We fret about words, we writers. Words mean. Words point. They are arrows. Arrows stuck in the rough hide of reality. And the more portentous, more general the word, the more they can also resemble rooms or tunnels. They can expand, or cave in. They can come to be filled with a bad smell. They will often remind us of other rooms, where we'd rather dwell or where we think we are already living. They can be spaces we lose the art or the wisdom of inhabiting. And eventually those volumes of mental intention we no longer know how to inhabit will be abandoned, boarded up, closed down.

'Camp' is a vision of the world in terms of style - but a particular style. It is the love of the exaggerated.

In the valley of sorrow, spread your wings.

Pornography is one of the branches of literature - science fiction is another - aiming at disorientation, at psychic dislocation.

The possession of a camera can inspire something akin to lust. And like all credible forms of lust, it cannot be satisfied.

Reality has come to seem more and more like what we are shown by cameras.

It's hard not to be afraid. Be less afraid.