They're good for five minutes, these messages
in invisible ink. Once you expose them to the
purple light, they fade slowly away. So if you've
got something to say, or a copy to make, do it
now and do it quickly. The rest is useless paper.
When Ludwig quit everything, and between
his two philosophies, one version and then
they other, he built her a house. By hand. It
took years. Orderly, precise, and boring as
hell, with every predictable turn and right
angle assumed for and readied. You simply
knew everything before you knew : nothing
within was any fun. Dour stupid dapper dude.
He had a one-armed suicidal crazy brother too.
A pianist, believe that. Writing music for a
one-armed piano player. That's a lot of crazy
burden to carry. The perfect balance is sometimes
a mathematical bore : like take a piece of toast,
but butter it half on one side, and then half - a
different half, of course - on the other side. Now,
is that a two, or a four, you're dealing with?
Better shut up, and eat your toast.