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"you Are So Close." "to Whom? Margravine, Not Even To Himself. This Place, This Island: All His Life He's Done Nothing But Hop From Island To Island. Is That A Reason? Does There Have To Be A Reason? Shall He Tell You: He Works For No Whitehall, Non Conceivable Unless, Ha, Ha, The Network Of White Halls In His Own Brain: These Featureless Corridors He Keeps Swept And Correct For Occasional Visiting Agents."

-Thomas Pynchon

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"you Are So Close."

Thomas Pynchon

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"you Are So Close." "to Whom? Margravine, Not Even To Himself. This Place, This Island: All His Life He's Done Nothing But Hop From Island To Island. Is That A Reason? Does There Have To Be A Reason? Shall He Tell You: He Works For No Whitehall, Non Conceivable Unless, Ha, Ha, The Network Of White Halls In His Own Brain: These Featureless Corridors He Keeps Swept And Correct For Occasional Visiting Agents."

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In The Eighteenth Century It Was Often Convenient To Regard Man As A Clockwork Automaton. In The Nineteenth Century, With Newtonian Physics Pretty Well Assimilated And A Lot Of Work In Thermodynamics Going On, Man Was Looked On As A Heat Engine, About 40 Per Cent Efficient. Now In The Twentieth Century, With Nuclear And Subatomic Physics A Going Thing, Man Had Become Something Which Absorbs X-rays, Gamma Rays And Neutrons.

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You Go From Dream To Dream Inside Me. You Have Passage To My Last Shabby Corner, And There, Among The Debris, You’ve Found Life. I’m No Longer Sure Which Of All The Words, Images, Dreams Or Ghosts Are ‘yours’ And Which Are ‘mine.’ It’s Past Sorting Out.

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If They Can Get You Asking The Wrong Questions, They Don't Have To Worry About Answers.

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Information. What's Wrong With Dope And Women? Is It Any Wonder The World's Gone Insane, With Information Come To Be The Only Real Medium Of Exchange?

This Spiritualist, This Statistician, What Are You Anyway?

The Lord's Angel, Gebrail, Dictated The Koran To Mohammed The Lord's Prophet. What A Joke If All That Holy Book Were Only Twenty-three Years Of Listening To The Desert. A Desert Which Has No Voice.

Every Weirdo In The World Is On My Wavelength.

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Teamwork," Koteks Snarled, "is One Word For It, Yeah. What It Really Is Is A Way To Avoid Responsibility. It's A Symptom Of The Gutlessness Of The Whole Society.

It Is Simply Wrong To Begin With A Theme, Symbol Or Other Abstract Unifying Agent, And Then Try To Force Characters And Events To Conform To It.

Everybody Who Says The Same Words Is The Same Person If The Spectra Are The Same Only They Happen Differently In Time, You Dig? But The Time Is Arbitrary. You Pick Your Zero Point Anywhere You Want, That Way You Can Shuffle Each Person's Time Line Sideways Till They All Coincide.

The Reality Is In This Head. Mine. I'm The Projector At The Planetarium, All The Closed Little Universe Visible In The Circle Of That Stage Is Coming Out Of My Mouth, Eyes, And Sometimes Other Orifices Also.

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The General Public Has Long Been Divided Into Two Parts; Those Who Think That Science Can Do Anything And Those Who Are Afraid It Will.

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"you Are So Close." "to Whom? Margravine, Not Even To Himself. This Place, This Island: All His Life He's Done Nothing But Hop From Island To Island. Is That A Reason? Does There Have To Be A Reason? Shall He Tell You: He Works For No Whitehall, Non Conceivable Unless, Ha, Ha, The Network Of White Halls In His Own Brain: These Featureless Corridors He Keeps Swept And Correct For Occasional Visiting Agents."

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My Mother Is The War,' Declares Roger Mexico, Leaning Over To Open The Door.

So Generation After Generation Of Men In Love With Pain And Passivity Serve Out Their Time In The Zone, Silent, Redolent Of Faded Sperm, Terrified Of Dying, Desperately Addicted To The Comforts Others Sell Them, However Useless, Ugly Or Shallow, Willing To Have Life Defined For Them By Men Whose Only Talent Is For Death.

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This Is America, You Live In It, You Let It Happen. Let It Unfurl.

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There Was No Difference Between The Behavior Of A God And The Operations Of Pure Chance.

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For Every Kind Of Vampire, There Is A Kind Of Cross

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Shall I Project A World?

Love With Your Mouth Shut, Help Without Breaking Your Ass Or Publicizing It: Keep Cool, But Care.

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Idle Dreaming Is Often Of The Essence Of What We Do.

What Are The Stars But Points In The Body Of God Where We Insert The Healing Needles Of Our Terror And Longing?

They Plot, They Plot, Sleeping Or Afoot They Never Let Up.

All Investigations Of Time, However Sophisticated Or Abstract, Have At Their True Base The Human Fear Of Mortality.

It All Comes Down, As It Must, To The Desires Of Individual Men. Oh, And Women Too Of Course, Bless Their Empty Little Heads.

Life's Single Lesson: That There Is More Accident To It Than A Man Can Ever Admit To In A Lifetime And Stay Sane.

All Variables Are Independent.

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A Screaming Comes Across The Sky.

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