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.
Sunday, January 05, 2003
Mein head...
How do you say "head" in German? Forget it. I don't want to know how to speak German anyway. I'll never go there, and the only German people that I've ever known were friends of my neighbors. They wanted to take my cat home with them.
Today, I was taking out the trash. I was walking to the backyard and one of my neighbors was walking down his steps. I said hi and scared the shit out of him. That's normal because I walk like a ninja and can be quite stealthy, but he had to stop and compose himself afterwards. I guess the night before his roommate had to call the cops because a couple of white-trash transients were hanging out in front of the Hollywood video threatening two little black girls, calling them Jigaboo and telling them that they had a gun. So the cops came, etc. I guess he saw the same white-trash car across the street today, so they were both talking about it, then one of my neighbors goes outside and sees me with my newly shaven head. Mr. Speed Freak Lookin' Skinhead. Giving him a heart attack.
Do skinheads smoke Marlboro light 100's?
I think not.
Carry on.
Go away, Hitler - there's no Germany here...
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