Sex On The Brain Is The Wrong

Its Avowed Purpose Is To Excite Sexual Desire, Which, I Should Have Thought, Is Unnecessary In The Case Of The Young, Inconvenient In The Case Of The Middle Aged, And Unseemly In The Old.

Writers Like Aldous Huxley And George Orwell Have Imagined The Sort Of Scientific Utopia Which Is Coming To Pass, But Already Their Nightmare Fancies Are Hopelessly Out Of Date. A Vast, Air-conditioned, Neon-lighted, Glass-and-chromium Broiler-house Begins To Take Shape, In Which Geneticists Select The Best Stocks To Fertilise, And Watch Over The Developing Embryo To Ensure That All Possibilities Of Error And Distortion Are Eliminated.

It Is Only Possible To Succeed At Second-rate Pursuits - Like Becoming A Millionaire Or A Prime Minister, Winning A War, Seducing Beautiful Women, Flying Through The Stratosphere, Or Landing On The Moon. First-rate Pursuits - Involving, As They Must, Trying To Understand What Life Is About And Trying To Convey That Understanding - Inevitably Result In A Sense Of Failure. A Napoleon, A Churchill, Or A Roosevelt Can Feel Himself To Be Successful, But Never A Socrates, A Pascal, Or A Blake. Understanding Is Forever Unattainable.

Every Happening, Great And Small, Is A Parable Whereby God Speaks To Us, And The Art Of Life Is To Get The Message.

I Have Had My Television Aerials Removed. It Is The Moral Equivalent Of A Prostate Operation.