Viggo:

Hello again, brother Cuervo.

Coming back from Tigre after finishing the Argentinian shooting of Todos tenemos un plan, I spent a little time at the Tecnópolis exhibition. Impressive. Full of people, a lot of families and a bunch of children. I hope they put it up at least every two years. If the "Rural" can take place every year, I guess that Technópolis can also have continuity in Buenos Aires. I hadn´t seen much mention of Tecnópolis in the media, at least if we compare it to the Exposición Rural's [Rural Exhibition] extensive publicity. The Rural is also special. I remember my old man took my brothers and me to see it once, I must have been about seven, and I was very impressed with the quantity of exceptional animals, and especially the horse taming. I think there´s room enough for both exhibitions in a big city. I´m glad I got off the highway to see such a big and well-organised technological exhibition as Tecnópolis. It´s free and very interesting. I recommend it.

I was also able to visit the Capilla Lorenzo Massa [San Lorenzo Chapel] in our ciudad deportiva to fine-tune some things with the architect and, when I was leaving, I saw Bambi [Héctor Bambino Veira] by chance. He told me that maybe he would talk to us for our San Lorenzo web page. He was cheerful, talking with the supporters after watching a training. The eternally cool guy.

What a commotion with the National team and the AFA, and with the porteña election! So much self-deception, so much arrogance. Lies on the outside and disappointment deep down inside... the media´s clumsiness amazes me, the cash spent on shameful and unoriginal juggling tricks.

Don Julio and the broken toys, his inefficient and rootless puppets... Durán Barba (that man with dead and murderous eyes when he smiles) and Macri, terrible copies of the George W. Bush propaganda circus organised by that mournful adviser Karl Rove...

"I don't want to know who I am any more. I don't care. I don't want to know. Everything I found out, I want to forget. I don't care who I am or what I did."
- 'Jason Bourne' (The Bourne Identity)

There are moments when one could almost believe everything, all the shameless lies, just to be able to sleep a whole night in peace. It´s understandable that so many people prefer to be uninformed. The information reaching the citizen sounds so sordid sometimes and almost all the politicians as much as sports executives of the most popular sport seem like charlatans. Who, from time to time, doesn´t get tired of asking about the motives, of smelling such sociopathic rottenness up close? Like in any time of war (is there another time?), there are always individuals and groups who, taking advantage of the chaos they want and generate, live off self-glorification and sanctimoniousness while filling their pockets with no thought for the people. It seems to me that some people keep themselves in positions of power year after year only by (and with the purpose of) feeding mistrust and insecurity. A lot of flags and hardly any homeland. Batista already served as a slap to Maradona, and now he has to disappear. They run over Filmus and make things difficult for him with manipulated propaganda reinforced by the bigger and more conservative media in the country. More than two centuries ago Rousseau wrote the following sentence for one of the characters in his work:

"Gentlemen, have no fear. No matter how coarse a lie is, don´t cease slandering. Even after the accused has denied it, the wound will be there, and even if it were to heal, there will always be a mark left."

The tactics of those who want political power without having a sincere interest in the well-being of the citizens don´t seem to have changed. I think that corruption and the wearing out of talent promoted by Don Julio´s AFA in the last 30-something years has been the almost permanent status quo of the Buenos Aires city-state. From its foundation, it has almost always been a politico-economic kingdom that, up to a point, has taken economic advantage of the country while keeping itself slightly above it. But Macri´s team, which has been in command of the city in the last four years is, from my point of view, a slightly new thing. A political organisation imitating the worst of the USA´s model of the Republican Party.

(I warn readers that these are my opinions and, obviously, not CASLA´s. I know that some people won´t agree with what I say in this place. They have a right to have an opinion, just as I do. Nobody has the obligation to read what is written here. Neither I nor CASLA are going to censor what is posted in SOBREVUELOS, because although it´s generated by Cuervos, it´s a free-thinking, separate corner.)

