I do not often think about time, perhaps like most people the unceasing flow is just experienced. When engaged internally with the manifestations in thought of the inner world, the outside time situation changes, there is a viscosity and naturally the state is one of suspension within the inner world. All of this by necessity is temporal, though different temporalities are at a state of play: one access the thoughts within the inner world in the time-scale of the inner world which one may of accessed before, and repeated, over a time; these accessings each take up a time, or may be superimposed within the inner world over other accessings; then there are the situatings within the inner world, which of course take up a time both measurable and also one experiential each situating. Music perhaps can reflect this, as well as allowing a trickling down of these situations and accessings, as well of the idea, including in this the time of writing, the accessings in the situation over the time of writing, and then to the musical time(s) taken up by the piece, then the experience of each audient. These times, temporalities, and modes of experiencing are all opening and closing to us when we consider, write, then consider what we have written to might write; time becomes one of the bases of our ideas. In this sense, I do not often think about time but have it as a base to operation and manifestation, to think about time within time seems a dimension beyond which I am capable, not in an intellectual capacity in the trivial, but in the creative imagining. I am not a particularly creative person, I cannot hum or create a melody.

“Se considerarmos o discurso musical tão‑só como uma forma de fluxo temporal, a sua percepção ostenta naturalmente certas características próprias de qualquer percepção, de qualquer fluxo temporal. Husserl, por vezes, prefere chamar aos fenómenos de fluxo modos da perspectiva temporal.”

— Emmanuel Nunes

“Un giorno si entusiasmò davanti ad un documentario che mostrava migliaia di noctiluche galleggiare di note sulla superficie dell’acqua. Davanti una di esse ingrandita al microscopio si riconobbe. Ad un tratto seppe di essere un ectoplasma luminoso e che il suo destino era di fluttuare sospeso sul limitare di spazi profondi.”

L’isola di Komodo – Susanna Tamaro