What’s any artist, but the dregs of his work?

We're comic. We're all comics. We live in a comic time. And the worse it gets the more comic we are.

I see the player piano as the grandfather of the computer, the ancestor of the entire nightmare we live in, the birth of the binary world where there is no option other than yes or no and where there is no refuge.

It is the bliss of childhood that we are being warped most when we know it the least.

Tragedy was foresworn, in ritual denial of the ripe knowledge that we are drawing away from one another, that we share only one thing, share the fear of belonging to another, or to others, or to God; love or money, tender equated in advertising and the world, where only money is currency, and under dead trees and brittle ornaments prehensile hands exchange forgeries of what the heart dare not surrender.

We want someone to bring us the news.

...mementos of this world, in which the things worth being were so easily exchanged for the things worth having.