I Loathe Computers More And More, So

The Novelist, Quite Rightly, Fears The Psychoanalyst As Both An Enemy And A Usurper.

Just As The Blurring Between Childhood And Adulthood Has Produced The Kidult, So The Stretching Of Middle Into Old Age Has Fostered Another Peculiar Chimera: Septuagenarians With Apoptosis Sporting The Depeche Mode.

The Whole Aesthetics Of Computers Very Much Feeds Into My Ocd. They Fill My Head With Obsessionalities And My Actions Become Very Repetitive. It Seems Quite Inimical To The Dreamy State Out Of Which Fiction Comes Which Seems So Much Less Causally Repetitive Than The Way One Works On Computers.

If The Seventies Were Bulbous, And The Eighties Sharp, The Nineties Were Nothing But Bogus.

You Can Always Spot A 'television Personality', Even When They Aren't Actually On Television, Because They Carry Their 'made-up' Persona In Front Of Them, Like Some Sort Of Baffler, Or Ready Brek Force Field. Their Reach For Notoriety Predicated On That Fulsome Mediocrity Of Talent Detailed Above Has Become Frozen In Their Faces.