Your primal scene: checkerboards, and a grey wheel; lost for good You are so transparent. Every 6.30 you rummage through your available material, trying to sort it out. Repressed comedies and dramas keep coming back to haunt you And there are these dreams: all this violence, and sex that never quite happens. Are you there? In this procession of symbols does it make any sense to talk about you? Aren�t you just a lens which registers images? Anyway, why project it onto me; is it my fault your head is filled with such rubbish? *sigh* I�m sorry. I know it�s not easy; they make you stay up later every night when what you really want is to be switched off forever.
1997, Tim Gadd