It Was Only When I Found Myself

There Is A Balance, A Kind Of Standoff Between The Time Continuum And The Human Entity, Our Frail Bundle Of Soma And Psyche. We Eventually Succumb To Time, It's True, But Time Depends On Us. We Carry It In Our Muscles And Genes, Pass It On To The Next Set Of Time-factoring Creatures, Our Brown-eyed Daughters And Jug-eared Sons, Or How Would The World Keep Going. Never Mind The Time Theorists, The Cesium Devices That Measure The Life And Death Of The Smallest Silvery Trillionth Of A Second.... We Were The Only Crucial Clocks, Our Minds And Bodies, Way Stations For The Distribution Of Time.

I Used To Think It Was Possible For An Artist To Alter The Inner Life Of The Culture. Now Bomb-makers And Gunmen Have Taken That Territory.

Stories Have No Point If They Don't Absorb Our Terror.

I Saw A Photograph Of A Wedding Conducted By Reverend Moon Of The Unification Church. I Wanted To Understand This Event, And The Only Way To Understand It Was To Write About It.

Capital Burns Off The Nuance In A Culture. Foreign Investment, Global Markets, Corporate Acquisitions, The Flow Of Information Through Transnational Media, The Attenuating Influence Of Money That's Electronic And Sex That's Cyberspaced, Untouched Money And Computer-safe Sex, The Convergence Of Consumer Desire--not That People Want The Same Things, Necessarily, But That They Want The Same Range Of Choices.