'I thought my ideas were so clear. I wanted to make an honest film. No lies whatsoever. I thought I had something so simple to say. Something useful to everybody. A film to help bury forever all the dead things we carry around inside. Instead, it's me who lacks the courage to bury anything at all. Now I'm utterly confused, with this tower on my hands. I wonder why things turned out this way. Where did I lose my way? I really have nothing to say, but I want to say it anyway...

They say you're free, but you have to choose. And you don't have much time. You have to hurry...

In the end what we need is some hygiene, some cleanliness, disinfection. We're smothered by images, words and sounds that have no right to exist, coming from, and bound for, nothingness. Of any artist truly worth the name we should ask nothing except this act of faith: to learn silence. Do you remember Mallarme's homage to the white page? And Rimbaud, a poet, my friend, not a movie director. What was his finest poetry? His refusal to continue writing and his departure for Africa. If we can't have everything, true perfection is nothingness. Forgive me for quoting all the time. But we critics do what we can. Our true mission is sweeping away the thousands of miscarriages that everyday, obscenely, try to come to the light. And you would actually dare leave behind you a whole film, like a cripple who leaves behind his crooked footprint. Such a monstrous presumption to think that others could benefit from the squalid catalogue of your mistakes! And how do you benefit from stringing together the tattered pieces of your life? Your vague memories, the faces of people that you were never able to love...

There are places I remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

Loved you all a long, long while
Looked down into a deep, dark well
Called all your names, they echoed down for miles and miles
And all that other mystical, well, never-you-mind

Loved you all a long, long while
And I'd give my left nevermind for one big synchronized smile
Some are one trick ponies, but so am I
Round 'em up into a mixed bag bundle of love'

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