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The locomotive of my heart was rushing down a dangerously steep slope, heading for a collision, heedless of the warning red lights that blinked all about me, the sirens and the ells and the screams that filled the air.

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Ait Blink Collision Down Fill Heading Heedless Red Rush Scream Steep

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Hunger has always been more or less at my elbow when I played, but now I began to wake up at night to find hunger standing at my bedside, staring at my gauntly.
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We smelted iron, danced, made music and folk poems; we sculpted, worked in glass, spun cotton and wool, wove baskets and cloth.
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At the age of twelve I had an attitude toward life that was to endure, that was to make me seek those areas of living that would keep it alive, that was to make me skeptical of everything while seeking everything, tolerant of all and yet critical.
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But the color of a Negro’s skin makes him easily recognizable, makes him suspect, converts him into a defenseless target
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Men can starve from a lack of self-realization as much as they can from a lack of bread.
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We invented a medium of exchange, mined silver and gold, made pottery and cutlery, we fashioned tools and utensils of brass, bronze, ivory, quartz, and granite.
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What could I dream of that had the barest possibility of coming true?
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I made things happen within. Because my environment was bare and bleak,
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The artist must bow to the monster of his own imagination.
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He had lived and acted on the assumption that he was alone, and now he saw that he had not been. What he had done made others suffer.
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And they do not know why; they are powerless pawns in a blind play of social forces.
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