...and Yet I Am What They Think

The Blues Is An Impulse To Keep The Painful Details And Episodes Of A Brutal Experience Alive In One's Aching Consciousness, To Finger Its Jagged Grain, And To Transcend It, Not By The Consolation Of Philosophy But By Squeezing From It A Near-tragic, Near-comic Lyricism. As A Form, The Blues Is An Autobiographical Chronicle Of Personal Catastrophe Expressed Lyrically.

The Clock Ticked With Empty Urgency, As Though Trying To Catch Up With The Time. In The Street A Siren Howled.

If The Word Has The Potency To Revive And Make Us Free, It Has Also The Power To Bind, Imprison And Destroy.

Power Doesn't Have To Show Off. Power Is Confident, Self-assuring, Self-starting And Self-stopping, Self-warming And Self-justifying. When You Have It, You Know It.

Light Confirms My Reality, Gives Birth To My Form...without Light I Am Not Only Invisible But Formless As Well; And To Be Unaware Of One's Form Is To Live A Death...the Truth Is The Light And Light Is The Truth.