...where's The Skill In Being A Hero

The Summer Stretched Out The Daylight As If On A Rack. Each Moment Was Drawn Out Until Its Anatomy Collapsed. Time Broke Down. The Day Progressed In An Endless Sequence Of Dead Moments.

There Is No Knowing Beyond That Membrane, The Meniscus Of Death. What Can Be Seen From Here Is Distorted, Refracted. All We Can Know Are Those Untrustworthy Glimpses--that And Rumour. The Prattle. The Dead Gossip: It Is The Reverberation Of That Gossip Against The Surface Tension Of Death That The Better Mediums Hear. It Is Like Listening To Whispered Secrets Through A Toilet Door. It Is A Crude And Muffled Susurrus.

Socialism And Sf Are The Two Most Fundamental Influences In My Life.

I'd Never Been To A Science-fiction Convention Until I Became A Professional Writer.

The Reason That I Like Sf And Fantasy And Horror Is That To Me It's The Pulp Wing Of Surrealism. That's The Aesthetic Of Undermining And Creative Alienation That I Really Go For.