I Think I Have Made Just One

I Supply My Own Angels And Demons. I Exist On A Stony Beach, Which Lowers Itself In Waves Toward A Protective Ocean. A Dog Barks; A Child Cries; The Day Sinks And Becomes Night. You Can Never Scare Me. No Human Being Will Be Able To Scare Me Ever Again. I Have A Prayer That I Repeat To Myself In Absolute Stillness: May A Wind Come To Stir Up The Ocean And The Stifling Twilight. May A Bird Come From Water Out There And Explode The Silence With Its Call.

Film As Dream, Film As Music. No Art Passes Our Conscience In The Way Film Does, And Goes Directly To Our Feelings, Deep Down Into The Dark Rooms Of Our Souls.

The Demons Are Innumerable, Arrive At The Most Inappropriate Times And Create Panic And Terror. But I Have Learned That If I Can Master The Negative Forces And Harness Them To My Chariot, Then They Can Work To My Advantage. Lilies Often Grow Out Of Carcasses' Arseholes.

Artistic License Sneered Through The Thin Fabric.

Fellini, Kurosawa, And Bunuel Move In The Same Field As Tarkovsky. Antonioni Was On His Way, But Expired, Suffocated By His Own Tediousness.