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Interview with Brian Kozaczek
February 2, 2015
Brian is a composer and instrumentalist. He frequently writes about music, creativity, and a plethora of other topics. For more information about Brian, follow his Twitter account and listen to his music on SoundCloud.
Tibbetts: How long have you been composing, and what made you decide to become a composer?
Kozaczek: Composing for me came by way of improvising.
My mother was a pianist, and trained to become a music teacher while as an undergrad, but somewhere along the way she changed her major to psychology and went on to teach general education in primary school. There was always a piano in the house growing up, but from a young age I was into sports; the piano was not for me. If I played it at all, it was more out of curiosity at what kind of sound it made in different registers of the thing; the plink or plunk of the extreme octaves.
It was not until 9 that I became increasingly taken by music at all, and when I turned 10 I started taking guitar lessons. It was from then on that I would start in earnest trying to find melodies from commercials and TV shows to pick out at the piano. As my formal lessons on guitar continued--in which learning by ear and transcribing were paramount--I persisted in doodling at the piano. By 15, I had painstakingly taught myself Rondo Alla Turca note by note from the sheet music, but by this time my relationship with the piano was spent in hours of improvisation, just day dreaming and experimenting on the keys.
My transcribing on guitar, while in tablature, did not help me to read music at the piano. What it did do for me was to make me a hunter of 'riffs' on the piano. My first written compositional efforts were done at the piano, often finding an ostinato figure in one hand and haphazardly piecing and layering another riff over it with the other hand. Being a novice at music notation at 15 made for a very interesting dynamic between what much more advanced things I could do with my hands and what I could understand aurally working from the written page. It is a dynamic I still use to this day in that the sound--and/or the physical outline--comes first for me in the creative process, the give and take from the written to the imagined always informing the other, pushing the boundaries of the creation itself.
By the time I got to high school, my daily musical life was playing music I knew from ear, and/or improvising my ass off for mindlessly fun hours at a time. When I started to learn music theory at 16--and getting turned onto the masterworks of the western canon of concert music--I knew my mind itself was capable of bringing into creation sonic animals that were much beyond what my hands could hope to produce just improvising on the fly. However, I overshot my revelation that I had spent too much time "dicking around", "jamming", and became obsessed with what I could "concoct" from the theory I was studying. This is when I decided to become a composer at 16. The beginning for me was reading Theory of Harmony by Schoenberg and contriving ridiculously tedious "studies" largely composed of cyclical melodic interval patterns and juxtaposing asymmetric rhythmic groupings.
So now, I have been composing roughly 17 years, and it is still a process of balancing intuition and mystery with form and story. I use theory to understand what has come before me, what the masterworks mean in my life, to fashion my concept of the paths, stairs, doorways, and architectural external realities of the things I create, but I use my improvising soul to create the drama, placement, and experience that being in such a place means.
I became a composer because the music I create is the experience of some adventure my soul only knows how to express through sound and music. This basic need has been specifically refined as I grow, and for the past 10 years I've used the compositional process to personally understand my own experiences as I live, breathe, and dream. A process of watching experiences become conscious and how they end, I think about the cycle of death, beauty, and meaning.
Tibbetts: Who are your biggest influences?
