Art Is The Escape From

Sometimes Things Become Possible If We Want Them Bad Enough.

In The Mountains, There You Feel Free.

All Time Is Unreedemable.

Immature Poets Imitate; Mature Poets Steal.

When The Stranger Says: "what Is The Meaning Of This City? Do You Huddle Close Together Because You Love Each Other?" What Will You Answer? "we All Dwell Together To Make Money From Each Other"? Or "this Is A Community"? Oh My Soul, Be Prepared For The Coming Of The Stranger. Be Prepared For Him Who Knows How To Ask Questions.