Today I Know That All Things Are

Art Is So Wonderfully Irrational, Exuberantly Pointless, But Necessary All The Same. Pointless And Yet Necessary, That's Hard For A Puritan To Understand.

The Human Head Is Bigger Than The Globe. It Conceives Itself As Containing More. It Can Think And Rethink Itself And Ourselves From Any Desired Point Outside The Gravitational Pull Of The Earth. It Starts By Writing One Thing And Later Reads Itself As Something Else. The Human Head Is Monstrous.

Everyone Is Born Into A Certain Era. I Wouldn't Want To See Anyone Faced With The Circumstances That Prevailed At The Time, When There Were Few Or No Alternatives.

It Makes Me Realise That The Fantasy Of Nature Is Much Larger Than My Own Fantasy. I Still Have Things To Learn.

Melancholy And Utopia Are Heads And Tails Of The Same Coin.