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memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Author Archives: babylon crashing

talented cocksuckers

22 Wednesday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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bite hard, come and get it boo, oral sex, poem, Poetry, sinner man, sonnet, talented cocksuckers

Tasting my sex. I want sweat to drip. Eyes
rolled back in your skull. Come large. Come erect.

Come rub it. Come touch it. Come eat it. Sighs
and drawls speak in crazy tongues. You have wrecked

me for anyone else. When I say, “don’t
bite me,”
I know that you will. When I say,

“don’t waste even a drop,” I know you won’t.
Impaled mouth. Hollow cheeks. Until I spray

blessings down your throat, you keep your eyes shut.
There are many talented cocksuckers

in this world, but out of all I chose you
because you’re mad and bad and you don’t slut

shame. I come each time I hear that sinner’s
voice on the phone say, “Come and get it, boo.”

mutate

22 Wednesday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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after the surgery, bleak chest, blood mad, mutate, poem, Poetry, scars, sonnet

In the night, I feel you strip my bed clothes
off me, flesh on flesh on my hair, just cut,

drifts down against your neck. You are there, nose
nuzzled, lips pressed against the pale riot-

root scar of my bleak chest. I feel your weight
on my body. It’s not all that I feel.

Softly, slowly both of us will mutate
into the other: the hungry, ideal

hunter, the shyest of bucks. In the night
I’m blood-mad, as if the orgasm’s prey

would now cure me. As if I were the brave
one and you slowly giving up the fight.

I promise, one day you will hear me say
“I love you” while standing over my grave.

splays you out

21 Tuesday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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affair, break rules, dirty grrl, married sex, poem, Poetry, sonnet, splays you out

Rule one: you can’t be single — singles get
the whole world handed to them — they have rules,

rules to break — I adore lovers with debt,
lovers who missed out. Let grief be what fuels

your lust. Let taboo be what ties you up
and splays you out. No hiding from your lust

just yet. Give me a wanna-be trollop,
a day-dreaming dirty grrl. She-who-must-

thrust-her-hips-while-her-children-are-sleeping.
Fluids and sweat gleam … what new debauching

will we dream up tonight? We both hunger
after something new, my married lover.

I have never been told that I’m a whore.
You’ve never begged for mercy and for more.

][][

notes:

“The only sensible way to live in this world is without rules. And tonight, you’re gonna break your one rule.” — Heath Ledger’s Joker

soared flashed gone

21 Tuesday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

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erotic, exhibitionist, finger fucking, hot springs, Las Vegas, Nevada, poem, Poetry, soared flashed gone, sonnet

Foliage dark mass fringed by your thighs we’re rude
north of Vegas two hour drunken blur

red rocks screening our bodies laying nude
upon rocks above the hot spring, under

the cliff’s shadow nature is nudity
grace-like you stand hands on hips gazing

upon my half-open calves and fleshy
gingersnaps we have been finger fucking

soared flashed gone all day tease taste swallow deep
throat gag control we came here to get high

above the valley floor you shudder seize
my skull press me deeper until you weep

when I go down. Looking up, you reply:
please please please please please please please please please please …

count each scar

16 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

brackish mare, count each scar, grief, loss, my sister my lover, poem, Poetry, sonnet, the wave's door, water-witch

Water-witches follow the sea’s rough path,
cross to the wave’s door, ride the brackish mare

tide-ways home. I loved a witch. In my bath
she would let me wash her back, braid her hair,

count each scar. I think of her on the shore,
calling the drowned to come home. Souls like fish

swallowed up. I can’t find the witch’s door,
just snow upon waves; moths that vanish

as she did. My sister, I must make friends
with the waves, as you did. You returned

to me riding their backs like a blue flame
until the drowned called for you. Who pretends

they can sing up storms? I can’t. Lost and burned
I’m a child in the fog, calling your name.

Image

ride the brackish mare …

16 Thursday Jan 2014

Tags

art, sea mare

Jan 16, 2014 (1)

“… tide-ways home.”

