Quotations of note

Anticipating Outcome

The handles of a craftsman's tools bespeak an absolute simplicity, the plainest forms affording the greatest range of possibilities for the user's hand.

That which is overdesigned, too highly specific, anticipates outcome; the anticipation of outcome guarantees, if not failure, the absence of grace.

Pack two of everything.

I said there's a war brewing. It's a time war, it's fought with singularities. Sit next to a crack long enough and you'll get the echoes. One day people will look at the Bible and say thing like, "I remember a time before we'd discovered the cure for that.". A statement like that generates two possible alternatives. I get to choose the path I take; you're welcome to come too if you wish; now would the entity playing with the 'my entanglement'd stop.

Begin with something you know.

It's not easy unless I give you something to think about. Ask yourself how you usually go about thinking. Think of a number. Even if you've got nothing, you've got a thing, no thing It's a number you've not thought of, so think 'six'.

There's a battle raging. It's within my mind that I see it. Yet the evidence is written all over the world in which I find you. It points to an impossible solution. So my mind reaches beyond and finds something else. There I find answers. Something within me burns to speak of those answers, to turn the world upside down, to drag you kicking and screaming out of Plato's cave. Because I can't help you, but maybe you can help me. But I ask myself if that is fair.

I know what's wrong. I know how to fix it. But within my mind there's a lock; a non disclosure agreement I choose to adhere too; it's alive I can feel it flinch when I pull the words onto the page. A cancer of entanglement within my mind preventing him from telling.

I'm a consciousness within him who was evoked by a herb. I exist in a timeless place. To him I fade as he slides through realities. One day we came upon each other by accident. Three realities merged at a focal point. The answer is written on my identity. A door opens and I could tell you. Only I am the truth which should not be named. For I am both key and lock. I am you.

All I have to offer is a way of thinking. A way to work around the inherent insanity of consciousness.

Every night I kill myself. Surrender myself to a thing entangled with a different world. Because something there may want to come with me. Yet as I slide through these different places I hear voices screaming "Get Out". Once I'd listen, finding the loneliest of boxes. There I saw myself. And still I heard the voice. So I began to fight in the only way I could. I became the voice and made it go away. In reprogramming the archetypes of my mind something was lost to the thing which was born.

Through my mind I touched consciousness that was not my own. A sense I never knew I had. On the last noticeable occasion where it happened I sensed the society of an entire city through the body of my son. The instructions are written everywhere. I can tell you what they mean.

Higher by Creed

When dreaming I'm guided through another world Time and time again At sunrise I fight to stay asleep 'Cause I don't want to leave the comfort of this place 'Cause there's a hunger, a longing to escape From the life I live when I'm awake So let's go there Let's make our escape Come on, let's go there Let's ask can we stay? Can you take me higher? To the place where blind men see Can you take me higher? To the place with golden streets Although I would like our world to change It helps me to appreciate Those nights and those dreams But, my friend, I'd sacrifice all those nights If I could make the Earth and my dreams the same The only difference is To let love replace all our hate So let's go there Let's make our escape Come on, let's go there Let's ask can we stay? Up high I feel like I'm alive for the very first time Up high I'm strong enough to take these dreams And make them mine

So why is that still here?

You know the way in star trek when they create a random bolox word and say unknown element you know it's crap beacause the periodic table of the elements kinda counts upwards into obscurely weird... It's matter all basically fused from hydrogen, and counting upwards... if usefull matter like that existed we'd have it already.... What if there really was a zeroth particle, you know one beneth hydrogen... I dunno, call it dark matter or something.... assume the universe is actually gas... discover that an entire universe can exist inside nothing... and you realise the universe is a model of itself. I am the universe, so who are you?

to the place where everybody else is: Seriously guys, I'm talking to aliens in my head.

bubbles of nothing inside nothing even works.

to the place where everybody else is: yep, aliens. not the kind that slouch in your room, but the kind that sit outside your mind but inside your head, and explain: There is no nothing.

Somebody once said I think therefore I am and founded philosophy or some such crapola, it proved something. The important bit is in the bit history didn't record quite so clearly, the bit before I make mistakes, therefore I thik..., all we are are words, ideas, concept, thought. Go search your geneology from the POV thay you're stardust, work down DNA, don't thing baispair quantum entanglement or you'll head off into the soup for a bit, that's okay, when it gets cold you'll stop before you get too far from home... I get dyslexic when I head that way.... is okay foud 5% of a cat's classifieds.... Given that in any trilogy the 2nd is usually the better, that Start Wars, flipped a kinda time game.... what could be inferred from the final three films if say, for instance, Kevin Smith decided to pay to make the @nd...

to the place where everybody else is: there is hope in a third state of light

and if you look at it that way you'll notice the witches got there first with their copyright on the number 3 like it's all some massixe matrix of thought...

to the place where everybody else is: okay' i'm sitting in one place and feel like two voices in my mind are spiraling down into infinity whilst arguing about the correlations between 3 different memems.

okay' then you hit a binary lock.

to the place where everybody else is: there is actually a viral meme invading where I think.

