Given The World That He Created, It

I Have Never Really Got Used To Being On This Earth. Sometimes I Think Our Presence Here Is Due To A Cosmic Blunder, That We Were Meant For Another Planet Altogether, With Other Arrangements, And Other Laws, And Other, Grimmer Skies. I Try To Imagine It, Our True Place, Off On The Far Side Of The Galaxy, Whirling And Whirling. And The Ones Who Were Meant For Here, Are They Out There, Baffled And Homesick, Like Us? No, They Would Have Become Extinct Long Ago. How Could They Survive, These Gentle Earthlings, In A World That Was Made To Contain Us.

These Days I Must Take The World In Small And Carefully Measured Doses. It Is A Sort Of Homeopathic Cure I Am Undergoing, Though I Am Not Certain What This Cure Is Meant To Mend. Perhaps I Am Learning To Live Amongst The Living Again. Practising, I Mean. But No, That Is Not It. Being Here Is Just A Way Of Not Being Anywhere.

I'm Full Of Self-doubt. I Doubt Everything I Do. Everything I Do Is A Failure.

I Like Ideas. I Find Them More Exciting Than Human Behavior For The Most Part.

Art Is Amoral, Whether We Accept This Or Not; It Does Not Take Sides. The Finest Fictions Are Cold At Heart.