Nothing is Pure

For the average Modernist twenty-year-old a new beginning is likely an exciting venture, a new beginning, in fact, and an opening into the unknown. For one twice that age, a new beginning is just a repeat of the old, a new begining of a new old. Newness is old. There is nothing new under the sun. All is vanity.

Hey, little sister, nothing is pure.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AofzLsvTsM0

But there is witness to the repeat. There is the blood-crystal vision of the same this time round and times to come and times to go and to return eternally. But nothing is pure. One might hope for a memory of a nice day for a white wedding. But not for nothing pure.