One's own Private Idaho

There are moments, only moments. Time is but the dots that connect them. Then image becomes truth and motion film a concoction. In public, among crowds, sometimes a person removes oneself into a private world all their own, leaving behind real space and with it time. They are suspended, unknowable. Present and yet transported.

What is to watch them, through the lens and later on printed paper? Is an act of voyeurism a deed of compassion? I find myself lost by their oblivion and lost in their oblivion. The unknowable draws me back, to the cornea, in a futile search for the landscape of their exit.

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