“But don’t forget who you really are. And I’m not talking about your so-called real name. All names are made up by someone else, even the one your parents gave you. You know who you really are. When you’re alone at night, looking up at the stars, or maybe lying in your bed in total darkness, you know that nameless person inside you.”
“A lesson in vernacular. A group of tigers is called an ambush. A grouping of crows is called a murder. A group of guns is called an arsenal. A group of innocently slain civilians in a suburb is called a tragedy. A group of dead black boys is called Baltimore. A group of dead black boys is called Thursday. A group of dead of black boys is called the cutting room floor from headline news. A group of dead black boys is called the hangman’s promise.”
“For Plato, colour was as dangerous a narcotic as poetry. He wanted both out of the republic. He called painters “mixers and grinders of multi-coloured drugs,” and colour itself a form of pharmakon. The religious zealots of the Reformation felt similarly: they smashed the stained glass windows of churches, thinking them idolatrous, degenerate.”
secretive dreams 