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, April 21, 2005
Jason Todd...
If the stupid cat never would've run out in the first place - he never would've gotten his ass kicked. Now he has three functioning legs. This is either sad for the cat, or tempting to a hungry Vietnamese. Or both.
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