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, May 20, 2004
Seriously...
Have I missed the bus or was I not supposed to be able to buy a ticket anyway? I just don't get it. I'm either the biggest waste in the universe or I'm grasping at the coats of demonic millionaires a coupla seconds too late. I'm like a stray dog weaving in-between lanes of highway traffic. Maybe I should stop and take a breather? Maybe I rested too long that last time. Everytime I stop, I put myself in more danger...but maybe if I pull my leg over my head and lick myself, one of those cars might notice me, stop...and take me home. To a place of warm fireplaces, food, comfort and heavy petting...
Yes. I said heavy petting...
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