I rarely lie, I omit.

Nach dem Abend, wo alle besoffen waren, dem Tag, an dem alle schlafen und sich nicht gegen das Gewicht der Bettdecken wehren können, stoße ich mich wieder ab von den Brettern des Steges und lasse mich treiben in der Papierflut.

Es gibt bordeaux, es gibt preussischblau, es gibt lindgrün, altrosa.

Spiegelnde Gedanken:

this brings up huge issues that i find myself confronted with more and more as i settle deeper and deeper into my life as “amanda palmer: queen of the internet.” i don’t want to live to document my moments. i don’t want to see a sunset and reach for my iPhone. i don’t want to live my life and love my loves inside out. i fear, sometimes, that i do. i fear for all of us. and in these moments, i find non-action is the only antidote. or something like that.

mfg

was twilight betrifft ...

(from a whole set by guitarhero posted to the shadowbox)

this is me and Hera Hjartardottir (say it nineteen times fast) opening up for me in new zealand that same year (early 2009). this is shameful, but fact…i saw a copy of twilight (yes, THIS “twilight”) lurking in the backseat of someone’s car, and i picked it up…and i started reading it… and i did not stop. i did not stop until i was done, 5 nights later, with a soul full of pain and guilt. i had READ “twilight.” this was far past the point of no return. this was no cult phenomenon. i had seen “twilight” advertised in EVERY AIRPORT I HAD TRAVELED THROUGH in the past six months. this was SHAMEFUL. but i’d finished it, and there was nothing to be done. so i asked hera, who was icelandic and schooled (in my imagination, at least) in the black arts, to help me purge the experience from my soul. we chanted an ancient icelandic prayer, threw the book out into the audience, and hoped that my sins would be vanquished…..