• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Monthly Archives: December 2013

spectral saliva on my lips

22 Sunday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Illustration and art, Poetry

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a girl with her katana, art, bleed lover, poem, spectral saliva on my lips, straw hats and dickies

Dec 22, 2013 (1)

Dec 22, 2013 (2)

Dec 22, 2013 (3)

][][

I love you better than
that girl and her orphan

boy at the railing
of the paddle boat, steam

and straw hats and dickies
a shower of rice push

through my skin thin fabric
you pull out in the places

and plumb the drifts
down the coast I bend

down the blade where
you whispered is so sharp

it burns my neck skin on
my body all upset Saul

spectral saliva on my lips
gasping I kiss your open

blood bliss you’ve
just gone numb

zora neale huston

20 Friday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Illustration and art

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Alice Walker, art, biography, Zora Neale Hurston

Dec 20, 2013 (8)

Dec 20, 2013 (9)

Dec 20, 2013 (7)

Dec 20, 2013 (10)

(January 7, 1891 – January 28, 1960) was an American folklorist, anthropologist, author, working during the time of the Harlem Renaissance. Of Hurston’s four novels and more than 50 published short stories, plays, and essays, she is perhaps best known for her 1937 novel Their Eyes Were Watching God.

Despite her skill and talent she did not receive the sort of fame and support other male members of the Harlem Renaissance. This was due to many factors. Readers at the time objected to the representation of African-American dialect in her novels, claiming it as a caricature of African-American culture rooted in a racist tradition. Critics such as Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison charged that her work wasn’t “political and as a result there are no theme, no message, no thought [in Hurston’s work].” Hurston last years were marked with extreme poverty, working as a maid and finally dying homeless.

Many years after her death an article, “In Search of Zora Neale Hurston,” by Alice Walker, revived interest in her work. Other authors such as Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou, championed her work as well. One modern critic has pointed out that “[Wright and Ellison], while interested in that which fit into their narrow view of ‘political’ but were quick to dismiss anything written by a woman, especially a woman who might question their own prejudices and views.” In 2002, scholar Molefi Kete Asante listed Zora Neale Hurston on his list of 100 Greatest African Americans.

daughters of the kaiten: female deep sea divers in art

20 Friday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Illustration and art

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art, deep sea female divers, Heaven Shaker, Kaiten, my heroes, Ocean Empress, Sarah Bernhardt, 回天

Dec 20, 2013 (1)

Dec 20, 2013 (2)

Dec 20, 2013 (3)

Dec 20, 2013 (4)

Dec 20, 2013 (5)

Dec 20, 2013 (6)

note:

The Kaiten (回天), a Japanese term, loosely translated means, “Heaven Shaker” or “Change the World.” Ultimately it was the term used to describe human-torpedoes and other suicide-craft used by the Imperial Japanese Navy in the final stages of World War II. I use it here because it has a far older meaning that has since been lost, that of doing something so spectacular it changes the heavens and the seas forever.

The images used here are of various experimental deep sea scuba diving suits, though the last is of the 1880 actress Sarah Bernhardt in a diving suit while playing the role of the Ocean Empress (photographer unknown).

Video

down at the fish disco

18 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in .gif, Humor

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artist unknown, down at the fish disco, gif, Humor

Dec 18, 2013 (6)

you, me and margo channing

18 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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art, cocksucker, poem, Poetry, rust of your tum-tum, sick-smack-junk-cunt, sonnet, writing in Free Verse is like playing tennis without a net

Dec 18, 2013 (3)

It was those thousand years of poetry
before “cocksucker” appeared in print, back

when Free Verse was the bad boy with acne
and brylcreem. When simply writing, “sick,” “smack,”

“junk,” “cunt,” made you historic. Those twee times,
niminy-piminy with dead white dollops

and all that rot. Poems should work like lines
of pure cocaine. If they don’t fuck you up

then its crap. I want verse that you must rinse
in blood to understand, cut all the rust

of your tum to open. Write lines demanding
guts. Yours. Spilled like great art. But I’m crap since

I can’t figure out how to do that just
now you’ll have to settle for this warning.

and a little more of my childhood dies

18 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Illustration and art

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a little bit of my childhood just died, art, artist unknown, Calvin and Hobbes, Christopher Robins and Winnie the Pooh, sob

Dec 18, 2013 (1)

Dec 18, 2013 (2)

