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memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Author Archives: babylon crashing

aftermath

15 Thursday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry

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Tags

aftermath, got the guts?, Morocco, poem, Poetry, seppuku, when she comes

When she comes I’ll go find my hungry blade
from Morocco. When she comes, using all
the bright noise from her song just to buy me,
when she snaps her fiddle strings at long last,
when all those strings are broken and she comes
like a cartoon blow job, sloppily drawn,
unconvincing and all down the face, then
I will know that I do not belong here
with you. I will step through the font of this
unwritten poem full of amazement,
wondering why I didn’t reach for my
curved blade sooner? If there is real safety
with others I have not found it; exiles
have no home, orphans no family, though
they are both precious to the earth. It’s how
we spend our time that I find intriguing.
Eternity is a problem only
for the easily distracted. Give me
daisies, the silence of daisies. Give me
my knife so that I might bleed all over
the silence. So that when she comes I will
tell her that our aftermath has left me
curvy and hissing. There is no question,
just a bitter tea made from wild foxglove
and wormwood When she comes I don’t want to
go looking for my Moroccan stick-knife.
I will bear my belly, I have the guts
for it, though I ask of you do not feel
sad or cry or try to argue with me.
She is coming and I want enough time
to spill everything all over this page.

Image

kabuki: the demon with blue hair

15 Thursday Aug 2013

Tags

art, Japanese theater, kabuki, the demon with blue hair

kabuki

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Illustration and art

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cock’s crow

15 Thursday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

cock's crow, Dark One, I listen, poem, Poetry, sonnet, the cicadas have won

Dark One, I listen. A dun summer moon

rises, a gap, shun the sky, that space. Space

as the sun slips down into a wet June,

this son with a soul is always wet. Grace

was once a gun or a moth, that of air

but not in the air. Now none and nothing.

What son has a soul? and what sort of prayer

is this? The lascivious nun’s burning

faith. But not like faith. Switch to one shadow

and run halfway home. Daughters run. Daughters

know that the moon-dawn can still stun. Listen,

Dark One. I am a child of the cock’s crow.

The sky scares me for it is always her’s.

What’s left is noise. The cicadas have won.

gon, the little fox

13 Tuesday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in video

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Tags

Bambi, Disney, gon the little fox, humanity is evil, man has entered the forest, the saddest story ever, video

The saddest children’s story in the whole world:

“Your mother will not return, man has entered the forest,” I don’t know how many Baby Boomers were emotionally scarred as children when the movie Bambi (1942) came out, but I am sure a large number. Consider that the villain of the film, not even seen but only hinted at, was humanity itself. True, World War II was raging and for many it was the end of the world, but Disney seemed to take delight in seeing how he could twist that knife a little bit more, showing us a paradise that was forever ruined simply by our presence. Humanity was no better than a jackal-headed beast, forever bound to its blood lust.

For a good many years I thought I couldn’t find anything sadder, until I stumbled upon Gon the Fox (Gongitsune is the title of the movie), which reminded me once again that only the most magical of creatures will suffer at our hands, even the ones trying to do good. I’m posting the entire movie here, though if you just want to start crying begin watching around the 1:01 mark.

Gon is a little orphan fox. Looking for food he comes to a village where, like all scamps, he creates mischief and gets the better of the villagers. This continues until one day he steals an eel from a man named Hyoju, who had tragically wanted to give it to his dying mother. Mother then dies but the young Gon only realizes his mistake far too late. He tries to make it up by secretly giving Hyoju all the gifts that he had stolen from neighbors, though they then accuse Hyoju himself of stealing and beat him up for it. Afterward the little fox brings only mushrooms and nuts that he had gathered in the forest. Hyoju is grateful for the gifts, although he does not understand where they come from.

One day Hyoju sees Gon sneaking around and shoots him out of anger about the death of his mother. Only afterward does he realize to his horror that the fox he just killed was the one who gave him all the gifts. The movie ends with the spirit of the little fox curled up next to his dead mother, reminding children that life is horror and that the only way one can reunite with one’s dead loved ones is through agonizing death.

Ta, children, sleep well, ta.

swung blood

13 Tuesday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

amutee, Congo, machette, poem, Poetry, swung blood, war

 

Sunflowers, Congo azaleas, sky full
of blood, pull the body down. That wide bad
blade, that steel. That thunk. Here is my fistful
of flesh. Take it. My bargain. I was glad
when they rose against the missionaries,
seeing all their ash was a rude gesture.
There was a girl down the road who shelled peas
with one hand and a stump for the other.
I combed her hair. She talked. The machete
was left behind. “Teach me to swing,” she said.
A gray bright rush. She was from the Congo.
She was ten. Heart, heart look away, for she
swung blood, like an amazon from the dead,
stretching out to deliver the death blow.

storm clouds the sky

12 Monday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in haiku, Poetry

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Tags

haiku, poem, storm clouds

laying this naked
under dark storm clouds the sky
and you are not here

last night i was so drunk

12 Monday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

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Tags

last night i was so drunk, poem, Poetry, sober, sonnet, the problem with language, the sea

Last night I was so drunk on something more
that I thought for a wild moment that I
had no needs. That I would go to the shore,
into the wild, and let the wild reply
to my song. I’d let the sea speak for me.
I am tired of language. Tired of speaking
to get my point across. For at the sea
I am a child: naked, sun-burned, dreaming
of ships. I shall build a lovely small shrine
just for myself out of sand and seaweed
and give up on language and fickle men.
I’ll walk naked along the wild shoreline,
singing new songs, and never be worried
about being drunk or sober again.

Image

here be monsters

12 Monday Aug 2013

Tags

art, gif, here be monsters, pigs are evil, puppet, trippy

snow

snow

snow

snow

snow

monsters

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Uncategorized

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Image

swimming with sea gods

12 Monday Aug 2013

Tags

art, illustrations, other people's idea of the divine, sea gods, sharks

swimming with gods 2

 

swimming with gods 1

 

Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Illustration and art

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dark one

12 Monday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Illustration and art, Lilith, Poetry

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

Dark One, Lilith, poem, Poetry, queer, Sappho, soft boys, stone butch blues, the sea

jellies

Still-life with Lilith and a night-blooming
sea rose. You are hard and I’m soft with song,
with all the love born long ago from your
song. I’ve found that loving bitter sick-sweat
from any other out of the question.

What can make certain songs flame into life?
and other songs will simply drown out? Dark
One in the vast depths, I know your name but
will not speak it. I have swam with shark gods
and felt no fear. Maximus of Tyre wrote
that Sappho was “small and dark,” but Plato
called her beautiful. I’ve gone to the cliff
where she threw herself into the churning
undertow, saw how you came to claim her.

I dream of you, cameltoe and all. Blue,
blue is the sea. Red, red is your last kiss.
Green, green your first spliff and sip of vodka.
Shark-soul, spirit-lover. I love soft boys
and stone-hard women: the queen and the butch.
I love the sea rose blooming in your hair.

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