Upstream Color Original Soundtrack Leaves Expanded May Be Prevailing Blue Mixed With Yellow Of The Sand I Used To Wonder At The Halo Of Light Around My Shadow And Would Fancy Myself One Of The Elect Fearing That They Would Be Light-headed For Want Of Food And Also Sleep Stirring Them Up As The Keeper Of A Menagerie His Wild Beasts The Finest Qualities Of Our Nature Like The Bloom On Fruits Can Be Preserved Perhaps The Wildest Sound That Is Ever Heard Here Making The Woods Ring Far And Wide I Love To Be Alone A Young Forest Growing Up Under Your Meadows Their Roots Reaching Quite Under The House The Rays Which Stream Through The Shutter Will Be No Longer Remembered When The Shutter Is Wholly Removed After Soaking Two Years And Then Lying High Six Months It Was Perfectly Sound Though Waterlogged Past Drying The Sun Is But A Morning Star A Low And Distant Sound Gradually Swelling And Increasing As If It Would Have A Universal And Memorable Ending A Sullen Rush And Roar Shane Carruth, Upstream Color www.discogs.com WaldenI love to be alone euphonynaturelonelinessmelancholysoundending
Upstream Color A Film by Shane Carruth www.imdb.com The same material as the sunWhen it goes wrongUpstream Color Original Soundtrack WaldenExtract (n)Authorisation vs. Consent connectioncycleslove
Primer A Film by Shane Carruth www.imdb.com A normal wooden pencilSomething moreAt the top of the pageParanoiaHe had but to speak+1 More timetechnologyexperiments
everything & everything & everything A Video by Shane Carruth www.youtube.com The oppressively vapid life of Morgan is forever transformed when a mystical blue pyramid - that inexplicably produces doorknobs - appears in his apartment. What follows is a tale of greed and loss as Morgan builds an impossible, absurd corporate empire of doorknobs. surrealism
A Slow Boat to China A Short Story from The Elephant Vanishes by Haruki Murakami Can you even call it memory?Never any place I was meant to be
Can you even call it memory? My recall is a damn sight short of total. It’s so unreliable that I sometimes think I’m trying to prove something by it. But what would I be proving? Especially since inexactness is not exactly the sort of thing you can prove with any accuracy. Anyway—or rather, that being the case—my memory can be impressively iffy. I get things the wrong way around, fabrication filters into fact, sometimes my own eyewitness account interchanges with somebody else’s. At which point, can you even call it memory any more? memory
Never any place I was meant to be Supposing I found myself chasing another fly ball and ran head-on into a basketball backboard, supposing I woke up once again lying under an arbor with a baseball glove under my head, what words of wisdom could this man of thirty-odd years bring himself to utter? Maybe something like: This is no place for me. This was never any place I was meant to be. melancholywisdomage