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And it's already September...
About Endlessness by Roy Andersson
Scraps, sketches, fragments of humanity, from those who float, hovering over the ruins of past beauty, to those who spend their ordinary, indistinguishable daily life. Among the small and great miseries that concern all of us, sooner or later, the entire human experience. All observed from behind, from the outside.
As long as it exists, man will be faithful to himself, both in good and in bad. And he will harbor resentment, sadness. He will not know what to want and he will lose faith.
Aware that, nonetheless, everything is ultimately fantastic, or becomes so, in the face of the eternal wonder of snowfall, which renews the marvel, regardless of every personal event, every personal vicissitude. Because, if it is (no longer) possible to believe in God, one must settle for being alive, and what we can have.
On the endlessness of energy, from which everything comes, and to which everything will return. Renewing in form, but not in substance, of a perpetual, eternal cycle. Infinite, indeed.
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