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.
Wednesday, October 07, 2020
this will replace THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID...
SPACE ALIENS is my new answer to every question from now on.
From NOW ON.
This makes no sense and is not funny.
Typing my Fat Free Milk posts via phone is seeming to be a bad idea.
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Comments! Your FACE is a comment! Huh?