The Martians are always coming.

I used to dig in the garden, and there isn't anything fantastic or ultradimensional about crab grass... unless you are a SF writer, in which case, pretty soon you're viewing crabgrass with suspicion. What are its real motives? And who sent it in the first place? The question I always found myself asking was, 'What is it, really?'

The universe is information and we are stationary in it, not three dimensional and not in space or time.

I dreamed: I am the fish whose flesh is eaten, and because I am fat, it is good.