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.
Time was not passing...it was turning in a circle.
It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.
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.
