In his latest work, philosopher Walter Benjamin describes an angel who flies with his gaze turned to the past and his back to the future: buildings and ideologies rubbles accumulate before his eyes [musical instruments at the bottom of the ocean, malfunctioning radars, beached whales] and the angel would like to stop and mend those rubbles, but a storm swells his wings and drags him relentlessly forward [dead babies, statues in Antarctica, fluorescent rabbits]: we call this storm progress. Although the angel observes the succession of events [hands on piano keys, atomic mushrooms, postcards in the jungle] and tries to resist the storm, he cannot stop and intervene, he cannot glue the pieces together again and rebuild a shared reality, he can do absolutely nothing to help us - maybe only because angels don’ t exist [cyanide cocktails, irrational numbers, tales around the fire]. What other conscious being could try to recompose something broken, take stories apart and - flying or not - finally turn around to project their gaze forward?