Sometimes there’s a certain restlessness that goes along with unstructured time. A need to do something, an anticipation of what will come next. There’s a knowledge that something big will happen, but not what, or how, or when. Time seems to stretch out logarithmicly; a stretching laced with fear of the unknown future. It’s a persistent tremolo, an unrelenting vibrato that’s just out of reach. It’s a slow ascent up the scale, octaves and octaves until it feels like there is no more music left; it’s a crescendo that electrifies, and terrifies, and shakes.
It’s an emptiness that’s so filled with something that it’s almost unbearable. Almost.
