Being as a self is a kind of nostalgia in that it inextricable from a complex weaving back and forth between frameworks of time- the future looks back to a past looking to the future looking back... Are all your emotions the result of investments in these patterns linking a past a present and a future, as if the very qualia that make them up are primitives of temporal reference and repetition? But nothing actually happens in time, the whole performance is only in the present without any duration. Such an understanding yields nothing in time. It offers no way out, which is why you can hardly bear to consider it, preferring the strange refluxes of time's fatal worship.