The 'net Is A Waste Of Time.

The Most Common Human Act That Writing A Novel Resembles Is Lying. The Working Novelist Lies Daily, Very Complexly, And At Great Length.

I Very Seldom Compose Anything In My Head Which Later Finds Its Way Into Text, Except Character Names Sometimes - I'm Often Very Much Inspired By Things That I Misunderstand.

I Took Punk To Be The Detonation Of Some Slow-fused Projectile Buried Deep In Society's Flank A Decade Earlier, And I Took It To Be, Somehow, A Sign.

I Watch For Emergent Technologies And Pay Attention To What People Say They'll Be Good For, Then See What We Actually Use Them For. It Never Occurred To Me That A Tiny Telephone With A Wireless Transceiver Would Do Whatever It Is That It's Done To Us.

For Me, The Melancholy Of The Late Xxth Century Is Walking Late At Night By The Mont Blanc Pen Store And Seeing These Things Always Strike Me As Simulacra Of Luxury Items. They Seem Like Fakes.