I Make No Apology For Preoccupying Myself

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.

In My View The Plangent Artificiality Of A Lot Of Creative Work Results From The Fact That The People Who Write Novels, Direct Films And Put On Plays Tend To Read Too Many Novels, Watch Too Many Films And Go To Too Many Plays.

With Spectacular Events Taking Up So Much Of The Available Anxiety Quotient, We Need To Be Constantly Reminded Of The More Workaday Threats To Our Mortality - Threats That, While They May Also Be Functions Of Human Error, Have Become So Ubiquitous That We've Begun To Apprehend Them As Natural Phenomena.

A Very Beautiful Young Woman Once Asked Me To Sign Her Breasts. That Was Back When I Was A Hip Young Thing - It's Been All Downhill Since Then.

As For Critical Writing About Modernism, Its Moments Of Lucidity Are But Fulgurations Illuminating The Dark And Incomprehensible Landscape Of Its Subject's Unabashed Difficulty.