We have a description of interactions between native cultures and then we’re discussing murals to Tupac and Diana, and all the grief and floral tributes, converging cultures of mourning:
Living a trauma and watching it play out and then we can identify. The infidelity, the other woman, the boundaries of appropriateness and then she’s dead. A game of hide and seek played out for billions, reflecting our own whispered doubts. The same story, but its happening amidst the glamour and myths of the upper echelons. She crystallised into the original, quintessential, tragic lover, beautiful princess, angel of mercy, and doting mother. Evita’s corpse, a thousand replicas, dyed blond hair. Diana’s charity in death: guaranteed a visa, she crosses borders on stamps, calendars, magazines. But also hints of Sontag: the paparazzi ‘doing her’, banging, blitzing, hosing, ripping, smudging and wacking her. Violence and photography.
Marilyn Monroe, Selena, Evita. The death of beautiful women preserving the culture, through social critique or a sacrifice of the dangerous. Aristotelian tragedy, inevitable tragedy. Also reminds me of the Cantonese signer, Anita Mui, on the stage in her wedding dress, in the final stages of Ovarian cancer. Then Taylor's feeling of the one-night stand, why do we care for the coloniser? Her face lost from the mirror, and the brown girl in pigtails and popped buttons, forced into a colonial box, looks back.
Sixteenth century indigenous poet, Fernando Alvarez Tezozomoc, ‘Never will it be lost, never will it be forgotten, that which they came to do… their renown, their history, their memory… Always we will treasure it… we will tell it, we will pass it on.’ All part of an important developing corpus. Memory as a beating heart: crepuscular canals, wide enough for royal gondolas, locks open and close in rhythm, currents beating like petals of the anemone, healing herbs, death and madness, growing heavy with tiny flowers. :)