If you have to explain what your art means, it don’t mean nothing.
In all the states, in all the Cities, all Men have their national deities, and tribal gods, while in the Bushes the Revolutionist has only his book of dried figs, and a case of B-flat mouthpieces.
A real thinker would never use such words as “imaginary” as a censure, but would leave it to the City-sighted to make their own distinction between their apparent reality, and their not-so.
Never trust a god who’s between jobs.
Thirst is a dangerous thing, and REAL thirst is REAL dangerous.