Kozaczek: In semi-chronological order (I gave up halfway through), these are my biggest influences:
1. They Might be Giants
2. Michael Jackson
3. Madonna
4. Red Hot Chili Peppers
5. Nirvana
6. Soundgarden
7. Alice in Chains
8. Black Sabbath
9. Megadeth
10. Metallica
11. Pantera
12. Slayer
13. Morbid Angel
14. Mozart
15. Carcass
16. Death
17. Cannibal Corpse
18. Deicide
19. Suffocation
20. J.S. Bach
21. Converge
22. Testament
23. Mahavishnu Orchestra
24. Thelonius Monk
25. Cryptopsy
26. Frank Zappa
27. Agustin Barrios
28. Ravel
29. Radiohead
30. Pat Metheny
31. Steve Reich
32. Elliott Smith
33. The Smiths
34. Stereolab
35. Mahler
36. Charlie Parker
37. Dusan Bogdanovic
38. Sergio Assad
39. Neil Young
40. Candiria
41. Pat Martino
42. Nikita Koshkin
43. Brahms
44. Yes
45. Stravinsky
46. Scriabin
47. Prokofiev
48. Evan Hirschelman
49. Stephen Goss
50. John Coltrane
51. Shostakovich
52. Beethoven
53. Carlo Domeniconi
54. Walter Piston
55. Palestrina
56. Gamelan
57. Josquin DesPrez
58. Michael Brecker
59. Toru Takemitsu
60. Dr. N. Rajam
61. Dan Kennedy
62. Poulenc
63. Schoenberg
64. Ellissa Brill-Pashkin
65. Yusef Lateef
66. Stephen Hauschildt
67. Ray Corvair Trio
68. John Adams
69. Nikolai Roslavets
70. Christopher Swist
71. Lemongrass
72. Barn Owl
73. Roland Dyens
74. Ginastera
75. Marlos Nobre
76. Egberto Gismonti
77. Pell Mell
78. Radames Gnattali
79. Dave Liebman
80. Aaron Copland
81. Charles Mingus
82. Dawn of MIDI
83. Aphex Twin
84. The Dead Milkmen
85. Pere ubu
86. Tears for Fears
87. The American Dollar
88. Arvo Part
89. At the Gates
90. Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
91. Charles Koechlin
92. Evan Ziporyn
93. Bang on a Can All Stars
94. Joby Talbot
95. Kodomo
96. New Jack Swing
97. Johnny Cash
98. Tegan and Sara
99. Thomas Newman
100. Michael Nyman
101. Thursday
102. Vijay Iyer
103. Lalgudi Jayaraman
104. David Lang
105. The Cure
106. Emeralds
107. Lou Harrison
108. Brian Eno
109. Terry Riley
110. Alan Hovhaness
111. Philip DeFremery
112. John Mason
113. Xenakis
114. Vincent Persichetti
115. Bartok
116. Ligeti
117. L. Subramaniam
118. Red Dawn
119. Koto Music
120. Villa-Lobos
121. Henri Dutilleux
122. Todd Rosever
123. At the Drive-In
124. Legends of Guitar Vol.1 Surf
125. Beck
126. Piazzolla
127. Hindemith
128. Debussy
129. Bluegrass
130. Rage Against the Machine
131. Liszt
132. Eric Whitacre
133. Richard Strauss
Tibbetts: Do you feel that you have any creative dopplegangers?
Kozaczek: No. To me, this question is like "have you ever been struck by lightning, standing exactly at the place someone else was when they were also struck by lightning?"
But I will say as a "riff hunter" I am keenly aware of this at all times, in all situations and all places. There is nothing sacred about any one composition by any one composer. If I feel a connection, sonically, from what I'm currently hearing and something stored away in my brain, I tend to light up and get really excited. Someone once said, rationalizing the observation, "So what? All composers take from each other." In other words, "it is not so significant". This is where I disagree. The point that's being missed is that composition, in my opinion, is largely an activity of problem solving. Aside from complete pieces being born of one fantastic moment, some work must go into crafting the creation. These moments of recognition serve to fill one's "tool box" in times of working through a process. The chunk of music is not valued for its discrete nature, but rather how it fits into its surrounding material. Because this circumstance is unique from the pieces being compared, the singularity of the recognized "riff" more perfectly highlights the differences of everything else in the pieces. We try to find what the style is by how it dictates its own solutions. This is the moment we recognize as a valuable solution in an otherwise completely unique piece of music; our tool box becomes more versatile in other completely different circumstances.
All this being said, try as I might to be conscious of any musical similarities, there are several places in some of my music where afterwards, I have recognized moments of almost explicit borrowing. I am still awaiting the day when someone says, "Hey, this is like that?! Right?" And I'll high-five.
Tibbetts: What do you consider your best work(s) so far?
Kozaczek: I am surprised at certain moments I was able to pull out in the Fugue for flute, oboe, bass clarinet, and piano. It was my first serious attempt in fugue, and I am most pleased by how it is an emotionally fulfilling piece despite being under 3 minutes long in duration. It was a valuable experience in that I felt I was constantly at my threshold of commanding the craft, and letting my more impulsive side dilute the form and texture. I feel it will be a stepping stone for a longer engrossing work, taking advantage of the pacing and expression I achieved this time.
