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.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Palm Trees On Fire Smell Like Smog...
This lightning's burning them up out here
Power went out
and I just sat here in the darkness
not knowing what to do
A man in a tie
sold me an art set for ten dollars
and told me that it was just hailing
The power went back on
and then I got sad
the lights now seemed brighter than before
and I missed the darkness
I want more lightning now
I want the L.A. Riots in O.C.
I want Palm trees on fire that smell like smog
I want to type BLARGH
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