After some 20 years of dabbling with the Wake, reading in concerts and making some small attempts to record some pieces, the Saxophonist finally dives in fully, tackling the beast full on. A small theater in Belgrade located in Dorcol is the place where he has the chance to set up is microphone and spend night after night reading from Joyce’s work. On his side, the pianist Philip Zoubek prepares his strings and offers a complex bed of sound over which the invocations can ring out. The Saxophonist is fully aware of the other souls who have undertaken this task- he knows well what they have so far achieved and with all due respect to these brave readers, he now throws down a wine-soaked gauntlet into the same room. Come the time, he will pay them tribute. By day, he pours over the recently revealed archives of the author, picking clues from the handwriting and reveling in his innermost revelations. By night, the text verily becomes him, engulfing him fully, entering his dreams and accompanying his waking thoughts. Those who have dived into the nature of number and who have tasted the secret of the nine will know why the Saxophonist chooses to present page 108 up front- a tiny microcosm of the word Tsunami to come. Had Joyce known? Perhaps. Perhaps after long night of white wine inviting all his friends on the bill of his publisher. Who can know? In any case, he left the narrators to follow with an Everest to climb, an Everest with icy almost unsurmountable slopes but basked in moonlight.