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memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Category Archives: Feminism

martial gifts

06 Sunday Oct 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Poetry, sonnet

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Aello, amazonomachy, Bremusa, Greek myth, martial gift, poem, Poetry, sonnet, woman warrior

The men fled to the coast with their meager
flocks. We had cut them off from the marshes
and mud of their homes; springing down from fir
hills and scrub oak tangles, carrying axes
and cow-hide shields. Bremusa and Aello
led us. The men had worshiped swamp phalli
and called warrior women a hollow
myth, our Amazonomachy a lie.
So we came down; cleft in the hills, the slope
between tree and tree. We called, O be swift,
drove them from their waddled huts and cast down
their gods, creatures of leaf-mold and earth. What hope
was there against those blessed with martial gifts
except to flee down to the coast and drown?

][][

notes:

In Greek mythology, Amazonomachy was the portrayal of the battle between the Greeks and the Amazons. Many of the stories and legends portrayed were that of Hercules’ 9th Labor, which was stealing the girdle from Queen Hippolyta; as well as Theseus’ later rape and kidnapping of Hippolyta. Another famous myth is that of Achilles’ battle against Queen Penthesilea during the Trojan war.

Aello was one of Hippolyte’s body guards. She was the first to attack Hercules when he came for her queen’s girdle. Unfortunately, Hercules wore the lion skin he had acquired during his 1st Labor, making him untouchable. Aello was thus killed by Hercules. Her name means “Mother Whirlwind.”

Bremusa was an Amazon who was one of Queen Penthesilea’s twelve companions at Troy, where she fell in battle. Her name means “Raging Female.”

the way love dogs bark

03 Thursday Oct 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Poetry, sonnet

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blood sisters, huntress, love dogs, poem, Poetry, rites of passage, sonnet, waiting for Lilith

It’d been a night without words she hunted
in the dark gazed at the stars stared into
the flames she turned the spit among her blood
sisters who were now her companions, who
had been her rivals: girls’ blood, bloody souls.
Now the beast had been driven from hiding
and its fat sizzled and sparked in the coals
the way love dogs bark. One girl lay bleeding
near by, having stumbled during the hunt.
Rites of passage must always end bloody.
Tonight she’d taste another’s mouth, cast doubt
aside, grip their hips feel the heat, the weight
of one different than her; nervous to see
if she could make another soul cry out.

again again again

01 Tuesday Oct 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Poetry, sonnet

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fairy tale, find your magic, Maleficent, poem, Poetry, sonnet, why I need Feminism, widow

But my mother’s mother, Maleficent,
widowed from her first love, and that love’s first
ripe fruit, moved through her father’s realm, torment
in her heart, her native tongue, being cursed
as all fairy tales curse us with ruin.
Again. Again. Again. “Find your magic,”
grandmother replied at each doubt—her one
dictum, fed with her green fire and sapphic
faith. She spoke so little of pain that we
forgot that she was a widow with no
regret, practiced in delight. I recall
all her stories, of heroines scrubbed free
of men’s curses. Tales where not one widow,
crone, step-mother died—just burned for us all.

venus de la mer

04 Wednesday Sep 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Poetry, sonnet

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dew of acid, gasp now, Greek myth, heartbreak, Lilith, poem, Poetry, sonnet, stone butch blues, Venus, Venus de la mer

–venus of the sea

Heartbreak housed in the side, my Butch Venus
break, a chrysalis of horn and fog —Ball
of sea, of water, leaden —Buxomness
with the rod of Lilith. Den of shape —all
her whelps shot through the fin, wrenched by fishers
men, their bud and plague. The long voice. Water-
handed grave and rancid; drowners —rivers
of blood. Country of sea, boxed. My lover
rises. Fathoms. Cold cross the bar —Inhale
her dead seeds, jelly-fish egg, the green grave
and the dew of acid —My lover’s breath
drove her on —up —out —gasp now —now exhale.
Breath you’ve come. In waves you’ve come. Waves, death, wave.
Crave the grave’s breath —de la mer —in for death.

Image

death in the keta taisha forest

18 Sunday Aug 2013

Tags

art, blue of night, female warrior, historic heroine, katana, Keta Taisha Forest, Onna bugeisha, the last one standing

Death in the Keta Taisha Forest

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

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Image

the way of the sword [in color]

18 Sunday Aug 2013

Tags

art, female samurai, female warrior, lovely colors, Onna bugeisha, psychedelic

female samurai in colors (except when they’re not) …

gold

rainbow

rays

black and white

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

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ain’t i a woman?