My piece for solo piano, Ancestral Dance, after H.P. Lovecraft's "Olden Ones" in his Dream Cycle stories, I recognize is the best I could have done at the time considering all that this piece represented to me in conception. The piece is a homage to many seemingly wildly varying things. First, it is a depiction of an actual "shindig" of the ancient race of demigod like creatures that roamed the Earth "aeons" before man existed, that always seem to find their brooding way into the periphery of many of Lovecraft's books. The particular book I depict here is The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath of 1927. It is a surreal account of the main character's dreamscape, trying to get back to the dark and sacred "gleaming city of the olden ones".
I also worked into the piece material that is in the gesture of the death metal genre, a homage to my youth, growing up listening and playing in metal bands. If the listener is familiar with Balinese gamelan, there is a moment when these two genres merge that I'm very proud of. Lastly, in the gentler moments things cool down with lush jazz-like chromatic harmonies. The ending is like an anthem to "never stop partying the night away" and is very unique pianistically.
Tibbetts: What inspires you to take on a new project?
Kozaczek: At this point in my career I am building my portfolio, and gaining experience where ever I can get it. At the same time, I am reconciling the first half of my musical life, which was way more about learning harder and harder music, "shredding", and basically reveling in the moments of pure instrumental joy that my discipline could muster. The way this reconciliation usually happens is that first of all, I tend to write what I feel are extremely demanding parts. I like to, at some point, physically get everything under my fingers on an instrument, whether it's piano, guitar, or violin. I realize there is infinite variety and variability to what is "demanding" on an instrument but, if it clears it up, the kind of demand that drives me wild when conceiving music is visualizing the whole body wrapped in the gesture of the music, a very real negotiation of angles and curves the body must make through the air in playing the material. Examples of this are in many demanding passages of Ancestral Dance. There are moments of wide leaping hand-crossing that may be akin to the choreography of a martial art. Other examples of this happen throughout the Duet for violins, where I envisioned a very clock-like and/or pendulum motion being maintained between the two players.
Besides writing as part of my personal instrumental and theoretical edification, I like to take on new projects with new and unique instrumentations. For instance, there's a work in progress for violin, clarinet, piano and marimba with two players. The sound open to two simultaneous marimba players, within their limits of range while interacting with each other, is determining many other aspects of the sound of the piece as a whole.
Also, in the near future I anticipate working on pieces of mixed electronic and acoustic instruments, specifically arpeggiators and other digital pattern generating instruments.
Lastly, over the past few years I've been keenly aware of broadening my compositional palette in working with texts. While to date I have not written anything of great personal value employing voice, I have used my own poetry and journaling as both a springboard for pieces, and sometimes outright working on both a piece of music and a poem in tandem and reciprocally. Versions of As Shadows, Time Passed for solo guitar as well as guitar and violin were written as both poem and music in this way. Down to the very root of the piece, as an improvisation on guitar, the words and music came together as emotional reaction to the experience of the other. This music is part of a suite of four pieces called Love, Friendship, Joy and Sorrow, and each piece is rooted in the experience of moments I've written about in my poems or journal entries stemming back almost twenty years.
I would eventually like to experiment with works that are experienced as conceptual pieces with text and plot. As of now I have only used text as underlying emotional inspiration to instrumental works.
Tibbetts: What is your ideal working environment?
Kozaczek: Generally I like to be in a wide open room with a lot space so I can get up and walk around--pace--when I need to. But recently, working on pieces for marimba and piano, I have to be in the room with these instruments regardless to try out and generate material.
I like to compose at night. Though I don't doubt all the honorable mentions to morning composition, I just have not found my stride with this time of the day. I like it to be quiet. I like there to be no one around. If the building is empty, this makes me feel better, at least while starting out in any session; after I get going I don't care who's around or where.
I also hate composing on an empty stomach. It is distracting, trying to pull up some inward response to what you're doing when all you're getting is "I'm hungry".
It really depends on what stage of a piece I'm in, but generally, I have my manuscript paper, my computer, and a piano or other instrument. Ideally, I also have a means of playback, either recorded material or Finale playback, at a volume comparable to the volume of the instruments at hand. It just helps get a better grasp at interlocking parts and dynamics.
Also, windows. I love composing at night with a huge wall of windows to look out at a scene of black nothingness. There's something about it, where I can fill in that space with any emotion I have with the sound in my head.
