We Have Fallen Into This Very Mean

Literature Doesn't Have A Country. Shakespeare Is An African Writer. His Falstaff, For Example, Is Very African In His Appetite For Life, His Largeness Of Spirit. The Characters Of Turgenev Are Ghetto Dwellers. Dickens Characters Are Nigerians.

The Acknowledged Legislators Of The World Take The World As Given. They Dislike Mysteries, For Mysteries Cannot Be Coded, Or Legislated, And Wonder Cannot Be Made Into Law. And So These Legislators Police The Accepted Frontiers Of Things.

The Earliest Storytellers Were Magi, Seers, Bards, Griots, Shamans. They Were, It Would Seem, Old As Time, And As Terrifying To Gaze Upon As The Mysteries With Which They Wrestled .. (they) Helped The Community Live Though One More Darkness, With Eyes Wide Open, And With Hearts Set Alight.

One Of The Greatest Gifts My Father Gave Me - Unintentionally - Was Witnessing The Courage With Which He Bore Adversity.

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.