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, March 03, 2004
Mas...
More and more - as time goes on...
I'm finding it difficult to write.
Lame stuff, important stuff...
Too many distractions.
Please be quiet, so that I can write The Great American Novel that no one will read.
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