Oh! No outside influences of any sort. No phone, no text messages, and no Twitter. Even during breaks, none of these, only the task before me. I think it's crucial, these moments when I physically/mentally relax; things just seem to get solved despite effort, but I need the space.
Tibbetts: How do you evaluate the quality of your work?
Kozaczek: This is such a hard question.
I usually know in the exact moment I create it how deep I've cut into what I want to say, what I'm feeling. Often I feel so attached to music I've just created, and oddly, as time passes, the pieces become more distant and mysterious to me again. It's like they have their own reason for being outside of me, and they grow to be their own thing, their own story I can still appreciate. But the deal we had at creation is long gone. The music let me recall some experience, and in that moment it was a rush, but if I had to recreate that experience it might--I believe absolutely would--come out as different music.
Time is very important. If a piece of music seems to take less time than you can recall taking to listen to it, this is usually a good thing. Also, if a piece of music is satisfying to listen to at many different times of day, in varying moods and states of attention, this usually means the quality of the piece is good.
I believe to really experience your own music, to judge quality, time must pass for you to take an accurate assessment of it. It is hard to be objective if you can still remember any details of particular struggles with the piece. Instead of feeling the overall effect, you feel the small victories you may have had at any given moment, which in the long run might not mean anything to the experience of the piece as a whole.
Relying on people's reaction to judge the quality of your music is a mixed bag. But if I see my own reactions in another person as they are listening, this usually makes me happy.
Tibbetts: How would you characterize the relationship between your work and its audience?
Kozaczek: Ugh, another very tough question!
I think if the audience feels even just a hint of the moments I had while creating the piece, then that is the relationship I envision the audience having with my music.
Music is so personal and unique each time around that I don't know if any one description of an audience's relationship with it could accurately characterize it.
Often I set up an emotional situation in a piece in which at a certain moment the audience has a certain sense of being set free. The freedom could be a sense of hope, a wave of nostalgia or repose, or it could be determination and abandon. I think there are very clear moments of catharsis in many of my pieces. Above all, I hope the audience becomes emotionally invested in the music as it unfolds.
Tibbetts: Do you experience creative blocks? How do you deal with them?
Kozaczek: Yes! Every time I set out to compose!
For me the beginning of every work session is usually the most difficult to get past. But when you persevere, eventually you tap into that stream that's always there, and actually is quite shocking that the resistance you may have anticipated about the project beforehand does not exist! It's a hard thing to talk about. I have to say, many of my methods of getting past creative blocks came from one of my mentors and teachers Dan Kennedy, who has a tremendous mind for this kind of awakening thought about one's perception of creativity. He especially helped me in this area.
The biggest thing I learned from Dan was, "drop the *should* from your inner dialogue while engaged in the creative process." Like, for example, "this theme *should* be 8 measures long." What the *should* does here is defeat the organic process of discovering your material. Hence this is where the "shock" comes from, where you find your material finds You, instead of you chasing It! The "shock" is that last moment of resistance of the creative impulse.
Dan would often frame his explanations by using his observations of the behavior of children, especially his own, interacting within an environment. He asked me, "How do you stop a child from dancing?"
"You *ask* them if they're dancing."
Another huge breakthrough for me about creativity came by way of this story Dan told me one day during composition lesson;
"Two men of a small village, upset at some recent local election, wanted to leave town."
"One went and told the Devil, "I'm sick of it! I'm leaving town.""
"The other, JUST LEFT."
Only one man got to leave. The thing to put into practice here is very simple, but deceptively hard to do: don't make a big deal of your intent to set down and work. Approach it from the shortest distance; in other words, leave your ego behind long before you set out to work.
Tibbetts: Do you ever throw away material?
Kozaczek: Yes, I call this place "the boneyard".
But usually I enter into the editing/refining phase of an idea so quickly, from when it was first conceived, that all my material has a very significant reason for being. Things usually get sent to the boneyard en masse for any particular session they were created in. In reviewing the material of a past session, my feeling is that it is not found suitable for the current work as a whole because I lacked focus, or was in some kind of distracted funk that day. But I still have ideas that I've sidelined that will absolutely appear in some other work. Sometimes a single idea or cell is so strong that it will reappear from what seems to be its own volition!
