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, February 12, 2004
Right About Now...
Tha funk soul brutha'. I know you were thinking that when I said it. Anyway, I can't hear a damn thing right now. My ears have been all plugged up since I've been a little sicky lately and now I gave it to my girlfriend, but she's got it ten times worse than I had it. Round of applause for me, please. Thank you. I'll be here all week. Remember to tip your waitresses...
So...whatever you've been saying about me - I can't hear you, go nuts - you fargin' bastiches.
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