“don’t worry, we did just fine …”

ah, grief. this is my teddy bear. he’s 43 years-old, given to my by my uncle on the day of my birth. i’m sharing him with you because we all have something that we love and keep secret from everyone else. i don’t even know who is reading this but, please, when my time comes as it does for everyone please make sure he’s buried with me. i do not want to spend eternity without at least one friend by my side.

edge of my skin [2]

18 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

art, barrow wraith, edge of my skin, grave-fresh thighs, Japanese Shinto priestess, miko, orgasm, poem, Poetry, sonnet, why faith destroys

Dec 17, 2013 (4)

Dec 17, 2013 (3)

Dec 17, 2013 (2)

I still remember your touch, after all
of this time every time I close my eyes

I go back again to that night; the small
softness of your fingers, all those dumb lies

I said to keep you as you grazed my skin
with your lips as our tongues touched. How could I

have kept you safe from my zealots? Cretin
you should have called me, not lover. Defy

us, we who burn witches and call it truth.
We who preach hate and call it love. Wake, wake,

love, in this aftermath, although entwined
around you, our Eden ends. Faith, like youth,

knows all. How can I claim that my heart breaks
when I let — when I’m a child, vain and blind?

edge of my skin

18 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

art, barrow wraith, edge of my skin, grave-fresh thighs, Japanese Shinto priestess, miko, orgasm, poem, Poetry, sonnet

Dec 17, 2013 (5)

Dec 17, 2013 (6)

Dec 17, 2013 (7)

Remembering that night makes desire
shake once again. I play it over in

my mind — the thrill of memory sets fire
to my nerves — I’m on the edge of my skin

aching to be set free with your mouth, hand,
tongue all that makes me feel that we did this

before, we’ll do this again. I expand
down your throat. When you part your grave-fresh thighs

I kiss all that I can find. Science still
can’t teach us if orgasms aren’t or are

human sublimity that we call faith.
I know that you came through the door to kill

me, I know that I love you: thief, bizarre
ghost girl, libido, love, barrow wraith.

calling this evil

18 Wednesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

black magic, calling this evil, learn your Latin, poem, Poetry, problem with dualism, sonnet, white magic

Where did you read this crap? Some fake shaman
selling pure bullshit by the pound? Nekros

means “dead.” Manteia means “divination.”
But the opposite isn’t medicus,

as in “healer,” it is fraus, as in “fraud.”
As in refusing the world of Spirit.

As in calling this evil; that sad, odd
faith that refuses all that does not fit

easily. Black? White? Dualism sucks.
If you don’t call on the dead to guide you

who do you call? The man-made gods who burn
witches? That’s like turning to the eunuchs

for sex advice. Embrace the dead, you who
will be one soon. Watch. Listen. Fucking learn.

yuugure and the mountain demoness

17 Tuesday Dec 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Prose

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Tags

age difference, cunnilingus, erotica, female Japanese mountain demon, onibaba, prose, Yuugure

 

Yuugure stared at the hulking she-demon chained to the stonewall. It still resembled, a bit, his darling Sayomi. It had her arms, her purple eyes, her mother-birthing tummy, but they were larger now, bestial in ways the human form was never intended to be. Her whole body was covered in soft fur, like that of a mountain boar, but impossibly red. The thing — she — was deformed, with the legs of a woman mixed up with those of some fiendish shadow, a spark of mist and hatred, muscled, hungering as she strained against the thick iron that held her.

Was it really still a “she”? Undoubtedly. Sayomi’s small breasts had transformed, her cunt grown obscene. What had once been legs were now curved like that of a goat. It was those legs that she had used to carry off a ten year-old village boy, only a year younger than Yuugure himself, like a lamb to the slaughter. Yuugure couldn’t bear to think about what the villagers had discovered when they finally tracked the beast to her lair. He had to get his Sayomi back.

The mountain demon glowered at him, her teeth bared as if she would consume him at the first opportunity. Yuugure found himself staring at its eyes — her eyes — glowing in the candlelight. They seemed so much like Sayomi’s at first glance, but were now twisted, transformed. They were eyes that wanted nothing more than to watch the world burn.

