I entered the halls of higher learning with anxious anticipation. I brought my ideas and thoughts. I approached the podium to speak, only to be blown away by fixed ideals. Set in a paradigm that was unyielding, the academics cut me to shreds. My ideas were pointless and my thoughts were beneath academic reproach. Thus I withered into a state of lamentation and paralyzed fear. What was I to do, how would I succeed. Then from the darkness of dusty tomes, I heard voices call to me. A man with a raven told me never more and someone named Red Chief told me to take my revenge. I heard a woman speaking poetry from her hidden garden and songs from the Mississippi filled my heart as a doddering old gentleman bid me good day. When I came out of my stupor, I realized that I should not fear the established way of things, but accept what I must do and become the spinner of words that I would like to be as many others had before me.