28 October 2012

Some millennia ago receding tides of ice left boulders scattered about Toronto and the city has made do from there.

Some punks accost us on the steps of the hostel. A raccoon scales the building effortlessly. I fight, physically, my female Chinese colleague over a check for Delirium Tremens in a hipster bar while Ray Davies whines in a weird, cool, way.

The interpreter walks into the memory hole and may never walk out again?


These are latter days, we know.


Only later did I stumble across this footage of the aforementioned procyonid. Would love to recut the above to include this, along with various additional salamander sequences that turned up in post production. Alas, who has the time?

3 Responses to “”

  1. Hugh Says:

    Thank you. I enjoyed that. A very apt montage. I liked the juxtapositions, especially the framing of the tinkling dance with the Harris’s Hawk.

    And thanks for the plug–Hugh

  2. Neil Says:

    Thanks Hugh,
    I’m glad that you saw it. The interpreter stories have meant a lot to me. I’m sad there will be no more.

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