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| nothing is plumb, level, or square. the studs are bowed, the joists are shaky by nature.. no piece fits any other piece with a gap or pinch, | |
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| and bent nails dance all over the surfacing like maggots.. by christ, i am no carpenter. i built the roof for myself, the walls for myself, the floors for myself, | |
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| and i got hungup in it myself.. i danced with a purple thumb at this house warming, drunk with my prime whiskey: rage. oh i spat rage's nails into the frame up | |
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| of my work: it held. it settled level, plumb, square and true for that great moment, then screaming, it went through, skewing just as wrong the other way.. | |
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| god damned it. this is hell. but i planned it, i sawed it, i nailed it, and i will live in it until it kills me.. i can nail my left palm to | |
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| the left hand crosspiece, but i cant do everything myself, i need a hand to nail my right palm, a help, a love, a you, a wife. | |
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