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Illustration and art

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hey you guys …

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Illustration and art

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Tags

1970s funk for kids, art, PBS, psychedelic, The Electric Company, tripping balls, trippy

Jan 09, 2014 (22)

Old School Funk, Morgan Freeman, Bill Cosby, Rita Moreno, Easy Reader, Letter Man and the Spellbinder, Fargo North (Decoder), Jennifer of the Jungle all in one frickin’ show: back in the 70s The Electric Company was so far beyond anything my little brain could understand but I loved going along for the ride.

Image

if i can stop one heart from breaking i shall not live in vain

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Tags

art, Emily Dickinson, erotic, If I can stop one heart from breaking I shall not live in vain, poem, Poetry, quote

Jan 09, 2014 (20)

“If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain” — Emily Dickinson

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Erotic, Illustration and art, Poetry

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Image

Happy Birthday Simone de Beauvoir!

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Tags

art, feminism, happy birthday, Second Sex, Simone de Beauvoir

Jan 09, 2014 (10)

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Feminism, Illustration and art

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salome: page 01

09 Thursday Jan 2014

Posted by babylon crashing in Armenia, Armenian, Illustration and art, Translation

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Tags

Armenian translation, art, English translation, Oscar Wilde, page 1, Salome, Vahan Terian

Jan 09, 2014 (2)

Jan 09, 2014 (3)

SALOMÉ
SALOME
ՍԱԼՈՄԵ

1893

PERSONNES
PERSONS
ԱՆՁԵՐ

HÉRODE ANTIPAS, Tétrarque de Judée
HEROD ANTIPAS, Tetrarch of Judea
ՀԵՐՈՎԴ ԱՆՏԻՊԱ, տետրարք Հրեաստանի

IOKANAAN, le prophète
IOKANAAN, the prophet
ՅՈՔԱՆԱԱՄ, մարգարեն

LE JEUNE SYRIEN, capitaine de la garde
THE YOUNG SYRIAN, captain of the guard
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ, դահճապետի [1]

TIGELLIN, un jeune Romain
TIGELLINUS, a young roman
ՏԻԳԵԼԻՆ, երիտասարդ Հռոմայեցի

CAPPADOCIEN
CAPPODOCIAN
ԿԱՊԱԴՈՎԿԻԱՅԻ

NUBIEN
NUBIAN
ՆՈԻԲԻԱՅԻ

PREMIER SOLDAT
FIRST SOLDIER
ԱՌԱՋԻՆ ՋԻՆՎՈՐ

SECOND SOLDAT
SECOND SOLDIER
ԵՐԿՐՈՐԴ ՋԻՆՎՈՐ

LE PAGE D’HÉRODIAS
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱՅԻ ՄԱՆԿԼԱՎԻԿԸ

JUIFS, NAZARÉENS, etc.
JEWS, NAZARENES, etc.
ՀՐԵԱՆԱՆԵՐ, ՆԱՋՈՎՐԵՅԻՆԵՐ, եւ այլն.

ESCLAVE
SLAVE
ՍՏՐՈԻԿ

NAAMAN, bourreau
NAMAAN, executioner
ՆԱԱՄԱՆ, դահիճ

HÉRODIAS, femme du Tétrarque
HERODIAS, wife of the tetrarch
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱ, տետրարքի կինը

SALOMÉ, fille d’Hérodias
SALOME, daughter of Herodias
ՍԱԼՈՄԵ, աղջիկը Հերովդիայի

ESCLAVES DE SALOMÉ
SLAVES OF SALOME
ՍԱԼՈՄԵԻ ՍՏՐԿՈԻՀԻՆԵՐԸ

][][

SCÈNE
SCENE
ԲԵՄ’

[Une grande terrasse dans le palais d’Hérode donnant sur la salle de festin. Des soldats sont accoudés sur le balcon. A droite il y a un énorme escalier. A gauche, au fond, une ancienne citerne entourée d’un mur de bronze vert. Clair de lune.]

