Inconsiderate rude behavior drives me nuts. And I guess the inconsiderate rudeness of social ineptitude definitely fuels my work.
Who knows better than artists how much ugliness there is on the way to beauty how many ghastly mortifying missteps how many days of granitic blockheadedness and dismaying ineptitude there is on the way to accomplishment how partial all accomplishment is how incomplete?
Literature is the expression of a feeling of deprivation a recourse against a sense of something missing. But the contrary is also true: language is what makes us human. It is a recourse against the meaningless noise and silence of nature and history.