The year is 1905. The director is DW Griffiths. The camera operator is Billy Bitzer. The director is shooting a love scene, and asks that the camera be moved closer to the actor. Billy replies, “But we can’t do that Mr. Griffiths, we’ll cut off his legs.” As if the frame was a guillotine. We had not yet learned to live inside of bodies that would be cut up and sold back to us, as assembly line workers, as modern medicine, as a geography that could be occupied, cut apart and repackaged.