're not so passionate about music, but that you are passionate about the result. because that's really all i care about too. i want a reaction from the crowd. and i want people to go crazy.

we played a show on friday that was packed with beautiful "polished" women, the kind that tear each other's hair out for a pair of jeans...anyway, i did this move on stage where I spread my legs and drop to a crouch (aaaahhh dramatic). i usually don't notice what people are doing around me, but i did notice this one girl in the front almost snarl when i did that, as if to say, "oh my god. no she didn't. betch." i start to panic. then i see her turn to her friend, point at me and mouth "I LOVE HER"

shock. but that's why i do it. for a reaction. to entertain.

so i just have to get used to this new lifestyle, which most people would probably kill for, and i'm terrified from. i neeeed your blogging. it is so comforting.

the Kate said...

Weren't you going to write a 30 page article about the onion cellar? Weren't we supposed to write a response essay? I was excited for that.

-Kate from C.bus

Hinna said...

Your diary entries are like pain killers to me. They numb absolutely every painful part of my pointless existence, and make things seem worthwhile. I don't comment nearly as much as I should (I've only left you one other, I believe), but that's because when you try to put in words what you know sounds perfect in your head, it ends up sounding like awful. I'll try and be as to-the-point and real as I can, but no promises.

I'm relieved to know you read every comment you receive, because I wouldn't want some wanton mindless lackey of yours to be reading and automating responses back. I'd rather have no response than a 'Thank you for commenting on Aman- I mean MY diary!' response. It's been said and said and said, but it can never be said too many times: You are Real. You tell shit like it is, you don't try to pretty it up for your audience, and you're just amazing for that. I like being taken seriously, and stupid as it sounds, I'd give you such a big hug if I ever met you. Sometimes I forget I love you because of your music, because I get so emerged in your entries and yourself basically, that it's just lost to me what you're famous for. You're AMANDA PALMER, not That Dresden Dolls Girl.

I think you should email the dark-haired boy (trust me, I just wrote a long and stupid thing about love on my own blog). It might make you happy or be a waste of time, but you'll feel better if you do it. I understand completely the fear of doing something because it might 'ruin the moment' but it hurts twice as much when you realize it could have Been Something.

Jose Ramon said...

I hope that you have been sweet and perverse sleepy?Amanda
hey amanda pleases to me when you speak of you when eras a girl and a little but mujercita and as you change and everything around you also changes

pleases the idea to Me that a day the technology does inmortales to us but me also it scares to me sometimes tires to us and us insatisface everything

Sleep Well ... Beauty Beast xD

rotten said...

I am also (having read "the kate's" comment) surprised that there has been no epilogue to the whole "Onion Cellar" experience...That's it...just "done with it"...??? Hmmmmm...

Morgan said...

That static?
It's probably them.
I ignore them.

Nice to see you have changed the layout of your blog. The last one was a nightmare to focus on.

Take care and remember to ignore THEM.


andrea said...

change of scenery?
i feel like i should write an ode to the old one.
i miss it already, but i like your new choice.
nothing ever stays the same.
but that can be a good thing...

all my love,


petergrimes said...

I think its amazing how much you push yourself, to get over those slumps where the last thing you want to do is write a song- i'm meant to be an 'artist' but i'm sitting around watching daytime tv-when we're about to release the first single and the record company want a new hit song each week- slobbing around- it feels so WRONG kind of like how wanking felt when you were 12... how do you fight it??!!!

Len Tower Jr. said...

Amanda's drawings and photos of The Onion Cellar are at
(Amanda included this news at the blog
in A news update from the trenches (LOTS OF A & B/Dolls news) Sunday, January 21, 2007)

the drawings remind me of some of the darker comic book art, with influences from Munch, Schiele, and Beckman. wonder if anyone could convince Lauder to give them a showing at the Neue Galerie in NYC.

in the dark little room with the drawings and engravings.

if you compare Amanda's work with the A.R.T.'s photos at
you might gain more insight into the creative differences between Amanda and the rest of the playwrights.

then shift what Amanda visioned in her work much further from the A.R.T. pics.

enjoy -len

ps: if a picture is worth a thousand words, you could let Amanda off the hook for 70,000 more words on The Onion Cellar ;-}

though, imho, a drawing is worth at least 10,000.

wuirbqirbi said...

