My father had a painting on his wall of an inebriated clown hobo slyly smiling. He said whenever he felt depressed he could look at this painting and it would make him laugh and feel better. The smiling image in this painting is one from a throwaway moment of music television, accumulating dust with the mountains of other music videos which in such a prescient way informed the context and fantasies of my youth but years later have been all but lost, lingering if at all, in low quality on YouTube but not historically important enough to be worth recovering. The cultural context from which it was created has shifted so far as to subvert its original message. Resurrection can only be performed on the dead and simulation is not resurrection but a distorted Frankenstein of intersecting points of meaning never to be reunited with its initial livelihood. Recovery is impossible but what apparatus causes certain qualities to appear and others to vanish. In the void of recovery what is left? And why does it make me smile?