J'ai perdu mon âme dans un miroir de brocante...

This film constitutes a passage between my two other films, Trompe-la-Mort and Quartier des bachelors or... I would say an experience of "cogito" with the camera/a narcissistic experience which is parasitized (contaminated?) by passers-by. The sirens, and then this void. What distinguishes the "cogito" of the filmmaker from the "cogito" of a madman? This question already discredits/tympanizes the possibility of a purely phenomenal “cogito”: I see myself, does this mean that I exist? The interfilmic references of the soundtrack generate meaning already in the direction of a dispersion of the ego.