the still passenger sits on a train, on the window seat, in the middle of a long car. these are the days when there were drive-in movie theaters dotted across the landscape. at dusk, the images on the screen appear off in the distance. the images presented here are those which are glimpsed, the ones that still her thoughts. the train rolls along. the landscape seems to move, but doesn't. the still passenger sits alone with her snapshots in her mind. she's filling in the spaces.
July 31, 2013
love is short, long, ambiguous. it can disappear in a flash.
arthur, you remember an incident in 17 or 18 second blocks of time. here is your memory of the last snow in the back of the asylum. what happened to the birdbath? the scene doesn't move much. it quivers. that is the way you think. there are a little more than 300 separate images in there. i remember things in stills. they make a mark on my memory and get locked there, more often than not. at times you can see how the scene begins and how it ends. you say it is popov. i believe you. do you remember the quiet? in this scene nothing happens in the still that i see.