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Description
To reminisce in something that has not yet been. Watching the clouds glide, stumble, hesitate then float away with the same elegance held by Her Majesty. The blurred hours, day and night, a swift interchange as if it were not a change at all. The perpetual flow of the cello’s mellow cry from within, and at the bows extremities, the enchanted masquerader craftily dances his wrist and without audible patentability the bow traverses the string to create an unseen beauty unique in its own glory.

If we were to travel back in time, would time recapitulate until bailed from the cycle we were thrust into by the impinging voices of curiosity, or would we simply continue to live out the continuum until the end of time? But time is infinite, as infinite as a mirrors reflection, but within infiniteness, there is finiteness which is the domain of our logic but beyond this domain lies a logic beyond understanding. An infinite number of moments within a week, a day, an hour a minute, a second. These are the moments pertaining to the logic of the heart, whose whispers, carried by the wind, reach our senses and speak to us in a tongue unrecognisable to our physical being and yet captivate, penetrate and motivate us if we were to listen. The silence which echoes within our minds is adequate to drown out idle thoughts that bind the inspiring dreams that pervade the hopeful and young at heart.

It is these dreams that the masked musician declares. His story unfolds with every note, breath and heartbeat. All he sees is the ripples in the placid stream, the perfect world, that perfect dream playing on the movie screen, on the blackness of his eye lids. With every breath, his music sighs, fusing ice and flame, bringing darkness to life, enchanting every atom with his song. With no need for knowledge of his physique, masquerader, musician, phantom… our conscience… the one who reveals the gift of perpetual bliss. He is the flame within.

Description
To reminisce in something that has not yet been. Watching the clouds glide, stumble, hesitate then float away with the same elegance held by Her Majesty. The blurred hours, day and night, a swift interchange as if it were not a change at all. The perpetual flow of the cello’s mellow cry from within, and at the bows extremities, the enchanted masquerader craftily dances his wrist and without audible patentability the bow traverses the string to create an unseen beauty unique in its own glory.

If we were to travel back in time, would time recapitulate until bailed from the cycle we were thrust into by the impinging voices of curiosity, or would we simply continue to live out the continuum until the end of time? But time is infinite, as infinite as a mirrors reflection, but within infiniteness, there is finiteness which is the domain of our logic but beyond this domain lies a logic beyond understanding. An infinite number of moments within a week, a day, an hour a minute, a second. These are the moments pertaining to the logic of the heart, whose whispers, carried by the wind, reach our senses and speak to us in a tongue unrecognisable to our physical being and yet captivate, penetrate and motivate us if we were to listen. The silence which echoes within our minds is adequate to drown out idle thoughts that bind the inspiring dreams that pervade the hopeful and young at heart.

It is these dreams that the masked musician declares. His story unfolds with every note, breath and heartbeat. All he sees is the ripples in the placid stream, the perfect world, that perfect dream playing on the movie screen, on the blackness of his eye lids. With every breath, his music sighs, fusing ice and flame, bringing darkness to life, enchanting every atom with his song. With no need for knowledge of his physique, masquerader, musician, phantom… our conscience… the one who reveals the gift of perpetual bliss. He is the flame within.