I Love The Laconic. Clearly, I Am

The Radical Intelligence In The Moderate Position Is The Only Place Where The Center Holds. Or So It Seems.

Things Have Changed Very Much, Several Times, Since I Grew Up, And, Like Everyone In New York Except The Intellectuals, I Have Led Several Lives And I Still Lead Some Of Them.

Being Neurotic Seemed To Be A Kind Of Wild Card, An All-purpose Explanation.

The Writer Has A Grudge Against Society, Which He Documents With Accounts Of Unsatisfying Sex, Unrealized Ambition, Unmitigated Loneliness, And A Sense Of Local And Global Distress. The Square, Overpopulation, The Bourgeois, The Bomb And The Cocktail Party Are Variously Identified As Sources Of The Grudge. There Follows A Little Obscenity Here, A Dash Of Philosophy There, Considerable Whining Overall, And A Modern Satirical Novel Is Born.

I Think Maybe Writers Come From Different Planets. I Mean, Not In Any Sense As Extravagant As Baryshnikov. But There Are Some Writers Who Understand Each Other This Way And Others Who Understand Each Other That Way. Then There's This Great Herd, The "herd Of Independent Minds."