One of the most special things about music is that it accepts –no, it celebrates- the relativity of time. Time. Humanity’s oldest disorder. Ever since we divided existence in days, months and seasons, ever since we began to distinguish between future and past, the battle was lost. How desperately we struggle to make sense of our surroundings, to create an illusion of certainty and control, and yet…who is really holding the reins in this frantic race?

We’re haunted. Running around, trying to make it in time. Make what? As if there’s a chance you might miss your own death. You wake up, again, before the dream is over. Soon you’ll be screaming "leave me alone!" Focus on the present. When you were a kid, you could still manage it somehow. Eternity in the palm of your hand. Infinity in an hour. Now you must take drugs to simulate the experience; even then, it is too heartbreakingly ephemeral.

Memories, plans, fears, traumas…we’re nothing more than a succession of images. Incomplete sentences, unfinished poems, half-emptied glasses. We thought we’d conjured some absolute Essence; it failed, so we seek to exorcise it, but the ancient spell doesn’t seem to work. If god existed, it would probably have laughed itself to death long ago. Provided we’d left it the time for that.