(Some subtitles. Which can be chapters, which are motivations)

The devil on the beach.  Lucifer, the light bearer. The most beautiful angel in heaven who, for defying God's creative power, is condemned. The fallen angel.

Deleuze's umbrella. The struggle against chaos. In the face of which science and philosophy create a protective umbrella, while art opens cracks, fissures through which chaos and light seep.

Tarkovski's room. Light as space, creator of atmospheres, temperatures, appearances or remoteness. Light to inhabit or to diffuse. Ghostly relations.

The womb of the old woman. The capacity to create. From a womb, from a head, from a sensibility, from which nothing new is expected. A place from which it is possible to ask questions and, perhaps, to grope for an answer. The great gift, an epiphany.

The transfer of the corpse. Where to take it, what space to find for our ruins, the ruins of the old Europe that, as Agamben says in When the house is burning, we have put so many patches on them and given them so many coats of paint, that they seem intact.

The shape of the brain. From Europe has the shape of my brain, by Cartarescu. Shared thinking. But also a generalised sense of completion, of the end of a civilisation (the last of Steiner's axioms to define The Idea of Europe).

Europe after the rain

Steiner's café, the strategists

The Death of Mickey Mouse

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