From Time To Time, As If Heaven-sent

The Whole Aesthetics Of Computers Very Much Feeds Into My Ocd. They Fill My Head With Obsessionalities And My Actions Become Very Repetitive. It Seems Quite Inimical To The Dreamy State Out Of Which Fiction Comes Which Seems So Much Less Causally Repetitive Than The Way One Works On Computers.

Whenever I Produce My Best Work, It's Always Because I've Spent Time Being Idle. Something Always Emerges After Nothing.

As For Critical Writing About Modernism, Its Moments Of Lucidity Are But Fulgurations Illuminating The Dark And Incomprehensible Landscape Of Its Subject's Unabashed Difficulty.

I'm English Enough To Feel Something Of A Gut-reaction To Modernism, To Continental Philosophising And Anything That Smacks Of A Refusal To Pay Attention To The Forensics: The Empirical Facts On The Ground.

I Think It's A Misreading Of Dostoevsky To Think Of Him As A Programmatic Theist. He's Actually Much Closer To Someone Like William James. He's Actually A Pragmatist.