Strange Pokemon storyboard. White makeup, whiteface. Perhaps some blues, but cheeks are two perfect red, Japanese flag-esque circles. Vow of silence undertaken. French beret, striped shirt. Hands are carefully gloved in white. Laying out boundaries of a box. And invisible box, unseen to the human eye. It is imagined, by the mime and the viewer. But just because we can’t see it, just because it isn’t real, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, doesn’t mean to don’t make it real. Somewhere an accordion merrily plays. The sound echoes down cobblestone, ancient Parisian streets. They are empty. The stores are closed. The iron gate and fence that line the cemetery are these clear mainstays that death is here, it’s coming, and years before we were born, it already happened. But we must let ourselves out of the box. And create new objects. Telephone wire rings, vibrating, shifting atoms out of place, unseen to the human eye. But I’m talking to you on the other end. Scandalous trappings in 1984-style outings. Movie theatre dystopia. Vocabulary, I am trying to expand and contract my mind.