Sayomi had spent the holy night of Shimekazari, when each household would invite the kami in as sacred guests, far away from everyone else in the village. She almost never participated in Shinto festivities, spending her time alone in meditation, deep in the mountains. When she would return, as she always did, she would never talk about what had happened to her, preferring instead to hold Yuugure.s tiny body tight against her, telling him that she would never do anything to harm him. Her wolfish scent would intoxicate the boy, the warmth of her body lull him to sleep. At first all her talk was baffling. Now it was routine. This time, though, everything was different. When Yuugure had gone to the well to fetch water he found his lover, old enough to be his own mother, naked, crawling upon hands and knees from out of the dark forest, bloody and insane.

Insane? Of course; no human being who talked as she did could still be considered connected to the physical world.

“I did it,” she gasped. “I drank from an onibaba’s footprint.”

A what? An onibaba? The female ogre of fairy tales? What did that even mean? Instead of answering any of his questions Sayomi went into the house and fell into a magical sleep. The message had seemed cryptic at first but now he understood. Even an eleven year-old orphan could see that there had been a change in the older woman that day.

Sayomi was a Kokumajutsu-shi, a dark witch. A few neighbors knew of her ties to the spirit world and would come, from time to time, to beg her for favors, the sort that the local Shinto priests would always refuse to grant.

There was a lot that Yuugure did not know about his Sayomi except that she loved him and he loved her so he ignored her often dark mood swings and tendency to seek out the most taboo realms of the spiritual world, or so she would claim. That was the problem with using the dark arts to solve problems that her neighbors and fellow villagers should have been able to handle all by themselves. Often they would return, the sorry bastards, begging for her to lift whatever spell or blessing that they themselves had requested. Yet, despite all the damage mere mortals seemed to bring down upon their own heads, Sayomi had healed without pay or complaint everyone who wandered through her door, granting absolute discretion to all the village girls when they came to her in tears over pregnancies they did not want.

“Of course I believe in evil,” Sayomi once said. “Anyone who brings an unloved soul into this world of sin is committing evil. To give birth to something unwanted but forced to live? unloved? uncared for? Even the oni are not so cruel. Better to skip a reincarnation, come back in a new body that will be loved than to be born an orphan whose only fate is to starve to death or be sold into slavery. Any parent who would do less is not fit to be called human.”

Now, though, Yuugure’s lover was gone and the female oni was all that remained. When the boy walked too close she shot out a powerful arm that caused the thick cold iron chains, set into stone with huge bolts, to groan and complain. Each time that Yuugure stepped too close the demoness began to rage. The heat of her breath assaulted his face. Her red arms and legs had muscles her had never seen before, like twisted oak roots. Her fat lips and kissable mouth were now the jaws of a deathtrap.

This all had started months before. Sayomi had begun to run away at night. Yuugure had never really understood, assuming it had something to do with being an adult and her dark witchiers. At first her odd behavior was even a little exciting. She would go during the night and return at daybreak. When she did, she would take the boy to their bed. She was rough and wild, unlike anything she had shown him before, biting and holding him down as she forced his cock deep inside her body. She tore at his skin and licked wherever she could find exposed flesh. Her nipples would grow hard then, each time she mauled him. It was as if the night in the woods had left her ravenous and she would literally howl each time he orgasmed inside her.

Then there was the blood. Sayomi had gone out one night and like before she came home in a daze, unkempt and dirty. She had crawled into bed where he was waiting, already excited and hard, awaiting the moment that she would ravage him. There was something safe each time she did it, except that night when he looked at her bared teeth and saw that they were stained with blood. Yuugure screamed for his love to stop, that something dreadful was wrong, but she heedlessly mounted him. The head of his cock touched her inner lips and he could feel her immediately become even wetter. There was something wrong, this time, though. She crouched over him like a nightmare, eyes gleaming as she rammed her hips down, impaling herself on him. He was afraid this time, terribly afraid. His cock started to hurt as if her cunt were made up of nothing but thousands of tiny barbs and he cried out in pain but she still wouldn’t stop.

Afterward he cried as she slept next to him.

The next morning she had no memory of what had happened. She became quiet when he told her, his dark boy eyes running with tears, about the blood in her mouth and what she had done. Sayomi was never one to exaggerate, but her eyes showed deep fear as she held him and whispered over and over that she was sorry.

It was on that same day that Hidou, a neighbor and Sayomi’s good friend, knocked on their door. She had come wanting a protective charm for her eight year-old son. Sayomi had laughed and told Hidou that boys weren’t the ones who needed protection. Hidou shook her head and told them that there was a rumor that an oibaba were stealing away their village boys.

