Many attempts had been made to re-impose a rationality — with its built-in core notions of progress and success — on the people of a once-colonized town.  Once, when passing through, he overheard of a behavioral trait being cited as resistant to change: the townspeople continued to leave the colonizer’s language back at their offices and shops and go home to a seemingly inaccessible version of their own.  They’d revel in it in streets and eateries in the evenings and nights.  As one night reveler explained to him, The time I love language is when it lets me sing and I can tell stories.  That’s when I can control how I use language.  At the job or in many formal situations, someone else has control of it, and, through it, of me.  The reveler’s words long kept in his mind how rationality was not of one kind, for the rationality which argued for progress and success was other and different than the rationality that sought to live for story and song.