Baudelaire meets Miles Davis meets David Lynch
A book of film, abstract, experimental, spontaneous
A human wants to use up all his talking
so to find peace in silence
Typewriter notes in a stream of consciousness yearning to become the ocean
No words needed, as the tenor sax cuts and splices film clips
The hero is anti-hero reading his letters aloud to ambient soundscapes, attempting to erase the memory
Not of the words, but to purge self from them
only utilizing when necessary and natural
It’s silent in the film, then machines enter the fray
Our narrator’s lips move but no sound emanates
he shifts to the beach to make words in the sand
After the surf washes them away, he dances the language with limbs twirling
Eventually swimming
no letters
Just body and water
The ocean in a cell
The cell, the ocean.
