ruido de passos

this girl got no weapon.
she is the weapon.
a ticking time bomb
ready weary gettouta heare!
How can you grow tired? Opted to seclude yourself and the item
Sent me a poem,

about me though not by you.

That will make it all better... for you.
Repeat the lies I tell myself daily, gosh... Im I really that good?
You bought me! You caught me!
Time for a refund.
Nothing to give back, its better if Im just wasted.

So forget me and ignore me.

Flowers will be torn. Flowers will grow ripe.

''Doctor! Doctor! When does this stop?''
 ''Oh! But it is hell!''

It is just life. . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . .

(Last dialogue is taken from this short film adapted from the short story Ruido de Passos by Clarice Lispector. http://vimeo.com/11165592 )

Usaras Corona De Flores

y es que al decir que te extra;aba, en realidad no te extra;aba
y cuando te decia que ya te queria aqui, no decia la verdad

femme fatale, always on the run

diamonds on my wrist, whisky in my hand

-Lana del Rey 

Te llamaban 'La Come Hombres' aun si desconocian tu apetito.

Y te llamaban asi, por que tu nunca fuiste alimento. Tu nunca fuiste presa.

De Lolita insistias en probar, pero todavia no sabias si era una verga lo que debias buscar.

Y que tipo de verga? O labio? En readlidad debo este hueco llenar?!

Dicen que siempre hablas de sexo, pero yo se que tu hablas de PODER.

No se trata de ya no ser sumisa. Nunca lo fuiste.

No es rebeldia. No es feminismo. Es ser. 

Si de Lolita nadie te topo. No te quita lo Lolita.

Y seguro estas harta de hecharte, pero a correr!!!

Y seguro a veces quisieras hecharte, al lecho de muerte,

para ya no ser objeto.

Llevaras corona de flores no seras virgen. No seras esposa.

Llevaras corona de flores. Te desnudaras en el bosque.

Que no te importe ser una perdida que danza desnuda en un bosque lleno de lobos,

no seras presa. Seras cazadora. Y cuando tus flores se marchiten

te hecharas al fin, bajo un arbol amante.

Y ahi tu cuerpo se quedara.

Indefinidamente.

Traduccion de un Poema Por Cate Marvin

FLORES, SIEMPRE
Inexplicablemente el letrero fuera del deli decia Flores, y bajo esto, Siempre. Pero no habian flores, y yo nunca he visto un siempre.
Me gustaria, y he buscado. He mantenido mis ojos abiertos por un Siempre... Algo asi, como esta idea de un bolso caro y deseado paseandose en los brazos de damas acaudaladas
que son muy damas. Rode entre almohadones de terciopelo donde escuche que dormia un Siempre, y alguna vez trate de besar a un Siempre pero creo que no era el Siempre que yo estaba buscando.
Me gusta tu Siempre, se ve como una mascota demandante, se ve como si besara lindo y suave, se ve como los lastimados que encontre floreciendo en mi rodilla.  Cai al oir tu voz.
No te preocupes, me pare al instante, camine diez cuadras mas y para eso ya estaba medio camino a casa. Me golpee las rodillas azul y me encostre gateando hacia ti, queriendo flores y siempre, siempre, siempre el deslizarse contra el vinyl frio del asiento de un auto,
tus palidas manos en las espaldas desnudas de mis piernas, ese es un Siempre que yo quiero. Y quien sabria que hay tantas especies de Siempre?
Tus manos desnudas en las espaldas de mis muslos marcando lastimado. Y si tu dijeras 'Flores' dijeras 'Siempre' entonces, pudieramos erguir un Por Siempre
de algo como sabanas y desayuno y un dia ordinario. Mis ojos se deslizarian atraves de la mesa hacia ti, para calentar sus canicas gemelas en tu palma,
mi cara enfloreceria para ti diariamente. De modo que cuando murieramos, a lo mejor rosas crecerian petalos fuera en nuestras gargantas. 


FLOWERS ALWAYS.
Inexplicable the sign outside the deli scrolled with Flowers, and below that Always. But there were no flowers, and I have never seen an always.
I'd like to and I have looked. I´ve kept my eye keen for Always, half like this... idea of an expensive purse coveting it as it appears riding the arms of rich ladies
who are so very lady. I rolled on velvet cushions where I heard Always slept, and I once tried to kiss Always but I don´t think it was the Always I was looking for.
I like your Always, it looked such a demanding pet, it looks like it kisses nice and soft, it looks like the bruise I found flowering on my knee.
I felt down at your voice. Not to worry, I got right back up, walked ten more blocks and by then I was halfway home.

