1) We have a big view of the mountain. An Ibis is flying across it now. Paulino Rubio has a voice like pure blue water crashing white against the rocks. Forcing itself white into rocks. So stupid and childish. Willful. Like three pigeons above me. Hawked soon. Ultimate beauty. Wildness. A child in the wilderness. Eve, in the garden, with a weed between her teeth.
2) Madonna, just look at yourself. Or look at the dragon-figure of Sophia Loren propped up at the Oscar's. Like the Statue of Liberty's skeleton. Like Frankenstein. Look also at Meryl Streep, beautiful woman. Guido, my German friend, says, Madonna, your voice is thin. But you are still, I am sure, too much for me. But look, please, at Sophia Loren. I saw a picture of young Sophia, posing for Emilio Greco. She's seated. Hands clasped. Eyes aglow. It's black and white, but colors are exploding in me. The portrait Greco's drawing looks nothing like her.
3) The building of a Diva-- Gloria Trevi. Everyone loves a comeback (especially from such sordid circumstances) and this one proves that you CAN dress up a pig, lipstick, etc. After the building builds up a bit of speed and momentum it goes crashing harmlessly through all the glass doors...All aboard!
(She reminds me a bit of Tina Turner.)
4) Peter Murphy's Crystal Wrists. I have felt in twilight grief my blood clanging out of me like ice. And I would walk up into clouds. This is the music playing.
5) O-Zone--- Let's paint our chests red and yellow and green and dance. Let's feel up the trees. Grow tails. And swing the sky. Happy and high as a bright red jelly bean.
6) La Quinta Estacion-- more top-40 Mexican music. Walking through a market and out on to a plaza and handing out white plastic flowers. My wife thinks this music sucks. I think she (La Quinta) is a pied piper, red hair and all. And I'd follow her to the ends of the earth, my long tail twitching, gnashing down, and gushing down into wet oblivion.
7) Let's go into the jungle, in a canoe, just you and me. Like sugarcane, death's so dark and so sweet. My fingers are swollen. Eyes throbbing. We are paddling, you and me. Colors, all day dark, now get darker. Stars like a skull in a graveyard. Perhaps its a greyhound's skull. O, those days under the trees watching them race (and the man on the loudspeaker asking if anyone had any "spare cats")! Your voice is a shawl. The back of your hand against my cheek. When I'm dying, play this music, please.