Art project : I’m making movie posters for the future. The idea is that in the future, there will be no movies. So all you will get for now, is a transparent layer over existing movie posters. The future is a transparent thin layer over the now.

Blue

Two years ago, I was sitting in a cafe writing about the colour blue. I was writing about blue to conceal my discomfort at finding a blue pen in my bag instead of the black ink I usually write in. I wrote : “Blue is a mysterious colour. People looking up thought: ‘How did the sky become this blue? What makes it blue?’ Why did God pick blue to render the ceiling of earth? Blue eyes, blue seas, blue skies, these are all worlds existing on their own and reflect on eachother. If you look…”

When I was about to tell you to look, my pen slid on the paper and made a streak of blue. What stopped my writing about blue, was a friend who was standing behind my back watching me write. He wanted me to stop because writing about blue is dangerous. Then he wrote names of Polish poets
on a small piece of paper :

Zbigniew Herbert
Wiskawa Szymborska
Czeslaw Milosz

He was high, I was blue.

Paul Célan: greek God of contradictions. German, maybe French, and I read him in English.

Black coffee: heart-mending tool that may cause heart palpitations.

Reading Paul Célan is good for the heart. My heart is torn.

Take-out cofffee is for later, and when later is now, there will be coffee.

I’ll become a writer in the virtue of heart-mending.

When I write, I am torn between completeness and complete fragility. I swing between sentences in
my head.

What’s torn is the head, what swings is the heart. Afterall, the heart is just an idea that is as real as the organ.

Organs fail, ideas persist.

The heart-idea palpitates stronger than flesh and blood.

Paul Célan wrote about rooms in the heart. I am lost.

The heart-idea has a shadow that persists. You can’t see the shadow, you only read the words.

One day, I’ll write words made of pen shadows. One day I’ll mend my heart.

For now, I am drinking take-out black coffee.

There’s a cemetery outside the airplane’s window, we were descending down to it. There’s no earth, no sky, only a cemetery. The window hangs over it like a daydream.

I read Clarice Lispector; the author. I read the author and the character, outside and inside. And I weep to the inside, no tears. Just salt in my mouth.

Being on a plane, always makes me write. Maybe because I’m so close to death, to falling, and I want to survive

The body does so much to me and so much is done on the body. Binge-reading Paul Célan is bad for the body, it fragments the body and slices the eye, but it’s good for the heart. I’ve been having heart palpitations for the past five hours, something is dancing in my heart. It flutters like a dead bird but I manage to function. Such delicate dancing in the heart.

Imaginary Conversations #4: Week-end 1967 Jean-Luc Godard

This scene is a parody of surrealist narrative.

The way it’s shot; making of her a giant woman sitting before a distanced impersonal man, the analyst. She’s magnified with a lens. He’s silent and she’s talking about a night full of dreams and desires; of a naked woman who sat on her cat’s bowl of milk and of cracked eggs.
She overtakes the frame, yet his presence is the frame.

Imaginary Conversations #3 : Poetry (2010) Directed by Chang-dong Lee

- She went to the doctor for a tingly arm, describing her symptoms she looks up and points desperately at the ceiling : “it feels like energy.” “Oh you mean electricity,” he thinks she has Alzheimer’s.
- You first forget pronouns, then verbs, and then…
- And she wants to be a poet at 60, always had a poet’s vein and loved flowers.
- One day she forgets the name of the thing which holds money, she only feels it’s weight.
- Isn’t poetry about just that, the weight?
- It’s about the gap, between the name and the thing named.
- “Into the furrows/ of the heavenscoin in the doorcrack/ you press the word.”
- Maybe you see the thing when you forget it’s name?
- It’s a play of appearances, what you see is never real enough.
- She takes out her notebook and kneels beside a bed of roses and writes down : “ red roses/ the color of blood ”

• 
  

Imaginary Conversations #2 : Night and Day (1991) Directed by Chantal Akerman

- When life is divided into Night and Day, sleep has no place.
- Sleep becomes a bad omen, disturbing life itself.
- That’s true if you’re young and in love. Sleep consumes the time needed for youth.
- “For the deeper perception does not believe that she, who lies like someone sleeping in a glass coffin, was awakened.”
- “I only know how to interpret dreams.” Said Jack to Julie.
- Daydreaming replaces dreaming.
- Interpreting daydreams is the realm of phenomenology.
- Daydreaming is hyperreal and doesn’t communicate in signs.

- Julie wanders alone through Paris at night, while Jack drives his Cab.
- She’s a sleepwalker.
- One night he asks her to ride the Taxi with him instead of walking, she feels oppressed even though the windows of the car were open.
- When they remodeled their flat making the bedroom bigger, Julie had no place in it anymore.

Imaginary Conversations #1 : The Green Room 1978 Directed and Written by François Truffaut

(before I talk about death, I’d like to say that “Truffaut” sounds like some delicious French dessert.)

- This movie is the third and last film where Truffaut appears as the main character. At the end of the film he dies in an altar dedicated to his dead friends.
- There was a picture of Oscar Wilde and Cocteau in the chapel, his symbolic death on screen means that he wants to join these great artists that are held in the collective memory of culture.
-He never finished his 30 films.
- The best way to love the dead, is to keep their memory alive.
- The living select the dead.
- Imagine if a memorial was built for all the dead, the last person on earth won’t be remembered right?
- I think the living feel guilty because they have survived death, that’s why they remember the dead.
- Memorials are made so that the living could feel sorry for themselves.

The flight attendant gives you safety instructions: “BE SURE TO ADJUST YOUR MASK BEFORE HELPING OTHERS.” If you believe enough in the illustrated instructions in the pocket of your front seat, then you are waiting for their execution.