I knocked my knees blue and scabbed crawling toward you, wanting flowers and always, always, always the slide against the cold vinyl of a car seat,
your pale hands on the bear backs of my legs, that is one Always I want. And who ever knew there were so many species of Always?
Your bear hands on the backs of my thighs printing bruise. And if you said 'Flowers,' said 'Always' then we could erect a forever
of something like sheets and breakfast and an ordinary day. My eyes would always slide across the table toward you, to warm they´re twin marbles in your palm,
my face would flower for you daily. So that when we die, roses might petal themselves out our throats

***

vomitar escarcha
de color
a lo largo del pasillo
que conduce el baño al aula, salón, fabrica
cagar estilo
no soy princesa, soy vagabundo
perdido en el brillo
las luces de neón
y el tintineo que creo
cuando salpico agua dentro de la pileta.
no soy mujer, tampoco hombre
no soy puto, ni mojigata.
Tan solo vine a salpicar el brillo.

Los Escapistas

Te traje
hasta el quinto piso.
nivel rata, gris. automovil. basura. peaton/ porton.
entes juntos pero dispersos, siempre secos. objetos del recuerdo, polvo.
vacio. limpio. siempre limpio, siempre a la venta.
lejano y cercano. hogar del niño y del hombre y la vieja.
escalones que dan al viento, el servicio nunca llego, aun asi aqui albergamos los olvidados,
los escapistas.

Te tuve
tres dias antes. En mis entrañas
con la mirada basta
para confirmar los hechos
algo rapido, quizas errado

Te deje

en cabrón nada.



Got nothing but swing like moves

Walking through the moon
without galactic shoes
no Mr. Jackson moves.
Just, walking.
.
Passing through the rocky desert
I found you
inside an empty vast crater.
Offered me a filthy cup
full of The Undesirable Feeling
I gulped it whole, and was left
with no desire
to walk back to earth
in my terrestrial shoes - pathetic swing like moves.

I was left put
inside the hollow crater, with you.
Numb stares, no words. We inhaled the lunar white dust.

Yo no escribo poesia. Yo tan solo escribo
por que mi voz tiembla, por que no tengo publico.
Por que soy palabra, no accion.
Si notas un juego en la oracion,
no son pretenciones mias. Son solo juegos
para pasar el rato,
para sonar bonito.

Yo no escribo la verdad,
yo tan solo escupo ideas.
Las escupo y las dejo huir.
No soy su dueña,
y tampoco las respaldo.

Yo tan solo escribo palabras
por que es facil,
por que soy cobarde.
Por que son tan solo palabras.

The Virgin In Chains



The Virgin In Chains Is Not Really a Virgin.

My mom tells me she carries those chains realeasing us, is not that the chains control her movement, quite the opposite, its her, holding them, getting us rid from them.
We are the ones who are chained.

But when I look at her
I don't see a fight, I don't see no action.
Just her placid face and the chains.
The artist liked her women easy, obeying
the artist might have been a chauvinistic freak.
Or maybe it is our whole religion the one that is whacked
and the artist simply had to portray her like that.

The Virgin in Chains Is Not Really a Virgin

The Virgin in Chains Is Not Trapped

The Virgin In Chains Decides

To give birth,

give a fuck,

look down,

The Chains of A Virgin are Links

to us, and what's terrestrial.

So, Is she glad to hold them,

or does she want to get rid of them?

Rid Of Us.

I like to hang around with the scumb, because they are not really scumb.

My mom tells me

I cannot mix, blend,

she says some humans are in their divine state,
like worms.

And she believes that herself as I,

that we are queens.

She says the world is my kingdom and that I must decide what to do in it,

In order to gain the positive reaction
a holly action needs to be performed.

Well,  I think

'Mother, I just want to fuck.'

Fuck with the worm, 

Fuck with the dog, 

Fuck with the god.

Give away my flowers

Give away my riches

Give my self, away. 

I don't wanna step on top of the snake

I'd rather dance to it. 

The Virgin In Chains, She Is Not Really a Virgin.

She is just pieces of rock carved together

Take Her When She Comes.

Three - Absent Minded

The boy in that punk show
when I knew he liked me,
it was my ego what gained.
So pretty in the outside,
never gave myself the chance to understand what was going in the inside.
Though I think way back then, I was beggining to comprehend.

Adolescent lust, there is nothing like it.
A virginal body is feeling for the very first time, fire.
As we play to press our lips against eachother,
and learn how to heat up the temperature of our bodies
I am also learning that my mind
IS SO FUCKED UP,
and it can play evil schemes just as well.
Guess some girls do need to play it slow.
Things I will never explain.
Things you might know,
things may be forgiven.

