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, April 27, 2009
Researching Buddhist temples and old houses of PKD's right before my rebellious shit started to foment...
I ended up standing in the exact same spot as Philip K. Dick's apocalyptic life-changing courier. But I didn't ring any doorbells because I kind of wanted to open new doors instead of being a ghostly bell ringer...
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