My latest little film. It's actually a cinegram. The subject is trains. Time. Memory. The present doesn't exist. You can't find it with measurement. You can't even define it. The future is not there yet. You cannot see it. The only thing that really exists is the past. I say that because we can all see the past - some more clearly than others. But we can most certainly see it.
Here's the poem from inside the movie:
Lunch With Bardot
Trains run on time
With passengers asleep
Temporarily forgotten
Between observation points
Colliding lines
Of fictional transport