[...] Some are still lost, just vague structures of image and movement, evoking that line about memory being what is left when something hapens and doesn't completely unhappen. I forget who said it. Hybrid scenes, overlapping plots, snatches of story. I started keeping track of films I had seen, films I wanted to see, and films I wanted to make in a notebook. I wrote it in every day until I filled it, when I transferred everything to a ring binder, so I could add pages whenever I liked. If I could inexpensively make this book look like that one, I would. I consider it to be the true original unexpurgated Fictional Film Club and mourn its loss (in a train carriage between Canterbury and London Bridge, January 2000) more than many deaths.