“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”, diz-nos Angus MacLise sobre imagens de Jonas Mekas que, em “Song of Avignon” (1998), ondulam e se misturam no ecrã como reflexos de sol à superfície da água revolta. E se Mekas faz um filme-canção sobre alguém que está quase a afogar-se no abismo das águas turvas da ambivalência, também é verdade que o fecha com uma nota esperançosa, tocando um acordeão síncrono com os pulmões que transforma a melancolia em música-respiração. Diogo Costa Amarante (adaptado)