«We are nothing, but a collection of memories and experiences, we're the ideas that bear ideas. All our dreams are but a sand blown by a wind, sand that falls between fingers and collects into an endless desert of the same crumbled dreams. And we march through this desert, burning by the day, freezing by the night, and with rubbed feet to the blood we are walking nowhere in search of new dreams, experiences, ideas and senses, failing time after time to become whole» — B. J. Neblett