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.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Dear Woody Allen...
That movie sucked. Not that I was expecting much. I was lying helpless in bed and unable to move. I feel like I've been taken advantage of. I am not your adopted daughter.
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