Not my career I can trace but my life. I wrote a lyric in 1970 when I went back to New York and it goes like this, -- I mean a poem called "Coil Strand" because people call my hair natural, they call it kinky. We call it all kinds of things, but what it is is coiled. It's like that. My life is all in my hair. "The Coiled Strand. Mine is the coiled strand. The follicle is just like the bag I'm in, circling, spiraling ever upward, outward. It is always in. It is tested as my life is and remains itself. Coiled as the spring from which I spring, sprang, sprung. Still coiled, mine is the coiled strand. " Mm-hmm. However I am made, I thank my ancestors and the gods and I wouldn't tell them that they didn't know how to make a human being. It's scary to watch the development of people who deny their ancestors. Well, Michael Jackson who killed his ancestors in his face and in his hair, his skin. The only reason he can sing and dance like he does is because his ancestors were African. I'd be afraid to do that. I'd be afraid. Mm-hmm.