two levels

in chekhov, worldly time and eternal time are sometimes opposed, but sometimes only juxtaposed. worldly time can lead beyond itself, through failure, from stress exhaustion, and even in the repetitive listlessness of labor. then it breaks briefly into eternal time and drifts, either quietly or on the crest of a wave, or lying down in the snow, mute beneath the wind. astral weeks and my bloody valentine are there too, the billows of pink noise or the swelling rustle of young leaves.