I'm An American. We're A People Diseased

Peace Is Purchased In The Currency Of Loss.

There’s A Reason Humans Peg-out Around Eighty: Prose Fatigue. It Looks Like Organ Failure Or Cancer Or Stroke But It’s Really Just The Inability To Carry On Clambering Through The Assault Course Of Mundane Cause And Effect. If We Ask Sheila Then We Can’t Ask Ron. If I Have The Kippers Now Then It’s Quiche For Tea. Four Score Years Is About All The Ifs And Thens You Can Take. Dementia’s The Sane Realisation You Just Can’t Be Doing With All That Anymore.

Snow Makes Cities Innocent Again, Reveals The Frailty Of The Human Gesture Against The Void.

What Interests Me Is Love, Sex, Death, Cruelty, Compassion And The Desire For Meaning In An Apparently Godless Universe. In Other Words The Human Condition.

I Don't Remember The First Image Of A Werewolf I Saw, But I Suspect It Was The Hybrid Type, Up On Two Legs, With Long Limbs, Hair, Claw-like Fingernails And Lupine Head. To Me There's Nothing Scary About Complete Transformation From Human Into Wolf. Wolves Aren't Scary. They're Dangerous, Yes, But So Are Geese, In The Wrong Mood. What's Scary Is Seeing The Human In The Wolf But Knowing It's Beyond The Reach Of Reason Or Emotional Appeal. That's Where The Horror And Dread Kicks In.