::EIGHTEEN SECONDS BEFORE SUNRISE::

I inserted the CD. I pressed [PLAY >]. I turned off all the lights. I slid into bed. And my life became a heiroglyphic fantasy. I was a sarcophagus. On my back, prone and symmetrical, I lost myself in the gauzy depths, utterly rapt.

I was listening to the album ( ) by Sigur Ros. The band was new to me: the sweet sigh of the vocals, the lonely legato of the tone, the resonant ache of the guitar, and the grand flow of the piano. At some point, every melody turned inside out -- telling a new tale or opening a new door. Every track held a secret.