Who Knows, Maybe This Whole Planet Is

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.

We Are Living In Enchanted Time. With Our Spirits Right.

We Have Fallen Into This Very Mean Description Of Humanity. Naturalism In Fiction Is Too Reductive In Its Definition Of Human Beings.

There Is A Kind Of Expressed Love Which Is Easy To Subvert. When A Figure Is Loved For Their Deeds, Their Conquests, Their Heroism, Their Goodness, Their Love Of The People, These Are Easy Enough To Destroy... But There Is A Kind Of Love Which Is Felt For Apparently No Reason... A Love, Inspired, It Seems, By The Gods, Which It Is Impossible To Fight, Distort, Destroy, Or Weaken. In Fact, The Attempts To Destroy Such Loves Only Strengthen Them. And To Do Nothing Allows Them To Continue To Grow At Their Natural Pace, Inexoribly, Till This Love Becomes A Wide And Silent Adoration.

Don't Neglect The Gold In Your Own Back Yard.