Language exists less to record the actual than to liberate the imagination.

~ Anthony Burgess

Anthony Burgess Burgess J G Ballard Literature Science Fiction Writing

First she would try to kill him, but failing this give him food and her body, breast-feed him back to a state of childishness and even, perhaps, feel affection for him. Then, the moment he was asleep, cut his throat. The synopsis of the ideal marriage.

~ J.g. Ballard

J.g. Ballard Ballard Husband J G Ballard James Graham Ballard Jg Ballard Marriage Murder Paradox Relationships Wife

Miriam - I'll give you any flowers you want!' Rhapsodising over the thousand scents of her body, I exclaimed: 'I'll grow orchids from your hands, roses from your breasts. You can have magnolias in your hair...!''And in my heart?''In your womb I'll set a fly-trap!

~ J.g. Ballard

J.g. Ballard Flowers J G Ballard Sex Unlimited Dream Company

They thrived on the rapid turnover of acquaintances, the lack of involvement with others, and the total self-sufficiency of lives which, needing nothing, were never dissapointed.

~ J.g. Ballard

J.g. Ballard Acquaintances Ballard Dissapointment High Rise J G Ballard James Graham Ballard Jg Ballard Living Self Sufficiency

Dissembling was so large a part of middle-class life that honesty and frankness seemed the most devious stratagem of all. The most outright lie was the closest one came to truth.

~ J.g. Ballard

J.g. Ballard Ballard J G Ballard Kingdom Come Lies Truth

However, for all his affection and loyalty towards the animal, the dog would soon be leaving him - they would both be present at a celebratory dinner when they reached the roof, he reflected with a touch of gallows-humour, but the poodle would be in the pot.

~ J.g. Ballard

J.g. Ballard Ballard Dark Humor Dark Humour Dinner Dog Dogs High Rise J G Ballard James Graham Ballard Jg Ballard

I dreamt that I took William Burrough’s penis and tied it up with piano wire. I hung him like a Chagall painting…In the next part J.G. Ballard swam through streets of female urine. The girls read his book Crash and then mowed him down with their Volkswagen, crushing his chest slowly against a brick wall. As he screamed in agony larger than representation can accommodate, they referred to his text and had orgasms. Later, they jumped up and down yelling, ‘You’re not a hero. You’re not a hero. You’re not. You’re not. You’re not.’ ““How do you analyze that part of the dream, Anna?”…”I guess I’m nervous about my birthday.

~ Sarah Schulman

Sarah Schulman Bohemianism Dreams J G Ballard Psychoanalysis Sexism William Burroughs