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, May 18, 2005
And The Slow Days Do Nothing To Erase The Constant Changes In Your Face...
and he asked himself
quietly
and politely
to
Stop for a second.
what
what's wrong?
don't bother me
I'm busy
y' see?
No. I don't see.
I see what you don't - and more.
This is the reason of my being. I am the outerworldy essence that exists within you. The outsides of your insides that we all hope that you may, one day, spread to others in your outside world.
I'm not really getting what you're saying, man. You seem like a nice guy and all - but...I'm, kinda like, really doin' a lot of things right now, y' know? Maybe I'll have some time later or sumthin'...
No. You won't. I know this, have seen it...lived it. That is why I speak to you now. I see you. Know you. Am you. I am THE OLDER you. The FUTURE YOU.
......really? Wow. Cool. Huh. Ummm...so, are you, like - rich yet?
(sigh).........
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