So Heedless Have We Become Of Our

A Short Story Is A Shard, A Sliver, A Vignette. It's A Biopsy On The Human Condition But It Doesn't Have This Capacity To Think Autonomously For Itself.

Ideologists Of All Kinds Find A Strange Sort Of Comfort In The Madness Of The Crowd; It Confirms Them In Their Suspicion That History, Far From Being Made By The Great Mass Of Individuals - As Marx Averred - Is Rather Unmade By A Single Massive Individual, A Collective Other, Who Stands In Stark Contrast To You And He.

Sometimes, When I Hear People Without Experience Of Addiction Blame Addicts For Their Behaviour I Feel Like Saying To Them: "you Simply Don't Understand - How Can A Child Be Held Responsible For Doing Such A Dreadful Thing To Himself?" But Then Again, At Other Times I Have To Acknowledge: It Was Done Wilfully.

I Think The Fundamental Apprehension Is That The City's An Organism Of Some Form, Rather Than Being Governed From Above.

I Make No Apology For Preoccupying Myself With Architecture, Television, Conceptual Art, Restaurants And Jane Asher's Cakes.