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YTS.MX
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YTS.MX
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Each morning, I wake up to this rumbling.
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The sound of the underground.
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You hear it too, right?
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I hear it.
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The murmurs of the bedrock.
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I only escape
the reality of our entombment...
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when they switch on the orchard lights...
10
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and I hear the birds, bees,
and butterflies.
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How did you get here?
Did you travel above ground?
12
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No, it’s still not safe.
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I came through the tunnels.
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But the weeds have been back for years...
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the waterways are restored.
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It shouldn’t be long now.
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Even the worshippers have returned.
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Many of them never left.
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They didn’t want to abandon
their holy sites.
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They sent us off with a blessing...
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days before they perished
from the plagues.
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We all have our idiosyncrasies.
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The last things we recovered
were the cocoons and the beehives.
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We released them into the orchard...
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to ensure a natural cycle of pollination.
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Did you ever try to find out
what happened elsewhere?
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We've heard nothing
since going underground.
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Others were...
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beginning to experience
what we had seen for years.
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But it was clear no place would be spared.
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Disasters evolve more rapidly here.
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This place was always charged.
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Similar things were happening
in other places.
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Eventually everything caught up with them
and they had their own doomsday.
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I was raised on nostalgia.
36
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The past spoon-fed to me.
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My own memories replaced
by those of others.
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They appear personal and intimate.
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They’re not real, but seductive...
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like lavish illustrations
in a children’s book.
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Out of touch with life down here...
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like bacteria planted in me.
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We were all raised
on someone else’s nostalgia.
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Our own experiences
blending with the stories we are told.
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Your memories are as real as mine.
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I disagree.
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The pain these stories cause
are twofold...
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because the loss I feel was never mine.
49
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I forget your age.
50
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I know it is conflicting to be engineered
from the remains of those we left behind.
51
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You were born,
but you are still trapped in the womb.
52
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I’m aware of the genetic replications.
53
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I’m not the first me.
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You are the only one who made it this far.
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Despite that...
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you have never known anything but absence.
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Everyone keeps reminding me of that.
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My congenital exile.
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I have come to resent that notion.
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It won’t be long before you return.
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This place is your exile...
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not mine.
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I despise the idea
that the present is nothing but a void.
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A transition between what was
and what’s to come.
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00:11:10,600 --> 00:11:12,800
A sentimental prelude to the afterlife.
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It rejects any sense of now.
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The fact of our existence.
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00:11:39,080 --> 00:11:40,560
This present barely exists.
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00:11:42,760 --> 00:11:44,800
You were born into purgatory.
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Like past generations in this place.
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They all tried to redeem their present...
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lit it up with old stories...
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and decorated the void...
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with promises of things to come.
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But the void only grows.
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Soon, it’s so imposing and violent...
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it devours everything in its way.
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Like a black hole.
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Something like that.
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This hole...
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tries to return all light and matter
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to their place of origin...
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but it fails...
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and leaves nothing
but a dense volume of emptiness.
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My parents look a lot like me now.
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00:13:33,960 --> 00:13:37,680
Once I started
seeing bits of myself in them
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the reverse also became true.
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I am what makes them partially identical.
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00:14:05,600 --> 00:14:08,160
At any given point,
the present imposes its language...
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00:14:09,240 --> 00:14:13,720
and projects the meaning
of this very moment back onto the past.
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00:14:16,160 --> 00:14:19,800
The past never was, it only is.
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These moments will disappear too.
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00:14:28,480 --> 00:14:32,360
When our time comes,
that time will no longer be ours.
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00:14:33,400 --> 00:14:38,480
We will be archives
for someone else to make sense of.
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00:15:50,160 --> 00:15:53,720
The artificial premise of my existence
makes it no less real than yours.
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00:15:55,120 --> 00:15:56,840
People tend to forget that.
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They nurse us on memories
formed before us,
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and only raise us for the times to come.
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00:16:04,080 --> 00:16:06,080
The grief we carry is different.
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00:16:07,200 --> 00:16:10,360
Loss fails when it’s an abstraction.
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00:16:11,920 --> 00:16:14,200
I have never seen any of these places.
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00:16:14,760 --> 00:16:16,520
You soon will.
103
00:16:17,600 --> 00:16:22,840
- All I will see is a ghost town.
- Bethlehem was always a ghost town.
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00:16:23,760 --> 00:16:28,160
- The present upstaged by the past.
- I don’t believe in ghosts.
