An Outside Context Problem Was The Sort

The Bomb Lives Only As It Is Falling.

Any Such Inklings Were Like A Few Scattered Grains Of Truth Dissolved In An Ocean Of Nonsense, And Were Anyway Generally Inextricably Bound Up With Patently Paranoid Ravings Which Served Only To Devalue The Small Amounts Of Sense And Pertinence With Which They Were Associated.

You Have To Have Something Worth Saying And Then The Ability To Say It- Writing's A Double Skill, Really.

Dead Air' Is Full Of Rants; It's A Rant-based Book. Yes, It's Self-indulgence. I Plead Guilty; Mea Culpa.

Reason Shapes The Future, But Superstition Infects The Present.