Brilliant disjunctions between sound and image, narration and action, but only apparent ones. This is a work of unification - of a man turned to earth, of landscape as monument. When we discover that the lightly cajoling, sarcastic speaker is not merely a detached biographer, but Héraclite himself, loosened in time and space and perhaps state of being from the events he muses on with us, then we can sense the joy behind his ironizing, the poetic ecstasy which allows him to speak from beyond the veil, like Ferdinand Griffon in those exquisite moments after dynamite has pulverized him into the sky's powder blue. Héraclite is both here and there, then and now, a thought inscribed into the world that gave rise to it. "Burning with moderation, extinguishing itself with moderation."