I Thought It Was A Wonderfully Conceptual

Given That External Reality Is A Fiction, The Writer's Role Is Almost Superfluous. He Does Not Need To Invent The Fiction Because It Is Already There.

There Is A British Pop Group Called God. At A Recent Book Signing The Lead Singer Introduced Himself And Gave Me A Cassette. I Have Heard The Voice Of God.

By The Eighteenth Book, One Has A Sense Of Having Bricked Oneself Into A Niche, A Roosting Place For Other People's Pigeons. I Wouldn't Recommend It.

The American Dream Has Run Out Of Gas. The Car Has Stopped. It No Longer Supplies The World With Its Images, Its Dreams, Its Fantasies. No More. It's Over. It Supplies The World With Its Nightmares Now: The Kennedy Assassination, Watergate, Vietnam.

Civilised Life, You Know, Is Based On A Huge Number Of Illusions In Which We All Collaborate Willingly. The Trouble Is We Forget After A While That They Are Illusions And We Are Deeply Shocked When Reality Is Torn Down Around Us.