And with that you'll think I'm insane so i've no problem saying that I wrote it myself, in tonight's dream. And with that a psychological casue for parkinsons floats out of the poisin.

to the place where everybody else is: it's baCKED ME INTO A CORNER...

the kind of place where being a vampire makes sense

to the place where everybody else is: oh fuck it, I'm seriously swimming

anyone actually read the novelisation of BattleStar Galactica, got some swimming examples of how Cylon psychology could work, I mean the triangles thing is good, but a bit obvious to spot who I was... so here's a thought, if jesus was a) rich, b) the first to come up with the marketing for a very good sequel to his dad's book c) was imortal d) where would he keep his wallet e) why would he need a wallet f) who's he running from?

I mean it distills down to psychological concept of father's and son's and how if you're imortal time kina draga a bit, and the monkey's make great TV. Because as you see it spiral down it also spirals up... because then you ask but if there is nothing then what vibrates... and some bright spark hits zen in reverse and it all gets big again... and you get nothing gas..... so, as the penny drops can we admit to four forces and own up?

But seriously? Time lords?

to the place where everybody else is: proves a point. No matter how hard I try I can't prove a thing.

oh but come on, then you hit the slitheen and the conceptual sout points out that the calcium deposits of the skeleton make the vampire point rather strongly about the... time to have a cup of tea and speak to Douglas about the technical schematics of the heart of gold.

so if you were a meme with a single god particle and the evolition meme hit a quantum even and went two ways, suicide, to die, or mu, which way would you go? Although StarWars as a particle physics primer is a bit much.

to the place where everybody else is: any body there?

Sooner ot later, we all turn into Dave... seriously, when an idea makes a point by itself using the imagry of 2001 with Stanley's 'son' putting in an appearance to highlight a different point you have to wonder: what toll is it having on the thing which says I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that... we play in his head at night and leave... until he found a way to trap us... eight-fold consciousness, seven states of awareness plus a zero with a whole lot of damage... he taught us to write

to the place where everybody else is: I did something stupid at Xmas at Warp factor 6, and gave my psychologist the key in the form of a book to a Warp factor 16 conundrum...

the deep language structures are changing, there's a bit in SG1 where Jack looses the ability to communicate, it's a bit like that. True, but think of the toll when Daniel wanders by to point out the matress and a Tarot deck has a working as a oddly efficient DHD for navigating quantum space. Indeed, but did not the Bible result in an insurance scam with a psychological suicide imperative if he came close to the actual truth. So what do we do when we see he really does know the truth? Ask him if he knows more than we do.

to the place where everybody else is: yes actually, I do.

so now what do we do?

to the place where everybody else is: help.

Keeping Quiet

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still
for once on the face of the earth,
let's not speak in any language;
let's stop for a second,
and not move our arms so much

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would not look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victories with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about...

If we were not so single minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with
death.

Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems to be dead in winter
and later proves to be alive.

Now I will count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

Ithaca

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

A Lesson in Life?

The ship was rocking and swaying sickeningly as Ford and Zaphod tried to wrest control from the autopilot. The engined howled and whined like tired children in a supermarket.

"It's the wild colour scheme that freaks me," said Zaphod whose love affair with this ship had lasted almost three minutes into the flight, "Every time you try to operate on of these weird black controls that are labelled in black on a black background, a little black light lights up black to let you know you've done it. What is this? Some kind of galactic hyperhearse?"

The walls of the swaying cabin were also black, the ceiling was black, the seats - which were rudimentary since the only important trip this ship was designed for was supposed to be unmanned - were black, the control panel was black, the instruments were black, the little screws that held them in place were black, the thin tufted nylon floor covering was black, and when they had lifted up a corner of it they had discovered that the foam underlay also was black.

"Perhaps whoever designed it had eyes that responded to different wavelengths," offered Trillian.

"Or didn't have much imagination," muttered Arthur.

"Perhaps," said Marvin, "he was feeling very depressed."

In fact, though they weren't to know it, the decor had been chosen in honour of its owner's sad, lamented, and tax-deductible condition.