From what I see/hear/read, no matter how repulsive, the behaviour of those in charge of Macri´s campaign is already routine: the electoral cheating, manipulations from the media and resistance to an open debate, among other things clumsily copied from the instruction book of George W. Bush´s team, headed by the Machiavellian Karl Rove. Just like "W", Macri is a guy who has difficulty concealing his classist arrogance, who appears rather careless (not to say proud) about his ignorance of recent history and citizens´ needs. The two of them are opportunists who, in order to consolidate and strengthen political careers which had previously not been very striking, decided to be directed by dealers and harmful politicians. The classic Faustian pact. The truth is I don´t know whether Macri or Bush were nice guys who poisoned themselves, or whether they have always been shameless. It doesn´t matter. What matters to me is their dishonest and harmful behaviour as heads of government, and their dirty campaigns against other candidates in order to keep power for themselves. I imagine that some of those who have continued voting Macri will realise at some point, as happened with the last President Bush, the harm his politics has caused. And Grondona. When will Don Julio and his family go so that the structural organization of Argentinian soccer can be cleansed?

Batista knelt down from the beginning of his term of office (a condition of the job, I guess), and they cut off his head.

Messi keeps passing the ball to the whole world, giving his soul for his team even though he's still in bad company on the pitch and somewhat scorned by a lot of the media and his fellow supporters.

Filmus keeps asking questions to the great void, his measured and well-informed charges bouncing harmlessly off against the thousand and one falsely welcoming yellow posters to "you", "you", "you" and any citizen who admires an idiot with a halfway attractive face, who goes - without a tie! - for well-polished productions.

And what will the porteños decide?

Fabian:

Dear Viggo - your letter reminded me of a phrase from Baruch Spinoza that seems very accurate to me - "politicians are impotent beings who use the sadness of the people to govern." Today is an atypical day - the heat is lethal and they're announcing on the radio that it could hail. The city seems like a set from the film Blade Runner. Two days ago, I went to the parish church of Santa Cruz, in Boedo, with my nearly one-year-old daughter Ana. It occurred to me to have her baptized. Do you know that church? It's a medieval structure, very beautiful, and its priests were very strong members of the resistance during the dictatorship; it was in this church that the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo met for the first time to resist. My godfather took me to this church and although I'm not a constitutional Catholic (I detest the Pope, who to me is the manager of the organizational structure and doctrine of the Church), I'm a profound believer, and I am devoted to this particular church. I confess to you that it's very hard for me to support the Argentine team. I have a bad experience with what soccer does when it nationalizes itself and starts with the same old national anthems. I listened to the anthem on the radio when the dictatorship staged the coup against Isabel Perón, the anthem sounded full blast on the radio when one morning I came down from my bedroom and my old man told me, rejoicing, that we had won back the Malvinas. We listened to the anthem every other minute in that harsh and metaphysical cold of the Mundial 78 [translators' note: the 1978 World Cup] while the people celebrated and kidnapping and killing was going on wholesale. I detest chauvinism. For me, the ideal place is the bar in Star Wars, where women with three boobs and men with fish heads and dealers from Andromeda get together. In diversity, in a mixing of cultures, the intense life that I love emerges. Where we're all blonde or all black; that is, where one looks for purity, there is only fascism. Look how even nature is right-winged, since according to its plans the weak have to be sacrificed in favor of the purity of the pack. The left is like a tumor. It's unclassified information. The left should be service to others, elimination of the "I", of personal importance. Not long ago I dreamed that CASLA played - by one of those tricks of the unconscious - in a World Cup. The news surprised everyone. They said they were going to let San Lorenzo play with the national teams from around the world. In the dream I said to my old man, "Now I really can cheer for someone in the World Cup!" The club is something atavistic; it's a passionate territory that doesn't understand borders. For me, the San Lorenzo shirt, its color on a sunny day, can make me weep with emotion. Well, you played Sigmund Freud in Cronenberg's most recent film - how do you interpret my dream? With love, Fabián Casla.

Viggo:

I think that´s a great dream! To me, there´s nothing bad or insecure about it. I don´t think Sigmund could find any hidden frustration or sexual damage. It´s a child´s dream, like winning an Olympic medal, being the first one to reach a wonderful valley or unknown planet, to score the goal that wins the Cup for San Lorenzo.

I completely agree with you, Fabián, about nationalism. And with Orwell, who said, "The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but he has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them." Look at Breivik in Oslo, defending the homeland´s honour and the supposed racial and Christian purity with an appallingly detailed Islamophobia.

