'The professed rules of time are broken. I can hear my mother through the radio static. Peripheral motion and singing objects lead me astray as I try, and fail, to pinpoint the source of my memories. Radiophonic apparitions haunt me like old friends and unconscious drives. But we avoid paradoxes like the plague, there is only ideology. Anyway, the subway line doesn’t terminate, it goes in circles. So, I return home where it feels familiar. My mother’s piano filters in gently but the piano is out of tune. It always has been. Death is not the end, but my words will be distorted, whispers the record, but the words always were. The myth of childhood stays with us like an absence recorded onto our unconscious, and despite our efforts to rediscover those old yearnings all we find is a recording of an out of tune piano.'

(Snippet from the liner notes of Extracts by Tobi Belber)