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.
Saturday, October 04, 2003
And...
if you were The Elephant Man - I'd still come over to your house or your hospital room, and I'd bring enough beers for both you and me, and then I'd make fun of you a lot because that's what friends do. I wouldn't try to get you to go out because I would understand. I'd smuggle you stuff. Porn. Olson Twin dvds. National Geographic. Justin Timberlake's album. I'd punch the hell out of you when I was drunk. Even in your misshapen head, because that's what friends do - they beat the shit out of each other when they're bored. I'd talk Star Wars with you. I'd make sure that you slept right, so that you didn't die.
That's what I would do.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hi! Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?