Hey. This, here, the page you're looking at right now, it is the second part.
I just thought I'd tell you.

Since 1997, I've had a number of large black-covered books which I have filled entirely with graphite marks which occasionally resemble manifestations of thoughts. Generally, I invite any person to attempt any books' perusal. There is one book, however, the first one, (and actually, now that I've taken inventory for the sake of these web pages, probably the second one, too) that I'd never let anyone look at. We shall see why.

I initially stopped people from looking at it because I was bothered by school persons' tendency to make remarks I perceived as lewd at the non-lewd, fun, wholesome, violent things they saw.


You're a good drawer. Are those cocks?

Also, I hated them all anyway. However, unsuprervised, things became lewd, which led to further, justified secrecy.

A more typical nemite of the 1998 era than I showed on the other page, and actually the very one I referred back to when struggling with a new one's shapes, was this. Though it may appear superior so far as technique is concerned, it occurred to me that my hott drawing skillz were no good if no one else could see them, so eventually I became very, rightly paranoid about what people –normal people I did not attend school with– would think of what I was doing, and then for the next two years all scoundrel anthropomorfs I drew were a bit bloated and generally featureless below their heads as reparative measures were taken. However, the strict 90 degree stances and gravity stricken, perineum placed tails lingered and dangled on.

It's possible you're still not convinced. Maybe you even think it's "cute" in some way that I'm sure has seen you bleeding more than once, so let me pull back a bit. No, I'm doing it anyway regardless of your permission.

Alright, it appears I cannot obtain a decent-focused picture of this, but I suppose the less you know, mumble mumble.




Do you see a theme? No, not apples. And no, not fundamental misunderstanding of simple anatomical concepts, but you're getting there.
Every day, it seems, I was drawing this sort of thing, not much else, and 90% of it involved the same creature. Somehow pog abuse had given way to pose abuse. No fluids, no tentacles, no physical interaction. Just plain exhibitionism. This awkward animal was a camera-whore before there were camera-whores. Even the animation of it catching fire is unpleasant in ways unrelated to the unpleasantness generally associated with life-forms exposed to extreme temperatures. What was primordial nemitz's crime to have let it be forced into these circumstances? I suspect that my regret over this form of exploitation led to the more violent, punishment-like exploitation which has been the fictional, two-dimensional existence of nemitz and friends ever since and prior to that. Theirs is a tragic fate, regardless.

On one unusual bus ride, destination unknown, that book there happened to fall out of my grasp, displaying two random pages briefly for anyone who happened to hear the noise and look in its direction. I snatched the tome as fast as I knew how, not wishing to dally long enough to see which pages had been visible. However, I did overhear a slightly panicked shout whisperer report to a regular accomplice that I had drawn a picture of “Satan sucking a baby's cuneiform!” though for the sake of historical accuracy I think he might not have said cuneiform, but I don't feel like breaking out the comic sans again. I never knew which picture he was referring to, though I presumed it was this one: (observe the wingish appendage I didn't bother finishing)


I remember thinking “well I never!” and various things of that nature. This was during the period when, in addition to not letting them see my pencil marks, I did not speak –as in, emit noises from my mouth reminiscent of language– in the presence of people with connections to the school, Yale's magnificent Cedarhurst, so I left my thoughts on the matter a mystery. I wish I would have spoken up and said look! It's nothing disgusting! It's just the fabulous Chesterfield Snapdragon McFisticuff giving birth orally as a result of lacking any other suitable escape chute, a fact which I appear to derive amusement from drawing attention to! You have a horrible mind!

It is worth noting that as a result of my not speaking, ever, in December senior officials had revenge and placed me into a similarly branded hospital-type environment, where I continued to not speak, I did not attend classes, the drawings stayed strange and my parents brought me coke, magazines and pringles every day. Ha ha ha. I seem to recall my mother (at whom I did talk) threatening to leave me in the place for Christmas, but I escaped before then.

Trvial wacko philosophy:
Anyone art twit online who states that fur equates to clothing (native fur, that is, and not the processed pelt of a dead animal or animals, which could very well act as clothing, felt it so inclined) to get out of drawing whatever they want to get out of drawing is in denial and full of beans (apparently I'm the first person online to suggest furries might be a bit off). It seemed to me, and still does, that if you can see quite clearly the navel, a small thing which usually goes inward, you could definitely see a larger thing which goes inward and especially one that comes outward. It also seemed to me that when I could see a larger thing coming outward, I didn't want to. So you can imagine, I'm sure, the dilemmas this could create for a person (me) who spent its time drawing similar abominations.

Though I no longer display navels or uh groutesque pectoral protrusions on the subjects of our attention, and thus could re-evaluate whether the amount of crotch-cover was adequate, that may still require me to decide what is being covered, and it's easier for the time-being to just say nothing at all. I cannot even verify whether I mean there's nothing there or if I'm just not saying anything. If the former, the beasts must have an entirely different reproduction paradigm than we are familiar with, which may very well involve coughing up babies, sculpting them out of shebert or something that would seem even less feasible had I a fundamental understanding of science or knew what paradigm meant. Ah! But maybe science is different, too! Ha ha bah. It's a wishy-washy copout, since modern nemitz still has two ears, the same ear placement, encounters the same gravity, the same plants, the same architechtural styles, the same public outrage and all that, but it's the least retarded thing on this page. Which reminds me:


"Ah," here's one with wings. This is uncharacteristically awful, even for me. I just like the smoking raccoon. Anyway, you can see why someone with my work ethic would get tired of this.


And here, amongst all the carnage, a single sheeeet of paper torn out. I can't begin to imagine what I was that ashamed of back then. To put that in perspective,


I remember what was on this page (At the time, I typically left the right-side one blank to reduce smudging).


All right, now what?



We torture the voodoo doll.