In 1952, Carl Jung recounts this story in 'Synchronicity, an Acausal Connecting Principle': "A young woman was at a critical time of processing a dream in which she received the gift of a golden scarab. While she was relating the dream to me, I was sitting with my back to the closed window. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me, like someone knocking lightly on the window. I turned and saw an insect flying against the window outside. I opened the window and caught the insect in flight. It offered the closest analogy that we can find at our latitude with the golden scarab. It was a chafer beetle, Cetonia aurata, the common rose chafer, which was clearly led, against all its habits, to enter a dark room just at that moment. I must say immediately that such a case has never happened to me before or after, so that the dream of my patient has remained unique in my experience. )}

In 1972, Russel Targ co-founded the Stanford Research Institute's investigation into psychic abilities for the CIA, where he did research on remote viewing. I

The same year, at the World Chess Championship, Bobby Fischer played against the Russian Boris Spassky. The Russians complained about the furniture brought by Fischer and the match was suspended.

In September 1980, Elisabeth Targ, Bobby Fischer's niece, took part in an experiment2 in which she correctly predicted Reagan's presidential victory in November.

In February 1996, Garry Kasparov played six games against the supercomputer Deep Blue3, developed by a team of IBM engineers, and lost the first game of the match, then won three and cancelled the others.

ln 2019, the construction of the Rosen Association4 is completed.

On the right a horse, in the middle a horn, longer than I remember, the smell of acacia trees, a little further on a chair in silver wood and then the tracks of 3 planes in the sky over the street like that=/.

You know it's like in a theatre of someone else's memory, I'm moving in these images ( or sculptures or texts, I don't know any more) and I am confused, I let myself wander in or guide, absorb or melt into the elements, which are not images but a form that evokes something else. 1 try more or less to decipher all this, or I try to lose myself still further.

I remember Pierre-Damien Huyghe, for whom film begins here, when a sequence lasts just a little longer than it should to be representative of reality, and also the Letter of Eric Pauwels to Jean Rouch, in which a man awakens from a coma in a hospital, wonders where he is, where he has already seen people walk like this and says to himself, yes, it is the cinema.

Deduct the present by anticipation; remember a time that has not yet been lived; flash, slow motion, freeze frame; past, present, future.

Everything here recalls something else, refers to another temporality, a different situation. I let myself go to sail off in a state of semi-consciousness, in this time between sleep and wakefulness, in this in-between where dreams are no longer altogether dreams. I cross, engulfing a vase and an elephant, which could turn one into the other in a quantum theory I will not explain here ... Everything is mixed, stories, anecdotes, portraits.

It's like when you have itchy feet when I have wings that scratch, or as in The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat, a phantom limb who remembers me or conversely the feeling that a part of my body is disembodied, has escaped and is following its own logic, simultaneously mine and another's. Despite the inconsistency, this incessant intuition that this is connected, not in an unconscious but in a world that is conscious, sensitive (cosmogonical?), which could be a (panoptic) future. Casual connections.

Suddenly, a laugh, a cloud of golden scarabs appears.