One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. “Which road do I take?” she asked. “Where do you want to go?” was his response. “I don’t know” Alice answered. “Then” said the cat, “it doesn’t matter”
liberté, égalité, fraternité
when you expect whistles it’s flutes
when you expect flutes it’s whistles
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.
Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.
In the beginning was the Word. Then came the fucking word processor. Then came the thought processor. Then came the death of literature. And so it goes.
Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.
And so it goes…
What the really great artists do is they’re entirely themselves. They’re entirely themselves, they’ve got their own vision, they have their own way of fracturing reality, and if it’s authentic and true, you will feel it in your nerve endings.
It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key.