Now, what’s stirring in this murky sea of complexity and foolishness is an almost suffocating need to breathe fresh history.

A track I’ve always liked by Mogwai goes on a loop while I pour a second glass of Reyka. This time it tastes of lava fields and thermal springs, aromatic alcohol evaporating stale thoughts, familiar and foreign. Something unnamed is melting, germinating, potentiating the currents of tomorrow across frozen, unpopulated dreamscapes.

Dark and messy... No wonder the guy at the desk stared at me. I look like a pre-revolutionary vaquero who just slipped off his horse – dusty, thirsty, desperate to be laid pretty between clean sheets. I am most of those things. —Peter Arellano

Light, Amie, can be blinding when it first comes on. Lasers can be deadly, even when streaming from benevolence. We need perspective. We need it to seem wiser than us, tested and tempered by time.