We shed skin, memories, relationships, pieces of ourselves: none of us are immune from the passage of time. Imprisoned by age, are we doomed to years of an insomniac lament of our youth?
The piece deals primarily with the absence of home, solitude, silence, secrecy, the passage of time, individual memory, and the willingness to admit and wrestle with contradictions, anger, destruction, and creation. How do we deal with contradictions in ourselves? Do we know they’re there? How does prolonged silence, uninterrupted aloneness, or living without a home affect the individual mind? How resilient are we against the human traumas we put ourselves through?