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.
Sunday, June 27, 2004
Help!...
I'm typing this in the lobby of a waffle house in San Diego. I swear. I'm not kidding. I don't know why they have free internet access here, all I'm surrounded by is old people who can't get out of their chairs once they've sat down.
I have to go. My girlfriend probably thinks I died.
Goodbye. I have to eat and then go to a wedding.
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