I Think Of Myself As A Very

But I Realized Something. About Art. And Psychiatry. They're Both Self-perpetuating Systems. Like Religion. All Three Of Them Promise You A Sense Of Inner Worth And Meaning, And Spend A Lot Of Time Telling You About The Suffering You Have To Go Through To Achieve It.

Science Fiction Doesn’t Try To Predict The Future, But Rather Offers A Significant Distortion Of The Present…we Sit Around And Look At What We See Around Us And We Say How Can The World Be Different

A Number Of Things In Dhalgren Are Just Meant To Function As Mysteries. They're Mysteries When The Book Begins, And They're Mysteries When The Book Ends.

There Is No Articulate Resonance. The Common Problem, I Suppose, Is To Have More To Say Than Vocabulary And Syntax Can Bear. That Is Why I Am Hunting In These Desiccated Streets. The Smoke Hides The Sky's Variety, Stains Consciousness, Covers The Holocaust With Something Safe And Insubstantial. It Protects From Greater Flame. It Indicates Fire, But Obscures The Source. This Is Not A Useful City. Very Little Here Approaches Any Eidolon Of The Beautiful.

Spending Practically Every Minute Of Your Day On Pure Survival Is An Absolutely Boring Life.