“The continuous aim is to cut through all of the mere, eager bull-crap, and by any manner which can cause developmental self-acclaim. Where I can turn it on myself and momentarily say, “what you did there was fucking wonderful, man. What’s more, MEAN IT. Because, basically, I never mean it, really. It’s all about this tick-tocking process for me. From the second I first put pen to page again, and for the one-billionth time at that. It is from the exact and brand new lavishly dressed second that I first start to put my livid mind back to strenuous work again, and on a Constance like not too many others, I’m sure. Yes, these working, wandering words of mine(and they are all mine!!)are laid rather spontaneously bare for their each and every invaluable worth for many an improbable reason, such is a hectic even-at-the-best-of-times mind put to the sword. I can only ever depend one-million-percent, from start to finish – whenever it is I am totally done with this thing – upon the wonderful and largely dumbfounding for me constructs of a reader’s imagination for the fruits to be beared in full. That is some kind of a strange pity, surely. There is my own fight, and then there comes the goddamn delicious gift of scribbles – which I’m pretty fucking sure of it that one is working off of the other. Which is kind of a cunt.”