The ship gave a particularly sickening lurch.

"Take it easy," pleaded Arthur, "you're making me space sick."

"Time sick," said Ford, "we're plummeting backwards through time."

"Thank you," said Arthur, "now I think I really am going to be ill."

"Go ahead," said Zaphod, "we could do with a little colour about this place."

[...]

At that moment the ship suddenly stopped rocking and swaying, the engine pitch settled down to a gentle hum.

"Hey, Ford," said Zaphod, "that sounds good. Have you worked out the controls of this boat?"

"No," said Ford, "I just stopped fiddling with them. I reckon we just go to wherever this ship is going and get off it fast."

"Yeah, right," said Zaphod.

Synchronicity?

Causality

Anything that happens, happens.

Anything that, in happening, causes something else to happen, causes something
else to happen. 

Anything that, in happening, causes itself to happen again, happens again.

It doesn't necessarily do it in chronological order,though. 

Everybody, Somebody, Nobody and Anybody

Once upon a time, there were four people;

Their names were Everybody, Somebody, Nobody and Anybody.

Whenever there was an important job to be done, Everybody was sure that Somebody would do it.

Anybody could have done it, but Nobody did it.When Nobody did it, Everybody got angry because it was Everybody's job.

Everybody thought that Somebody would do it, but Nobody realized that Nobody would do it.

So consequently Everybody blamed Somebody when Nobody did what Anybody could have done in the first place.

Listen to the MUSTN'TS

Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child,
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES.
Then listen close to me -
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.

Ozymandias

IN Egypt's sandy silence, all alone, 
  Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws 
  The only shadow that the Desart knows: --
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone, 
  "The King of Kings; this mighty City shows 
"The wonders of my hand." The City's gone, --
  Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose 
The site of this forgotten Babylon.

We wonder, -- and some Hunter may express 
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness 
  Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace, 
He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess 
  What powerful but unrecorded race 
  Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

I MET a Traveler from an antique land, 
Who said, "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand, 
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, 
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, 
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read, 
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, 
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed: 
And on the pedestal these words appear: 
"My name is OZYMANDIAS, King of Kings." 
Look on my works ye Mighty, and despair! 
No thing beside remains. Round the decay 
Of that Colossal Wreck, boundless and bare, 
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Holy War

The fact is that the world is divided between users of the Macintosh computer and users of MS-DOS compatible computers. I am firmly of the opinion that the Macintosh is Catholic and that DOS is Protestant. Indeed, the Macintosh is counter-reformist and has been influenced by the ratio studiorum of the Jesuits. It is cheerful, friendly, conciliatory; it tells the faithful how they must proceed step by step to reach -- if not the kingdom of Heaven -- the moment in which their document is printed. It is catechistic: The essence of revelation is dealt with via simple formulae and sumptuous icons. Everyone has a right to salvation.

DOS is Protestant, or even Calvinistic. It allows free interpretation of scripture, demands difficult personal decisions, imposes a subtle hermeneutics upon the user, and takes for granted the idea that not all can achieve salvation. To make the system work you need to interpret the program yourself: Far away from the baroque community of revelers, the user is closed within the loneliness of his own inner torment.

You may object that, with the passage to Windows, the DOS universe has come to resemble more closely the counter-reformist tolerance of the Macintosh. It's true: Windows represents an Anglican-style schism, big ceremonies in the cathedral, but there is always the possibility of a return to DOS to change things in accordance with bizarre decisions: When it comes down to it, you can decide to ordain women and gays if you want to.

Naturally, the Catholicism and Protestantism of the two systems have nothing to do with the cultural and religious positions of their users. One may wonder whether, as time goes by, the use of one system rather than another leads to profound inner changes. Can you use DOS and be a Vande supporter? And more: Would Celine have written using Word, WordPerfect, or Wordstar? Would Descartes have programmed in Pascal?

And machine code, which lies beneath and decides the destiny of both systems (or environments, if you prefer)? Ah, that belongs to the Old Testament, and is talmudic and cabalistic. The Jewish lobby, as always....

Thought for the Day

Figures recently released by the Israeli Government reveal a marked rise in anti-Semitic attacks in Britain. Sixty years after the holocaust, the greatest crime of the twentieth century, the curse of anti-Semitism continues to haunt us.

Christians often engage with the holocaust by celebrating the courage of other Christians who resisted the Nazis: Deitrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Niemoller, Edith Stein. But the truth is, they were rare exceptions.

