Sex Stops When You Pull Up Your

Never Despise A Drink Because It Is Easy To Make And/or Uses Commercial Mixes. Unquestioning Devotion To Authenticity Is, In Any Department Of Life, A Mark Of The Naive - Or Worse.

When That Ineffable Compound Of Depression, Sadness (these Two Are Not The Same), Anxiety, Self-hatred, Sense Of Failure And Fear For The Future Begins To Steal Over You, Start Telling Yourself That What You Have Is A Hangover. You Are Not Sickening For Anything, You Have Not Suffered A Minor Brain Lesion, You Are Not All That Bad At Your Job, Your Family And Friends Are Not Leagued In A Conspiracy Of Barely Maintained Silence About What A S**t You Are, You Have Not Come At Last To See Life As It Really Is And There Is No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk.

I Am Always Incorrigibly Interested In The Behaviour Of The 'human Animal', And Look Forward To Perusing Divers Effusions Of Your Lively Pen.

It Scored Right Away With Me By Being The Smooth, Fine-grained Sort, Not The Coarse Flaky, Dry-on-the-outside Rubbish Full Of Chunds Of Gut And Gristle To Testify To Its Authenticity.

I Wish I Could Have A Little Tape-and-loudspeaker Arrangement Sewn Into The Binding Of This Magazine, To Be Triggered Off By The Light Reflected From The Reader's Eyes On To This Part Of The Page, And Set To Bawl Out At Several Bels: More Will Mean Worse.