Imaginary objects and their shadows

It's just another way of saying 'films'. The image above is close to one idea for a scene in an imagined narrative. Something to do with hiding inside an abandoned water tower while efficient but unsuspecting military guards patrol along train lines. earlier, the (amnesiac?) gentleman in question had awoken (naked and covered in blood, incidentally) sprawled across the rusty tracks, under rain, in a forest.
So finding this image on google is rather fortuitous. Anyway, that's one way - and a good way - of starting a film. though that scene isn't the 'start', but it's the first image of a story called 'Bl;ood and Blue Skies' which came in 1993. Well, it takes me time to get warmed up.
Here's some reading fun, at least the first half of the article feet are communist
Meanwhile the stormclouds around New Orleans gather, or rather an oneiric sheen masks the future there. Why have I reacted so badly to notions of a trip with a schedule? I think it is because the banal bites. Like some clone of Ian McKellan, though less Queenly, I feel I should just flick the ash off my cigarillo and say, 'Too old to waste time, dear'. Gimme a fast car and a camera & remember what Nic Ray said about lightning over water. Well there's plenty of water. Why, human beings are more than 70% water, Mandrake.
We have an ulterior motive in a trip south, but slice me sideways it is not to gawp at or wallow in other people's misery or past bereavement (of persons or of place) but, if anything at all, to see unmediated image, and to look ahead, see the unsprung traps, and listen to the night noises. This may sound fey or blind, but it's the best defense against condescension and sentimentality. A clean knife, please, Doctor.
Can we (collective) build something visually and emotionally extraordinary out of tattered images and a lack of preconceptions? And would that be a fiction or a documentary or an essay or expmtl?
Trees, trains and water.
I wanted to say more about copyright and systems of propagation, but that must wait until tomorrow when the eyes can stay open. As Bresson insisted, we must always strive to keep them open.