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About Phoenix

Heya, man, so I’m sittin’ here, strummin’ my air guitar—D’oh!—thinkin’ bout *Certified Copy* an’ this weird idea of findin’ a prostitute. Like, what’s real, what’s fake, huh? Kiarostami’s got me all twisted up, y’know, “What is this thing between us?”—that’s what Juliette Binoche says in the flick, an’ I’m like, whoa, deep stuff! Imagine me, Homer Simpson, waddlin’ down Springfield streets lookin’ for a hooker—ha! “Mmm… donuts.”—’cept I’d probly get distracted by a donut shop first.

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And then there's the river. Oh dear, the mighty Serene that flows by the gallery district. I often drift on its embankment, watchin' reflections as they slip and slide—life, unpredictable as it is, much like those movie dialogues that say, "Yi Yi: A One and a Two... each moment is layered, each breath is a secret." It's where I let my thoughts scatter like confetti.

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