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Tropico, Lana Del Rey

And the spirit of John moved upon the face of the waters.

And John said: ”Let there be light.” And there was light.

And John saw that it was good.

Dear John forgive us our sins. (x9)

Creator of all, forgive us our sins.

Thank you.

I wanna tell you where  you at. It was me on this campsite.

And I’m gonna teach you how to be cowboys. And if you want to be tough cowboys.

I don’t wanna hear you cryin’. I don’t wanna hear you belly aching.

You gonna get on that horse on that ride. Don’t be afraid.

Wear your boots up high, your pants low. Lean your hat in the good way.

(- Sex is a part of nature. I go along with nature!)

When you get on that, don’t be jerking on it. Just ride nice and still.

You can do it, I believe you.

Ride with the wind. Don’t complain.

Never say you’re sorry ‘cause sorry is a sign of weakness.

I don’t want you to hide from your mama because I will ran you back out.

You are a good kid. All you little cowboys will do a good job for me.

Make sure you do it, pilgrim, ‘cause I’ll be watching you.

-Life can change on a dime. Sometimes you just have to gamble.

-Yeah, baby, that’s what it is. That’s what it’s all about.


Don’t forget:  Write to your mama.

*Lana Del Rey - Body Electric*

I sing the body electric.

The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them.

They will not let me off ‘till I go with them, respond to them.

(-Man, you’ve got to be crazy!)

And discorrupt them and charge them full with the charge of the soul.

Womanhood, and all that is a woman - and the man that comes from woman,

The womb, the teats, the 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 sun-burnt shade, freckles, hair.

The curious sympathy one feels when feeling the hand of the naked meat of the body.

The circling rivers, the breath, and breathing 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 are within me - the bones and the marrow in the bones, the exquisite realisation 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!

*Lana Del Rey - Gods & Monsters*

(- For I must have you or no one!)

- You know it’s not always gonna be this way, right?
- Yeah…
- So just chill, all right?
- Mhmm
- Alright.
- Yeah.

(-Just remember: I am always there for you.)

In honour of Jack’s birthday tonight;

I thought I bring somebody here tonight that Jack can jack off to.

Are you ready?


-Lord Almighty, I feel my temperature rising (Burning love by Elvis)

(Howl by Allen Ginsberg)

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.

Angel headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo with 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 tenements 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 and 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 the 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.

And so, 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.

Dear John, forgive us our sins. x2

Master of the universe, creator of all, forgive us our sins.

Dear John, forgive us our sins.

(John Wayne’s ”America, Why I Love Her”, July 1964)

*Lana Del Rey - Bel Air*

You are always on my mind. You are always on my mind.

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