Just a moment ago I was listening on the radio a reference to a book by José Manuel Vazquez titled "El ruido de las cosas al caer" - Something like "The noise of falling things."
It is about our obsession for knowing what a black box of a plane registered on the last minutes of its flying. In paralell, the radio played the recording of the last comunication between the pilot of the plane transporting the brazilian soccer players, with the control tower.
It's very shocking to listen to the pilot requesting desperately for a vector for entering the landing strip, knowing that he was already died but he didn't know it.
We were waiting for the black boxes since yesterday to know something that the most of us is unable to understand. It's the technological register of the falling down of something, the end of something, the register of the end of a life. And in the very end, it's an intent to understand our own falling down reflected on the another's life.
And we are concerned to know how long this falling down was. They had time to think about it?, what did they think.? It lasted seconds, or minutes? That is the noise of falling things, the technological register of that lapse of time that seems endless, but we have to pass throught it some day, when our shift is over, and we are curious about it.