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.
Wednesday, February 11, 2004
We Have Millions Of Probe Droids Searching The Galaxy ... I Want Proof, Not Leads....
Man. Seriously. I can't concentrate. Too late. Too little time. Getting over a small cold and took the night off because of it. What have I done with my time? It's out there somewhere in space, speeding through galactic, philotic ansibles and landing on Greedo's vid screen.
New links to the left.
I'll get to more later.
Falling asleep...
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