Like All Right-listening Folk, I Am An

Well, I Wanted To Be A Philosopher, Which Is The Idlest Occupation In The World. I Wanted To Be Involved In Abstract Thought, But Because Of Various Problems With The Authorities I Wasn't Able To Pull That One Off. A Lifetime Of Idleness In Academia Would Have Really Suited Me. So I Was Thrown Out, As It Were. Other Than That, There Seemed No Possible Idle Occupations, So Writing . . . Although Writing Isn't Exactly Idleness. There's An Enormous Tension Between Indolence And Languor.

What The British Seem To Like Are Television Historians And Naturalists, Not Public Intellectuals. You Can't Help Feeling That's Because One Supplies Narrative And The Other Supplies Facts, And The British Are Traditionally Empiricists So They/we Have A Resistance To Theory And To Theoreticians Playing Too Prominent A Role In Public Life.

Life, It Is True, Can Be Grasped In All Its Confused Futility Merely By Opening One's Eyes And Sitting Passively, A Spectator On The Stands Of History - But To Understand The Social Processes And Conflicts, The Interplay Between Individual And Group, Even The Physicality Of Human Experience, We Have Need Of Small-scale Models.

As Far As I Can See, The History Of Experimental Art In The Twentieth Century Is Intimately Bound Up With The Experience Of Intoxification.

Whatever Respect Photography May Once Have Deserved Is Now Superfluous In View Of Its Own Superfluity.