Wild
No silent films were shot in colour but the pictures through a window are that. Everything moves in curious clockwork animation. Why is that man throwing up his arms? The girl's hands move soundlessly over the piano. Only half an inch of glass separates me from the silent world where I do not exist. They don't know I'm here but I have begun to be as intimate with them as any other member of the family. More so, since as their lips move with goldfish bowl pouts, I am the scriptwriter and I can put words in their mouths.
-- "Written on the Body", Jeanette Winterson.
Posted by sniffles at September 15, 2002 05:47 PM