Life sure is odd, but fuck, it can be beautiful.

Anna said...


I wish I had time right now to read all the comments. I don't know how you do it.

Ben Richter & I were stuck in that same MLK Jr. freezing rain on our way from Boston to Maine. January 15 is my birthday & we were trying to get me home on time, to my family two hours north of Portland. Instead, he scraped ice from the totally obscured windshield while we sang Neutral Milk Hotel at the top of our lungs (as always happens on rides with Ben) & later I was serenaded on saw & bass by both Lusitania boys. I stuck a match in a chocolate mousse cupcake & was so fucking happy that the weather was crap & I was trapped in Wyatt's tiny basement apartment with its dirty dishes leftover from their vegan Thanksgiving.

There is a letter hidden behind one of the paintings in your stairwell. I don't remember what it says but it is very angsty.

Much love.

kblack0656 said...

amanda, i don't know if you're aware of this, but dresden dolls is listed as a "safe band" on an anti-gay christian website, lovegodswayDOTorg (or as they put it "CHOPS: changing homosexuals into ordinary people") this website is sick. i felt compelled to write because it is my understanding, or rather, my perception, that you seem to be of an "all accepting" mindset. the fact that this website exists and that you're associated with it is highly disturbing. i respect your music and your viewpoints enough to let you know and i sincerely hope this reaches you. take it for what you will. i will try to cross post this comment on myspace later on tonight. warmest regards, kate.

Freakingout_thesystem said...

Gotta love online blog for the ranting you somehow rack up everytime... tht's why I keep one... just for the ranting whenever I feel like... much more convienent than a diary... sometimes...
well music is considered the devils music but that's only because god got jealous when he didnt discover it first :P I suppose it's nice to be able to read peoples comments and know that they care enough to read what you have to say (or least make it to be which is pretty much the same I guess) :D I sing (like a druken cat being steamed by a roadwork roller driven by a butler monkey.. .thank you little brother) and my piano skills are about the same but I don't care.... music is what is really gonig through your mind, what your mood is really... my mother always has music going and if not her than my brother (bashing away on those drum goddamn it! those are going as soon as he moves out!) or failing that my dad or me.. guarenteed youd walk into our house and see quilts and artworks (abandoned grape scraps) and last but not least music blasting from every corner of the house... but it creates he most relaxed, happy atomosphere that I could not live without... god I'm ranting here this is terrible... but anyways, I agree with you in that music does not have to be your passion as such... more you have to love the way it makes you feel inside...

Sleepy Alley Cat said...

Hey babe. I don't have time to read all the comments, so please forgive me if this sounds redundant. I wanted to thank you for your music and that post. I'm not feeling too good tonight. I'm frustrated because I thought I had out grown this irrational feeling of sadness. Not so. Anyhow, I was sitting in my room, alone on a Friday night. Again. I was feeling sorry for myself and knitting... two of my favorite activities. I was listening to music but it was somehow making it worse. Like, stop telling me the world sucks. Don't tell me everythings alright. Give me something new. Anything. I snagged my copy of "Yes Virgina..." from my cd case. To be honest, I never exactly gave the album the attention it deserved before tonight. But I put it on, sat there, and just swallowed the music. A minute ago I had felt so issolated and alone and then these songs started penetrating this self indulgant mist I was currently engulfing myself in. By the end of the album, i was crying, and, hell, when "Sing" came on I just felt so good to feel. I can't possibly put in to words what I'm trying to say. Music is the best friend that never shunned me, never judged me. Don't get me wrong- its caused me pain and dissapointment, as any aspect of life will when you choose to truly sink your teeth into it. Anyway, I visited your site, and now this blog, and what you said about the effects of music being what motivates you rather than the music itself... just completed what ever screwed up sort of revelation was coming to me tonight.
This post makes no sense. I'm sorry.
But thank you for taking part in one of the only things that makes me feel completely alive and full, for lack of a better word.
Much love,

David said...

