Tuesday,
1:24 pm

it's one of those tuesdays.lost it at 11:30 am...
information overload.faces,cities,words,films race past my head.purple spots.i can't be bothered with focussing.
detail Detail...i nod in recognition,familiar dear Detail,we've known each other..
magic Méliès..jumping spaces in the same frame,now at my feet,now at the ledge,rajasthan,the cold chill on the roof,trains passing by in the night,all lights ablaze...some of the windows are dark...like filled in staff paper.
we're moving to the music in our heads,i watch the tail lights of the bikes driving down the hill,you bring the cigarette to your lips in the dark,the lit end glows red...just like the tail lights,different co ordinates.just that.the poetry is in the timing the poetry is in the timing.

the question is about the point.maybe.one more shot at the answer,now?the fear of even articulating the question lest it mushrooms into this giant oak while i sit and stare at screens.
my brain is queer.i think it processes in my sleep better.
.
.
one of my films has almost reach space.
i metaphorically built mr. kabakov's catapult in my room.maybe i'll put up pictures of the rubble here...
the film has become a person. a self sufficient entity.editing felt like a completely dadaist exercise.i let loose the brain on the footage,it let out a string.8 days of juggling.after 4 months of it growing potato ears without a touch.i couldn't be bothered with focussing.
it's like a relationship,a break up,i could pick up the pieces only once i had stopped feeling the nausea.i could let you go,only after compulsively simulating the departure in my mind.again and again and again..