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, April 24, 2005
You Ruined My Night, Jen - I'm Going Home...
This is what i just heard. Now Im listening to fat Free Radio. Chris Rock is bagging on The Trenchcoat Mafia. I just got kicked out of the bathroom at Jen's house. All of the girls are naked and talking about what they think is wrong with their bodies. They actually kicked me out. This is wrong. Everybody I have known - male or female has seen every part of my body. My mother hasn't even seen me naked as much as my gal friends. So...I'm offended. Like I haven't seen anything of theirs. I streaked in front of two of them last weekend. Nakednakednaked. One small hand covering one small package. I must stop, because this is not my computer - and feels weird.
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