Fiction Is A Branch Of Neurology: The

I Came To Live In Shepperton In 1960. I Thought: The Future Isn't In The Metropolitan Areas Of London. I Want To Go Out To The New Suburbs, Near The Film Studios. This Was The England I Wanted To Write About, Because This Was The New World That Was Emerging.

The Marriage Of Reason And Nightmare Which Has Dominated The 20th Century Has Given Birth To An Ever More Ambiguous World. Across The Communications Landscape Move The Specters Of Sinister Technologies And The Dreams That Money Can Buy. Thermonuclear Weapons Systems And Soft Drink Commercials Coexist In An Overlit Realm Ruled By Advertising And Pseudoevents, Science And Pornography. Over Our Lives Preside The Great Twin Leitmotifs Of The 20th Century-sex And Paranoia.

Everywhere - All Over Africa And South America - You See These Suburbs Springing Up. They Represent The Optimum Of What People Want. There's A Certain Sort Of Logic Leading Towards These Immaculate Suburbs. And They're Terrifying, Because They Are The Death Of The Soul. This Is The Prison This Planet Is Being Turned Into.

They Thrived On The Rapid Turnover Of Acquaintances, The Lack Of Involvement With Others, And The Total Self-sufficiency Of Lives Which, Needing Nothing, Were Never Dissapointed.

All You Do Is Get On And Start Pedaling . . .