Although actual films are the fuel for the dreams, it is that which is not yet whole and certainly not even close to being real which is the actual fire for me.
Those little snidbits of something… just out of real reach. The light falling and igniting the dust. The perfect alignment of that wall with the other one. The expression on that doggy’s face. The circle within the square. These fleeting glimpses will never make it into the final film. Fuck, they’ll never ever even be shot, will they?
The moments add up though. The missed ones surround the captured. They never were meant to be in the same script and they never really will be either. Together, they are more than harmony. The initial sounds are garbled but slowly the frequency tunes and it is a language all its own.
I wish I could watch it again, but it too will never play here again. It is all just a somewhat remembered dream or that image that stayed after every thing else fades away.
Until a new one surfaces that is somehow close to something previously. But I don’t remember the prior. It’s now more of a feeling. Somewhat close to deja vu. They are making a pattern, keeping count or marking time. A trail… a trailing off.
But they too are films. Films just for me.
No one even collects these films. There are no curators. Not even me. They won’t ever build the theaters that they truly need. And we can’t imagine what they will be. What ever you think about them, it’s wrong. No longer accurate.
Yet, for all there ephemeral qualities, these movies are playing all the time in my head and they truly delight me. I am deciphering their meaning and unearthing their symbols. Everything is coded, and none so much as the imaginary movie, the one that will never be.
