The Head Has Its Confines.

[property] Is A Brilliant, Chillingly Revelatory Piece Of Fiction, A Work Of Craft, Economy And Such Good Merciless Observation-one Of Those Rare, Crucial Novels Illuminating A History We Think We Know And Understand So That After We've Read It We'll Never Forget Its Truths.

The Whole Point Is, We Can Forget. It’s Important That We Forget Some Things. Otherwise We’d Go Round The World Carrying A Hodload Of Stuff We Just Don’t Need.

You Never Know If You're A Writer. You Can't Trust It. If You Woke Up And Said, "i'm A Writer," It Would Be Gone. You Wouldn't See Anything For Miles - Even The Dust Would Be Running Away.

Even Things Which Seem Separate And Finished Are Infinitely Connected And Will Infinitely Connect. This Connection Happens As Soon As You Let It, As Soon As You Engage - As Soon As You Even Attempt To Engage.

Fashion Is Fickle, And I Was Published Because I Was Fashionable. Because I Was Gay.