I substituted a part of something for the whole, but the effort was foiled when I realized that every stapler was broken. So I was forced to fasten this with string and I wove it together sloppily, albeit gently and with love and I pretended I was a Cherokee woman tying a rock to a stick and creating a sacred and beautiful weapon for battle. How I long for some kind of antiquity. How I wish that I could trace my ancestors back to their huddled masses and then before that to the warm country side of Italy eating olives or maybe Austria, wearing heavy coats.