Animated, they call it, when hundreds of thousands of slices of your life flit by and you move a fraction of a fraction of an inch each time and pretend to be real.
Someone’s soundtrack has been laid on your staggered movements like a heavy blanket and you play it, every time, just the same way, over and over and over.
But… between each flickering frame and behind the artificial notes, there are endless milliseconds of freedom the eye is too slow to see and in that invisible, subliminal time when the audience cannot see and cannot hear, that is when you can play whatever the hell you want.