105
00:16:28,800 --> 00:16:31,360
What we are doing here
will not restore the past.
106
00:16:32,560 --> 00:16:33,760
There’s no need to.
107
00:16:34,440 --> 00:16:38,640
The past is still there,
as intact as ever.
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Maybe your past is.
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00:16:45,080 --> 00:16:48,040
The only past I know is here.
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00:16:49,280 --> 00:16:50,840
Everything else is just a fairy tale.
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00:16:55,880 --> 00:16:58,880
Entire nations are built on fairy tales.
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00:17:00,080 --> 00:17:03,440
Facts alone are too sterile
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for cohesive understanding.
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00:17:08,200 --> 00:17:13,320
Soon, what we have achieved here
will create a myth of its own.
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00:17:14,040 --> 00:17:16,560
You will be part of it.
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00:17:18,160 --> 00:17:20,040
I don’t care about your nations.
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00:17:20,720 --> 00:17:23,880
Their stories, their rituals,
their repetition of imagery.
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This struggle, this land, these seasons.
Memory channeled by a handful of tropes.
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These scents, this fabric, this history
reduced to symbols and iconography.
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00:17:34,680 --> 00:17:36,640
A liturgy chronicling our losses.
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00:17:37,120 --> 00:17:41,160
These plagues.
These disasters. This exodus.
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00:17:42,200 --> 00:17:43,760
And every exodus before that.
123
00:18:49,280 --> 00:18:51,600
The problem with nostalgia
is that it keeps you entertained
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00:18:52,480 --> 00:18:55,040
while everything you cherish washes away.
125
00:18:56,000 --> 00:18:58,400
It makes you cling
to the comfort of what you have...
126
00:19:00,960 --> 00:19:03,680
even if it is decimated day by day.
127
00:19:05,600 --> 00:19:07,280
We lost an entire generation.
128
00:19:08,200 --> 00:19:10,680
Your original stock of heirloom children.
129
00:19:11,160 --> 00:19:15,880
The matter I came from.
Recreated in their image.
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00:19:17,040 --> 00:19:18,040
That’s right.
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00:19:19,360 --> 00:19:20,560
And their memories.
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We couldn’t afford to lose those too.
133
00:19:56,960 --> 00:20:00,080
Perhaps losing your memories
is essential to starting over?
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00:20:02,320 --> 00:20:05,520
Forgetting makes you vulnerable
to mistakes you've already made.
135
00:20:08,280 --> 00:20:10,560
Maybe next time they won’t be mistakes.
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00:20:11,240 --> 00:20:12,240
Maybe not.
137
00:20:13,440 --> 00:20:17,640
But you will have the information
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00:20:18,000 --> 00:20:19,920
to make that decision.
139
00:20:56,640 --> 00:20:59,800
Memories don’t distinguish
between fact and fiction.
140
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We spent too long registering,
recording and archiving.
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We failed to see
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that the only non-negotiable part
of any argument is pathos.
143
00:21:18,360 --> 00:21:21,800
What terrifies me the most
are the memories I know to be alien...
144
00:21:23,440 --> 00:21:26,240
yet are too vivid to dismiss
as somebody else’s.
145
00:21:40,960 --> 00:21:42,680
I recognize the stories I’m told.
146
00:21:44,680 --> 00:21:46,760
I know how they end
before they’ve finished...
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as if I have witnessed them myself.
148
00:21:55,160 --> 00:21:57,560
I have never seen the sun rise or set.
149
00:21:59,600 --> 00:22:01,440
Yet I remember dusk and dawn.
150
00:22:03,520 --> 00:22:08,080
I remember walking through the rain
feeling my shirt sticking to my skin.
151
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The flames of a bonfire
heating my face.
152
00:22:23,120 --> 00:22:24,680
I dream of the olive harvests.
153
00:22:27,080 --> 00:22:28,120
Me too.
154
00:22:31,920 --> 00:22:35,840
We need you to guard these images.
155
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Memories.
156
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I’m no longer sure what they are.
157
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You remember seeing things
158
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even if the person
who saw them wasn’t you.
159
00:23:01,680 --> 00:23:04,200
Some scenes are more grainy
and faded than others.
160
00:23:07,840 --> 00:23:13,680
It’s your mind’s way
of maintaining some chronology.
161
00:23:59,040 --> 00:24:02,120
Down here, all transitions are abrupt.
162
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A single switch turns day into night.
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