The Suburbs Dream Of Violence.

The Future Is Going To Be Boring. The Suburbanisation Of The Planet Will Continue, And The Suburbanisation Of The Soul Will Follow Soon After.

I Feel That, In A Sense, The Writer Knows Nothing Any Longer. He Has No Moral Stance. He Offers The Reader The Contents Of His Own Head, A Set Of Options And Imaginative Alternatives. His Role Is That Of A Scientist, Whether On Safari Or In His Laboratory, Faced With An Unknown Terrain Or Subject. All He Can Do Is To Devise Various Hypotheses And Test Them Against The Facts.

Science And Technology Multiply Around Us. To An Increasing Extent They Dictate The Languages In Which We Speak And Think. Either We Use Those Languages, Or We Remain Mute.

Au Revoir, Jewelled Alligators And White Hotels, Hallucinatory Forests, Farewell.

In The Past We Have Always Assumed That The External World Around Us Has Represented Reality, However Confusing Or Uncertain, And That The Inner World Of Our Minds, Its Dreams, Hopes, Ambitions, Represented The Realm Of Fantasy, And The Imagination. These Roles, It Seems To Me, Have Been Reversed. The Most Prudent And Effective Method Of Dealing With The World Around Us Is To Assume That It Is A Complete Fiction - Conversely, The One Small Node Of Reality Left To Us Is Inside Of Our Own Heads.