[A large terrace in Herod’s palace overlooking the banqueting hall. Some of the soldiers are leaning against the balcony. To the right there is a huge staircase. To the left, at bottom, an old cistern surrounded by a wall of green bronze. Moonlight.]

[Մի մեծ կտուր է Հերովդեսի պալատը նայող խնջույքի դահլիճը. Որոշ զինվորներ են հենվում է պատշգամբում. Դեպի աջ կա մի մեծ աստիճաններ. Դեպի ձախ, ժամը ներքեւում, հին ցիստեռնը շրջապատված է պատին կանաչ բրոնզե. Լուսնյակ.] [2]

LE JEUNE SYRIEN: Comme la princesse Salomé est belle ce soir!
THE YOUNG SYRIAN: How beautiful the Princess Salome looks tonight!
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ: Ինչ գեղեցիկ է Արքայադուստրը Սալոմե երեկո! [3]

LE PAGE D’HÉRODIAS: Regardez la lune. La lune a l’air très étrange. On dirait une femme qui sort d’un tombeau. Elle ressemble à une femme morte. On dirait qu’elle cherche des morts.
THE PAGE OF HERODIAS: Look at the moon. The moon looks strange! She looks like a woman rising from a tomb. She looks like a dead woman. One might think she was looking for the dead.
ՀԵՐՈՎԴԻԱԴԱՅԻ ՄԱՆԿԼԱՎԻԿԸ: Նայիր լուսնի. Լուսինը ունի տարօրինակ տեսք. Կարծես մի կին աճող մի շիրիմին. Կարծես մահացած կնոջ.Կարելի է մտածել որ նա փնտրում է մահացած. [4]

LE JEUNE SYRIEN: Elle a l’air très étrange. Elle ressemble à une petite princesse qui porte un voile jaune, et a des pieds d’argent. Elle ressemble à une princesse qui a des pieds comme des petites colombes blanches … on dirait qu’elle danse.
THE YOUNG SYRIAN: She has a strange look. She looks like a little princess who wears a yellow veil, whose feet are made of silver. She looks like a princess who has feet like little white doves … she looks like she is dancing.
ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴ ՍԻՐԻԱՅԻ: Այն նայում շատ տարօրինակ է. Կարծես մի փոքր Արքայադուստրը ով հագնում է դեղին վարագույրի, եւ որոնց ոտքերը են արծաթի. : Նա, կարծես արքայադուստր ով ունի ոտքերը նման փոքր սպիտակ աղավնիներ … կարծես նա պար. [5]

][][

notes:

Most of the footnotes here will be from my attempts at transcribing Vahan Terian’s original. I’ll state for the record here: there will be errors. I am neither a native speaker of Armenian nor particularly good at any language. But I follow the advice of the poet and translator Marilyn Hacker who said, “it is better to have a bad translation than no translation at all.” Cheers.

[1] Թիկնապահների Հրամանատար [VT]

[2] Հանդիսասըահին կից մեծ պատհգամը: Հռըովդի պալատում: Ջինվոըները կանգնել են պատհգամբի վանդակապատին Հռնված: Աջ կողմը’ մեծ սանդուղք: Ջախ կողմը, ըէմի խորքում’ մի ջըհոը: [VT]

[3] Որքան հքնա’ղ է այս երեկո արքայադուստր Սալոմեն: [VT]

[4] Նայեցեք լուսնիմ: Որքան տարօրինակ տեսք ունի լուսնյակը: Կարծես մի կին ե, որ գերեզմանից է ելնում: Սեռած կնոջ է նման: Կարծես մեռել է որոնում նա: [VT]

[5] Շատ տարօրինակ տեսք ունի: Նա նման է մի փոքրիկ արքայադստեր, որ դեղին քող է ծածկում [and] որի ոտներն արծաթից են: Կարծես նա մի արքայաղուստր է, որի ոտները սպիտակ աղավնյակների են նման: Կարծես նա պարում է: [VT]

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