is that the imagination lost its power to sustain us/ It now adheres to what is real and unless we are what is real it forfeits us in this transaction and we become the other we must contend with in delight and in suffering as a kind of competition between what we believe and what we perform
There is a petty needle in Art Blakey's arm he imagined it there today you may hear the sound of intermittent gunfire and be asked to laugh at the blackness of blacks methodically on that actual bicycle
