often it is the only / thing / between you and impossibility / no drink / no woman's love / no wealth/ can / match it / nothing can save you/ except writing. Charles Bukowski
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
A really bad, bilingual poem dedicated to Pampita Ardohain
Marry me Pampita
I don't care if you're already married or have one baby or three babies or 12 thousand babies and your vagina is ripped and torn from so much birth.
Marry me Pampita, y te doy la luna como que si fuera un globo amarillo
marry me please Pampita and open your legs on our honeymoon and embrace me like Jesus come back from the dead.
CASATE conmigo Pampita and I'll give you...the keys to my Yaris.
Pampita, marry me mi Amor, for love like ours is once in a lifetime and if you don't I will be forced to spend all the rest of my days on pornhhub.
PAMPITA, dame to sonrisa, y te dare mi corazon como que si fuera el motor del mundo porque sin el todo para..
[PAMPITA, give me your smiles, and I will give you my heart like if it was the engine of the world because without it everything stops.]
PAMPITA, Mi CA-RO-LI-NA, tu nombre....me recuerda the Nabokov:
Pampita, luz de mi vida, fuego de mis entraƱas. Mi pecado, mi alma. Pam-Pit-ta: la punta de la lengua emprende un viaje de tres pasospaladar abajo hasta apoyarse, en el tercero, en los dientes. PAM-PI-TA
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
A Lower Eastside Poem by Miguel Pinero
Just once before I die
I want to climb up on a
tenement sky
to dream my lungs out till
I cry
then scatter my ashes thru
the Lower East Side.
So let me sing my song tonight
let me feel out of sight
and let all eyes be dry
when they scatter my ashes thru
the Lower East Side.
From Houston to 14th Street
from Second Avenue to the mighty D
here the hustlers & suckers meet
the faggots & freaks will all get
high
on the ashes that have been scattered
thru the Lower East Side.
There's no other place for me to be
there's no other place that I can see
there's no other town around that
brings you up or keeps you down
no food little heat sweeps by
fancy cars & pimps' bars & juke saloons
& greasy spoons make my spirits fly
with my ashes scattered thru the
Lower East Side . . .
A thief, a junkie I've been
committed every known sin
Jews and Gentiles . . . Bums & Men
of style . . . run away child
police shooting wild . . .
mother's futile wails . . . pushers
making sales . . . dope wheelers
& cocaine dealers . . . smoking pot
streets are hot & feed off those who bleed to death . . .
all that's true
all that's true
all that is true
but this ain't no lie
when I ask that my ashes be scattered thru
the Lower East Side.
So here I am, look at me
I stand proud as you can see
pleased to be from the Lower East
a street fighting man
a problem of this land
I am the Philosopher of the Criminal Mind
a dweller of prison time
a cancer of Rockefeller's ghettocide
this concrete tomb is my home
to belong to survive you gotta be strong
you can't be shy less without request
someone will scatter your ashes thru
the Lower East Side.
I don't wanna be buried in Puerto Rico
I don't wanna rest in Long Island Cemetery
I wanna be near the stabbing shooting
gambling fighting & unnatural dying
& new birth crying
so please when I die . . .
don't take me far away
keep me near by
take my ashes and scatter them thru out
the Lower East Side .
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Got a mad crunch on this forehead
I
GACELA DEL AMOR IMPREVISTO
Nadie comprendĆa el perfume
de la oscura magnolia de tu vientre.
Nadie sabĆa que martirizabas
un colibrĆ de amor entre los dientes.
Mil caballitos persas se dormĆan
en la plaza con luna de tu frente,
mientras que yo enlazaba cuatro noches
tu cintura, enemiga de la nieve.
Entre yeso y jazmines, tu mirada
era un pƔlido ramo de simientes.
Yo busquƩ, para darte, por mi pecho
las letras de marfil que dicen siempre,
siempre, siempre: jardĆn de mi agonĆa,
tu cuerpo fugitivo para siempre,
la sangre de tus venas en mi boca,
tu boca ya sin luz para mi muerte.
Federico GarcĆa Lorca