“I’ve always figured it that you die each day and each day is a box, you see, all numbered and neat; but never go back and lift the lids, because you’ve died a couple of thousand times in your life, and that’s a lot of corpses, each dead in a different way, each with a worse expression. Each of those days is a different you, somebody you don’t know or understand or want to understand.”
– Ray Bradbury, “No Particular Morning or Night”
Act One was youth: spent among mountains, playing at music and bent to the desires of others.
Act Two: An ongoing experiment of war, ocean waves and misdirection.
Act Three: The world ends when you are dead.