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, July 28, 2004
Johnathan Crane...
i FEEL AS OLD AS i THOUGHT THAT i DID WHEN i WAS YOUNGER, EXCEPT THAT NOW - i'M ACTUALLY THAT OLD.
eVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED WAY BACK WHEN SERVED IT'S PURPOSE.
nOW THAT I LOOK BACK, NOTHING SURPRISES ME, EXCEPT THE THINGS THAT i DIDN'T EXPECT TO HAPPEN. aLL OF THE THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED MAKE SENSE.
tHE FUTURE LOOKS GREY.
mY SKIES HAVE NEVER BEEN THAT BLUE, AND EVEN AT MY DARKEST - THERE WAS STILL AN AMPLE AMOUNT OF LIGHT PEEKING THROUGH THE BLINDS.
i CAN'T QUANTIFY TIME THROUGH MY FEET BECAUSE i'M LAME IN ONE.
mY ARMS AND HANDS ARE SCARRED.
mY EYES ARE oSIRIS'.
mY FINGER AND TOENAILS GROW AT A RAPID RATE.
i HAVE BAD KNEES DUE TO SKATEBOARDING INJURIES.
mY LUNGS NEED A NEW WHEELCHAIR.
tHE OLD WRITING HAND THAT i BARELY USE ANYMORE DUE TO COMPUTERED CONTRAPTIONS SCREAMS EVERYTIME THAT i WRITE DUE TO OLD FIGHTS WITH CLOSET DOORS AND WALLS.
YET...
tHE BRAIN AND THE HEART COME TO VISIT ONCE A WEEK.
tHE LIVER HATES AND HATES AND HATES.
i WANT TO BE THE BEST-LOOKING VAMPIRE EVER.
hAPPY TO BE ALIVE.
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