On Their Way To Freedom,

It Was Hollow, My Triumph, I Could Feel That, But I Held On To It Just The Same.

Express Everything You Like. No Word Can Hurt You. None. No Idea Can Hurt You. Not Being Able To Express An Idea Or Word Will Hurt You More. Like A Bullet.

So Much History, If You Or I Were To Write It, Could Seem A Fiction. These Separations, These Lines That Tell Us This Is Fiction Or Non-fiction, That This Is History Or This Is A Novel, Are Often Useless.

I Write A Lot In My Head. The Revision Goes On Internally. It's Not Spontaneous And It Doesn't Have A Schedule.

The People Who Invented Race, Who Grouped Us Together As "black," Were Inventing And Categorizing Their Ability To Do Something Vicious And Wrong.