Okay, so I couldn't get the chromagenic scene transitions to work properly and the audio is a big gigantic question mark in my mind (but I get the theory of it being such an audiophile and such) and I'm not sure how to replicate and loop a sound, and there are no titles but my 20 minute long dig vid project is a triumph.
It's snazzy mental title, Untitled Gesture.
Oh,
how many of You can state with surety, alacrity and piety that you told the nation's poet laureate to break a tonsil before his reading this past evening.
I thought not.
After his humour-ridden and at times evocative reading (he said the best inspiration to write is jealousy and, as I watched him I mumbled internally, Baby Poet your words have been - can be - will be again better than these, of this career wordist) I wanted to say Hey... X... dug it but I couldn't recall if his first name was Billy, or Bobby.
Keythought: why do grown men go by boy names.
So I was whisked over to meet the Laureate Poet and as I shuffled away was when I gave him the sonic high-five to which he responded Break a lens. Now if you knew what recently happened to one of my beloved f5s you'd know how the thought of breaking any piece of photo equipment brings tears to both eyes, a shudder to the heart as well as requisite deficit of bank account.
A tonsil is fixable but a busted piece of photo equipment is not so.
Remind me if we ever find ourselves around a campfire or barfire to tell you about the time I had an architectural gig and whilst using my car as a ladder of sorts slipped and did all that was possible mid-air in gymnastic flair to save the camera from harm.
All for now and laureates for all.
Love.