I have met many writers. They are a strange breed; always reading things, who does that? They are amusing and lovable. They are convinced that I am just as drunken and erudite as them; a false impression I am finding increasingly stressful to sustain, especially the erudite part. When they talk about books, I get stressed, "Oga Ikhide your last nonsense review reminds me of what Hemingway said to Soyinka as Said was writing his Orientalism. Have you read Said's Orientalism?" I did not know there was somebody named Said; who names a child that? Someone reminded me that Said was dead when I expressed the fervent hope that I would someday meet him.
- Ikhide
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