What Age Is A Black Boy When

For Those Whose Ganglia Were Formed Pre-tv, The Mimetic Deployment Of Pop-culture Icons Seems At Best An Annoying Tic And At Worst A Dangerous Vapidity That Compromises Fiction's Seriousness By Dating It Out Of The Platonic Always, Where It Ought To Reside.

I've Just Finished Reading Reality Hunger And I'm Lit Up By It-astonished, Intoxicated, Ecstatic, Overwhelmed. . . . It Really Is An Urgent Book: A Piece Of Art-making Itself, A Sublime, Exciting, Outrageous, Visionary Volume.

You Don’t Have The Slightest Idea Of What It Means To Write A Scene And A Character In The English Language, With Images And Words Chock Full Of Received Meaning.

I've Never Related To The Work Geek At All-it Sounds Much More Horrible Than Nerd. Like A Freak Biting A Chicken's Head Off In A Sideshow.

I Never Have Been A Musician; I'm Not Actually Capable. Because I Can't Even Pretend To Acquire The Gift, All Of My First Feelings About Art Are Still Attached To Music. I Look At It Yearningly, I Look At It Wonderingly. I Behold It From Afar, As Something Unattainable, Something Outside Of Myself, From Which I Can Take Nourishment, But I Can't Domesticate And Master.