The more interesting situation is when, by some mistake or chance experimentation, a very small segment, even as small as one note, is deleted and the idea is suddenly set free or at least unburdened from progressing because of the deletion. This happened to me in spring of 2010 while working on the Duet for violins. There were one or two moments where chance and experimentation like this absolutely shaped the overall form of the piece. That would definitely qualify as one of those "shocking" moments of creativity.
Lastly on this question, I have to say, this kind of editing is highly dependent on the manner in which I'm composing a given work. For example, the solo piano work Ancestral Dance's main inspiring idea, the cell that spawned the start of the creation, is featured roughly 3/4 into the piece! When working in a non-linear way such as this, it's much more 'puzzle-like', and truthfully, sometimes the pieces aren't a perfect match. I joked recently on Twitter, "The problem of composing in a non-linear fashion is that it becomes a battle of Genealogy; Ok, who came from what? Where? When?" This was a response I had to a miraculous moment I had while composing that night: when deciding the final segueing material, I was bombarded with several possibilities which, one by one, I began to realize were all perfect but all had different implications spawning from various different places in the piece. It was very overwhelming to suddenly have so many options where there had been none for months previously!
Tibbetts: What are you currently working on?
Kozaczek: Currently, I'm working on the piece for solo piano I mentioned above, Ancestral Dance. Though I have released a version currently on my SoundCloud page, I was never completely satisfied with the overall form of it. The first half is kind of a repeated (and now modified) exposition. It was begun as a student work in 2013, and because of the deadline I had to hand it in before I had the chance to change the literal repeat of the exposition. But since that time I've pinpointed other moments in the work where the impression of the form is lacking, and I am set to make the momentum to the last Dance Scene more cohesive.
Also at the same time I am working on another very personally significant work for me. It is a suite of pieces for guitar and violin called Friendship, Joy, Love, and Sorrow. It consists of four movements (which may also be self-standing pieces) that have their beginnings as far back as 2001. While working on a solo guitar piece in 2013 written in response to a random Tweet I read ("And I'll miss your laugh... your smile") which I'm calling a "Twitter Libation"--dedicating it to the author of that tweet--I was looking back at unfinished ideas in my manuscript books. I found three other pieces in an unfinished state that were likewise somehow tied to this "longing" and nostalgia for special (or idealized) people in my life. I decided to make them into a suite and have each one feature a specific concept in the title Friendship, Love, Joy, and Sorrow.
These pieces were mainly started as works or ideas for guitar, in which each also serendipitously featured a different technical aspect on that instrument. The piece And I'll miss your laugh...your smile will be the fourth and last piece in the suite; it will represent Joy. It is suitable for a closing movement, as it features a simple folk style texture on guitar played at a quick and light tempo. The piece closes on a fast toccata-like wave of emotion meant to depict the laugh and thus the Joy of the missed loved one alluded to in the title.
The third piece in the suite, As Shadows, Time Passed, represents the Sorrow of the title. It is already finished in its version for solo guitar; it's up on my SoundCloud page.
The second piece in the suite is Dark Eyes, Soft Skin; it represents the Love of the title. It is not the love of "devotion" but more of fantasy and mystery, written in a smitten state of an intense encounter; I sang the opening melody over and over again on a late spring evening in 2004. It is a densely constructed piece for guitar, consisting of melancholic polyphonic lines that appear then dissolve, one into the other.
The first piece in the suite is called I will Always...and Never...; it is the Friendship of the title. Its circumstances are rather personal, which I'd rather not disclose. It features the kind of fast "scordatura"-like arpeggio playing that just absolutely sparkles on guitar.
It is my absolute intention that these pieces will be a testament to my life and experiences.
Tibbetts: What new developments in your chosen creative industry most excite or inspire you? And which ones most worry or disappoint you?
Kozaczek: I'm going to approach this question from the broadest perspective of developments regarding consumption and dissemination of music at large, and not just concerning composition. One thing I make use of, engage with, and anticipate with further wonder and amazement is this revolution of digital and social media going mobile. The ability to connect with other composers, musicians, and creatives has opened up a world of potential opportunity for composing, learning, and discovery. In particular, posting and keeping up with the community on SoundCloud and Twitter is very rewarding. Important from a less specialized purpose, YouTube is an absolutely necessary resource, almost synonymous with the concept of the Internet itself.
