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 25, 2003
My Xanadu...
No particular reason, but if I lived in Australia, I'd save all of my money and buy the whole damn island. Got that right, Bub. Australia seems nice. They have wonderful exports. Nicole Kidman. Naomi Watts. That one book...what was it called? Cold Beer and Crocodiles, or something like that. Koalas are cute. And they hate Rabbits. They eat chocolate Bilbys instead for Easter. Don't ask me to explain what a Bilby is, I don't have the time, it's late.
But this is what I want...all of Australia. Nothing else. I'll keep on producing the occasional hot actress, I won't ruin the environment, I'll keep out of world politics, I'll just use the government funds for building a force field and for making toys. Yeah, It'll be the real island of misfit toys. I'll grow a beard, because somehow, I don't think It'd be right for me to be a nutcase who owns an island without having the obligatory, long, white beard.
Oh, and drunk Koalas. And cybernetic Kangaroos controlled by Chimpanzees that sit in their pouches.
Fosters. Australian for beer, mate.
Thank you.
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