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Nas minhas costas,
nas minhas mãos
e joelhos. Dedo tua
boca. Beijar, sim,
alimentando
estes sinal de vida.
Beber os sucos aqui.
beijar, sim, alimentando
11 Sunday Dec 2011
Author Archives: babylon crashing
gyumri, ghost city of my soul
07 Wednesday Dec 2011
Posted in Armenia
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“Love and music go hand in hand. If there is love there is music, and there is no music without love. Let your life be filled with love and music!” — Armenian toast.
Today marks the 23rd anniversary of the Spitak Earthquake (1988). The northern city of the country of Armenia, Gyumri, was completely destroyed by a massive earthquake, killing over 25,000 people in 4 minutes. The city has never been rebuilt, but less than 7 years after the quake I found myself living there as a Peace Corps volunteer. I spent two years working in a state orphanage for handicapped babies. I consider Gyumri to by my adopted city, a ghost that never leaves me, no matter how far I am from it. As they say in Heyerin (the Armenian language) “kenats, em enker-jan, kenats,” to your life, my dear friend, to your life.
“i have consumed white death”
11 Friday Nov 2011
Over the years there have been many a comic strip that has delighted and amused me. Bloom County, Big Top, Pearls Before Swine have all had their shining moments. Nothing, though, has lived up to Kevin McCormic’s delightfully and crudely drawn Arnold. I share these with you as an homage to a wonderful influence from a bygone era … the 1980s.
My only wish is that I could find the strip where Tommy is served a pair of lips by the lunch ladies which croak out “kill me” as he looks down in horror at his plate. Ah, childhood memories.
Posted by babylon crashing | Filed under Humor
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rum, coke and cum
02 Wednesday Nov 2011
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Hoje, estou comendo Halloween-doces.
Eu estou bebendo vodka, estou inalação
Sweet-n-low. Eu canto: “Lingua, clitóris
e esporra, coke numa entre as tua bunda
e rum em tuas mamas,” uh, “Tongue, clit
and cum, coke between your butt and rum
on your boobs.” Whatever. Os cornos
do teu pai. Já posso sentir o
calor cantando entre tua pernas.
blood feud
14 Friday Oct 2011
I tell you this, revenge is not a sin.
Yes, the craven are always saying we
should turn the other cheek. But, then again,
they are the ones who caused more misery
in their short lives than all the rest of us.
You hurt me, then you left; as if distance
would then protect you. Child, from my malice
there is no escape. All this dark science
at my disposal shall hunt you down, blood
feud. Ten thousand dollars and the pinkie
of your left hand will placate my hatred.
Something to tell your wretched progeny;
that all karmic debts call for sacrifice;
that for grace your finger was a small price.
Remembering the Tree Mother, Kenya’s Wangari Maathai
08 Saturday Oct 2011
Posted in Passings and Death Notes
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Today Wangari Maathai, Nobel Peace Prize winner, was laid to rest in Kenya. The BBC stated:
A state funeral for Nobel Peace Prize winner and environmentalist Wangari Maathai has taken place at a Kenyan national park she fought to save.
Mrs Maathai, whose Green Belt Movement planted an estimated 45 million trees in Kenya, died last month of cancer.
Thousands of mourners lined the route of the procession to the funeral in Uhuru National Park in Nairobi.
President Mwai Kibaki praised her courage, tenacity and “selfless service to the nation”.
Mrs Maathai, who died on 25 September, was the first African woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize, in 2004. She won the award for her campaigns to promote conservation, women’s rights and transparent government.
Maathai’s legacy is a blessing for us all.
tão
23 Friday Sep 2011
The problem with ex’s is that they keep popping back up into your life years after you’ve buried them and moved on. I know I’m damaged goods, but I try to live a good life anyway. I’m a hospice nurse and take care of the dying, but there are times when I can totally understand the allure of being petty and wanting revenge, wanting to be a rock star and be adored for no other reason than to show those that have hurt us just how the world honestly and deep down totally hates them. Then I want Congress to pass a law that says officially every song ever written about two-timing bastards was written with them in mind, and that the general public can beat our ex’s with sticks if they’re ever caught singing the blues. But mostly I want the little finger on their good hand cut off and wrapped in silk and mailed to me, just like how Japanese gangsters, the Yakuza, show repentance. After all, just like in love, if you’re not going to dream big you might as well not dream at all.
For the record, Good Vibrations is a sex toy store in San Francisco my ex and I use to go to.
* * *
Você dizia, que você teria me ama
até você morrer, mas você ainda
está vivo. Curious. Tão, quem fica condenado
ao Inferno? é um sistema de pontos? ou
é ele o ódio de outras pessoas? Porque eu
sou mesquinho, e você tem o Inferno
para pagar. Eu estou aqui porque da bagunça
que você deixou quando foi embora. Você
perdeu o direito de cantar o blues.
Um 100 anos de inverno tem definido
a alma da América, e Good Vibrations
está falido e o ar está cheio de agitação
de cães raivosos e vibradores. Mas você não
entende nada sobre isso, porque isso exige
uma consciência sobre as coisas que você
tem feito. Eu jogo com um pacote perverso
de cartões: O Sodom e Gomorrah de Tarot.
Eu quero minha libra de carne. Eu quero meu
dinheiro de sangue. Eu quero você
no Inferno, olho do cu.
eu quero ir e descobrir
23 Friday Sep 2011
Eu quero beijos.
Eu quero velas, sangue,
o cheiro da manhã.
Vamos fuder no na encruzilhada,
vodu criança. Misturar nossa
o som do gozo com fantasma-
gemidos. Esfregue na nossa
pele, esporra, e magia negra,
beijos. Como fazer a nossa pele,
queimar durante a noite?
Eu quero ir e descobrir.
In English:
I want kisses. I want candles, blood, the smell of the morning. Let’s fuck in the crossroads, voodoo child. Mix our joy with the sound of the ghost-moans. Rub into our skin cum, and black magic kisses. How do we make our skin burn during the night? I want to go and find out.
rewind
13 Tuesday Sep 2011
Posted in Erotic, Poetry, Translation
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Me contorço sob você.
Nós filmamos conosco — frenético
ofegante em chamas — ficou
maluco. Rewind. Watch me.
Lambo meu suor. Puxo
teu cabelos, como rédeas
do cavalo. Nós filmamos conosco,
com todo meu esporra,
com meu coração todo.
In English:
I writhe under you. We filmed ourselves — frantic gasping in flames — it was crazy. Rewind. Watch me. Lick my sweat. I pulled your hair like reins of the horse. We filmed ourselves, with all my cum, with my whole heart.
the pope blames chick lit.
27 Saturday Aug 2011
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Mostly it’s hard to think about The Fall
or Eve’s Sin or Great Satan’s Odd Toenail,
rat rot disease, on most good days. The gall
of our bedtime stories is that female
prophets keep stepping up, trying to fix
things, though no one seems to give a rot’s shit
for their blood, sweat and queers. A few cynics
blame it on pornos. The Pope blames Chick Lit.
(true fact) but mostly I keep forgetting;
for we worship each other with our trust
and our deep inner parts recall gushing
spray, the comfortable odor of our lust,
passion’s birth, rebirth, we feed on friendship,
like new priests crying in awe at worship.
memories of my ghost sista 