Born the year of the Snake, circa summer of ‘77 just weeks after the debut of a particular space saga which would mold a generation of youth into not having sex, or if having sex it being some sort of weird and awkward kind of nerd sex which is fun to have but you wouldn’t want to watch it. At least not on a HD television or from a projector which can produce a large picture big enough to see things that shouldn’t be seen. But from across a room watching it on a small LCD screen on the side of a video camera maybe then the moving images of the nerd copulation might seem erotic as long as the sound was off. No one needs to hear the quiet weeping of a grown man ruining the mood of another tender moment between two human beings on this great planet Discovery Channel and the BBC refer to as “Planet Earth.” Kevin Costner would refer to it as “Dry Land” and when I’m around that’s usually what woman are referred too as well. For this reason I must resign myself from the pleasures of the flesh and take solace in my mind’s eye. To fill this void I search endlessly for the perfect marriage of picture and sound to satisfy the demons which hold me awake at night. I’ve found through the years though that it isn’t a singular vision which keeps the infinite at bay, but miniscule particles from each film which separate and reform in my consciousness to give me a small taste of what the great “it” means. It is for this reason that I find myself here at the auteurs. It is for this reason that I breath.