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.
Thursday, January 02, 2003
Ewok Village...
I don't live out in the sticks. I don't live in a small city either,
but damn-we have some big, fuckin' racoons here.
They must live in the monstrous palm tree that I've got by the side of my house. There's four of them. All are about the size of a medium-size dog. I'm not kidding. Last night they woke me up four times because they were playing on the roof. After the last time, I went outside to scare them away. There were two of them. They flicked their cigarette butts at me so I went back inside.
I'm scared they're gonna mug me and take all of my shiny objects.
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