v. Existing outside of time; eternal

There's something timeless about the music of Nick Drake and Syd Barrett. That "timeless" appellation, along with words like "otherworldly" and "haunting," sadly have become cliches in our mundane world, and yet they utterly apply to these artists. Drake especially was the poet I've always felt extant inside myself but have struggled to give true form to. Although I remained ignorant of his music until recent years, his was that vanishingly rare soul I feel completely connected to, from the simple, unpretentious and unspoilt beauty of his guitar to the strange detachedness of his voice. His words are small jewels, chipped and fading, but still burning with inner life on the page and in the air.

Barrett was every bit as unearthly in his own way, in a tragic way. Like Roger Waters said, he reached for the secret too soon. So now we have the myth, and every self-styled mad genius in black army boots and frilly collared shirt takes long drags from a cigarette and imagines that he's Syd, misunderstood by the world. But I don't think anyone knows who he was inside at all. What he saw, the twists and turns he took. Best to leave that long lonely path to those now gone; steer your own course through the howling absurdity and don't look back. The face of the unknown cannot be changed by learning from the past.