A little bit of background.
The title was loosely inspired by my year in India and my then love for Wills & Four Square cigarettes at the street-side tea stalls.
I had a group of caring, egalitarian weirdos as friends and became distinctly aware for the first time how un-American the rest of the world lives.
It's a big, fat, stupefying warm blanket; American living.
Plus also, mainly, asking myself: does shouting into a windstorm mean I exist?
For the location, (Videographer, Photographer and Visual Artist) Peter Jamus [check him out http://peterjamus.com/) & I trespassed onto the abandoned Gopher Ordinance Works ruins, nearly had our car towed and got reprimanded by park employees.
Skid row operation for a dad.
We did hours of footage amongst the forgotten cement bones which looked for all the world like some anomaly of communal, industrial living.
I'd like to think there is some continuity between the protagonist of this video and the one in '1:37', beyond them both being me. But maybe/and because. At least the white-suited me in this one escaped his indoor stupor and is outside...but I guess only to transport elsewhere in a tulle portal.
Check it out!