There is always so much going on that interweaves expectation and memory in varicoloured interlacings that slide and twist over each other like snakes in rut. The incorrigible and shared present is the iron gate of this and final reference even in its eternally lingering withdrawal. It will have been no more or less than what gives given, the finally resolved commotion of all you contribute for and against intention. However you cast imagination beyond the reflections and steely glimmers you only act within its natal embrace. So insistently real but that its contingency undoes it completely, revealing the stage mechanics of dreams past all telling and other worlds but one.