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, April 30, 2007
Night is not beautiful and this post isn't either...
It's scary.
I'm thinking that the only people that are up right now are either up to no good or on drugs.
Or both.
These nocturnal miscreants are probably rummaging through my car as you read and/or as I type this or they're fighting with other vampires over spoiled meat or they're breathing heavily into an unwilling recipient's ear or they're chatting with people online and pretending to be younger than they are or they're writing about people that are awake right now and are either up to no good or on drugs or both, nocturnal miscreants that are probably rummaging through cars as you read and as I type this or people fighting with other vampires over steak or people that breathe heavily into an unwilling recipient's ear or people who chat with people online and pretend to be younger than they are or they're writing about puppies that talk like humans.
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this sucked
ReplyDeleteI got to hold one once. A baby. It was soft and gentle and squirmy. Little fingers wrapped around mine, a prehensile tail looped around my wrist and it sniffed my skin with little nose whiskers tickling me. it was beautiful. it didn't suck.
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