Continents Of Memory Had Been Lost.

In This World, There Are Two Times. There Is Mechanical Time And There Is Body Time. The First Is As Rigid And Metallic As A Massive Pendulum Of Iron That Swings Back And Forth, Back And Forth, Back And Forth. The Second Squirms And Wriggles Like A Bluefish In A Bay. The First Is Unyielding, Predetermined. The Second Makes Up Its Mind As It Goes Along.

I Have No Opposition At All To Technology. I Think Technology Is A Wonderful Thing That Has To Be Used Thoughtfully, And We Can't Just Assume That Every Bit Of New Technology Improvesthe Quality Of Life; It's Really In How The Technology Is Used. What I Am Very Disturbed About Is This Trend Of Everything Happening Faster And Faster And Faster And There Being More And More General Noise In The World, And Less And Less Time For Quiet Reflection On Who We Are, And Where We're Going.

What Sense Is There In Continuing When One Has Seen The Future?

Originality Is Also Very Important To A Writer. And All Of The Writers I've Mentioned, Of Course, Are Original, But It's Important To Me That Every Book That I Do Be Really A Completely Fresh And New Look At The World. And Of Course, That Makes It Frightening To Start A New Book Because You Can't Really Depend Upon What You've Done With Previous Books.

In This World, Artists Are Joyous. Unpredictability Is The Life Of Their Paintings, Their Music, Their Novels. They Delight In Events Not Forecasted, Happenings Without Explanation, Retrospective.