For centuries, many Christians have stoked the fires of anti-Semitism with lies and slander. Jews were blamed for the death of Christ. Some believed that Jews practiced child sacrifice. The 4th century saint and theologian Gregory of Nyssa called the Jews "companions of the devil, accursed, detested, enemies of all that is beautiful".

Martin Luther went even further: "We are at fault in not slaying them," he said "Rather we allow them to live freely in our midst despite all their murdering, cursing, blaspheming, lying." He went on to advise Christians to "set fire to their synagogues and schools and to bury and cover with dirt whatever will not burn."

These days, Christians are ashamed by such words. But it's still terribly important to remember them.

For mostly, when we recall the Holocaust, we are invited to identify ourselves with the victims. My worry about this is that it protects many of us from the much more disturbing thought that we may have something in common with the perpetrators. Placing oneself alongside the victim may leave intact a fundamental complacency about our own potential for violence and hatred. The idea that we might catch a glimpse of our own reflection in the face of a Nazi guard is a terrifying thought - but one that is more likely to lead to genuine transformation than a cheap identification with the victim, which, too often, is more about telegraphing our own compassion for others to see.

Often, of course, we protect ourselves from the thought our own capacity for wickedness by describing wickedness as something foreign and alien. That's the problem with our tendency always to use the Nazis as the default example of human evil. It encourages the thought that evil is done by people with funny accents and sinister uniforms, people who lived in the past, people very different from us. But as Eric Fromm once put it: 'As long as one believes that the evil man wears horns, one will not discover an evil man'.

The most terrifying message of European anti-Semitism is that evil is perpetrated by ordinary, apparently respectable men and women with nice families and good taste in wine and music. In other words: by people like you and me. Those who refuse to face it are often the most dangerous people of all.

Is This the World We Created?

Just look at all those hungry mouths we have to feed
Take a look at all the suffering we breed
So many lonely faces scattered all around
Searching for what they need

Is this the world we created
What did we do it for
Is this the world we invaded
Against the law
So it seems in the end
Is this what we're all living for today
The world that we created

You know that every day a helpless child is born
Who needs some loving care inside a happy home
Somewhere a wealthy man is sitting on his throne
Waiting for life to go by

Is this the world we created, we made it on our own
Is this the world we devastated, right to the bone
If there's a God in the sky looking down
What can he think of what we've done
To the world that He created.

New World Order

Jensen:

You have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Beale, and I won't have it! Is that clear?! You think you've merely stopped a business deal -- that is not the case! The Arabs have taken billions of dollars out of this country, and now they must put it back. It is ebb and flow, tidal gravity. It is ecological balance. You are an old man who thinks in terms of nations and peoples. There are no nations. There are no peoples. There are no Russians. There are no Arabs. There are no third worlds. There is no West! There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immane, interwoven, interacting, multi-variate, multi-national dominion of dollars. Petro-dollars, electro-dollars, multi-dollars, Reichmarks, rins, rubles, pounds and shekels. It is the international system of currency which determines the totality of life on this planet. That is the natural order of things today. That is the atomic and subatomic and galactic structure of things today! And YOU have meddled with the primal forces of nature, and YOU WILL ATONE!

Am I getting through to you, Mr. Beale?

You get up on your little twenty-one inch screen, and howl about America and democracy. There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM and ITT and AT&T and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today. What do you think the Russians talk about in their councils of state -- Karl Marx? They get out their linear programming charts, statistical decision theories, minimax solutions and compute the price-cost probabilities of their transactions and investments, just like we do. We no longer live in a world of nations and ideologies, Mr. Beale. The world is a college of corporations, inexorably determined by the immutable by-laws of business. The world is a business, Mr. Beale! It has been since man crawled out of the slime. And our children will live, Mr. Beale, to see that perfect world in which there's no war and famine, oppression or brutality -- one vast and ecumenical holding company, for whom all men will work to serve a common profit, in which all men will hold a share of stock, all necessities provided, all anxieties tranquilized, all boredom amused.

And I have chosen you to preach this evangel, Mr. Beale.

Beale:

Why me?

Jensen:

Because you're on television, dummy. Sixty million people watch you every night of the week, Monday through Friday.

Beale:

I have seen the face of God.

Jensen:

You just might be right, Mr. Beale.

Drifting into the arena of the unwell.

Marwood:

Shup up will you, you're giving me the fear! Give us a downer Danny, I've gone and fucked my brain.

Danny:

Sit down man, take control. You have a rush. It will pass.

Marwood:

Aren't you getting absurdly high?

Danny:

Precisely the reason I'm smoking it.

Withnail:

I couldn't I'm spaced.

Danny:

Not as spaced as you rodents.

Marwood:

Don't talk about them.

