“You too are swinging towards the depths of your own being in longer and longer circles. I saw happiness and pain in your eyes and reflections of the paradises lost and regained and lost again, and the terrible loneliness and happiness, yes, and I reflect upon this and I think about you, like two lonely space pilots on outer cold space, as I sit here this late-night alone and I think about all this and about you and for a brief moment I don’t know for how long we meet somewhere between the words, dreams, images, space between the words perhaps and I am happy. As I look into the cold endless space passing without sound without speed a metal blue endless distance between us, but I know you are there, I can feel your heartbeat, my love”, Angus MacLise tells us about Jonas Mekas’s images that, in “Song of Avignon” (1998), ripple and blend on the screen like sun reflections on the surface of churning water. And if Mekas makes a song-movie about someone about to drown in the abyss of ambivalence’s murky waters, it is also true that he ends it on a hopeful note, playing a synchronous accordion with lungs that turn melancholy into breath-music. Diogo Costa Amarante (adapted)