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art, language, science, Shadows in the Deep, sharks, Spanish, translation
11 Tuesday Sep 2012
Posted in Illustration and art, Poetry, Translation
≈ Comments Off on sombras en las profundidades
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art, language, science, Shadows in the Deep, sharks, Spanish, translation
10 Monday Sep 2012
Posted in video
≈ Comments Off on nacimiento de la niña de barro
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09 Sunday Sep 2012
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Translation
≈ Comments Off on azucar en crudo
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Puro o pervertida.
Una transformación.
Nuestra tristeza.
Nuestra pasión.
Esta cosa buena.
Hundimiento
dentro de usted.
Pulgada por pulgada.
Gloriosa.
En nuestra sangre.
Si soy malsano
para usted,
soy azúcar en crudo.
Algo dulce.
Una felicidad.
Hundimiento
profundamente
dentro de usted.
(Pure or perverted. A transformation. Our sadness. Our passion. This good thing. Sinking into you. Inch by inch. Glorious. In our blood. If I am unhealthy for you, I’m raw sugar. Something sweet. A happiness. Sinking deep within you)
09 Sunday Sep 2012
Posted in video
≈ Comments Off on transvision vamp’s “trash city”!
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09 Sunday Sep 2012
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Translation
≈ Comments Off on mis oscuros delirios
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06 Thursday Sep 2012
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Translation
≈ Comments Off on el poeta en el trabajo
Hoy. Usted escribe.
Mis dedos recorren
en todo tu cuerpo.
Tu coño empapado,
en mis manos,
un rebosante copa.
Se abre una hendidura
mojada. Mi lengua
es difícil,
penetrante,
convocando
esta loco
cosecha.
El vino
de placer
en tu cuerpo
causando
espasmos
y gemidos.
Hoy.
(Today. You write. My fingers roam throughout your body. Your pussy drenched in my hands, a brimming cup. A wet slit opens. My tongue is hard, penetrating, summoning this crazy harvest. The wine of pleasure in your body causing spasms and moans. Today.)
05 Wednesday Sep 2012
Posted in story
≈ Comments Off on the story of ferdinand
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Not everything in this world is erotic, nor does it need to be. There is time enough for all sorts of tenderness. This story is for all of us dreamers who were the type of children who would rather just “smell the flowers,” as the story goes. I was read this when I was a child. ¡Viva Ferdinand!
THE STORY OF FERDINAND
by Munro Leaf
Once upon a time in Spain there was a little bull and his name was Ferdinand. All the other little bulls he lived with would run and jump and butt their heads together, but not Ferdinand. He liked to sit just quietly and smell the flowers. He had a favorite spot out in the pasture under a cork tree. It was his favorite tree and he would sit in its shade all day and smell the flowers.
Sometimes his mother, who was a cow, would worry about him. She was afraid he would be lonesome all by himself. “Why don’t you run and play with the other little bulls and skip and butt your head?” she would say. But Ferdinand would shake his head. “I like it better here where I can sit just quietly and smell the flowers.” His mother saw that he was not lonesome, and because she was an understanding mother, even though she was a cow, she let him just sit there and be happy.
As the years went by Ferdinand grew and grew until he was very big and strong. All the other bulls who had grown up with him in the same pasture would fight each other all day. They would butt each other and stick each other with their horns. What they wanted most of all was to be picked to fight at the bull fights in Madrid. But not Ferdinand — he still liked to sit just quietly under the cork tree and smell the flowers.
One day five men came in very funny hats to pick the biggest, fastest roughest bull to fight in the bull fights in Madrid. All the other bulls ran around snorting and butting, leaping and jumping so the men would think that they were very very strong and fierce and pick them. Ferdinand knew that they wouldn’t pick him and he didn’t care.
So he went out to his favorite cork tree to sit down. He didn’t look where he was sitting and instead of sitting on the nice cool grass in the shade he sat on a bumble bee. Well, if you were a bumble bee and a bull sat on you what would you do? You would sting him. And that is just what this bee did to Ferdinand. Wow! Did it hurt! Ferdinand jumped up with a snort. he ran around puffing and snorting, butting and pawing the ground as if he were crazy.
The five men saw him and they all shouted with joy. here was the largest and fiercest bull of all. Just the one for the bull fights in Madrid! So they took him away for the bullfight day in a cart.
What a day it was! Flags were flying, bands were playing … and all the lovely ladies had flowers in their hair. They had a parade into the bull ring. First came the Banderilleros with long sharp pins with ribbons on them to stick in the bull and make him mad. Next came the Picadores who rode skinny horses and they had long spears to stick in the bull and make him madder. Then came the Matador, the proudest of all — he thought he was very handsome, and bowed to the ladies. He had a red cape and a sword and was supposed to stick the bull last of all. Then came the bull, and you know who that was don’t you? — FERDINAND.
They called him Ferdinand the Fierce and all of the Banderilleros were afraid of him and the Picadores were afraid of him and the Matador was scared stiff. Ferdinand ran to the middle of the ring and everyone shouted and clapped because they thought he was going to fight fiercely and butt and snort and stick his horns around. But not Ferdinand. When he got to the middle of the ring he saw the flowers in all the lovely ladies’ hair and he just sat down quietly and smelled.
He wouldn’t fight and be fierce no matter what they did. He just sat and smelled. And the Banderilleros were mad and the Picadores were madder and the Matador was so mad he cried because he couldn’t show off with his cape and sword.
So they had to take Ferdinand home.
And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly.
He is very happy.
04 Tuesday Sep 2012
Posted in Translation
≈ Comments Off on la cabelluda, por gabriela mistral (1889–1957)
03 Monday Sep 2012
Nada es mío. Nada
es totalmente mío.
Esa es la droga llamada
el erotismo. Seducción.
Y me encanta esta droga.
Me encanta que nadie
puede hacerte temblar
de placer, como lo hago.
Me encanta que nadie
accederá a tus mas profundos
deseos, como lo hago.
A pesar de todo esto,
usted continúa a soñar
besando a un extraño.
Mañana, usted dice.
Cuando llegue mañana.
(Nothing is mine. Nothing is totally mine. That’s the drug called eroticism. Seduction. And I love this drug. I love that no one can make you tremble with pleasure, as I do. I love that nobody will access your deepest desires, as I do. Despite all this, you continue to dream of kissing a stranger. Tomorrow, you say. When tomorrow comes)
02 Sunday Sep 2012