Fat Free Milk...

I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas.

Though I love Ms. Goodall and her caring heart and though I do love the fabulous Gombe chimps - my fingers aren't typing Shakepearean sonnets about fruit. I haven't written much lately. I used to a lot - and not just on this crap. An old roommate emailed me yesterday if I was interested in doing comic book writing and said that she was serious about it. Crap, whatever it is. Ummm...yes. Then you'll be seeing some furious bouts of the ol' clickity clack from my simian stubs.

My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments.

I think in this last year that my hope has been more like a trickle from a broken water pump in Uganda than anything else and "creative environments?" I'm thinking that I need to find myself lot more of those. Really.

I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill.

This I still agree with.

Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses.

I am not Bukowski and don't want to be. I don't want what he had. Sorry, Hank.

A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy And the god of imagination.

I AM always peeing, that's true. I think I've been the whole Pantheon of the Greek Gods of Stagnancy in this last year. Imaginative, yes. Doing everything wrong and too late, yes.

Not really... I'm just tired And Full Of Poo...

Really. And I am always tired. And I have been completely full of shit.

No more poo for me. Really.