in the simple words of Dellardi

we were downstairs in my parent's old basement, Jules and my brother and myself. catching up. and you could tell it had been a while. i had to replace a shelf and was taking measurements that i kept having to double check because i was too distracted by the conversation. Jules was talking about his latest project, some surreal video they had cooked up in another one of those crazy weekends. like usual, he insisted. it sounded like some strange Lynchian Beatleesque Number Nine piece with Italian narration and what sounded like the word Dellardi being stretched out and repeated over and over again while images of blue ceramic cats and bicycles and a girl walking through grey skies in some bleak city kept unfurling for the camera. he was super proud of it and i was watching, half confused and half jealous, trying to remember those measurements. he kept pointing out to my brother how every last syllable of the narrator's dreamy words were being manipulated for effect. perhaps he figured i would have noticed on my own. my bro simply responded by assuring him he was cooking up something of his own as well. i said nothing. when I had originally asked what he had been up to, he had given me the snippy "maybe you should go online and find out" answer. now, it almost felt like he was ignoring me. like it was only the video that was speaking directly to me.