National Anthem Monologue (I Still Love Him)
And I remember when I met him, it was so clear that he was the only one for me.
We both knew it, right away.
And as the years went on, things got more difficult—
we were faced with more challenges.
I begged him to stay.
Try to remember what we had at the beginning.
He was charismatic, magnetic, electric and everybody knew it.
When he walked in every woman’s head turned, everyone stood up to talk to him.
He was like this hybrid, this mix of a man who couldn’t contain himself. I always got the sense that he became torn between being a good person and missing out on all of the opportunities that life could offer a man as magnificent as him.
And in that way I understood him and I loved him.
I loved him, I loved him, I loved him.
And I still love him.
I love him.
National Anthem, Ride or Tropico?
imo, Ride monologue is the best.
Ahora que escuché “National Anthem”, la estrofa final me fascinó, y va así:
Lana Del Rey TROPICO
Womanhood, and all that is a woman, and the man that comes from woman, The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laughter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouting aloud, Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sweat, sleep, walking, swimming, Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm-curving and tightening, The continual changes of the flex of the mouth, and around the eyes, The skin, the sunburnt shade, freckles, hair, The curious sympathy one feels when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body, The circling rivers the breath, and breathing it in and out, The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees, The thin red jellies within you or within me, the bones and the marrow in the bones, The exquisite realization of health; O I say these are not the parts and poems of the body only, but of the soul, O I say now these are the soul! - “I Sing the Body Electric” by Walt Whitman
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz, who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated, who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war, who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull, who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall, who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York, who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares - "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg
From being created in his likeness to being banished from wanting to be too much like him, we were cast out and the Garden of Eden transformed into the garden of evil. Los Angeles. The city of angels, the land of gods and monsters. The in between realm where only the choices made from your freewill will decide your soul’s final fate. Some poets called it the entrance to the underworld, but on some summer nights it could feel like paradise. Paradise lost. - Lana Del Rey
Can you just be there? Without asking questions? I can’t bring myself to answer any of your questions. I want to feel that you’re here for me. That’s all.
Keith Haring. The Political Line* @ Le Musée d’Art moderne de la Ville de Paris
Central Perk ♥