Here I Sit, Alone At 60, Bald

Kafka Could Never Have Written As He Did Had He Lived In A House. His Writing Is That Of Someone Whose Whole Life Was Spent In Apartments, With Lifts, Stairwells, Muffled Voices Behind Closed Doors, And Sounds Through Walls. Put Him In A Nice Detached Villa And He'd Never Have Written A Word.

There Are More Microbes Per Person Than The Entire Population Of The World. Imagine That. Per Person. This Means That If The Time Scale Is Diminished In Proportion To That Of Space It Would Be Quite Possible For The Whole Story Of Greece And Rome To Be Played Out Between Farts.

I'm For The Freedom Of Expression, Given That It Will Be Under Strict Control.

Those Who Have Known The Famous Are Publicly Debriefed Of Their Memories, Knowing As Their Own Dusk Falls That They Will Only Be Remembered For Remembering Someone Else.

No Mention Of God. They Keep Him Up Their Sleeves For As Long As They Can, Vicars Do. They Know It Puts People Off.