Art Is Hard For A Puritan To

We Dance For The Pure Joy Of It. In The Kitchen To The Record Player. Because We've Got It In Us. All Over ... It's Not Just In The Legs. It Comes From Inside And Runs All Through You. In Waves. From Down Below To Up Above. All The Way To The Scalp.

Today I Know That All Things Are Watching, That Nothing Goes Unseen, That Even Wallpaper Has A Better Memory Than Human Beings. It's Not God In His Heaven Who Sees Everything. A Kitchen Chair, A Clothes Hanger, A Half-filled Ashtray, Or The Wooden Replica Of A Woman Named Niobe Can Serve Perfectly Well As An Unforgetting Witness To Our Every Deed.

I Am Not Faithful But I Am Attached.

I Shall Speak Of How Melancholy And Utopia Preclude One Another. How They Fertilize One Another... Of The Revulsion That Follows One Insight And Precedes The Next... Of Superabundance And Surfeit. Of Stasis In Progress. And Of Myself, For Whom Melancholy And Utopia Are Heads And Tails Of The Same Coin.

...i Remain Restless And Dissatisfied; What I Knot With My Right Hand, I Undo With My Left, What My Left Hand Creates, My Right Fist Shatters