These are more or less the main details.
… As you can observe, I have been painting — which is a lot to say, since I have spent my life loving Diego and being a good-for- nothing with respect to work, but now I continue loving Diego, and what’s more I have begun painting monkeys seriously.
… You can tell Boit that I am behaving very well in the sense that I do not drink as much cognac, tequila, etc. I consider this one more step forward toward the liberation of the … oppressed classes. I drank to drown my pain, but the damned pain learned how to swim….
O Mexico
And she closes her eyes onto a bed of nails, and she dies back a little and she watches an armada 11 ships 500 men 32 crossbows, and she watches from the distance the little conquistador Hemán Cortés grow slowly monstrous in her sight. The new Spain.
A comet with three heads hangs over the land.
A temple burns to the ground—
The Heart of the One World breaking open
magenta kisses
The new Spain they say.
The new Spain they say O Mexico!
La Uorona weeping for her dead children
La Malinche, La Chingada, the violated one—
She weeps.
All the violated ones.
See the tubes of fire, magical six-legged beasts O see
A world of betrayal, blood and ruin
As confirmed by the Aztec prophecy
And in her black pupil she holds her ancient world:
Aztec, Toltec, Mayan, Olmec — at her fetish altar
And she goes further — to the Chichimeca, dog people originated from the Place of Cranes — at her fetish altar — and then further — and she bites down
Fifty thousand years before. Until the end of the fourth ice age the indigenous people came across the Bering Strait. Venga, she smiles and waves.
Through the Demerol now she greets Tezcatlipoca, have a drink, the god of evil, embodiment of darkness, the smoking mirror. And Quetzalcoatl, his benevolent reflection, spirit bird, redeemer, winged eternity of wind, precious twin. Do you have a light? She holds the double burning bird in her mirrored eye. Dark and light. 2 Fridas, one who is whole and one who is broken. Not the leg.
She watches Quetzalcoatl on his doomed path now. Drinking deeply from the cup, who has tasted such sweetness? until he loses all memory, then self, then—
and when his lovely sister enters
and when his lovely sister enters the bedchamber
he succumbs and succumbs and succumbs again.
Ashamed he knows he cannot stay and builds a raft of snakes. Goodbye. She hears him say in the Year of One Reed I shall return one day.
Each year the solar calendar leaves five empty days. Days of waiting. Days in vain. The Toltecs wait. The Aztecs wait. Thousands of years are passing without a sign of him. Frida laughs. Look, now, on the horizon, is it you, can it really be you returned? It’s you she cackles drugged and babbling. In a year of One Reed: 1519.
Lord Quetzalcoatl, Moctezuma bows to him. Beloved one. How long we’ve waited. But it is the one deranged by gold-lust who takes his hand.
Carrying tubes of fire, the six-legged beast comes, carrying smallpox, sorrow.
Cortés.
And where there were once villages of mud and clay, flying buttresses. At the heart of the One World all the temples, pyramids destroyed. She closes her eyes to the ruins still.
Now flying buttresses.
The arrogance of their touch.
The Spanish army had so overloaded their horses with gold and treasure that hundreds were drowned as they crossed Lake Texcoco.
The arrogance of their touch — Ferdinand, Isabella, Santa Anna, Cortes. Blood and blood and greed and ruin.
And the French.
My dog people: heart, heart. The hundred lamentations. Father Hildago dreaming liberation …
All the tyrants loss and blood and sorrow. Cinco de Mayo.Napoleon. Porfirio Diaz.
And Frida, “daughter of la raza,” sings a revolution song.
Drinking tequila like a real mariachi. 1913.
Tonight I will get drunk
Child of my heart
Tomorrow is another day
And you will see that I am right.
The sun clanging.
She breathes on the glass. She draws an O
She dreams, and dies a little
Mexico!
Votive: Devotion
… No words can describe Diego’s immense tenderness toward the things that possess beauty, his affection for beings who do not have anything to do with the current classless society, or his respect for those oppressed by it. He especially cares about the Indians to whom he is linked by blood; he loves them dearly because of their elegance, beauty and for being the living flower of the cultural tradition of America. He loves children, all animals — especially bold Mexican dogs — birds, plants and rocks. He loves all beings without being docile or neutral. He is very affectionate but he never gives himself completely; for this reason, and because he hardly has time to dedicate to personal relations, they call him ungrateful. He is respectful and refined.…
… He is not sentimental but he is intensely emotional and passionate. Inertia exasperates him because he is a continued, live and potent flow. Because of his extraordinary good taste, he appreciates all that contains beauty, be it a woman or a mountain.… Like the cacti of his land, he grows strong and amazing either in sand or on rocks; he blossoms in a lively red, the most transparent white, and sunlike yellow. Covered by thorns, he protects his tenderness inside. He lives with his strong sap in a ferocious environment. He shines alone like a sun avenging the gray color of rocks. His roots go beyond the anguish of solitude and sadness and of all the frailties that dominate other beings. He stands up with amazing power, then blossoms and bears fruit like no other plant.
(And when she is sick he will distract her by dancing around the bed with a tambourine pretending to be a bear.)
Disintegration
Awakening on black slap
Awakening on black slap paint (no new pain though, take.
Take
Take what?
the pigeon made mistakes
toe by toe by toe — take
night