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.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Why Is There Spit On The Computer Screen?
And why haven't I noticed this?
I'm lying. I write these posts on a typewriter.
Also?
Hearing a hawk screech in my backyard from a neighbors television is a bit funny.
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