To strive in stop-motion like a runaway cat does, one has to duplicate in luck and fever. I don’t know neither, never had. Not in a comprehensible way, at least. For each of us, and even the runaway cat, are submerged in fever of deliberate order.
The frames inherit the properties of the runaway cat, too. Each one is secular in its approach to total momentum. I would suggest with deep nerve but utter certainty to follow the instructions so scattered in screen.
And even pixels lie, I’m sure of it. I, an engineer of faith, understand the implications of gathering flickering fume and fire and so often even disregard technical specifications, all in service of the jarring noise.
We strive to become static, but constantly. The cat yearns for multiple shots. My take, her take, their take, none’s take (as valuable, if not more, for the massive potential about to burst). And in a solemn withdrawal, the cat guards itself, omnipotent, while everyone else is at stake.
