how to begin?
no beginning: in-ing, being with-in, be(come)ing, coming to be, to be(g)in, to enter a world of
infinitives, of infinite, never ending reverberation: verb-ing again, ever dissolving what might seem to
be(come) an object to be observed; not finding: being found, finding oneself implied in a deeply
moving transparency of layer upon layer, fold upon fold, nothing happening without immediately
multiplying itself, in a trembling, highly spirited undulation, ululation sometimes, a shivering,
surfacing upon the face of this river without banks.
do we still have time?
yes, there is always some time left: hidden in the interstices of what seems to be inexorably moving
forward into catastrophy, some time secretly revealing itself to us, so we can unleash it, so it can
unleash us: time to listen to a voice too weak to make itself heard, but stronger than all voices, once
paid attention to by us fragile beings, hopeful beginnings, graceful interruptions, silences, enfolded
into melodies sometimes, promises to be unfolded, fears to be faced, hopes to be fostered, joys to
be dared, lives to be mourned, dreams to come true.
yes, it is right to feel sad about terrible things and expressing this sadness in music, nothing more
truly empowering, moving, setting us in motion, inciting us to stand up, stronger mostly than
desperate expressions of outright anger or rage.
– Antoine Beuger, November 2018