For me, the thing about Argentina´s national team is a bit complicated. Although I don´t think nationalism is at all right (I´d like it if passports or borders didn´t exist), the national team affects me because of my history with the country, and is similar up to a point with Denmark and its national team. I spent some important years in Denmark and I´m a citizen because of my father. I have an especially strong link with my family there and I had beautiful experiences living in Copenhagen and other places. I even like our Queen Margrethe a lot, although I´m not a great fan of monarchies in general. She is a cultured and talented woman, very committed to the well-being of Danish citizens, the arts, science and the environment. The Danish people´s relationship with the royal house is much closer and more relaxed than that of other people with their kings and princes - especially compared to England´s case, for instance. In Denmark, patriotism is less offensive than that of many other countries, although it´s true that xenophobia has gone up a bit since the time when Anders Fogh Rasmussen, NATO´s current Secretary General, was Prime Minister between 2001-2009. In spite of the opposition by the great majority of citizens, he got Denmark into the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Very similar to what happened with Aznar in Spain, who, like Fogh Rasmussen, is a great admirer of G. W. Bush and his predatory foreign policy. All that has changed the relationship of the Danish people with other nations, especially with those with a Muslim majority, but I trust that this recent imbalance will be corrected. As I say, Danish people are generally peaceful and culturally open. Forgive the socio-political digression. What I´m driving at is that I have a strong and somewhat irrational connection with Denmark, too. By the way, there´s a lot of soccer tradition in that nation with five million inhabitants. The national federation was founded in 1889, and the Danish are as crazy as the Argentinians when it comes to soccer. It is also the king of sports there. During any World Cup, whether or not the National Danish Team is in the tournament, soccer paralyses half of the country.

In 1978, I was working in a factory in Copenhagen. Before the start of the World Cup, I bet my co-workers some 300 kroner and a crate of beer that Argentina would end up champions. They thought I was crazy. The majority of them had their bets on Holland, Germany or Brazil. I hadn´t been to Argentina since 1970 and I was missing it very much. Although what I was learning about the dictatorship was causing me a lot of pain, I couldn´t help feeling what I did, that longing as a child for Buenos Aires, for Chaco, the countryside, the rivers, San Lorenzo, our Spanish language, and so many other things. The longing for Argentinian things caused me a lot of emotion when I would see Kempes and the others on the Danish TV with the albiceleste [tr. note: blue and white] jersey. Much later, when I came to know about the manipulations of the game against Peru, I felt let down. I don´t like cheating. When the National Argentinian or Danish team loses, I get almost as sad as when San Lorenzo loses. Almost. Despite the deep distrust that nationalism and conservative speeches, filled with religious and patriotic references to divide the people, cause me, I am practically an unconditional supporter of CASLA, Det Danske Landshold, and la Selección [tr. note: The national teams of Denmark and Argentina.] Like you, I can applaud good play by the opponent; I don't hate anyone; I want to live a good game and a life that challenges me and teaches me all kinds of things But I want San Lorenzo and the national teams I've adopted as mine to win. A Danish journalist once asked me what I would do if Denmark and Argentina were facing each other in a World Cup. I said I would make a shirt, half and half, from the two teams' colors. The following year a gentleman gave me one like that. I'll use it someday, and amuse myself by rooting for both teams. Although I wish the U.S. National Team luck when they play, I would never be able to support them against Argentina or Denmark. Absurd things from my upbringing and the personal ties that I have with these countries, although I was born in New York.

Boca Jrs. borrowed the colors of the Swedish flag flying on a boat in the port of Buenos Aires. Any match between Denmark and Sweden is like one between River and Boca and because of that, also, I love having the Bosteros as our children. I like beating River, but not as much as beating Boca. Brazil is almost the same for me as Boca and Sweden, in soccer, because of their yellow shirts and blue pants. I wish that Argentina, San Lorenzo and Denmark could always play very well in their clásicos [translator's note: the name given to certain matches between two teams which are great rivals] and that they could always win. It's ridiculously childish, I know, but I can also say that I feel this kind of tribalism without rancor. I have dear Brazilian, Swedish, and Bostero friends. Brazil and Sweden are countries that have some of the most beautiful places in the world, and Boca has a lot of history and charm. It's the pure game that moves me. Like any child, I take the games very seriously sometimes, but without wanting to hurt anyone or wanting to be hurt myself. Also, I always want the All Blacks of New Zealand to win at rugby, even against the Pumas, but especially against Australia and England, but that's a subject for another day....

