Sequence of moments
I was taken there for the first time by Kerouac’s Tristessa. Mexico City offered its streets and roofs, and I, leaving them, had to forget them. Anything else would be too painful. When morphine is the main option for the energy of life, the life packs its suitcases.
Enough years later, I would rather forget the reasons for my existence at the corner of the unknown street. My Muse is dead long time ago. All our stories died with her. Her beauty is destroyed and remembered. Somebody has to proclaim her a saint. But, when I saw her in the window, it was clear that the search is over and that I have to leave everything to enter into that store. You are gone too long anyway. Everybody is accustomed to that state of things. One day delayed and nobody will notice.
I found my self in the unexpected surrounding – in a company of a vinyl which was recorded by Dave Brubeck in Mexico. That was one of the three existing records, the last in my collection, of the Brubeck’s concerts in this city. Bravo, Brubeck! I said thrilled holding the cover in my hands. Bravo, Brubeck! Was heard from the audience at twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth of May in 1967.
If your disappearance was noticed earlier and if I came n this city earlier, who knows, maybe instead of being attracted by the window, I was going to turn into the Auditorio National at the Avenue Paseo de la Reforma, number 50.
And maybe I have done that once before. How can I know who was I before my birth and what happened there beyond the recollections I have. Maybe I lived in Mexic and my name was Juan Lopez Moctezuma. Maybe on the red typing machine (model: 1970 Olivetti Valentine), the following words were typed:
An exhilaration of impatience surrounded the huge National Hall of the capital city. The first notes are coming from Dave Brubeck’s piano, the song is Cielito Lindo. Paul Desmond’s saxophone reacts next. The Morrell’s drums and Jean Wright’s bass introduce us in the ritual. The traditional melody with strong Hispano roots becomes something that gives this quartet a new emotion: Mexican music which is jazz at the same time.
Definite representation of the commonplace of our time: Jazz does not know any borders!
Let’s say that I’ve got the Olivetti Valentine typing machine from the neighbor, Pablo. That in exchange I gave him my champion cock. There was no such as he was. The ghost of its song was going to wake me even today if I am… what I probably am.