18 Sunday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Illustration and art

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Ain't I A Woman?, Akron, feminism, Ohio, quote, Sojourner Truth, Women's Convention

truth

Sojourner Truth (1797-1883): Ain’t I A Woman? delivered in 1851 at the Women’s Convention, Akron, Ohio

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain’t I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man – when I could get it – and bear the lash as well! And ain’t I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother’s grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain’t I a woman? …

Then that little man in black over there, he says women can’t have as much rights as men, ’cause Christ wasn’t a woman! Where did your Christ come from? I said, where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with him …

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back , and get it right side up again!

onna-bugeisha

16 Friday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Illustration and art

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art, Bushido, Empress Jingu, female samurai, Japanese mythology, kimono, nude, Onna bugeisha, woman warrior

Onna-bugeisha 2

“Any woman can be a hero, but few heroes can be an Onna-bugeisha. To be a true warrior you must follow the qualities Empress Jingu dictated: loyalty to one’s lord or lady, honor unto death and unselfishness, a readiness to sacrifice one’s own for that of others. What samurai is courteous to all? What lord is kind to those weaker than himself? Men are raised at birth to be vainglorious and as a result they will never know the Way, Bushido. Remember that these qualities are the signs of a true Onna-bugeisha as our lady wrote down, a warrior and a hero.”

— from Angelique Ange’s history, “Onna-bugeisha: les mères de bushido.” (translated from French, out of print, Paris, 1977)

Onna-bugeisha 3

Onna-bugeisha 5

 

 

Onna-bugeisha 1

lilith from the book of splendor

15 Thursday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Feminism, Uncategorized

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Lilith, poem, Poetry, spinsterhood, The Book of Splendor, The Holy and the Profane

“… thou Lilith of the desert, thou hag, thou ghoul … naked art thou sent forth, unclad, with hair disheveled, and streaming down your back.” — part of a recovered Babylonian prayer to cast evil spirits out of one’s house.

I.
Out of sorts types of glamor of a good
death is a glamor of a good lay in
the wilderness where we once laid, for you
said it was tremendous to be that lost
gayly knowing that all that remains just
so, step out of my shallow depression.

II.
I took some vine and vined it through the glow
of her concealed, she was concealed at high
noon; you could see through her. Her glow was not
swamp flame, more blue iris, more moon flame if
the moon burned between her two dark shoulders.

III.
Spinsterhood, they called it. Torturous Tongue,
Woman’s Shame, Impure. They called it a lot
of queer and odd words. I dreamed of her owl
feet, her cat eyes and her four breasts. I dreamed
of that alien word for ecstasy.

IV.
Who could find me? She brought me a bastard’s
knife from out of the goldenrod, brought me
to a hut. She said, “arise,” and I did.
She said, “enter,” and I did deep inside
was a room full of tiny snakes all burned
to soft, small, nameless ash. Stir the coals then

V.
lie down in the field. Cut a door into
yourself and sprinkle the ash in. When it
opens a crow will caw out, over and
over. Outside jackal and hyena
will stop fighting and watch. Outside satyr
will stop singing and watch. All that moves, all
that flies, all that creeps. The sun returning
to this glamor death in the wilderness
where we laid all down now you must see that
all that remains here is a depression.
.
.
NOTE:

The Babylonian prayer I used in the beginning of the poem comes the book The Holy and the Profane (Gaster, 27)

genesis of lilith

15 Thursday Aug 2013

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Feminism, Lilith, Poetry, sonnet

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bisexual myth, genesis, Lilith, poem, Poetry, sonnet, threesome

The dull elk, all beast-eyed and slow, mounting

some sort of grotesque heifer, each nipple

as long as your thumb. She was their offspring,

or close to it. Dim-witted and docile.

Breeder. Eve. They say, “Lilith seduced her.

Lilith knew no shame.” In a world where man

was a limp failure, wouldn’t you? Lover

Of All The Flesh, She Of The Two-Heart Clan,

Girl With Locust Wings. Men who never knew

love will tell you the damnedest lies. Lilith

betrayed Eve — went down on Eve — sucked Adam’s

cum out — gagged it all down, then off she flew —

Bollocks. There is no bisexual myth

only the tale of the world’s first threesome.

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