The Argentinian national anthem and almost all the others, except those without lyrics, like the one from Spain, all seem more or less terrible to me because of their words. The idea that a country is the one chosen by some god, the supposed value of dying while killing to access a blood-soaked glory, and the celebration of warmongering in general are just dangerous bullshit. I know that many Spaniards, Catalans, Basques and others don´t like the Spanish national anthem that much for what it reminds them of the Franco legacy, but as a musical theme I don't think it sounds all that bad. I love that Messi doesn´t sing the national anthem -- screw all those who criticise him for that -- but I want him to be world champion with the number 10 shirt from the national team.

After all, it seems to me we are creatures from an incomprehensible universe, united for the most part by our ignorance of infinite mysteries. We don´t belong to anybody, nor anywhere, but some of us are Cuervos forever. That way we fly.

When the generals sent all the Argentinian kids to invade Las Malvinas, the day after CASLA´s 74th birthday, I was beginning acting. I was in London where I had been sent to do my first screen test for a starring role in an American film. I hadn´t the slightest idea of what one should do in such a test and I didn´t get the job in that one or in the twenty-some other tests for important characters I did in the first years of my career as an actor. But I took it very seriously, and I did my job the best I could at that moment. It was fun and a total luxury to spend some days in London in a hotel room paid for by others while I rehearsed and shot the scenes for the test. I went to see Taxi Driver three times in a row one Sunday at a tiny little theatre in Soho. That's a brilliant film with extraordinary work by Robert De Niro. I had never seen it before and it really impressed me very much. I walked a lot around London, visiting a few of their parks, museums and pubs. In short, a lovely English adventure for me until I went out one morning very early and bought the paper and found posters near the kiosks calling Argentinians scoundrels and Nazis. War had broken out over the Malvinas. I bought all of the papers. The most right-wing or sensationalistic glorified Prime Minister Thatcher (who dramatically improved her lack of popularity with her forceful military response to the Argentine invasion) and showed a kind of desperation to provoke blind patriotism. Something that you always see in any country at the beginning of a war - especially a country that has stopped being a dominant empire, as was the case in Great Britain and as is beginning to occur with U.S. in the last 10 or 15 years in spite of its immense war arsenal.

In Argentina, many people, including those that were against the dictatorship, fell ill for a while with that thirst for war and the desire to snatch the islands back from the English by force instead of diplomacy and reason. The hatred toward the Argentinians in general was palpable in the streets of London that April in 1982, as well as the British delight at making war again in the world. "We're going to give a drubbing to those shitty sudacas." [tr. note: sudaca is a pejorative word for South Americans.] It bothered me a lot. And the use of the name "Falkland Islands" instead of what I'd learned in school in my childhood also fucked me up. That´s why at that moment I loved "The Hand of God" in the 1986 World Cup (but not now because, as I say, I don´t like cheating) and even more Diego´s second goal against the English - the "cosmic kite" one. Ultimately, it´s not fulfilling, the negative emotional abstraction, that unloading of hostility, doesn´t add anything to your life. Savater was absolutely right when he wrote, "To be an internationalist is to be rationally convinced that the division between nations - which has nothing natural about it - does nothing but prevent human emancipation and that the national-patriotic myth is always used to legitimize the most abject and rapacious oligarchy in power."

Fabián:

Viggo: Do you know the little Butteler square? It´s one of the strangest places in Buenos Aires; in fact, if you don´t know about it you could go by without noticing it, since it´s hidden, as if it were the core of an apple, crossed by the avenidas Caseros and avenida La Plata and calle Zelarayán on the other side. In a little novel I´m writing where kids from a secondary school are recruited by a demonic instructor, the crossroads, those places where one makes a pact with the devil in exchange for something, happen in this terrific square, under the moonlight. There are some CASLA supporters who come to this square. Since I was a child I´ve loved the places where the city seems to get out of its depth, areas that don´t lead anywhere or old buildings that seem abandoned but that are inhabited in a strange way by urban nomads. Speaking of urban nomads, I remember when my old man said to me: Shall we go to the cinema to see a film where the end of the world comes and only a San Lorenzo supporter survives? The flick was The Road, based on Cormac McCarthy´s novel, where you played what I suppose was the CASLA supporter who survives. But my old man was sad when even you die in the film. Facing mortality is the ultimate test. I liked the teaching of the Sonora wizards that said death always walked at arm´s length from us, that one could do exercises to try to see her. That perception, instead of sinking you, should put you on a state of alert. With death at arm´s length, life must be more authentic, right? I´m attaching a photograph that Pedro Mairal took of me in Butteler. Hugs.

