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.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
I need to practice this a bit more, me thinks. I've given up on writing pretty much. I don't do much personal writing lately and all of the freelance work is funneling, counter-clockwise down my motivational toilet and I'm fine with it. So this works. I never thought I was that great anyway. I write like I speak. Like Yoda with Strep Throat. Like Marlee Matlin drunk. Like Jabba without Bib Fortuna. Like...fershure.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
repost 2007
Egg...
Everything that I wished for before I now haveand everything I now have is nothing compared to what I had.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
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