in my neighborhood

At the end of the film I’m on my back staring at the night sky…

The man who helped me is lying nearby—his mouth bloody…

We’re lost in a thick fog of tear gas—the sky disappears above us—the occupation failed…

Lost without a clear linear narrative—upset by temporal disjunction—and chagrined at the jump cuts.

This is fall in Jamaica Plain, MA, on 12/09/2021, at 8:08 am.

“Imagine a world alive with incomprehensible objects and shimmering with an endless variety of movement and innumerable gradations of color. Imagine a world before the ‘beginning was the word.’”

— Stan Brakhage / Metaphors on Vision

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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