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.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Hermes...
You don't have a pen that I can write with and no paper to write upon with the pen that I don't have. I wanted to make a Facebook status update in regards to how happy I am at the moment but I didn't want to get responses back via my phone. It's set to high volume because we have to wake up in the morning and I want you to sleep. Your neighbors are noisy but they're getting quieter as their drunken tide starts to grab and grab at their LOUDNESS. I can imagine a cop not giving a shit when I call - neighbor.noisy.need sleep.
I think you're good. Sleeping soundly. I'm here. It's nice to type on something that works. I've missed writing. I promise to give you everything that you want and please don't hate me if sometimes I excuse myself and try to give myself a little bit of everything that I want...besides what I have with you.
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I love that you let me sleep and that you are resourceful and use the computer versus a pen and paper. Although a pen and paper is way sexy and now I will buy you one of each, (well a pen and a booklet of paper that is) so that you can always have one of each to write with because I think you are sexy... when you write.
ReplyDeleteThank you, baby!
ReplyDeletelove. That last paragraph. Is love.
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