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.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Mommy And Daddy...Thanks, Raymi...
That's the second cool band that I've found on her website.
Sometimes you discover the best things when everybody else is sleeping.
Axe-murderers, Owls and The Chupacabra know what's up.
It can make one feel old against the squinting glare of the alarm-clocked LED display when you realize that sporadic moments of creative discovery, loud music and writing madness happen when the next work day looms overhead like Pennywise's true galactic form. Stupid spider.
If that didn't make sense, I'll make it so.
I miss writing on paper.
Enough with missing shit and on to dissing shit.
Enough with submissing and on to the next mission.
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