There Are Some Things One Remembers Even

There Are Places In My Heart...where No Living Soul...has...or Can Ever...trespass.

Referees Are The Law. They Have A Whistle. They Blow It. And That Whistle Is The Articulation Of God's Justice.

As A Writer You're Holding A Dog. You Let The Dog Run About. But You Finally Can Pull Him Back. Finally, I'm In Control. But The Great Excitement Is To See What Happens If You Let The Whole Thing Go. And The Dog Or The Character Really Runs About, Bites Everyone In Sight, Jumps Up Trees, Falls Into Lakes, Gets Wet, And You Let That Happen. That's The Excitement Of Writing Plays-to Allow The Thing To Be Free But Still Hold The Final Leash.

I Suggest That Us Foreign Policy Can Still Be Defined As "kiss My Ass Or I'll Kick Your Head In." But Of Course It Doesn't Put It Like That. It Talks Of "low Intensity Conflict..." What All This Adds Up To Is A Disease At The Very Centre Of Language, So That Language Becomes A Permanent Masquerade, A Tapestry Of Lies.

The Invasion Of Iraq Was A Bandit Act, An Act Of Blatant State Terrorism, Demonstrating Absolute Contempt For The Concept Of International Law.