For instance, there is something new about my hands, a certain way of picking up my pipe or fork. Or else it's the fork which now has a certain way of having itself picked up, I don't know. A little while ago, just as I was coming into my room, I stopped short because I felt in my hand a cold object which held my attention through a sort of personality. I opened my hand, looked: I was simply holding the door-knob. This morning in the library, when the Self-Taught Man came to say good morning to me, it took me ten seconds to recognize him. I saw an unknown face, barely a face. Then there was his hand like a fat white worm in my own hand. I dropped it almost immediately and the arm fell back flabbily.

There are a great number of suspicious noises in the streets, too.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

 

 

 
 





 

 







RECENT WORK

The Sun Shone Glaringly
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Beginnings
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Man With Buoy
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CV / CONTACT

 

POV (2013)
15 minutes

Score by Gerhard Schultz