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 03, 2005
You Are My Sunshine - My Only Sunshine. You Make Me Want To Poke My Fingertips Into My Eyes Until I Reach The Knuckles...
Stupid Internet.
For the last couple of hours tonight, I have seen many beautiful things because of your technological and very fresh, content-friendly existence.
This is why I hate you.
My OCD and sick curiousity loves you.
But the shit that I should've been writing - wants to eat your entrails like a German does sausages.
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