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, June 16, 2008
Working for years around noisy machinery can make you feel uneasy even in the most beautiful and quiet of moments.
You have to block out images of towering piles of pots, pans, crates of M-80's and stacks of free tickets to Slayer concerts.
Run
2
Buddha, kid
Run
w
your
hands
clamped
firmly over your ears
r u n
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I titally forgot to ask, what did you write tonight at Mulberry? I noticed you were writing something on the white paper placemat...
ReplyDeleteGrocery list. And my will. Together.
ReplyDelete