New Nations One and Two

I bought a box of Nat Sherman cigarettes and I've smoked almost the whole pack. Nevertheless, my social status remains just about the same.

There are these cats people are breeding,little cats with stubby legs.Munchkin cats, which breeders and owners claim to be an entirely new breed. Other people think it's a grotesque display of human ignorance; that dwarfism is an unfortunate mutation or defect with a likelihood for further serious health issues as a direct result. These folks think that duplicating dwarfism in cats is thus cruel and unethical. They're probably right, but these things are really fucking cute.

There are a few things I've loved in my life more than the thing itself.Or thought so. The need to have it, be near it, surpasses the need for this thing to be safe, comfortable, happy... Egoism at it's finest. Cleverly camouflaged as true love,the desperate neediness manifested out of the deep-rooted desire to form one's own identity out of other things and people. The inability to exist alone for fear of evaporating.

My dog just finished her first heat cycle. A lil puppy dog, fresh from the litter, was the only male she came in close contact with; I wrongly assumed he would be neutral towards her billowing femme-canine sex signals. He figured it out damn quick, apparently, and when I turned back he had latched on to her for dear life. puppy's first identity crisis. Reminiscent of some men I've dated. The contradictory need to both fuck and nurse, conquer and be contained. reminiscent of everyone I've ever met.

when I'm walking in the ghetto I look straight ahead, avoid eye contact with crackhead cat-callers and get where I'm going. When I'm in shopping malls I stare at the linoleum, stepping carefully around delicate towers of media and pop culture, afraid that if I bump one over I might get some on me. i avoid the stares of women clutching to the image of the breadwinner at home, the guy who pays the mortgage and the car note. I don't mean to hurt feelings, but I think you're full of shit. And I have no interest in taking away your lexus or your PTA or your honor student. Just so we're clear.

I don't mean to be profound or anything, I really just like the way it feels to smoke cigarettes (shermans), and hear the clickclickclick of keys under my fingers in my underwear with a layer of caffeine sweat fueling my nonsense. Thank you, I love all of you, each and every one.

Via con Nada!

well, I suppose

I am in need of listeners, or blank pages (the two are interchangeable at times). So, I've set up this thing here, this space. I've unfolded my imaginary legs and arms, made some room for myself, right here on this internet which yous who am are read ing?this may enjoy. or not.

Hmm. I've read some things other people have written, and I hate most of it. I'm not especially interesting, and I won't pretend to believe that my life's goings-on are worth a second of your time, you cyber-monkey you. HOWEVER, I love to write rambling elusive rants, and I intend to.

I think I'll approach this thing the way I would were I building an intentionally dangerous tree house. If the people you know are anything like the people I know, you will have witnessed the creation of something with a similar creative manifesto:

I'm gonna build this fucker because I want to, in the process I might be noticed, and the finished product will be nothing if not large, obtrusive, and vaguely frightening.

I hardly believe that my wobbly tic-tac-toe sentences, arranged like a shitty bouquet of weeds and barbie hair, will be anything like the described fortress of particle board, sheet metal, and drywall screws, and it certainly won't scare you or get in your way. I'm just saying I use the same method. Odds and ends of a variety of useless material, connected with no grace or dignity whatsoever. Brute force and pointless determination. Forty square pegs for fifteen round holes, all arranged on a paper doily. This is what I hope to deliver.

Til next time,

Alma