I Might Be There (I Won't)

Shadows frighten what one oughtn't be gripping (that thing before/hind you).

As a family struggles to survive in rural isolation during the Great Depression, their daughter's secret affair begins a journey into the unknown.

(Some of us) Still run down the same [mental&emotional] streets we revered/reproached/replaced as children.

Two men. Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Brothers? One is nothing, success or failure depends on two.

1 minute experimental film.

I really hope this is well-received. I really hope there's some sort of reprieve.

Radical recurrences & rancorous requests raze my daze.

Shot in the abandoned buildings of Gary, Indiana and the cornfields of Western Illinois, The Twenty-One Lives of Billy the Kid presents a fractured historical narrative without any real protagonist, one in which the titular character goes mostly unseen - Billy the Kid as the always-off-screen assailant, as a ghost’s laugh, as a shadow on the road.

Return to 'burn' only to find out you're already in that urn.

A 'reversal' of Jean-Léon Gérôme's 1872 painting Pollice Verso.

Locked away but not away; somewhere nearby but unreachable, a periphery so notfaroff it's always in sight.

Rather pointless, rather stilted, fetid; not what we want us going after.

From a small cabin in the mountains of New York, Nina Breeder and Massimilian Breeder begin a journey across the United States. California is just the initial destination, but just as the edge of the surrounding landscape expands, so does their ultimate destination. A contemplation of nature and time along a raw journey in the American landscape.

Hiding inside&out, writhing about, taken out&in.

On the Clickity-clack Express it's clear I'm always under duress, unless I forget.

A psychedelic montage of home movie footage gives way to a silent western story.

Beyond all human restraint lies one's lugubrious layers of paint.

Calangros: Um faroeste sobre o terceiro mundo

By painting and scratching directly on celluloid strips and then duplicating each image for two or more frames, Brakhage produced a flickering cycle of abstract shapes that bespeak the restlessness of his own character and sensibility; the titles of the segments (which Brakhage also intended to function as freestanding films) further emphasize his rejection of collective thinking in favor of personal vision. I..., proposes an unstable image of the self with its centerless collisions of diverse imagery. Small black shapes are superimposed over diffuse colors, and each moment seems to consume and obliterate the last in an emotionally charged rush that suggests a consciousness terrified of stasis and perpetually seeking renewal.

A woman returning home falls asleep and has vivid dreams that may or may not be happening in reality. Through repetitive images and complete mismatching of the objective view of time and space, her dark inner desires play out on-screen.