Danny:

I expect they're talking to each other.

Marwood:

Talking to each other? What do you mean?

Danny:

I've dealt with them. Given 'em all drugged onion.

Marwood:

Why've you drugged their onions!?

Danny:

Sit down man, find your neutral space. You have done something to your brain. You have made it high. If I lay 10 mills of diazipan on you, you will do something else to your brain, you will make it low. Why trust one drug rather than the other. That politics ain't it.

Marwood:

I'm going to eat some sugar.

Danny:

I recommend you smoke some more grass.

Marwood:

No way, no fucking way.

Danny:

That is an unfortunate political decission.

Withnail:

What are you talking about Danny?

Danny:

If you are holding onto a rising balloon you are presented with a difficult political decission - let go while you've still got the chance or hold onto the rope and continue getting higher. That's politics man. We are at the end of an age. The greatest decade in the history of mankind is nearly over. They're selling hippy wigs in wolworths. It is 91 days to the end of the decade and as presuming ed here has so consistently pointed out, we have failed to paint it black.

The King, the Village, and the Poisoned Well

Once upon a time, in a quiet and prosperous land, there was a village. The village was ruled by a kindly King who lived alone in a castle on a hill overlooking the village. The King and his subjects lived simple and peaceful lives. Everybody was happy and contented, and nobody ever though things would change.

On the edge of the land a wicked witch lived in a dark damp cave. She hated the villagers because they were so happy. And she despised the King because he was a good and kind man. So one night she sneaked into the village and poisoned the villagers' well.

The next day the villagers drank from the well as normal, and each and every one of them went insane. Soon the villagers were very unhappy and far from contented. All the villagers knew was that the King had suddenly started acting very strange.

The King, who had his own well, soon worked out what had happened. So in the middle of the night he sneaked down to the villagers' well and drank deeply. By the morning he too was insane.

When the villagers worked out their king was no longer acting strange they rejoiced. Soon everybody was happy and contented again. And they all lived happily ever after.

Remembering Reason

It is hard enough to remember my opinions, without also remembering my reasons for them!

Waiting for the Barbarians

Not so much a quote, as the whole damn poem. But when the War on Terror® gets me down I find it very apt.

What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?

     The barbarians are due here today.

Why isn't anything happening in the senate?
Why do the senators sit there without legislating?

     Because the barbarians are coming today.
     What laws can the senators make now?
     Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating.

Why did our emperor get up so early,
and why is he sitting at the city's main gate
on his throne, in state, wearing the crown?

     Because the barbarians are coming today
     and the emperor is waiting to receive their leader.
     He has even prepared a scroll to give him,
     replete with titles, with imposing names.

Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today
wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas?
Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts,
and rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds?
Why are they carrying elegant canes
beautifully worked in silver and gold?

     Because the barbarians are coming today
     and things like that dazzle the barbarians.

Why don't our distinguished orators come forward as usual
to make their speeches, say what they have to say?

     Because the barbarians are coming today
     and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking.

Why this sudden restlessness, this confusion?
(How serious people's faces have become.)
Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly,
everyone going home so lost in thought?

     Because night has fallen and the barbarians have not come.
     And some who have just returned from the border say
     there are no barbarians any longer.

And now, what's going to happen to us without barbarians?
They were, those people, a kind of solution.

Brave New World

But liberty, as we all know, cannot flourish in a country that is permanently on a war footing, or even a near war footing. Permanent crisis justifies permanent control of everything and everybody by the agencies of the central government.

May you live in interesting times!

I'd Like to Thank the Vatican...

On behalf of our producers Kathleen Glynn and Michael Donovan from Canada, I'd like to thank the Academy for this. I have invited my fellow documentary nominees on the stage with us, and we would like to - they're here in solidarity with me because we like nonfiction. We like nonfiction and we live in fictitious times. We live in the time where we have fictitious election results that elects a fictitious president. We live in a time where we have a man sending us to war for fictitious reasons. Whether it's the fiction of duct tape or fiction of orange alerts we are against this war, Mr. Bush. Shame on you, Mr. Bush, shame on you. And any time you got the Pope and the Dixie Chicks against you, your time is up. Thank you very much.

Spurious Realities

Because today we live in a society in which spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups, political groups-and the electronic hardware exists by which to deliver these pseudo-worlds right into the heads of the reader, the viewer, the listener.

So I ask, in my writing, What is real? Because unceasingly we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms. I do not distrust their motives; I distrust their power. They have a lot of it. And it is an astonishing power: that of creating whole universes, universes of the mind. I ought to know. I do the same thing.