Santa Monica's only walkable if death is no hurdle. The air's the wrong colour. People put sunglasses on their dogs. It's a hideous place where humans are not welcome and those who stay suffer eight kinds of brain damage.

Its a strange world. Lets keep it that way.

I admit that I have sometimes claimed to be Batman in the past. But only when really, really drunk.

Santa Monica's only walkable if death is no hurdle. The air's the wrong colour. People put sunglasses on their dogs. It's a hideous place where humans are not welcome and those who stay suffer eight kinds of brain damage.

That means that the universe is two-dimensional. Matter, energy, time, you, me and the floor are holograms.

I grew up in the 80s in England: we'd wake up each morning and look out the window to see if the government had finally put Daleks on the streets.

Los Angeles had no culture of its own, just a large collection of misreadings of the artistic histories of other, proper cities.