Life in little cubes

I tend to run into small glimpses of past loves everyday. A face, a walk, a smell, and more than most come from a quick turn of a phrase. I feel perturbed and wonder what the significance is in remembering... whether it is to breathe in the chasms of thoughts, or to simply stutter from my norm. I turn back to a recent trip to New York I had last year when I saw a short film called "la maison en petit cubes", which is set in the future where the water level has continually risen and has left the people to building stories on top of their houses to combat the rising sea level. In the film there is a man who is old and alone, he smokes his pipe and sits in his recliner while he fishes through a small hole in the center of his room. This hole goes down through the many levels of his house. which are mostly underwater. At one point his smoking pipe falls through the hole and travels down through all of the many floors he's built in his life; down to the bottom floor. He suits up with oxygen tanks and a wetsuit, and travels down to get what is easily assumed as his "favorite pipe," and with each story of the house he sees snippets of his past, his wife/children/love/entire life. This part is beautifully echoed by a soft melancholy of tones.The movie is fantastic, and when the old man finally makes it back up the 30 or so stories he has to build another floor because the sea level has risen again.

Movie...