omeone else did not agree. Reality is always a mystery, everyday, he said. But the other one continued: having run out of unknown on this planet, you jump off the edge of a cliff with a GoPro Hero camera attached to your wrist. On the cliff-edge of this utterly mapped world, this is what you do. You think it is about the only thing you can still do. This is like jumping off a flat planet, the medieval planet. You’ve run out of ideas on how to conceive of its spheric shape as an astral body, an alien planet, and of yourself, and others, as utter strangers, as aliens, so in a way there’s nothing there for you anymore, there’s just this flat world. You jump. Off the edge, into the undefined. But the belt catches you.
What characterises this cinematic consciousness, this being in and of cinema? Simply, “the coincidence between the film’s flow and that of the film spectator’s consciousness.” Deleuze surmised that there are two components here, on the one hand “instantaneous sections which are called images,” and on the other, “a movement or a time which is impersonal, uniform, abstract, invisible, or imperceptible, which is ‘in’ the apparatus, and ‘with’ which the images are made to pass consecutively.”  This already unravels time’s experience into a distinction between the immediacy of the Now, of the instant, of the playhead, and the larger and even imperceptible space or dimension of time which cannot be grasped in the Now.