good morning, good morning...

they're at it again...



...since when did i move to the fucking suburbs? those Foundering shitbags took me from that pleasant plantation location to a fucking suburb. i can hear these motors' hemming, hawing, motoring, and chomping from all the way down here in the cellar.

i was up all night working on the damn flag, then twisting and turning in my sleep cause a some stupid dreams, and i wake up to resume my stichings and a minute later i gotta hear this damn racket of a machine?!

it's getting me all kinds of flashbacks, fucking left and right.

i would even go back to AMsterdamn. with this kinds of waether...

take me back to olde Sanduskie...

Betsy wants to go back to Brooklyn. Betsy misses certain things about Brooklyn...

while my mittens gently sleeps...

Betsy has not woken up to the sound of a lawn mower in quite some time:


It seems that she (Betsy) has been shuffled and moved by Underground railroads to a new location so as to keep working on her mittens with her Mittens...

George W. didn't seem to like her so much in the cellar, and found for her some better accommodations in the cellar of another of the Foundering Fathers's houseses.

we looked just like this in the heat of the night as we was moving:


Mittens made the travel with me alright; i'd just have to squoze her to relieve her as the train rolled along. She is a-napping now by the chamber pot here in the cellar of ours new accomodations.

What might only happen from now will time tell.

but, my god, are my shoulders (and calves) aching from this sewing and a-stichin' ... some heavy roads we've had to climb to get this flag all done up and good -- gots me 8 and one half stars on the bitch now, still workin on them stripes as it were tho (they go all the way down)...

I cannot brain today, I have the dumb

there isn't much light in this dungeon

i need a bridge over troubled Betsy.













.

CELEBRITY SIGHTING IN MALIBU

CELEBRITY SIGHTING IN MALIBU:

MATTHEW NELSON of NELSON was spotted today in Malibu.

He drives a Porsche, btw.

If i grew up on a farm, and was retarded, this country might impress me...

but instead i'm stuck here in this shithole, sewing up a dream of George W.'s America...

And if Mittens wasn't sleeping on my soapbox (one of the few ammentieis i'm allowed here in this dungeon), I'd would climb right up on top of it to say a thing or two. About the fleeting wills and wants of a little old hand-maid with some knitting skillz.











i feel whittled to the fucking knuckles. (aint no thimble gonna cure me).

.

and more on Mittens later; all depends on how much a-stichin' i gets done this evening if i'm gonna scribe yous a little something-something before i crawl up on my straw bed and--