Viggo:

Hello, Fabián,

Of course I know the Butteler. It leads everywhere; it never fails. What a beautiful photo! I love that we can share these things. Juan Carlos, the cab driver who recently took me to the airport, is a fervent Cuervo supporter who gets totally depressed - like us - when things go wrong for San Lorenzo. We stopped to have coffee in the Pugliese, at the corner of Carlos Calvo and Boedo, and we talked about his old man's farm. He was a member of CASLA his whole life, who came from Tucumán and made all his children Cuervos. Juan Carlos has made all his family Cuervos, too, except for his wife, who remains a Bostera. His brothers all married Cuervas. An azulgrana army. I met him last week when he took me from Bajo Flores to Tigre. He had so many anecdotes about the Old Gasómetro (he was raised a few blocks from the field) and all of the players, their injuries, misadventures, moments of pain and glory since the end of the 50's... a treasure trove of memories, an inexhaustible source of San Lorenzo information, a kind of walking encyclopedia. I stayed with him all day, driving around, listening and now and then asking him questions about the games that he saw with the Camboyanos, the Matadores, the Carasucias, the championship team of '59 with Nene Sanfilippo. He took me to Technópolis; we went to a nice bar that is run by El Cuervo in Tigre, a very passionate ambassador for CASLA. It's on Belgrano, a couple of blocks from the Avenida Liniers, close to downtown. But El Cuervo wasn't there. It's a place that I found during the filming, where you could have a drink, talk to and learn from a die-hard supporter, see the America's Cup games on an enormous screen, and also see the guys from the club play in a field behind the bar. While we were waiting for El Cuervo, we could admire the pennants of the Primera and the B teams that the bar has up, the photos of La Oveja [the sheep] Telch and the other greats, posters of old movies, horseplay with the Bosteros and Quemeros, etc. "El Cuervo will be back in ten minutes," the members who were having a drink with us kept saying for half an hour. Finally we had to go away without meeting him because I had to return to the capital. In the taxi, we talked and talked about San Lorenzo - like we did, you and I, the night when Gustavo introduced us in the coffee shop. One of the many things he told me was a very detailed version of the night that el Bambino supposedly spent before scoring four goals (the fifth was disallowed) against Boca. That he was in a cabaret that burned down, that he rescued at least one woman from the place, and that he arrived at the pitch without having slept at all. The supporters knew that he hadn't slept before the clasico [tr. note: match between two teams which are great rivals] and he, afraid of what might happen if he failed on the pitch that day, went wild. He might not have scored a single goal if he'd slept like the others. Fear can be a great inspiration. We'll have to see what el Bambi says about that story some day...!

And what do you think of the plan to combine the teams from the first [division] with those from the "B" [division], creating a tournament with almost forty teams? If I were a River supporter, I'd be enormously ashamed. A corrupt and cowardly move, in my opinion. An insult to San Lorenzo and Racing who had to suffer relegation and come back through their own merits, with a great deal of fighting spirit and the legendary support of their fans. I don't think the AFA would have done this if it was just about Quilmes, Huracán, Gimnasia & Esgrima and another [team] that wasn't Boca or River. Like letting River play against Belgrano in the Monumental [stadium] with an audience after what happened in the first leg of the match in Cordoba for the promotion: an unacceptable pampering. There seems to be a lot of popular opposition to the idea of putting the "B's" in with the first [division]. Maybe in the end they won't do it. I hope so.

A hug,
viggo

Fabián:

