Count Julian - pg. 63

as the mulatto girl whirls round and round the stage,
overcome by the contagious, epileptic frenzy of the
drums: her brassiere barely concealing the volcanic
eruption of her breasts, her little triangular island
of satin indicating, unmistakably, the precise location
of the treasure-trove: fifteen men on dead men's chest,
yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!: the rough sea chanties
of freebooters, the imperishable magic of Robert
Louis Stevenson!: her torso writhing, her hip swaying:
in slow, persistent, dialectical, rotary motions: a corkscrew
or a propeller: in the limbo between being and nonbeing:
the epicenter, the bottomless navel, the recruiting post
for the human legion!: pleading for masculine help with
parched lips, provoking a sudden flux of blood with her
frenzied eyes: accompanied by the musical erection of
a throbbing Negro rhythm, the repeated muscular contractions
apparently bringing an orgasm: taking the blow and
enduring the torture with the heroism of the defenders
of Numantia: waves and floods of water that increase
and multiply, crash down, inundate, penetrate, penetrate:
suggestive hypothesis that converge on the focal point
of the dogma and crystallize to announce the glad tidings:
it's coming! it's coming!