Do you have difficulty turning real characters into fiction?
You mean: you, the guitar, the bull, the daggers, the women with shawls veils and mirrors, their petty primal envy when you don't need them-- gun fire, neighing horses, etc.?
I think you missed the point. Or you couldn't manipulate yourself fast enough to realize you invented all of them. You're as subjective as an infant crying in your crib.
Is it niggas is redundant or niggas is superfluous? What's the difference? It's here comes the whistle man. Hear his call to chaos? You say he enacted a series of reversals, turned his rage orderly, bossy, sloppy wannabe mafia hush? Is it what the hero refuses to do in each situation that leads to further action? There is no hero. The hero is the experience. One woman's willingness to trust her own experience even if it seems at first like a weakness, a series of provocative situations negated by the calling up of conventional emotions. Fake sonorities. Glee as it fumbles into too much leadership. We soon discover that the central question is who are we and what are we doing to ourselves? It takes years and years to turn the men real again. What causes it to rain when there are no clouds? Do they disappear to become permanent? And sometimes they become permanent to disappear? And all the middle men show up in love with her willingness to trust her own experience? Yes, and they all say the same patient, let's open our own club someday. But can't we forget all that for now and just play?
