Sleep Is An Eight-hour Peep Show Of

I Define Inner Space As An Imaginary Realm In Which On The One Hand The Outer World Of Reality, And On The Other The Inner World Of The Mind Meet And Merge. Now, In The Landscapes Of The Surrealist Painters, For Example, One Sees The Regions Of Inner Space; And Increasingly I Believe That We Will Encounter In Film And Literature Scenes Which Are Neither Solely Realistic Nor Fantastic. In A Sense, It Will Be A Movement In The Interzone Between Both Spheres.

Consumerism Is So Weird. Its A Sort Of Conspiracy We Collude In. Youd Think Shoppers Spending Their Hard-earned Cash Would Be Highly Critical. You Know That The Manufacturers Are Trying To Have You On.

'what Was Being On The Moon Literally Like?' [. . .] 'being On The Moon?' His Tired Gaze Inspected The Narrow Street Of Cheap Jewellery Stores, With Its Office Messengers And Lottery Touts, The Off-duty Taxi-drivers Leaning Against Their Cars. 'it Was Just Like Being Here.'

A Kind Of Banalization Of Celebrity Has Occurred: We Are Now Offered An Instant, Ready-to-mix Fame As Nutritious As Packet Soup.

The Endless Newsreel Clips Of Nuclear Explosions That We Saw On Tv In The 1960s (were) A Powerful Incitement To The Psychotic Imagination, Sanctioning *everything*.