Miscellanea

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I enjoy playing tennis, and my favorite player is Carlos Alcaraz.

Some of my favorite films:

• Blow-Up by Michelangelo Antonioni. Images about images.
• Week-End by Jean-Luc Godard. When cinema itself becomes the argument.
• Tropical Malady by Apichatpong Weerasethakul. Realism interrupted by myth.
• Mysterious Object at Noon by Apichatpong Weerasethakul. In the ancient tradition of The Thousand and One Nights.
• Zama by Lucrecia Martel. America returns the gaze.
• Meek’s Cutoff by Kelly Reichardt. A Western reframed from the margins.
• The Chronicle of Anna Magdalena Bach by Danièle Huillet and Jean-Marie Straub. The past performed in the present.
• Tardes de soledad by Albert Serra. How one fashions oneself into an image to be seen.
• Free Radicals by Len Lye. Gesture writes motion onto film.
• Mothlight by Stan Brakhage. Matter writes itself onto film.
• Trenque Lauquen by Laura Citarella. Fiction proliferating as cinema.
• Goodbye, Dragon Inn by Tsai Ming-liang. Giving time back its duration.

Among my favorite writers are Jorge Luis Borges, Julio Cortázar, and Roberto Bolaño.

Borges. En una de sus patrias, Ginebra, dejo ante su tumba estas líneas de El Inmortal:

Yo he sido Homero; en breve, seré Nadie, como Ulises; en breve, seré todos: estaré muerto.

Cortázar. El argentino que se hizo querer de todos rests in Montparnasse Cemetery in Paris, near Carlos Fuentes. In December 1968, the two boarded a night train to Prague with García Márquez, and Fuentes asked Cortázar:

cómo y en qué momento y por iniciativa de quién se había introducido el piano en la orquesta de jazz.

Cortázar answered until dawn.

Bolaño. He spent the last eighteen years of his life in Blanes, where he wrote love letters and farewells to his generation.

Toda Latinoamérica está sembrada con los huesos de estos jóvenes olvidados.

His ashes were scattered in the bay of Blanes, while Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima still wander the earth.