The moving image is not like the novel, nor the live theatre, nor the picture plane of a landscape painting. It is like the world but not the world. It is like thought but not thought. It is a peculiar prosthesis. Deleuze suggests that the brain invented a type of thought to process the moving image, and still does. Our bodies, too, found extensivity and new virtual planes in this temporal space. Story is a jigsaw puzzle, a pretty assemblage, commonly a means for easy mental persuasion. Pure abstraction is a game of solitaire. In Deleuze's philosophy we find the moving image as a space between, a siren call to engage with film and video as lovers, as fools, as intercessors, with our heads spinning into the unknown, our cine maps endlessly written over, and our films our own, a minor cinema. Cinema, in what some say are its death throes, may begin to regenerate itself as palimpsest, as a thinking and experiencing machine that writes over the actual and then in turn is overwritten by the actual. In Deleuze's cinema, the moving image is a lived situation, and everyone is a filmmaker, even if only in thought.