Podcasts are relatively new in my life, but with content accessible in such a practical way, they have become part of my daily routine. The interviews on "Composer Quest"--hosted by composer Charlie McCarron--are well varied, and discuss an ocean of creative musical topics. "Meet the Composer" by Q2 music has some really focused interviews with many excellent composers. "The Art of Composing"--hosted by composer Jon Brantingham--doesn't feature interviews, but is more of a "self-help" guidance focused podcast. For any teachers or younger composers out there, "The Art of Composing" is a great resource to pull perspective from. Lastly, "New Sounds"--hosted by John Schaefer--is a must listen, and an example of the kind of specialized content the podcast genre can feature very successfully.
Because my computer and notation software is such a big part of my compositional process, I am excited by developments in software and applications that can be used to manipulate sound. In particular the development of virtual instrument libraries is very exciting. At the pace technology is improving, means of rendering and manipulating sound has infinite possibilities. How this software is integrated with hardware and used both in live and recorded environments--and with traditional instruments--will be increasingly part of the everyday creative and listening experience.
Developments that I am worried and/or disappointed about in the music world relate to this larger picture of interaction through the virtual interface of the Internet. "Net neutrality" and its dissolution is a dire possibility of our future. Likewise, the setting up of multiple internets would break the progressive flow "one free and open Internet" has afforded us thus far. At its basic awfulness, the loss of net neutrality would set up the monopoly of content, expression, and communication controlled through corporate giants. This monolithic reality is anathema to the diversity that the Internet currently enhances our lives with.
As I continue my education and study composition in the halls of academia, I am confronted with the reality that, while it is not a generally new development, there is a hierarchy to and a perceived reputation with where one studies and what degrees one has. This is disappointing in that much music will not be heard, nor created, because our society and economic forces necessitate this kind of opportunity for "cash relationship". Many without the means to get degrees and study in expensive schools will simply not acquire the reputation and working connections to be heard and collaborate with the musical community at large.
Tibbetts: What advice would you offer aspiring composers?
Kozaczek: Just be curious.
Music's function to human beings is to simply supply emotion or an emotional experience. Music can function perfectly if the listener experiences an emotion completely new to them, one that cannot be experienced with any other music. We come back to the music we love over and over again because we crave this unique emotion that this particular music has cultivated in us. In order to compose music that cultivates a unique emotional experience in the listener, you must be open to your own emotional experience; you must be curious about your own perception of everything around you.
Starting a journal to explore my thoughts was a crucial first step much before I began to write music. Explore, REALLY, explore your thoughts on anything and everything. Take your investigation to the very center of every question you can imagine at any one time, and after rationale puts a seemingly big unmovable question mark before you, start to free flow, from a line of thought to a cloud, an ocean of thought on the subject. Write as an observer, to the questioner being questioned with the object. The transition from subject to object, this is the moment where creation gets charged with symbolic power. The words fall away because all the communicating power is instantly perceived. This is the start of something like the unique cultivating force music has over emotion.
My other advice is try to make your work easier for yourself; work on aural skills and ear training with the same focused tenacity. Memory is a crucial asset to most every compositional task. Lastly be kind and open to others, as if their efforts were your own; learn from them too.
Tibbetts: What projects would you most like to tackle?
Kozaczek: I would like to do something featuring percussion ensemble. Maybe paired with some mixed media or synthesizer and voice. I don't know, I have a couple "big ideas" featuring text with narrator and singer. It would be lovely working some of this in together, and getting a really colorful piece.
Tibbetts: What are some of the things you've learned from your experiences with this medium?
Kozaczek: On the very practical side, during several rehearsals of my music, I've learned to not overload performers with too much of my own personal baggage with a piece. Moments where I was vaguely flustered trying to describe some aspect of the music were much more easily opened up by the performers by giving them space. It often takes just minimal input, but done in a persistent manner to get the exact feeling to some part of the work. The best is when you are surprised at things the performers bring out that you had never thought of.
On the more personal side of composing, I'd say the most profound and important thing I've learned is a sense of respect and reverence for life, specifically the "current moment" in life. Composing has made me keenly aware of my own mortality, the fragility and power of any single moment in my life. I've realized that if I don't say it, it will never be said, no one will ever hear it. There's a strange feeling of being drawn in when you're wrapped in creative throe. Though I've learned to tap back into this feeling, it's always a continued one singular moment, separated by the dream of waking life. There is only one way it can be finished, like a lived life.
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