Sleep Is An Eight-hour Peep

Lysenkoism: A Forlorn Attempt Not Merely To Colonize The Botanical Kingdom, But To Instill A Proper Sense Of The Puritan Work Ethic And The Merits Of Self-improvement.

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.

Deserts Possess A Particular Magic, Since They Have Exhausted Their Own Futures, And Are Thus Free Of Time. Anything Erected There, A City, A Pyramid, A Motel, Stands Outside Time. It's No Coincidence That Religious Leaders Emerge From The Desert. Modern Shopping Malls Have Much The Same Function. A Future Rimbaud, Van Gogh Or Adolf Hitler Will Emerge From Their Timeless Wastes.

I Suspect That Many Of The Great Cultural Shifts That Prepare The Way For Political Change Are Largely Aesthetic. A Buick Radiator Grille Is As Much A Political Statement As A Rolls Royce Radiator Grille, One Enshrining A Machine Aesthetic Driven By A Populist Optimism, The Other Enshrining A Hierarchical And Exclusive Social Order.

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.