Like glass and ice - translucent, fragile, reflective, sharp around the edges. Tastes like blood in my mouth.

I wear my sunglasses at night
So I can, So I can
Watch you weave then breathe your story lines
And I wear my sunglasses at night
So I can, So I can
Keep track of the visions in my eyes

Eerie, contemplative, poetic, haunting and haunted. Echoes of Zhangke's 'Still Life', the Yangtze river as living memory.

Beautifully composed, very calm and tender. The commentary on migration crystalized in movement through space runs like a subtle electric undercurrent through the network of characters whose crossing strings form a free flowing pattern.

All memories are contained in similar days
The spiders of my heart try to emulate the way humans decorate their homes

This cured my post-breakup depression.

Raw, poetic, as relevant as ever, go watch it if you can.

Fucking visionary.

Every single still frame radiates so much life and energy. The granular surface vibrating like microbes. Long dead objects, ruins of memorized lives filled to the brim with time and history, shaped by every single drop of rain water. In dust specks floating into a bright nimbus, filigree leaves breaking through a splintered roof one catches small glimpses of beauty.

This more than anything conveys the texture of the Wuthering Heights, perpetual fall, veils of fog, cold wetness and burning flames. Feral and raw. Rough heather, coarse windswept cheeks, sharp thistles, licking wounds, running and running and running. Animals, wet eyes and woolly fur, insects, spiders, plants, rotten fruit, moss and bark growing in the interstices of the human stories so small against the vast landscape. Dirt and blood.