Man starts over again everyday, in spite of all he knows, against all he knows.
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun
I love the immediacy of those old analog machines; it's really inspiring. You just set them up to play, and they go, playing the same thing until you switch the pattern.
It's a compulsive need to wreck everything. You might notice there's a pattern of stripping down and building back up again throughout my life. But I guess that's how some of us conduct our lives.
… biennial convulsion
Come to think of it, the way I play is like a drum machine- very mechanical.
I paint German artists whom I admire. I paint their pictures, their work as painters, and their portraits too. But oddly enough, each of these portraits ends up as a picture of a woman with blonde hair. I myself have never been able to work out why this happens.
It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.
Time was not passing...it was turning in a circle.
So do flux and reflux--the rhythm of change--alternate and persist in everything under the sky.
The tripartite structure - so you remember the third brother, second brother, first brother, or the first dervish, second dervish, and third dervish. This is very like embroidering a cloth, as you have to know where you are with the knots.