Your sexy attitude remains, always posing and looking soooooo hot.
You are a cool game
which I can't ever follow.

two- a philosopher

balls bounce back and forth,

this time I'm a dame with full self-control
restrained because the timing is totally off.
momentary pointless encounters of nothingness
a good chat, good will
FULL MEnTAL desire.
wit can do so much for a girl's illussions
which can make a girl wanna go far
laughs can make a clit shiver
space and time will fuck us up.

a philosopher can fuck as well as he can doubt

space and time can be modified
we need to take a chance.

Hang on / Hang. Gone

hey girl, if you are so fearless, take your heart off your head.

I met this P.E teacher, she was a young beautiful and argentinian. Zarpada. She tried to teach me the facts of love, or rather, the facts of control and male domination. She was a brilliant fearless bitch. Her instinct was on, her game was cocky but effective. I listened and decided to hold a restraint over myself. My impulse. Maybe play some chess, so I'd know how to turn heads and maybe break constrains. Don't mind about regrets. And primarly, since we are females, preserving the virginal image that is so very much required.

I was stunned. I had never heard a girl talk the way she did. And trust me, I've talked and overheard plenty of girls. It was this incredible disregard for moral and feelings. For her it was a matter of who was in control. And being a P.E teacher it is no surprise she'd have a competitive nature. I really don't think people were actually fooled, but I am certain they allowed her to play her games without giving her the scarlet letter.
And I have never been able. Not really.

I've been tamed. I've always acted upon the promise of love
and good feelings.
I guess I haven't really lost,
I've been dumped,
been forgotten, neglected, taken for granted.
But there is no loss in that, it is a game in which we all gain.

I was determined to learn a little from her schemes, act upon lust
and forget love, it would come, if it was to come.
And I guess I have been quite keen to it.
My aim isn't to be as her,
for I will never have a competitive nature,
I will never care about being demure and respected
if you wanna call me a bitch, I might as well deserve it.
And I will never be as cold.
I just wanna gain sexual expirience
become a sex god,
keep healthy and joyful. That is pretty much all.

mouth to mouth. heart to heart.
"You are such a nice girl." Fuck You. 
I wanna fuck you up, real hard.  
The marks I asked you to leave in my body, they will only last a few days.
The lies you've told me will remain as truth for as long as my memory will cherish them.

Take some time.

Patience. Everything will be all right.
To be wanted. Fuck love. Give me passion.
I want to make him come. Come again, you and your light preassured twitching.
How is it that he's got no impulse to chase?
It is a game I want to play, but lately everybody is too modern to give a fuck, give a dime. Take some time.

She is the desperate message. The clear response of a chained virgen.
What are these chains for? Am I constrained? Attached to what?
To the promise of wellness and order. I am hectic and spontaneous.
If I want I take. And I will be taken. Why should never matter.
The lack of action is the disease.
Still, I don't act. I only write. I only think. I only wish.
And I care about the why, and specially about how.
I hope upon a smooth approach.

Thing is, I am fragile.
Too much thrubbing gives me pain.
An unloving farewell leaves me astonished.
I am gonna cut your cock off. Or maybe just kiss it. But I need your attention.
And I don't want to beg.

Don't tell me I can look for you, rather you look for me.

She Must Persist

and to be given life means just the same as to being hold back from it.

inside a glass shell she sleeps. lids open, eyes wide shut. count til ten
ten years isn't long enough. a second is the same as eternity.
but its actually been like 3 years... or 22?
She keeps forgetting her age. As it meant something. Her real age is a secret only her soul keeps.
and the knowledge of life and matter, it is between life and matter.

inside that shell she doesnt find comfort. Her ass feels numb and her heart is sore.
"'The vanity in them." Yes. She finds them disgusting. And yes, she can relate.
cause she couldnt think of anyone as vain as her.
So she stays in that shell. Eyes open, lids shut. Mouth open, words out.

The words she speaks can (and certainly do) destroy worlds she hold so precious.
words out, guns blaze. Rip my heart out.
The thoughts she keeps, create hells she cant brake out from.
So she speaks loud, but her voice is weak and it quivers. So the hell remains inside the shell,
yet parts come out to contaminate.
Concepts are her virus, but she must still go on, and learn more techniques.
We fight cause we want peace, she must persist. and spread the disease.

i let the time pass me by

disposable.

expendable.

caught up in past encounters

letting time pass me by

the recolection of faces leaves a sour taste
Engorged. Filthy. Animal.
Fuck my instinct. Fuck eternal love.

Got no trophy. No pursuit.
...... ..... ..... ..... .... ..... (Shit!)
Was it an adventure?
Time passes me by carving judgement upon the memories
the memories of summer and hollidays past
of a sweet november.
The lack of events post a certain action
a certain drive. a certain lust.

