We keep waiting for something to go wrong
with the seasons. I don't think writers
should tell people what to believe
or how to behave. But something has already
gone wrong with the genres. So I let lots
of fragmentary, sometimes contradictory opinions
- as though they came from a large cast
of different characters - into the poems.
They have all bled into one another. That's
what life is like, after all. Decorum is
no longer observed. Just listen, next time
you take a bus into town. Millions
of different voices, each as important
as your own solitary whining. Isolation
and decline, fatal flaws
and falls, the throes of heroes.
(This text compiled by interweaving a paragraph from The Information by Martin Amis with the paragraph from an interview with John Tranter which I published on Tuesday. All literature is a game, of some seriousness or not.)
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