frankensteins_monster pony I, who have been ruined by men, the very obsession I carried so deeply that it was noted in a review of my only self published honesty, do not hold it against them as a creature. I am grateful for this beautiful home that I have, though not on the first for the rent I must pay, for its beauty I have built on my own. Not my first creation, not my last, hardly even existing in the middle, neither grandest nor inconsequential, but for now the most reliable in its reaction to my presence. I once lived among bones stacked as a shrine, teetering, cracked and smoke stained, filled with shining tobacco candles and homage to Tom Waits, constructed to lure and to intimidate those that obsessed me like a web, and I was the spider. I was building mountains out of men. I built and built and built, higher, higher, higher. It all came down in a swell that reached my knees and bore two new men; I took them far from the web, cut the threads with a knife I'd carried in my sleeve since I was a girl, not yet ruined by men. 240222 what's it to you? who go blather from