I'd Never Understood The Injunction Not To

There's Plenty Of Stuff That I Don't Feel Dissident About: I Really Like Tea, I Don't Have Any Problem With That. I Like Lots Of Paintings.

In The Deepest Places, Where Physical Norms Collapse Under The Crushing Water, Bodies Still Fall Softly Through The Dark, Days After Their Vessels Have Capsized. They Decay On Their Long Journey Down. Nothing Will Hit The Black Sand At The Bottom Of The World But Algae-covered Bones.

Old Stories Would Tell How Weavers Would Kill Each Other Over Aesthetic Disagreements, Such As Whether It Was Prettier To Destroy An Army Of A Thousand Men Or To Leave It Be, Or Whether A Particular Dandelion Should Or Should Not Be Plucked. For A Weaver, To Think Was To Think Aesthetically. To Act - To Weave - Was To Bring About More Pleasing Patterns. They Did Not Eat Physical Food: They Seemed To Subsist On The Appreciation Of Beauty.

Is It More Childish And Foolish To Insist That There Is A Conspiracy Or That There Is Not?

My Job Is Not To Try To Give Readers What They Want But To Try To Make Readers Want What I Give.