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.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
FUCK...
Too much talky talk.
Too many distractions.
Forget trying to write.
I don't see how married people do it if they don't have a door to close.
Though I'm not married.
Blahhh...
Write in vacuums.
Don't write.
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