Facts sometimes have a strange and bizarre power that makes their inherent truth seem unbelievable.

Do you not then hear this horrible scream all around you that people usually call silence.

I'm not a journalist; I'm a poet. I had a discourse, an encounter with these people but I never had a list of questions.

I have worked for YouTube like texting and driving because I was curious to test what's out there and how does it function, can I release something like about texting and driving to very young audiences, at the age where they do their drivers test? And the response was phenomenal, millions of people saw it.

But the question that everyone wanted answered was whether I would have the nerve and the strength to start the whole process from scratch. I said yes; otherwise I would be someone who had no dream left, and without dreams I would not want to live.

In the face of the obscene, explicit malice of the jungle, which lacks only dinosaurs as punctuation, I feel like a half-finished, poorly expressed sentence in a cheap novel.

I think I would be a good villain in a James Bond movie.