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.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
i usually don't comment.
ReplyDeleteand obviously it's open for interpretation...
but you ended up taking responsiblity for comforting a drunk girl, so full of drama, she overspilled onto you?
Hmmm...you don't really want to know what I was writing about - do you? I like your interpretation better than my inspiration!
ReplyDeletei'm nosy
ReplyDeleteNo, you're not! Thank you for reading my ramblings!
ReplyDelete