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.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Leaves Of house...
Get up, get up
says your trainer
I feel tired
you say
please
just let me
lay down
Oh, no, no, no, you big pussy
you're much stronger than that
why do you think you're here
in the first place?
Because I never knew what else to do?
Exactly, asshole
now let me stop that bleeding
keep your guard up
and punch, jab, punch, jab
He must be tired
you say
please
just let him
lay down
That's it, that's it
says your trainer
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It should be jab jab jab punch, bob and weave, bob and weave, jab jab jab punch.
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