Help Me Eros

He is smoking into the phone, on the other side there is a girl from the suicide line. He smokes into the phone, and she inhales the smoke on the other side, her cubicle is suddenly transformed into an erotic cube, her clothes barely cover her in the girlish school style, holding the phone with one hand, closing her eyes, she starts to touch herself...

She sees them playing pool, her husband and his lover, they play and she walks by, not creating any disturbance in the way they play. she walks away, with an Ice cream bucket cradling peacefully in her arms... the two men continue playing, the husband shows the lover how to aim, and as the balls touch, I can see that neither one of them has pants on, their buttocks stick out while they aim...

She has walked away. She enters teh bathroom and leaves the bucket of ice-cream aside, she looks into the tube, at the slithering beings that live there. They have been her silent lovers for a while, but just with the foot fetish. This time it will be different, she undresses for them, a bit shyly leaves her underwear on, her huge breasts storm freely into the water.
They cover her, and little by little, she takes her pantys off, she opens her legs, and they, all of them, caress her...

He smokes his joint, and breathes into her face. He smokes a joint, and breathes into her face. He smokes a joint, and breathes into her face. He has captivated them with his smoke. They are on the roof, three of them, the fourth, she stares at them from the staircase. The three of them on the roof, and the light that melts on their skins has figurines, designs, making them plastic, artifical, while the three of them make love and the fourth stares...

He makes love to her in a white room, black bed. The light comes from every corner. He makes love to her in a white room, holding her on top of a black bed. He carries her while makes love to her on a black bed, standing up, in a white room. He loves making love to her in a full light white room on top of a black bed, holding her, she floats... her hands touch the black bed... her feet never did.

A photograph oozes from each frame; texture stems from the struggle between eros and thanatos... the seemingly call girls sell cigarretes and seeds in glass frames, life sized dolls, as they struggle with their bodies and desires, being in this self-abandonement of the night. He sells his life, selling his things. A grain of rice as their metaphor, they sink into photographs that frame each of their seconds.

(Snowflakes made of days.)


Directed by Lee Kang Sheng