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.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Like Lightning - Except Only Slower - And More Like A Buzz, Instead Of A JOLT...
Sorry. I was talking about my mother's vagina.
No. I was talking about the state of my my mind.
But, yet, when one says a comment like the one that I previously stated - there's no amount of anything that can amount to something even close to the thing that I was going to tell you that really wasn't about anything anyway.
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