One Of The Greatest Gifts My Father

Reading, Therefore, Is A Co-production Between Writer And Reader. The Simplicity Of This Tool Is Astounding. So Little, Yet Out Of It Whole Worlds, Eras, Characters, Continents, People Never Encountered Before, People You Wouldn’t Care To Sit Next To In A Train, People That Don’t Exist, Places You’ve Never Visited, Enigmatic Fates, All Come To Life In The Mind, Painted Into Existence By The Reader’s Creative Powers. In This Way The Creativity Of The Writer Calls Up The Creativity Of The Reader. Reading Is Never Passive.

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.

We Can Redream This World And Make The Dream Come Real. Human Beings Are Gods Hidden From Themselves.

Wholeness Is The Enemy Of The Artist. We Ought To Be Broken, Ruined In Some Way.

Creativity Is The Art Of The Impossible