I got into show business because I hate the honest, ugly, savage, truth of waking up human, knowing that one day that I won’t wake up and those days or moments before that last sentient moment will probably be quite tricky.

The only solution to living with this painful reality is love*, a practice that’s not always easy, which takes a lifetime of work, vigilance and bravery to acquire the capacity to do it.

Of course, love is an end in itself, and the solution to the human condition and so on, but we’re all really busy at “work” due to everybody’s “love” of certain other ideas.

There you go. Truth in three paragraphs, whenever you need them.

Now bring on the lies of authors, songwriters, storytellers! I need a rest!

What’s that? All of a sudden, I’m hearing: Great writing tells the truth. Great fiction tells the truth. Great art tells the truth.

Truth, truth, truth, truth, truth. Ugh.

Surely all this truth needs breaking up with a dick joke once in a while?

Just saying, if you’re now thinking of a rude joke and smiling, treasure that feeling.

My work here is done.

*I’m not being touchy-feely. This is the scholarly definition of love, put forward by Erich Fromm in The Art Of Loving.