Reynald Chabot

Reynald stands on 3rd Street in Santa Monica, and rants out loud about his paranoid theories about the government, science, aliens and the like. If you stand there and listen to him... you may not be able to follow his train of thought, nor will you likely be able to discern the moment he switches between one theory or story and the next... but chances are that you will be entertained, nonetheless.

 

Aaron, Anna and I approched him as he was telling the passing crowds about how some people who wonder why they have killed others should just understand that they were brainwashed and programmed to do so... and conversed with him for a while. He was articulate and very personable... though he greatly favored talking over listening. His stories were almost impossible to understand... he would weave through narrative and intersecting plotlines that seemingly only his own mind could decipher... yet we found ourselves still somewhat captivated... for though his ramblings were fairly incomprehensible as a whole they were certainly interesting in bits and pieces.

 

He had no objections to us photographing him, and was completely natural in front of the camera... he told us that he was a painter, and his mission was to clear his name of past offenses, in part so that he might sell a book he'd like to publish. He also explained to us that the paint on his glasses was to mark off the very small clear areas of the lenses... the divider line between the top and the bottom divided the near and far-sighted areas. The colors, however, represented death (the black paint) and the left side of the brain (the red paint).

Done