I Want To Be Loved Despite My

The Absence Of The Will To Live Is, Alas, Not Sufficient To Make One Want To Die.

I'd Say That The Question Whether Love Still Exists Plays The Same Role In My Novels As The Question Of God's Existence In Dostoevsky.

A Source Of Permanent, Accessible Pleasure, Our Genitals Exist. The God Who Created Our Misfortune, Who Made Us Short-lived, Vain And Cruel, Has Also Provided This Form Of Meagre Compensation. If We Couldn't Have Sex From Time To Time, What Would Life Be? A Futile Struggle Against Joints That Stiffen, Caries That Form. All Of Which, Moreover, Is As Uninteresting As Humanly Possible - The Collagen Which Makes Muscles Stiffen, The Appearance Of Microbic Cavities In The Gums.

The World Outside Had Its Own Rules, And Those Rules Were Not Human.

It Is Interesting To Note That The "sexual Revolution" Was Sometimes Portrayed As A Communal Utopia, Whereas In Fact It Was Simply Another Stage In The Historical Rise Of Individualism. As The Lovely Word "household" Suggests, The Couple And The Family Would Be The Last Bastion Of Primitive Communism In Liberal Society. The Sexual Revolution Was To Destroy These Intermediary Communities, The Last To Separate The Individual From The Market. The Destruction Continues To This Day.