Dear Viggo: When you return to this country, I'm going to take you to meet a friend of mine, a barber, who likes self-help books. He is constantly imagining how to improve his business and so he searches in the pages of these books for almost Cabalistic secrets to hit the jackpot. His name's Mateo and on the desk of the barbershop, in the middle of the newspapers, the maté and the scissors, there is always a pile of books like this: Don't Say Yes When You Want to Say No, How to Find Happiness Within, Spiritual Fuel, or Your Erroneous Zones. Like a good reader of self-help, he's always mulling over phrases, trying to get water out of a stone. One day he said to me, "Every day I ask God for children with two heads to be born." That phrase seemed brilliant to me if it was taken as a literal desire, in the same way that Kafka's Metamorphosis becomes more dense when we read it as a realistic tale and not as fantasy. I´m telling you all this because today Mateo showed me a picture from the Olé newspaper where you could see in a close-up Julio Grondona´s ring where this haiku can be read: "Everything passes." He was intrigued by that slogan. He said: What does "everything passes" mean to you? Is this phrase good or bad? Is it like when you tell me about being the "eternal beginner"? I said to him that certain phrases weren´t either good or bad, that they could only be gauged according to the mouth that uttered them. Example: it´s not the same when John Cassavettes, Lobo Fisher or the AFA´s boss says "Everything passes." One imagines that to Grondona this phrase has a counterweight that, out of modesty, is not written anywhere. And that counterweight is "Except me." Somehow the phrase from the lord of the ring, this Heraclitian sentence that speaks about incessant becoming, failed to make a dent in the man from Avellanedo´s long career. Julio Grondona jumps from vine to vine; as an opponent he can be pro-government -always measuring, his timing always great- and so far the executive manager that can make him resign is not known. Before the World Cup, the people wanted Maradona; he gave them the fat one. He practiced fatso-ism until fatso-ism ate four* against Germany. Neither stupid nor lazy, he pulled the chain and on to something else. To Grondona, projects, democratic sitting around talking, don´t exist. Betting on risk according to things with a heart. I´m convinced he doesn´t care about soccer either. A pity. I give you a hug, Viggo. How is the film going?

[*tr. note: "the fat one" and "fatso-ism" are a reference to Maradona as the appointed coach for Argentina´s National Team in the World Cup last year. "until fatso-ism ate four" refers to the match vs Germany, where Argentina and Maradona "ate" four German goals]

Viggo:

Hello Cuervo,

We are doing fine, just started on the interior shots which - a strange thing in filming and its coproductions - are shot in Alicante´s full summer with almost 40 degrees although they will represent an apartment in the centre of Buenos Aires in winter. Naturally, we are shooting inside with lower temperatures, thanks to the air conditioning provided by the studios.The illusion is maintained. Now we are shooting the meeting between the twin brothers I play, so I´m calmly dividing myself in two for the amusement of the goddess Thalia. Another very strange thing - or quite normal - now that you mentioned Kafka´s Metamorphosis, this is the book I´m reading this week in a scene in the movie. I don't know if that or the other books that we've chosen for the characters will be seen, but it always amuses me to explore what they read or what interests the characters that I have to play in this business. Kafka's story is a masterpiece which is difficult for me to fit into a genre. A one-of-a-kind story. It interested me because one of the brothers is transforming himself little by little, going through an interesting mutation, from deep inside. In my notebook, I have phrases copied from that book. Two of them:

"The nights and the days Gregor spent almost entirely without sleep. Sometimes he dwelt on the thought that when the door was next opened he might take the family's affairs fully in hand again, as he had before..." (tr. by Joyce Crick)

and

"...he would post himself by all the doors of his room at once and go hissing to meet his attackers..."

Well, thanks for the chat, Fabián. See you soon.

A kiss,
Viggo

Fabian:

Horla City, July 29
Dear Viggo: Today at noon I was having breakfast in the bar at San Juan & Boedo. I walked some 25 blocks from my house to that bar. I took the stroller with my daughter Ana Casla sleeping in it. During that trip I was on the point of dying like nine or ten times. The city of Buenos Aires is out of control. It is impassable, uncrossable (cars multiply like in an Escher painting) and its inhabitants are people who care very little about others. A shame. The four Macri years weren't worth anything. It's strange, except for the bike paths, there doesn't seem to have been any kind of management. It gives me the feeling that for Macri (and for many people), everything happens in the media. Before, one had a private life. I think we have to get back to that. To having a deep private life. Now even the most intimate things are aired on the web. Life has become absolutely pornographic. And this is accompanied by a great loss of experience. Now, almost nobody has experiences. You tweet everything you're doing ("here I am with my son..." "Today I went shopping...") and if you go see a rock band you hold your cell phone camera in front of your eyes to film it. Since the best happens because it can disappear forever, [then] in this era where everything is filmed, everything is recorded, film faces a remarkable challenge: to bring ontology back to itself. Big hug, V.

P.S. I found a photo of you and my old man on the playing field. I'm sending it to you.