Strictly speaking, music isn’t in time, time is in music. Yet we treat our time extremely unmusically. A city knows nothing of separations - the people in it are too close to be close to one another… If we don’t unwedge our cramped everyday life with separations, if we own’t convert our collectives from a close order to an extended one - we may perish.
Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky, “Someone Else’s Theme,” (from Memories of the Future).
…and my dissertation has an epigram. What’s more - here things get rather surreal - the title of this collection (and one of his stories) is the same as the title I gave my Tumblr more than a year ago. I won’t even get into the intradiegetic trippiness going on, this rabbit hole appears to be bottomless.