I Can't Bear The Silent Ringing In

I Just Noticed Recently That In One Book After Another I Seem To Find An Excuse To Find Some Character Who, To Put It Idiotically Simply, Is Allowed To Talk Crazy.

For Those Whose Ganglia Were Formed Pre-tv, The Mimetic Deployment Of Pop-culture Icons Seems At Best An Annoying Tic And At Worst A Dangerous Vapidity That Compromises Fiction's Seriousness By Dating It Out Of The Platonic Always, Where It Ought To Reside.

You Could Grow Up In The City Where History Was Made And Still Miss It All.

Tourette's Is Just One Big Lifetime Of Tag, Really. The World (or My Brain---same Thing) Appoints Me It, Again And Again. So I Tag Back. Can It Do Otherwise? If You've Ever Been It You Know The Answer.

It's Now Expected Of Me That I Will Defy Expectation, So I Really Generally Seem To Be Free To Write What I Want.