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.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
Sex And The Wussy...
What's worse? Dashing home to record the Sex And The City cast farewell on Oprah after work for my girlfriend, or me being just as excited to watch it as her? I think I know the answer to this one...
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