Tanaton Lomvongpanich

A man embarks on a journey to discover his identity, navigating through overlapping realms of surreal dreams.

A man lies asleep on a bed. A gust of wind. A rumbling. He walks around, taking photographs. Messages from both his dreams, and mine, where we are haunted by people in student uniform.

A short story in three parts—verbally contemplating on the death of an insignificant person—riddled with self loathing of both the living, and the dead. For death is a bitter tasting joke with no set-up; only a shocking punchline leaving those who remain with the unbearable weight of grief and longing.

An obsessive finger-snapping office worker begins to encounter strange behaviors from those around him, which escalate over time. Meanwhile, black liquid starts to seep across his body.

On a quiet night in the library, a young librarian prepares to head home alone, until something lurking in the shadows begins to creep closer.

Fragments of a contemplative essay film drifting between memory and dream. I see an old man haunted by an elusive voice, and a fading childhood quietly watching over him, in a space where prolonged sleep blurs the boundary of what is real. This is a story written from elsewhere a place where I listen, observe, and record his story, in an attempt to weave together images of family, and the quiet violence of growing up.

Kua, a film student who shares his experiences, reasons, and ways of thinking that shaped his love for cinema, as well as what cinema has brought into his life, told through the eyes of Aaron, his close friend and future cinematographer.