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.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Bees Make Honey. Cows Make Milk. Couples Make Babies. I Make Messes…
For 29.95 you can have unlimited calling to my heart, and for just 9.95 more –I get unlimited access to your pants.
My head is burning up. My brain feels like last nights charred campfire remains. If I shake my head around a bit, little flame tips poke out of my ears.
Two of my fingers on my right hand – the ones that you make a “Peace” sign with – are numb. Am I having a stroke? Or is this God’s way of telling me to stop being a Hippie?
The Chinese are starting another Space Race. Bin Laden’s hiding in a cave on the moon. Jason Todd and Bucky shower together. Ra's Al Ghul bathes with The Cosmic Cube.
You give me everything.
I give you nothing.
This is how it works.
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Hi! Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?