Fiction Is A Branch Of

Trying To Exhaust Himself, Vaughan Devised An Endless Almanac Of Terrifying Wounds And Insane Collisions: The Lungs Of Elderly Men Punctured By Door-handles; The Chests Of Young Women Impaled On Steering-columns; The Cheek Of Handsome Youths Torn On The Chromium Latches Of Quarter-lights. To Vaughan, These Wounds Formed The Key To A New Sexuality, Born From A Perverse Technology. The Images Of These Wounds Hung In The Gallery Of His Mind, Like Exhibits In The Museum Of A Slaughterhouse.

Their Violence (the Jungle Wars Of The '70s), And All Violence For That Matter, Reflects The Neutral Exploration Of Sensation That Is Taking Place, Within Sex As Elsewhere And The Sense That The Perversions Are Valuable Precisely Because They Provide A Readily Accessible Anthology Of Exploratory Techniques.

The Enlightenment View Of Mankind Is A Complete Myth. It Leads Us Into Thinking We're Sane And Rational Creatures Most Of The Time, And We're Not.

My Brief Stay At The Hospital Had Already Convinced Me That The Medical Profession Was An Open Door To Anyone Nursing A Grudge Against The Human Race.

A General Rule: If Enough People Predict Something, It Won't Happen.