Consensual reality is both fragile and elastic, and it heals like the skin of a bubble.

It's impossible to overstate how my relationship to music forms a preserve for the esoteric or even spiritual aspect of my relationship to cultural stuff, to human expressivity... it's a safe enclosure.

I had always wanted to be a writer who confused genre boundaries and who was read in multiple contexts.

Music still sort of hangs up there in the sky for me as this thing that moves me so much, but I can't really make it. It's like a car I can't drive.

I've been an advocate against the view of the writer as a partitioned genius hanging in conceptual space, or up on a mountain, a bringer of Promethean fire, some unique transmission that comes out of nowhere. I prefer the opposite view - that writers come from somewhere. They read things, and they think about them, and they incorporate other people's thoughts.

I work on a laptop specifically so I can work in cafes and pretend I'm part of the human world.

The world's large enough and interesting enough to take a different approach each time you sit down to write about it.