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:
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