I hope that you are sticking to the ice and arnica. You're just too young to be arthritic. Thank you for your impressive artistic output. It's so multidimensional and, well, impressive. Been looking at the drawings and photos from Onion Cellar ... way cool. Also wondering if you really did like Bryson's Short History of Nearly Everything ... the first three pages were breathtaking indeed! After 2 renewals I finally had to return it to the library, not quite finished. Resolved to buy it, but haven't yet. Did buy Yes, Virginia though. So you're liking that Bryson book makes you a full-blown polymath, don't it? Now please rest up and rejuvenate and heal so that the universe can line more shit up for you. Hopefully some more muses will be biting you before too long.

alexaarechiga said...

so i'm sure this is a replica of fifty percent of your messages, but i couldn't help myself.

i'm a fifteen-going-on-sixteen-year old girl, a work in progress. if there's one thing that scares the living daylights out of me, it's growing up, being forgotten, and feeling like my life is worthless.
ocassionally, i have moments like yours in the car. metaphors for life. i love how easily you can recognize and describe the life you find in moments like those.
i'm from the outside looking in, but you seem to not simply live, but extract the purest emotions from the lives you live and witness.
that makes you fucking beautiful.
by allowing me to see things from your eyes, you've given me the opportunity to see that they're not as much of a waste of time as i sometimes think.
thank you very much.

Anonymous said...

i think about the onion cellar everyday. i wish there were a book of everyone's onion moments that they wrote down. is this a thought? i wish i could have spent all day reading every single one of them on the wall and all those that weren't on the wall.

Mike said...

the dresden dolls turned me straight

thanks dresden dolls!

Maire? said...

Ohhhhhhhhh, you make me so happy. as dumb and cheesy this sounds you changed the way I look at things, and you inspire me. without you I would never have gotton good music taste. Thank you. Lots, and lots, and lots, and lots, and lots, and lots of love from Maire.

P.S. i had to change my name from "maire" to "maire?" because I could not remember my password. I am just saying that scince I had published (that I now regret ever publishing at all) a comment before.-------------------------
and I also got my hand silk screened 2006 fall tour postor in the mail not too long ago and I love it!

Kevin Doran said...

I was going to make a joke about not manually masterbating, but neh. Instead, i'll point out that comments seem to have recently doubled.

And more blogging, i say!

Paul said...

Kate: If you watch the video, 'God Hates Fags,' linked from the front page of that site, it seems pretty clearly some hilarious satire at the expense of the Christian Right. Like all good satire, really.

L said...

Your commentariat never fails to impress...

Good luck with the fingers. Ever stop to wonder what you'd do without them? Some oral surgery damaged nerves to my lips and left me unable to play the trumpet anymore; kissing is like fire and ice... Tragic, no?... So I took up bass instead, and life goes on...

So, the token Teutonic word for this comment is: Schadenfreude...

Not that I'm laughing, mind...


Timeandalittleblackcload said...

Thank you.

As such i was one of the late comers to the "party" having only come across this blog in the last few days...BUT DEAR GOOD WALKING INTO A "ROOM" LIKE THIS NOW?! the effect it somewhat undescribale.

Thank you.

for being so human, as somebody else so rightly has said, it takes the edge off of it for the rest of it, or at least i must speaking for myself. it helps in a million different ways.

Thank you.

not to amanda, but to everyone who posts comments, they make this whole thing buzz and tick in the various different ways that any party needs to function. from thoose of you standing in corners to the ones dancing on the table. THANK YOU.

