Witness also that when we talk about literature, we do so in the present tense. When we speak of the dead, we are not so kind.

Play me something that makes me feel;This soul inside me is made of steel.Brain is breathing, but heart’s not beatingAnd, babe, I need you to make things real.Walk inside me without silence,Kill the past and change the tense.Empty gnawing and the ache is soaring;Take me places that make more sense.

Sumone Yiden Smiff was a businessman of note. Was, past tense. Through years of sweat and swearing and amazingly smart (or lucky) deals he’d built up a mining empire that spanned the sum of known space. At 74 years, he had reached the apex of a career stretching half a century. His companies mined precious commodities like Impervium, Obstinatium and Bitanium. He wasn’t really famous, or ostentatious. In fact he only ever made the cover of Fortune One Billion once, twenty-five years ago. He’d never married, had lots of children – light-years apart, apparently.

My past lives alone. That's why my loneliness wants to live in the past

If you’re supposed to work with someone, I’d recommend not getting all hot and bothered with them the night before. The word of the day was “tense.