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, March 11, 2003
Am I Bad?
I just called my mother a "Cunt".
I laughed about it, it just sounded funny.
And no, I didn't tell her that to her face -
I don't ever talk to her much.
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