Shush up for a bit and I’ll tell you a secret.
How does one overcome the despair of repetition?
How does two deal with the fact that everyday’s the same? That next year, Friday the 12th, he’ll be doing exactly the same thing as today, always today? Six o’clock breakfast, ten o’clock break; five o’clock, dying, rest of the night awake.
How does three vary it up a little without changing a single atom—not even Thought, that massive compound chemical?
How does four become herself, never five?
By admitting to oneself (twoself, threeself, and more) that all the greatest things repeat. “Beethoven” is simply one piece divided into 150 parts, many of which sound the same. Blare, Oomph! That was his message. As soon as he learned to say it, that was it. No use in picking up, “Dada,” or any of the other million words we inventors call language. Look at any of the great artists and you’ll see use (and reuse and overuse) of the only nugget that makes them great, sets them apart. In fact, that goes for anyone. Many lives are the constant telling (and retelling and overtelling) of, “I’ll never do it again.”
And what is my little message? The only thing I’m capable of uttering, the echo of my efforts?
I love you.
That’s all it is. Read it again and again in all of my identical works. Watch how they repeat each other, always keeping you their subject.
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