Great art always rises above the genre it's confined to.

When I come home and I see you and you look up at me and say "Daddy!" I feel like I'm the luckiest man in the world.

What's the point in feeling sorry for yourself? Just because you have these impulses that are completely beyond your control, this so-called addictive personality that God or genes gifted you with?

Where did the narrative go? The sense of shared and common destiny?

Gambling in the digital age. No skill whatsoever required. Just a monstrous emotional commitment.

The painter who paints pictures of himself and his friends says that the theme of his work is "the history of Europe in my lifetime." The writer who writes about himself and his friends and family says that the theme of his work is "the history of the world in my lifetime." Heavily mediated to be sure.

Freedom of speech always depends on those who wield power, and whether or not they allow us a platform. It looks as if the platforms are getting shut down one by one.

Teacher, writer, drinker, gambler. Ex-smoker, ex-dishwasher, ex-clubber, former undergraduate. Fornicator, cinephile, appreciator of literature, skier, couch potato, part-time househusband, self-trained cook. Traveller, tourist, commuter, drifter.

Will the economic collapse arrest the dumbing down process? One must hold out some hope, just a little.