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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.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
I FOUND THIS UNPUBLISHED DRAFT ABOUT SOME OF MY UNPUBLISHED DRAFTS...
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
YOU
can always find it again
anybody can
but what matters most
is what you do with it
now that you have it
again
anybody can
but what matters most
is what you do with it
now that you have it
Friday, May 11, 2012
Friday, May 04, 2012
I don't really think
that you know what I'm doing
my fear is that
before that you know how much better that I've made things
that you'll be gone before you see it
my fear is that
before that you know how much better that I've made things
that you'll be gone before you see it
Thursday, May 03, 2012
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
Saturday, April 21, 2012
men
make beats in the background
we, (wo)men
filled with woe
woo and whoa and wring and waste
our will, wants and wishes
until we're beat
we, (wo)men
filled with woe
woo and whoa and wring and waste
our will, wants and wishes
until we're beat
There is...
Something on my left hand.
A spot, a glimmering thing that can be spit, Spit or maybe...SPIT.
A male voice just yelled at somebody from down the street.
My right hand hurts.
Old wound.
Reference "Stupid journal #18, circa 1995.
I just spent the last 10 seconds trying to shake 18 years out of my 2 broken knuckles.
A spot, a glimmering thing that can be spit, Spit or maybe...SPIT.
A male voice just yelled at somebody from down the street.
My right hand hurts.
Old wound.
Reference "Stupid journal #18, circa 1995.
I just spent the last 10 seconds trying to shake 18 years out of my 2 broken knuckles.
Friday, April 13, 2012
A string of excited, fugitive, miscellaneous pleasures is not happiness; happiness resides in imaginative reflection and judgment, when the picture of one's life, or of human life, as it truly has been or is, satisfies the will, and is gladly accepted - - - George Santayana
Today was not a bad day at all.
I wanted to put down some of the things that passed through my brain/crayons/canyons/today...
exhaustion
confusion
gluttony
joy
violence
LUST
regret
inebriation
nostalgia
fame
pugnacity
anger
pride
age
clairvoyance
sexiness
wastefulness
reflectiveness
recognition
poetry
I'M SPOILED.
Because I get to feel these things.
And many don't.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
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