Maybe There Are Only Three Kinds Of

What Hope Is There For Individual Reality Or Authenticity When The Forces Of Violence And Orthodoxy, The Earthly Powers Of Guns And Bombs And Manipulated Public Opinion Make It Impossible For Us To Be Authentic And Fulfilled Human Beings? The Only Hope Is In The Creation Of Alternative Values, Alternative Realities. The Only Hope Is In Daring To Redream One's Place In The World - A Beautiful Act Of Imagination, And A Sustained Act Of Self Becoming. Which Is To Say That In Some Way Or Another We Breach And Confound The Accepted Frontiers Of Things.

The Best Writing Is Not About The Writer, The Best Writing Is Absolutely Not About The Writer, It's About Us, It's About The Reader.

The Fact Of Storytelling Hints At A Fundamental Human Unease, Hints At Human Imperfection. Where There Is Perfection There Is No Story To Tell.

In The Beginning There Was A River. The River Became A Road And The Road Branched Out To The Whole World. And Because The Road Was Once A River It Was Always Hungry.

I Was Told Stories, We Were All Told Stories As Kids In Nigeria. We Had To Tell Stories That Would Keep One Another Interested, And You Weren't Allowed To Tell Stories That Everybody Else Knew. You Had To Dream Up New Ones.