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, January 09, 2006
The White Mountains...
The phones are acting weird today. Calls disconnect. I can hear a click when I get on the phone – kind of like somebody else is getting on the line right after me. There is also a faint hum in the background that I never noticed before. The computer’s are sluggish and I can see the silhouettes of shuffling feet from beneath the door, but every time I yank it open, there’s nobody there.
When you drive home tonight – watch out, try to keep your eye in the sky, avoid being tailed, lock your doors and turn out the lights when you get home.
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