He’s known he’s in the Footage for some time now, as is his paramour and friends and family skeletons and banal media assault box. "Back to the Movie," a composition he wrote and performed with band circa 1978, drifts the corridors of memory.

Only now, attention has more layers, time more modes, so he broods more subtly on the lush/stark holo-cinema of "real life," that hall of mirrors, that viral orgy of "reality programming." It’s too late, Man Who Fell to Earth, the simmering semiosphere’s infected with simulacral dysfunction. Fetid slime walk around in the finest suits.

Plato’s Cave, magic lantern, cinema, holodeck. Ongoing uncanniness of "our" "appearance" "here." Alas, postmodernity has thrust the relentless era of the hyper quotation marks upon us.