I Don't Know How One

I'm With Milton And The Rolling Stones: I Don't Find The Devil An Unsympathetic Character. But In Any Case, My Fiction Is Populated As Much By People Who Do Good As It Is By Those Who Do Bad. I'm Interested In Imaginatively Accommodating As Much Of The Human As Possible, For Which You Need Both Moral Extremes And Everything In Between.

Life Compulsively Dangled The Possibility Of Life. Life, The Dramatist On Speed. Life, That Couldn't Stop With Its Foreshadows And Ironies And Symbols And Clues, Its Wretched Jokes And False Endings And Twists. Life With Its Hopeless Addiction To Plot.

There’s A Reason Humans Peg-out Around Eighty: Prose Fatigue. It Looks Like Organ Failure Or Cancer Or Stroke But It’s Really Just The Inability To Carry On Clambering Through The Assault Course Of Mundane Cause And Effect. If We Ask Sheila Then We Can’t Ask Ron. If I Have The Kippers Now Then It’s Quiche For Tea. Four Score Years Is About All The Ifs And Thens You Can Take. Dementia’s The Sane Realisation You Just Can’t Be Doing With All That Anymore.

Only Meaning Can Make A Difference And We All Know There's No Meaning. All Stories Express A Desire For Meaning, Not Meaning Itself. Therefore Any Difference Knowing The Story Makes Is A Delusion.

Any Seasoned Deal Maker Will Tell You That Spontaneous Negotiation's A Bad Strategy; The Ad Hoc Approach Will Leave You Ripped-off, Busted, Conned, Stiffed, Outsmarted And Generally Holding The Shitty End Of The Stick.