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.
Friday, December 13, 2002
You Don't EVEN Understand...
You think you know-but you have no friggin' idea, punks.
Grand Buffet's in town tonight. Two white guys rapping, dancing, and lickin' lollipops.
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