The cowardy promise of a forgotten friendship leaves me wondering:

Was it an adventure?

The only things that remain 

are the objects that were at sight

a black canvas hat, a black t-shirt layered over a yellow long sleeve, the dirt in his hand, a broken tight, returned belt, kitchen table filled with smushed brownie left overs and gifts of weed, a lonely bed in which i was left waiting, a book by J.D Salinger, watercolors, joint, take out chinesse food with extra hot sauce, glove compartment, grey billabong thermal top...(List goes on)
Objects given to good will or maybe
to some other girl that casually passed by. (Yeah, that silly girl got my hat. )

So what are we running away from?
Why must we press upon adventure?

You got to live a little, seek a little,
and let your poor heart out to dry.
That's the story of, that's the glory of NOW.
until time rolls by a little

and all that is left is your corpse buried

to feed some littles

that's the story of, that's the glory of NONE.

Forget your awarness of a pathetic being breathing inside of you
Forget the knowledge that everybody around you is crap
and Fuck this desire to let time pass you by.

I Find MySelf

  ...................................in the image of a body 

laying naked in ignorance with crossed arms and closed eyes.

I used to run away ...

and I thought I was gonna run away with You

I'd run away with you

By My Side

But Im just like you: Disposable, exchangeable.

A fool rushed in who desires to feel
but ends up number
day by day.

.... she's just a stupid bitch.

(Yes. I am referring to self)

the ethereal crow

A black bird appeared to me, it seemed to be a crow. Its feathers were so black that as the moonlight hit on them you could see them sparkle white. The bird was big and the touch of his wings with the cool night breeze emitted a beautiful sound. This continuous movement completed a wonderful sad song.

At the moment I couldnt understand the meaning, it caught me by surprise. I just saw this animal reflection in awe. I like crows in the same way I like animals that ought to be respected and feared. Snakes, bears, wolfs and jellyfish. The crow is just the same. My crow was ethereal.

That night as I went to bed my heart pounded hard in a steady pace. I was fearfull, mainly because I didnt understand the origin of this fear. I said to myself -"Fuck it. You've just heard a beutiful song, and you've just seen a bird. And what a bird!" The night is filled with magic.

A few days had to pass in order to comprehend that this crow was mine. It was not chance. It was not luck. What seemed to be a sporadic delight was actually a warning.

Watch out, silly girl, you ought to be a woman. Feed me, for I am you and I can see you are lacking. Time can fade your body away but the spirit remains. Care girl. Grow girl. You ought to be a woman. Feed me or else. 

Its words to me are now so clear. A crow is a dangerous animal. Feed him wrong, and he'll start poking your eyes. One by one, bit by peak. He will rip away all the flesh, eagerly, forcefully, and it will take long. And it will hurt.

Beautiful bird. Try to hear his song, try to understand. Once you know you ought to be exactly what you believe, you'll find communion with him. And both will fly! You can be his song and the warning can evolve into something deep and lovely. Soul is what they call it. But be careful. One single slip can be so meaningful, one single slip can become habit. Fall down once and you might stay down. Be nothing but raw meat.

For me it was too late. I saw him and I heard that awful warning but my brain is too thick to really get things. I knew all along I was doing wrong. Sleeping late, feeling depressed and tired of my friends, chores. Life, ugh. I can easily get lost in a day dream.

He was getting hungry. Hungry for knowledge, for adventure, for love, hungry for a purpose. Oh he was so patient! He, he would follow me through my day dreams! In wistful loving pace he would follow me!

Oh and Time! Oh it is so fast! Faster than me, faster than my crow time is! So when time took this sudden long leap we were left so far behind. Oh and he didn't like that. On that terrible moment he knew he had been loving somebody with a weak lame body. Oh but he was so furious! So he screamed his song in hurtful tone and he plunged his beak, hard! Straight into my  chest and the flesh was ripped and the blood was draining and my eyes were full of "I'm so sorry"s.

And he was sorry too. And I swear I know this because he stopped and he cried and from that moment he never again sang any song. Just tears and strange crowish howls.
I still had a chance, to do something. Let him take me on flight. But I don't know, I just didn't. I was even weaker without that piece of flesh and that enormous amount of blood gone it was harder for me. So I didn't.

And I was so afraid I no longer had any daydreams just this regret and this "I'm so sorry"s. And he got really hungry and bored and frustrated of my lame body. And time that nasty creature was way passed us, mocking us! So my crow he couldn't hold it any longer. So I have this beautiful bird peaking hurtfully day by day into my vain sin. Oh I tell you it hurts.