Thank you.
for the thoughts, your daily conundrums,and the inspiration they unknowingly or other wise give.the simple caring...the humour, the sadness. for sharing that feeling of loliness when all you want to do is turn the lights off and watch a dvd (or read a book) by urself, despite everything. when you need to stop the world for a few secound,minute or hours.

Thank you. Brian and Amanda. first you gave me a soundtrack that could drown out some of the things i needed to scare away when i couldnt deal with them. and ever since then continued to provide me with my fix or escapism, or of company in solitude.

your honesty is amazing. it incourages me to think and develope every aspect of anything i do, to not worry so much about self analysis. to ask why i do it, without being worried about giving myself an answer i dont want....

so here i sit as an avid fan of not only the dresden dolls, intently listening to your music to make sure this is all nicely thematically tied together, but beyound that finding somebody to relate with, no finding an entire party of people to relate with.

with my ever growing comment becoming more obscure and obsessive as it goes...wishing like a million other people that amanda cud give us a phone call, that we cud be the one...or the half dozen...or...i dont know. sure it would be nice. but then they say you should never meet your heroes...perhaps its why its better to feel more like a party of friends.

manonificus said...

I envy you so much, I know exactly how that moment of wanting everything to work, to have performers, to build a circus, to create according to your own terms and artistic expression...because i am still STUCK in it. it's like being trapped in a cage, and when you're out of that one cage, there's a bigger one, and when you get out of that bigger cage, there's an even bigger one and you start to wonder when suffering would end and where's that line between resistance and obedience. And when everything's too fucked up for you to care, you try to escape to this own world of yours which outcast you from normal beings. Sometimes I wish i could make people understand this world of mine, like how you showed them into your dresden world. Sometimes i wish i could just wake up in another place and time with people of the same artistic freedom. Maybe it's just being 18 with too much brain masterbation.

manonificus said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
manonificus said...

I envy you so much, I know exactly how that moment of wanting everything to work, to have performers, to build a circus, to create according to your own terms and artistic expression...because i am still STUCK in it. it's like being trapped in a cage, and when you're out of that one cage, there's a bigger one, and when you get out of that bigger cage, there's an even bigger one and you start to wonder when suffering would end and where's that line between resistance and obedience. And when everything's too fucked up for you to care, you try to escape to this own world of yours which outcast you from normal beings. Sometimes I wish i could make people understand this world of mine, like how you showed them into your dresden world. Sometimes i wish i could just wake up in another place and time with people of the same artistic freedom. Maybe it's just being 18 with too much brain masturbation.

ContentWorth said...

Feeling lost and alone today I read your blog instead of bashing my head into the computer trying to get things accomplished.

I feel the opposite about the creation process. I never want to enjoy the end, only the means, and only when it's private. I write, but if it's shared it loses it's vigor, it's life, it's soul.

Staring at the picture of Kerouac I have pinned to the corkboard at my left I think of what life would be like then, as opposed to now. Oh to live the Beat existance. The smoke, the parties, the existance. The hitchhiking!

You're right, you know. We are doing nothing when we could be doing everything. At least, that's where I'm at. Then again, I've created life and now must cultivate it. But outside that it's just a void. An empty vessel, with the sounds of a staticy NPR All Things Considered or news update in the background, informing me of things, in a manner, no television news station ever could.

Jessi said...

[read the entry from january 26th.]

that's what your blog inspired me to do.




Len Tower Jr. said...

i believe this is the blog entry jessi meant

best -len

Natalie Rose said...

Someone explain to me, what's the point if my words have power, but my heart has none?

Len Tower Jr. said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Len Tower Jr. said...

natalie rose:

isn't it true that the only power one's heart can have is over oneself?

best -len

Anonymous said...

How can you type an extremely long blog entry with a stick in your mouth?! Amanda, you never cease to amaze me...

Anonymous said...