Time is real
We are embedded in time. This entanglement of matter and motion is our universe itself. Inquiry into the nature of time is at once as mystic, philosophic, and religious as it is subject to the scientific method. Time's existence impresses itself on absolutely everything. Even the structure of biological systems is a reflection of dealing with and organizing time.
Thus we take for granted that time is 'real' and that brains have mechanisms for tracking it . We actually feel time. But the thickness of the present moment inhabits relatively short timespans between milliseconds and minutes. We are fine tuned to the rhythms at these durations. The remainder is either entirely imperceptible or requires environmental feedback and internal cues, stitched together with memories. At long durations, the pressures of metabolism, the environment, and the temporal range of our own neural oscillations limit our ability to experience time as a complete structural unit.
It is no wonder then that we have tuned our media environment to match perception at the durations of the mind. It feels right. This time dilation toward the "eternal now" creates a cocoon with which we insulate ourselves against the rhythms of the universe . What a shame.
Each of these editions engages natural time outside of the eternal now. Through working with durations outside of our tunings we hope to explore topics that are transcendental, confrontational, and perhaps even political.
For the moment, we choose the single board computer as the format with which to distribute. The single board computer is an embodiment that encompasses both the storage medium and it's playback. It is programmed to be single-minded in its focus - the delivery of the sound work - immune to the "now" the works might face if executed on personal devices and unencumbered by the hard durational limits of existing physical media. The economics of technology and the richness of concept frame these editions.
 Gyorgy Buzsaki, Rhythms of the Brain, p. 6
 Kim Cascone, Passive Listening (24): Temporal Dilation of the Eternal Now