First it had just been farm animals that had been disappearing of late. A few people had blamed a wolf that had been seen in the mountains, but that all had changed when something that clearly walked on two feet had dragged away a screaming village child. The town was in an uproar and everyone was afraid. On the very hour of her visit Sayomi made Hidou a special talisman blessed by their Shinto priest and told her friend to make sure that her son should never take it off.

That was the day everything in Yuugure’s life changed. He was shocked when Sayomi secreted herself to the outer barn where the ancient chains were. She stood in a corner on that cold day, naked, shackles hanging loosely on her arms and legs and then sent Yuugure away, ordering the boy not to come into the barn for any reason.

That evening everything was quiet. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breath. The sun began to set and Yuugure became afraid. The barn echoed with choked and muffled screams and the sick sound of ripping flesh and cracking bone. When Sayomi’s screams became a hideous roar, the boy crept into the barn to find — not Sayomi — but the onibaba, a real flesh and blood mountain demon, leering at him, steaming billowing out of her wicked mouth. Yuugure opened his mouth to scream in turn but no noise came forth. Sayomi’s breasts and cunt were still mostly human, made of the same powerful muscles as her legs and arms. Her face however was indeed the stuff of nightmare. Wide eyes and pointed horns poked out from the red fur that covered the rest of her body.

Yuugure ran from the room and hid in their bed, weeping at what had become of his beloved Sayomi. In the morning, he awoke to find the older woman in bed with him, back in her human form, sleeping in the throws of a fever-dream. For the rest of the day she lay unconscious. As the evening approached, though, she finally rolled over on her side and spoke to the boy.

“I have unnatural appetites.” Sayomi spoke hoarsely. “I have tried again and again to curb my hunger but it doesn’t work. I suffer and soon I will not be able to stop control myself from breaking loose and killing the first person I see. It might be one of our neighbors. It might be you. I need you to help me.”

“Haii! Anything I can do, please,” Yuugure pulled her muscled body as close as his thin arms allowed. Despite his fear feeling her smooth skin and warmth again calmed his heart.

“Find a dog or goat. Kill it for me. Then feed it to me when I am chained. Once the demon is fed perhaps then we can figure out a way to stop it.”

“Can you stop it?” Yuugure asked, stroking her aching body. “I can go bring the priest.”

“No.” Sayomi shook her head. “I have to do this myself. I can’t kill another innocent soul.”

“But you are so strong,” Yuugure began to kiss her face. “I know you can do anything. I’ll help too. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“I don’t deserve a boy like you.” Sayomi smiled. It was the first smile he had seen in days. It was the same smile that had bewitched him a year before that let her drag him away from the fire at the midsummer’s festivities. He had followed the strange, older woman into the shadows and was shocked when she let him take her. He had been a virgin before that night. Every time she smiled like that he knew that he would do it all over. Yuugure reached over and ran his hand up Sayomi’s thigh, exploring between her legs, touching her clit with his soft hands. She moaned a little and licked her lips.

“Please, Yuugure-chan. I’m tired. Being a boy-flesh crazed monster takes a lot of energy,” Sayomi began to roll away but he held her back in his arms and began to caress her even more.

“Then be still, oneesan,” the little boy teased, dipping his fingers into her hot, buttery wetness. Her body began to tense and relax as little waves of pleasure sloshed within. “Let me help you get rid of that demon in you.”

Sayomi began to breathe harder. She touched Yuugure’s naked skin as the age-old pleasures began to overwhelm her senses. “Don’t’ stop,” she pleaded.

“Do you want me to use my mouth?” Yuugure licked his pretty lips.

“Hai!” Sayomi was in ecstasy.

He drew his body down so that she could feel his young, boyish breath against her sodden girl-lips, the hard T-bone of her clit. She thrust her hips up, involuntarily. Parting her lips he moved all over with his tongue. Yuugure loved the way Sayomi tasted inside his mouth. She made an excellent teacher, so he took it slow at first and then faster, seeing just how deep his tongue could go. He wanted her cum now, to her pleasure to fill his mouth, just so he could hear how she would moan as she flooded because she always flooded and this time …

… when her shaking subsided, when he had swallowed everything, he crawled up and rested his head on her breasts so that he could hear her heart pound crazy. It gave him a thrill to know he made her heart race like that.

[to be continued] …

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