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, March 23, 2006
Citron This...
There's something wrong about accidentally finding a bottle of vodka in your cupboard.
It's kind of like The Gods on Mount Olympus chucking down ice cream cones to retarded, screaming fat kids.
OK, this is genius.
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