I’ve never felt blocked, but when I get burnout it means it’s time to switch to another medium—I jump around, don’t stay still. I do know that when I spend too much time talking about my work, the new ideas recede. What I mean is, I find that the process of making brings more ideas, there’s constant momentum.

I had really bad writer’s block when I wrote Strangers. I didn’t really write about the stuff that I wanted to write about because I hadn’t admitted it to myself. And I think sometimes writer’s block is about stuff like that. You’re not being honest with yourself. I finally broke through it, but I did so by writing an incredibly apocalyptic record that was very symbolic. I told Randall I wrote a record about the end of the world, and he said, “I don’t think this record is about the end of the world. I think this record is about the end of your world.” And I was just like, “Fuck you.” But at the same time he was really right. It definitely was an anxiety record.

For sure. I think that’s why I also work in other mediums. Sometimes I have the urge to make something. Sometimes I want to make a poem but at that moment I can’t for whatever reason, so I work with other materials. I like to do sculpture; my sculptures are usually more like objects. I also play music here and there, but I just do these things to kind of help me with writing… I use these other ways of making to help keep my wheels moving in one way or another, and eventually the language will come for writing. Sometimes I do get writer’s block, but I have never really viewed it in that way. I still try to make things even if I don’t have the language or words to put to it in at the moment.

Just by not giving up, I guess. It was extremely difficult. Oh god, I’m hesitant to think what this interview’s gonna look like… I don’t wanna seem like the guy who’s always doing difficult things. But yes, I had writer’s block. It was massive. And I came out of the recording session for Melana Chasmata thinking this was the most difficult album I’ve ever done in my entire life. And I had already thought that after Celtic Frost’s Monotheist and after the first Triptykon album. But now I find myself in a situation where I’m working on the third Triptykon album, and I have exactly the same feeling. So maybe I’m just psychologically sick. I don’t know.

It’s wasting time to listen to music when you go outside because there are so many interesting noises. For example, every time it rains, I open the window and put the recorder outside. I should always be ready to be surprised, like by the siren of a patrol car in Barcelona and other cities. I hit things, on the street or anywhere, to check the sound—until I find the perfect idea of sound. I haven’t found it yet and am always searching.

Listening to the sound of rain. Almost every time it rains, I start recording it. Almost each day. What else? Sensing the movements of the wind. Those very subtle things give me so much pleasure.

I guess it’s by some degree of my own satisfaction. It’s not numeric. For instance, I’m very proud of async , but in the 90s, I was making fake R&B, fake House music, and fake Hip-Hop music. I don’t like that. I’m not happy about it. I wish I could erase that time. Making film music is different. It’s for other people, not yourself. It is still my own music, but it’s for other people. My solo work is entirely for myself, so it’s judged by my own satisfaction and whether I have proceeded enough, if I have pushed myself to another level. That’s how I judge it.