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Rating: A crazed jazz musician plays his sax nonstop, trapped in a trajectory of perdition that is leading him adrift in the cosmos. A cosmos that extends its malevolent tentacles around that tiny orbiting being, casting shadows in the crevices of his trembling soul. The astronaut-musician traverses the galactic scenarios, heedless, follows a hyperbole of damnation, a Dantean spiral drawing him into the most hidden depths of the universe.
By now, the warmth of his kind is a distant memory, fading into the perennial chill of space silence. But the blood continues to pulse violently, and the energy of his music boils; the sax becomes a propellant, the cosmonaut musician imparts the force of his art onto the instrument, which now takes him for a ride, like in a graceful stroll, a choreography that unfolds among fragments of asteroids; earthly beauty and the memories of human symphonies envelop him in a bubble that protects him.
And then the very dark recesses of the unknown are no longer frightening, they move further and further away. The black now seems bluish, icy dust thickens, stellar materials and vestiges of chaos reorder and gather obediently to the force of human logos, which paints through sound waves a landscape suitable for him. The pitch black transfigures. Dark matter reveals itself, and the deaf music of the delirious cosmonaut begins to resonate in the cold rooms of the galaxy.
The saxophonist is not alone, trailing towards Alpha Centauri follow a keyboardist and a drummer. Equally unperturbed, they play and carve out their vital space in those vaults that just moments before seemed totally inhospitable and inhuman. They draw, color, embroider the stars into more humanly plausible forms. The persistence and stubbornness of the music carve a groove, bending and carving silence until the creation is complete. The trio, without realizing it, has terraformed the empty space that was suffocating them.
Now a vast desert landscape surrounds them, but far off, the corrugations of mountains stand out, a valley makes its way into the sand, the sweet waters of a stream, timidly, dare to traverse those new terrains, conceived by the mind and shaped by the hand, sculpted by brain waves that, wandering in the void, have finally discovered the secret of life, of art, of creation.
The battle against entropy is won, for the moment. The three companions traverse the valley, exploring. The sky is clear, but the sweet blue of Earth is still far off. The vault retains absurd colors. A star has drawn near, warming the air. But it is a pink, alien sun. They remove their helmets, breathe. In the distance, they see something approaching. It is a monolith, another tool of creation. But this time they cannot use it; their limbs are not capable of operating it.
The stellar messenger opens its vertiginous cavern. An inscription in runic characters is read.
"La cometa sta arrivando".
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