"And I love you and I love you and I love you as the ferocious beast loves, biting, the female, as the sea loves the cliff into which it throws itself insanely, and where its roaring is appeased and to which it always returns"... From the transcendent to the meanders of the most obvious secularity, from sublime things to the ordinariness of the day, from the infinite to the exact present moment, from the unity of all that exists to the small, partial and subtle imperfections that sustain us, there is nothing in which we do not find ourselves, there is no scenario or hypothesis in which we do not fit perfectly in this precise intersection between our worlds. Whether in the perversions of Bataille, in the vertiginous reveries of Kerouac or in the analytical depth of Dostoevsky, there will always be one more verse or phrase that defines us. In the almost sacred timelessness of classical notes or in the deliberate and cathartic dirtiness of amplified guitars, our music persists: the music (still) remains the same. We are the exact point where Bonham's precise drum fills meet the fury and passion of a Jimmy Page solo.