Time Unfolds Us: Palenque. Night.

“Do you not then hear this horrible scream all around you that people usually call silence.” 

Werner Herzog, The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser

Time Unfolds Us: Campeche

Time Unfolds Us: Bolaño

“I steal into their dreams," he said. "I steal into their most shameful thoughts, I'm in every shiver, every spasm of their souls, I steal into their hearts, I scrutinize their most fundamental beliefs, I scan their irrational impulses, their unspeakable emotions, I sleep in their lungs during the summer and their muscles during the winter, and all of this I do without the least effort, without intending to, without asking or seeking it out, without constraints, driven only by love and devotion.” 

Roberto Bolaño

Time Unfolds Us: Tulum

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

Henry David Thoreau, as always

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/h/henry_david_thoreau.html#LoqIcAm865d40asu.99

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/h/henry_david_thoreau.html#LoqIcAm865d40asu.99

Time Unfolds Us: Valladolid

Lost Time and Evidence

Making up for lost time.

More lost months. Been wandering. 

Lost in books. Lost in films. Lost in other worlds, other nights and other places. 

A month lost in Mexico; in Chiapas, Yucatan, DF, Campeche, Tabasco. Strange lost moments and lost days spread over many weeks in the film landscapes of Malmö, Helsinki, Barcelona, Paris; across frozen seas, lazy afternoons on sun drenched balconies, in back rooms and underground dens. A thieves' den of books by Bolaño, Murakami, Houellebecq, Marquez, Mishima, Faulkner. A forged trip to Berlin to premiere Galore and The Turning at the Berlinale and endless lost nights in that city that can so easily steal pockets of your soul if you don't keep vigil.

Weeks spent trying to finish off old scripts. Travelling back and forward. Weeks spent losing things, losing people, losing paths and losing track.

Now, spinning compasses and trying desperately to get home, to return to somewhere where the feet are settled again. 

The missing words from places like this blog are testament to the distance travelled from home. No more time to lose.

Some 35mm evidence: