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, November 22, 2003
28 Days Later...
Me - Honey, if I got turned into a zombie...would you kill me?
Her - Yeah...
Me - You would?
Her - Yeah...
Me - But if you didn't...we could be zombies together...
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