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, September 04, 2003
Only Because I let The Night Slip Through My Fingers Like Mustard...
I can't write about the three things that I wanted to tonight. I lagged, and now it's too late. But I will tell you that, before bed tonight, I whipped up a twenty second sandwich masterpiece involving Peperonni, Salami, Cheddar, Mayonnaise, and pickles, yo. Perfection. Darth Vader never needed Luke to rule the universe. All he needed was one of my sandwiches.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hi! Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?