Further, I'm obsessed with how language contorts and creates bodies.

Further, for once, I like the idea that people who think I'm a constant voice for the furthering of the imagination have to see that interest in a more materialistic fashion.

Once again, I think there is little art being done that really owns up to such intense possibilities.

And books that were published in much larger numbers than Selfish, Little are hard to find. And publishers who wanted to publish my last few works have them stuck in limbo while new distribution ideas and legal issues and fears are blown away.

In the past the publishers I've worked with have been extremely generous. And in almost every case, have been people who believed in the work rather than the sales and marketing.

But, right now, the situation is that almost all of my writing is out of print.

Writing is the one art form that really should allow you to hang yourself.