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, June 13, 2003
Damnation...
where am i again? oh, downstairs, with "Lucky" Rey and Drunken Chris Faux- Hawk.... there's just not enough beer in this town to be able to describe this... blood everywhere, cats digging at our faces, we don't have a chance. Drinking is our and everyones salvation, fuckers, and Strangers beware.... I'm armed to the teeth. Why are there so many reggae bands in our town?? We really don't have that much of an inner city trench town. Oh, well, as long as the over-set girls are jigglin', and the beers are affordable, and the juke plays that sick-ass music all night long, I'm a cappy hamper. there's a strong amount of distrust in the room, noone can be innattentive... the tensions are high, and one of us has resorted to childish vandalism. May any god that's up there have mercy and Barbecue Sauce on our souls.
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