No, that’s journalism. The truth is whatever you can’t escape.

Widespread caffeine use explains a lot about the twentieth century.

Screw every known human culture.

Pop science goes flying off in all kinds of fashionable directions, and it often drags a lot of SF writers with it. I've been led astray like that myself at times.

For there is a truth which cannot be bought or sold, imposed by force, resisted or escaped.

On his eighteenth day in the tiger cage, Robert Stoney began to lose hope of emerging unscathed.

It was almost noon when the plane touched down at the Triad airport on the outskirts of Greensboro. There was a hire car waiting for me; I waved my notepad at the dashboard to transmit my profile, then waited as the seating and controls rearranged themselves slightly, piezoelectric actuators humming. As I started to reverse out of the parking bay, the stereo began a soothing improvisation, flashing up a deadpan title: Music for Leaving Airports 11 June 2008.