All The Gods Are Dead Except The

And Why Does It Make You Sad To See How Everything Hangs By Such Thin And Whimsical Threads? Because You’re A Dreamer, An Incredible Dreamer, With A Tiny Spark Hidden Somewhere Inside You Which Cannot Die, Which Even You Cannot Kill Or Quench And Which Tortures You Horribly Because All The Odds Are Against Its Continual Burning. In The Midst Of The Foulest Decay And Putrid Savagery, This Spark Speaks To You Of Beauty, Of Human Warmth And Kindness, Of Goodness, Of Greatness, Of Heroism, Of Martyrdom, And It Speaks To You Of Love.

I Have Lived Those Lines And I Know That If I Had Not Been Apprehended I Would Have Slit Some White Throats.

They Use Force, To Make You Do, What The Deciders, Have Decided You Must Do.

The Myth Of The Strong Black Woman Is The Other Side Of The Coin Of The Myth Of The Beautiful Dumb Blonde.

Too Much Agreement Kills A Chat.