That evening, in between. Different stories and some things the day still tries to keep up. Also, watching the neighbours adhere to their early night rituals, noticing the huge screens, the fast images, the strong colours. Not yet ready to get back to the piano, but once more pondering making a zine, or writing down lines pages ideas by hand for the mere sake of it. Not wanting to think purpose that much, just to add some things, some odds and ends to counter too much dark cynicism, sarcasm spread all across the fabric of these months. And be it just to keep oneself from that, always at least a bit in certain hours. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.

A lot later again. In between sleep and wake, that annoying experience of having been close to that solution while dozing through dusk - to know it slipped out of hand just that moment one wants to grab it. Trembling in dense air, cold rooms, tired. Pondering numbers, sequences, structures and formulas. Abstract philosophy devoid of any purpose, but unable to quiesce those. Have a soft night wherever you are.