“Dear Indian: I heard your voice for the first time alone in my pubescent room. I was in prison in my city, which for me was that big house in the neighborhood. The doors and windows where your lyrics took me -like sorrows that roll and escape- made me discover the world upside down”, begins the post on Twitter by Fernando Casas, a journalist from Registered Journal and author and actor of A Round Workthe theater’s tribute to Los Redondos.
So, to him who wrote the chronicles of his shows -here, the one of the last show in Olavarría-, he came across Petinatto on TV and together with his artistic collective, he promoted the construction of a sculpture of Indio Solari in a suburban square, we ask him to expand even more than in his networks. And this visceral text came out.
“For a 10-year-old boy to discover himself in that poetry was an intense, semi-clandestine and mobilizing madness that increasingly muddied, from the legs to the soul and the brain. I realized that more when I analyzed myself. Hard fallopas in soft types It was a warning. Not an apology. To be round is to be curious, attentive to the stew we are in. Always stir because there is surely meat below.
I’m even grateful for the danger you put us in. The images like blots, so fast and run over until we find the exact place where it beats us. The skin… The best and the worst of looking at the miseries. But also not underestimate yourself and trust our luck and reputation. Jump, measure acrobatics and jump to face the new quilombito that you have to face. Being part of a us, being as with almost nothing in this world, as oneself. And we couldn’t lie to each other anymore. Being faithful to pleasure no matter how much fuss. Take care of your ass…
It’s crazy that I still can’t believe I’ve written a play to tell ‘the little story of Los Redondos’ to that respectable audience of which I am a part. This unprecedented place where you also took me as a journalist to tell, write, chronicle, and even put the caripela in the idiot eye -but not the other cheek-.
It’s all part of the excitingly alive that makes us shudder when we hear you howl in our ears, speak in desperate whispers. About better things that we have already suffered, the last kidnapping that is the theft of the state of mind, the two tragedies of the human being, the flags that we wave in our hearts, that life cannot be lived in a glass bloodletcher; of geniuses, cursed loves, of death and you, of defeated victors, political prisoners as common locked up, of violence as lies, small and simple businesses… From God! The one who plays dice may be in our favor and the one that will turn out better for us. From the future!, which is here and now.
So happy birthday old man, that.
Happy 74!”
