& this blog is feeling existential-crisisy cos what is a blog & what is this blog & what does this blog wanna be let alone who is this blog's audience & where does this blog fit in with all the other litbloggies out there who are barking louder & pissing harder & are in heat ...
mama was gonna write a letter to the independent lit peoples of the US
mama was gonna somehow acronym them to lic but mama forgot how..
& lic is in a tiz cos of the blazevox but if you read the giants, you know all about it
& mama holds no ill will against anyone, not lic (let's go beyond the speed-datings - the in-out, in-out in < 5 minutes; that was gonna be in my letter to you), not blazevox, and not the giants. only the truckers who offered her a cab & whips & cheez whiz & only gave her the cheez whizs or maybe even just gave her an empty jar or a urine jar
& mama's not trying to deceive with the pictures of her book... it's not for sale, yet, smurfs & smurfettes... mama will let you know
you will probly get sick of mama letting you know, if you haven't already. or maybe you want mama to let you know more and more and school you already; you're all like, mama, i know you sit there on your porch in the alabamaz sun with your bourbons & shotgun but you were probly a schoolmarm b4 the rents had to sign for the spankings... do you still have the paddle, yo?
& feisters, did you think that was a pic of mama's book on her kitchen counter in mama's last posty? did you think mama'd have flowered wallpaper or a froggy oven mitt? or wallpaper or oven mitts? or even a kitchen?
mama went to the Decatur Book Festival yesterday, tho, & even tho she doesn't have oven mitts or a kitchen counter, she met a lot of nice peoples... some very nice people were at the Vouched table, for reals.
cos mama does not blow the smoke up the asses; but if you want a fist there just ask...