I Have A Very Small Public.

Where Jargon Turns Living Issues Into Abstractions, And Where Jargon Ends By Competing With Jargon, People Don't Have Causes. They Only Have Enemies.

I'm My Own Writer. My Material Means I'm Entirely Separate.

I Have A Very Small Public.

I Often Wonder What Would Have Happened To Me If I Hadn't Made That Decision. I Suppose I Would Have Sunk. I Suppose I Would Have Found Some Kind Of Hole And Tried To Hide Or Pass. After All, We Make Ourselves According To The Ideas We Have Of Our Possibilities. I Would Have Hidden In My Hole And Been Crippled By My Sentimentality, Doing What I Was Doing, And Doing It Well, But Always Looking For The Wailing Wall. And I Would Never Have Seen The World As The Rich Place That It Is. You Wouldn't Have Seen Me Here In Africa, Doing What I Do.

Look, Boys, It Ever Strike You That The World Not Real At All? It Ever Strike You That We Have The Only Mind In The World And You Just Thinking Up Everything Else? Like Me Here, Having The Only Mind In The World, And Thinking Up You People Here, Thinking Up The War And All The Houses And The Ships And Them In The Harbour. That Ever Cross Your Mind?