Trailer for the upcoming film Escape
It's time to escape
It's time to escape.
October 9th, 2021
Two pigs on the farm attempted to escape.
They didn't make it in the end.
I made an escaping guide for them, which includes a compass-making tutorial,
I hope when they decide to give it another try,
they will find their directions.
Recording of my class
A friend of mine replied to a video of the horse that I shot earlier.
“A unicorn!” She texted me.
I was not able to see the single straight horn projecting from its foreheads. But now I see it.
Two weeks before, the neighbors called and told me that the two pigs from our farm were out. Somehow they managed to squeeze themselves out from the gap of the chains. They must be desperate, as they did look like two inflated balloons, and it seemed quite impossible for those overweight balloons to float over the fences. I was told that sometimes they do sneak out, and this was not the first time. I think I once saw them outside the balcony. They went back and forth a few times, sensing the muddy earth with their noses. I doubted whether that was only a daytime illusion, and now it seemed real.
They were huge that day, fluffy and gigantic. They appeared as two drifting obese souls, full of the spirits of rebellion, which might also just be my interpretation. They were curious creatures, but their moves were driven by food — or maybe not 100% by food. More precisely speaking, it was the idea of MORE FOOD that directed and seduced them.
I used apples to lead them back to the barn and failed for not having enough apples. How interesting, as apples always stand for seduction and sin. The pigs almost failed their test, but it turned out that they didn’t. They were more superior, more cunning, and greedy.
A chicken was murdered last night. No living creature could speak to that truth, but her feathers were spread everywhere in the barn. All the animals somehow looked more diminutive than they used to be. I hope they did not witness that crime; I hope that is not the reason why they looked smaller to me.
The chickens used to wander around in the field, and dark feathers started to grow out of their feet, creating them socks and soft boots — they were always outside, looking like two walking commas, couldn’t wait to pause a long, dull sentence.
I felt guilty that I stole eggs from her once. They were great eggs. The egg yolk was so bright, so sunny, so tender and so creamy. I can still see the image of me breaking the egg. Oh, that pleasant sound. I remembered that with the back of my throat, and then this memory of taste would rise up into my brain, which created a vivid experience that can be almost disgusting.
They didn’t really live inside the fence. They were wished to live a free and happy life.