Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Illustration and art
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wind in the rye
03 Saturday Aug 2013
Author Archives: babylon crashing
ophelia
03 Saturday Aug 2013
Tags
art, drowning, Hamlet, OMG Hamlet Do I Look Like I Care?, Ophelia, Shakespeare, summertime and the living is easy
Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Illustration and art
bless me with all
03 Saturday Aug 2013
Tags
bless me with all, cunnilingus, hairy kelp forest, love, poem, seawall, sonnet, the sea, undersea kingdom
Tell me about your sea. Bless me with all
that makes the tide flow sweet out of your hips.
I know what the seawall knows, what the wall
wants but can’t have. If a single stone slips
out of place the sea will gush in, drowning
this dry mouth of land. And, unlike the wall,
I am not afraid to drown, swallowing
all you can offer. I’ll swallow it all,
gag it down, wanting one more little death.
Let me hear the whale song humming deeply
inside your chest, sleep in the kelp forest
between your thighs. Divers must hold their breath
going down, but I’ll let your undersea
kingdom flood me. I’ll let my seawall burst.
the tiburon tarot: the fool
03 Saturday Aug 2013
Posted in Illustration and art, tarot
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Tags
art, on the road to find out, shark, spirit guide, taking the first step, Tarot, the fool, the sea, tiburón
THE FOOL:
I have been working on an ocean-based Tarot deck for a while (at first I was calling it “La Mer,” an older French term for the ocean, until a friend pointed out calling your deck “Lamer” might not work out so well). The first card in the deck is The Fool, which represents taking the first step in the path you are following. The Rider-Waite deck shows a young man, his head in the air, walking toward the brink of a cliff, while a small dog barks to get his attention to what is about to happen.
In this version, a woman takes her first step into the sea with her spirit guide, in this case a spirit shark, glides silently by her side. The kelp part as they pass through, since once you know the language of the sea it will do anything for you. Because she is new to all this she must keep her head out of the water in order to breath; until she can master her fear of the unknown and begin swimming she will not be able to go very far, which is true with all of us when encountering something as vast and supernatural as the ocean for the first time.
back from the bayou
30 Tuesday Jul 2013
Posted in Illustration and art
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I must apologize for disappearing for a week into the wilderness of northern California. By “wilderness” I mean, of course, west Marin county, in the town of Inverness; which prides itself in being “unincorporated,” local talk for meaning that there is no big city development going on, the land is used for free-range cattle and as a happy result there are dairy farms everywhere (always important to a boy who is a slave to cheese … mmm, gouda).
The best photos, it seems to someone who is slow in getting the camera out, are the ones I missed taking. Literally 10 minutes after arriving at the house (a crickety structure on wooden legs far out on the estuary) I looked down into the murky mud and saw a tiny manta ray swimming through the weeds. It seemed a great harbinger for things to come. I spent a lot of time on the front porch writing and watching the fog come in.
As holidays go it was grand.
witch-mark
18 Thursday Jul 2013
Bluntless succubus. A joyless rolled spliff
between two blue lips. The devil’s nipple,
misfit clit, nuzzles my chin with a whiff
of a witch-mark; which marks where I’ve been, dulls
pillow talk, slows all us down. Going down
on you bigmouth I get my full mouth throttled
to the ground. Shagged but not fagged; a putdown
that can only make sense in past-tense. Fraggled,
as in rock and squirt and splashdown. Your skirt
around your hips, your lips blue and agog
as you gag me. Did I mention that there’s
something in my throat? The pervert’s effort
is worth it. The sky is dull without smog.
Lust is nothing more than nightmares and prayers.
areia
10 Wednesday Jul 2013
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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No deserto, sempre que o desejo é, te alucina.
Rijos, ávidos, letradas, solteiras, taradas, pudicas, peludas, careca.
Mas teus desejos são comuns.
Você prefere as filhas, das tias, das mães, das irmãs, as sobrinhas.
Você rasgar um buraco no céu.
Mas isso não é comigo.
Eu amo tudo que ama areia.
Areia que traz inundações e magia.
Areia que está em casa.
Areia que é mal-amada.
Areia que dizem “te amo” e mais nada.
.
In the desert, where the desire is, you hallucinate.
Wiry, eager, educated, single, horny, prudish, hairy, bald.
But your wishes are common.
You prefer daughters, aunts, mothers, sisters, nieces.
You tear a hole in the sky.
But that’s not me.
I love everything that loves sand.
Sand that brings floods and magic.
Sand that is home.
Sand that is unloved.
Sand that says “I love you” and nothing else.
nothing else matters
10 Wednesday Jul 2013
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
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Minha boca quente sempre a te sugar.
Nada mais importa.
Não minha beijo em teu pescoço.
Delirando. Não seu corpo,
eu tenho que sentir, eu tenho que fazer loucuras.
Uma mordida? Não uma mordida.
Não meus lábios em teu pescoço.
Nada mais importa, mas, minha boca
quente a te sugar. Sempre.
.
My hot mouth to suck you always.
Nothing else matters.
Not my kiss on your neck.
Delirious. Not your body
that I have to feel, I have to do crazy things to.
A bite? Not a bite.
Not my lips on your neck.
Nothing else matters, but my hot mouth
to suck you. Always.
pain. little deaths. drowning.
09 Tuesday Jul 2013
Posted in Illustration and art, Poetry, Portuguese, Translation
Tags
art, drowning, little death, pain, poem, Portuguese translation
Porque eu estou morto. Porque
eu afogou e eu morri de dor. Porque
minha língua é tocando no céu da tua boca.
Porque minha dor é o lua lindo. Porque
minha sepultura a é piscina das oceanos longínquas.
Porque ama seu professor por você ensinar
as coisas mais belas das quais não é ensinado na sala de aula.
Digo-lhe isto. Na fragilidade do amor é isto.
Dor. Pequenas mortes. Afogamento.
Venha aqui. Você está curioso,
e eu estou nua e sempre molhado.
.
Because I’m dead. Because
I drowned and died in pain. Because
my tongue is touching the roof of your mouth.
Because my pain is the gorgeous moon. Because
my grave is a pool of distant oceans.
Because you love your teacher for teaching
the most beautiful things that never get taught in the classroom.
I tell you this. The fragility of love is this.
Pain. Little deaths. Drowning.
Come here. You are curious,
and I’m naked and always wet.
Worlds shortest poem
09 Tuesday Jul 2013
Posted in Uncategorized
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This poem was written by Aram Saroyan, an Armenian-American poet, novelist, biographer, memoirist and playwright. Saroyan’s four-legged “m” has been cited in the Guinness Book of Records as the world’s shortest poem. The meaning of it has been subject to discussion. Some have called it: “a closeup of an alphabet being born” – Bob Grumman. Its sells still in the process of dividing, ‘m’ and the ‘n’, not quit separated. It is also a pun on “I am”, implying the formation of consciousness itself.
Aram Saroyan was also the author of the most controversial poem that simply read: “lighght” in the center of a blank page. This poem was selected by George Plimpton to be featured in The American Literary Anthology and received a $500 cash award from the National Endowment for the Arts, resulting in a huge controversy involving the US government. Read all about the controversy by following the…
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memories of my ghost sista 