I Don't Think About The Real Future

She Knows, Now, Absolutely, Hearing The White Noise That Is London, That Damien's Theory Of Jet Lag Is Correct: That Her Mortal Soul Is Leagues Behind Her, Being Reeled In On Some Ghostly Umbilical Down The Vanished Wake Of The Plane That Brought Her Here, Hundreds Of Thousands Of Feet Above The Atlantic. Souls Can't Move That Quickly, And Are Left Behind, And Must Be Awaited, Upon Arrival, Like Lost Luggage.

I've Been Interested In Autism Since I've Known About It, Which Is More Or Less Since I've Been Writing.

We Are That Strange Species That Constructs Artifacts Intended To Counter The Natural Flow Of Forgetting.

'cyberspace' As A Term Is Sort Of Over. It's Over In The Way That, After A Certain Time, People Stopped Using The Suffix '-electro' To Make Things Cool, Because Everything Was Electrical. 'electro' Was All Over The Early 20th Century, And Now It's Gone. I Think 'cyber' Is Sort Of The Same Way.

I Think That The Collectible Ephemera Craze/awareness Is Probably Driven By A Reverse Market, Rebounding Off The Sense Of Everything Being Mass-produced. It's The Last Step You Take In Trying To Find Something Unique.