Just barely a week ago, a creature walked out of the mojave desert. It sluggishly dragged its body that, at first glance, appeared to be made from sand granules. With each heavy step a smoky wisp of dust curled off its form. A slight limp exposed the creature as weak, but it was difficult to get a read on any one emotion, as its face was covered in hair. Scars of unique sizes snaked up and down its arms and legs, as if created by a number of different predators. …

A lot of filmmakers like to spout off about their “8mm” days. Seems every independently spirited moving picture artist I ever read about speaks this line in one form or another: “I’ve been making movies since I was eight years old with my parents super 8 camera.” I personally never had access to that particular camera. Instead, I can be quoted using the exact same line, only insert the medium, VHS camcorder. From the second my father brought that boxy beauty home I was in love. For the years that followed …