I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
Who Changes Baby New Years Diapers?...
This year I managed not to get mauled by a pack of wild dogs. That's good.
I rarely kicked anyone in the crotch.
I managed to infuse my body with just about as much booze as oxygen.
I fought balding for another year.
I lost weight. Now I weigh 135 instead of 136.
I read things other than porn.
I stopped visiting your mom.
She says to write her, by the way. And to send money.
Happy New Year, you bastards!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hi! Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?