How poignantly uncanny this video representation of Bill Viola’s Ocean without a shore. In a way reminds me of Rachmaninov’s Isle of the Dead and even Almodovar’s Volver. Even of course David Almond whose books always return and acknowledge the need for some faith in human connection that can resist despair, cynicism and death. All the narratives, on some level, give visceral representation for me to the sense of rowing with or without purpose through life towards the altars of the dead.
And it was in this house, and at this time, that George knew that the face on the wall was his own. And then he forgot this knowledge. He threw it away. He cut away at this truth because one day it would meet up with him , having taken another route and after all he had his life to find out that we are always meeting ourselves as strangers in conversation and only with a soul mate do we know that we have finally met ourselves.
How to analyse a text quickly!
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