And I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take it. Time is so far I bet it can't even recall us. I am out of flesh and so so sorry. But you, you are still young! Oh I'm telling you now, you must understand this. You must make music with your crow because if you just stand there. I mean really it is only but natural to move.

one - the bandal

followed by a troop he showed up, ringing and knocking
a bulgar like any other
who caught nothing yet got everything.

one can be born pure, but by the age of 12 everything is forgotten
im ready to open my legs, tell me how much is my body worth.
im just a girl and your lips get me lush

cover myself, promise me something. why cant a bandal pretend?
not to be himself?
demure and long lasting -coin operated
give me a manual

bandals never play it slow
girls in big boobs never get a shot
a chance, the time
to get known.

Lush lips
crossed lips
hot hips
torn midst

i got to leave the country
a bandal and a prune.

seven

they were seven who got caught into the webs of a fabulous woman
seven to drink from her heavy fluids
seven who got ditched by the same bitch
-though a few were the ones who did the ditching

they were seven bandals
poets
absent minded
illiterate
junkies
constrained
untamed lovers.

Cheesy and Mechanic

As time passed the cotton got replaced by lace

They had told me about Satan, but he was never present, not then.
black fur Satan, white scrappy ears and he followed his own rules
people considered him the king of the night and the city streets
i bought by dimes and millions and bubble gum
i bought them with all that i had
them and all their lies.

Satan was as bastard
breeded and neglected. Wild in the structure of structured homes,
in structured blocks, in plain plains, Buenos Fucking Aires!!
I wasn't the complete opposite, quite raised
and somewhat neglected in a home somewhat forgotten - always packed
just as the streets, the closed walls had no laws.
Thought I was invencible
as Satan
braided to carry on
and destroy
all that musn't work.

but I'm cheesy and mechanic
sleezy and contracted
fuzzy and not long lasting
tape recorder withits twists and its SPLITS!

The Pleasure In Breast Feeding

Her only wish was to carry any living inside her tummy, her instinct begged her to allow a sweet savage to knock her up. She would let them eat her wholly though she despised the feeling in it, in them. She knew it was the only way to get what she wanted. Her adolescence passed, filled with the promise that some night someone would pull her by the hair, spank her and have her. She dreaded the idea of being touched by those lusty man. They were to take advantage of her weakness and sodomize her.
Just when her biological clock was taking its last ticks she met a noble man bewitched by her looks, he was eager to take her as her spouse and give her that child she wanted so dearly.

Right when the wedding was through she took charge and did him time and time again, till she got one. One ever growing stomach, she didn't feel satisfied. Nothing felt accomplished but after the child was delivered and ready to suck her tits. Soon enough she had a fat and strong baby, who was only allowed to suck her, and suck her 24/7. Her life was joyful, at last. Her tits expanded in a natural manner, her tits were never unattended. A calm smile overflowed her. She was mother earth, and it was her duty to be milked religiously. Forever.

But the child grew up and became unwilling to suck her. She would have make him but her husband denyed upon it, claiming it should be him the one who does all the sucking. Forced to toy with the idea, she accepted to give it a try. It could be just the same, it could be even better. He claimed that the pleasure would only increase, he said she would feel sweet extasy. He was wrong. His big hands didnt help, she felt disgust. She hated men. And he wouldn't make it any easy, for he didnt just suck her breasts but he sucked lovingly every inch of her beautiful body. She was no longer a giver of life and health, during the ilicit act she became a whore who gave her body in exchange of a doomed dream. Filthy and weak again, she was penetrated and then she knew she was back on track. She had to deliver and milk as many babies till the day she died. Her milk was rich and her bossom sweet, nature had given her power, it was located on her expanding nipples and when she used them it was an inmense force that talked through her, she was delivering a message to her offspring.

She had many strong babies, all boys except for one. The last. It was a she and just like all her older brothers soon enough she grew tired of that enchanting soft bottle. Mother stopped being fertile, and became weak again, untouched and gelous of her lovely baby girl. So she confined herself with her new enemy, her volumptuous daughter, inside the highest tower, never to hear of man again. Never too be touched and be treated like the whores she knew all seductive ladies certainly were.

When mother died, daughter was in her prime, untouched and naive, purest of them all. She was an ignorant banquet, freed at last, unafraid to see the world she knew nothing of. She only knew her mother breasts, and was utterly disgusted by them, for on accasions she had been forced by mother to suck her even though there was no point in it, for she no longer gave any milk, and her body each passing day became more and more bitter.

The daughter was unchained, and she walked outside that tower, with no clue of what the world was like. Remember: She was in her prime.