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, September 13, 2005
Tri Ta Eata Pi...
It's sorority rush down the street again.
I've been hearing them clip and clop down the street in their heels.
Giggling. Parking their shiny compact cars.
And now screaming and clapping undecipherable white girl voodoo-type chants.
Today, for about five minutes, I entertained the idea of streaking naked by them while they were doing one of their noisy front yard activities.
I was THIS close away from calling a friend to have him wait for me down the street.
But...I obviously didn't go through with it because...I'm not writing this from jail.
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