The Reckoning

When my life is over and all that must pass has come to pass and I stand, upon quivering legs, ready to make the account of how I lived, weigh every truth and every lie, every gesture and every grudge, every small act of kindness, every petty deed of cruelty, every reasoned tolerance, every irrational prejudice, every promise kept, every trust abused, every generosity, every greed, every action born of selflessness, every thought spawned of selfishness, every noble bearing, every shameless conduct, every remembrance, every neglect, every thoughtful gift, every thoughtless theft, each and every moment of love and every and each second of hate, when that dread day comes and I must stand naked and unadorned before Justice herself…I bet it’ll be all those bloody Farmville invitations I ignored that’ll tip the scales. Fucking bastards!

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The Muckery

a work in progress, an immediate response to the need to get something down…

Great wealth

of shit

the world

and we,

the exalted

denizens of dung,

go beetling,

beetling –


our private portion


the brooding mass

at last


to the


heights of heaven,

We —

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Analog Africa Got Me In Deep DooDoo

Check Them Out. This song is seriously chilled:

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In Short

What is life

After all –

A bawl.

A blip.

A bleep.

The chance to sleep

After all —

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Just discovered what pantyliners actually are, having gone through life thinking they belonged to that mysterious and blessed netherworld of male fantasy where women of course got up in the morning and without a moment’s thought put on thongs, suspenders and fine, lacy things with fine French names, instead I now learn that they belong to that cold and brutal world of male reality filled with ever-expanding knickers, high-waisted items which are simply girdles by any other name and without irony given names like Spanx and then, as if to seal matters,  covered up by velure sweatpants with JUICY (dis)splayed across the arse.

Geez, what a rough day to be alive!

The Truth Hurts And Is Sometimes Wet

The Truth Hurts And Is Sometimes Wet

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Naming of Parts

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.

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Nos separaba de la calle
el cristal empañado de lluvia.
Yo estaba lejos del mundo,
hoja caída en el remanso de su llanto.

Ella era menuda y tierna
y se hacía más menuda entre mis brazos
y más tierna bajo mis ojos.

Entre nosotros y la calle
y la lluvia y el cristal de la ventana
eran dos abismos de plata.

La vida estaba allí naufragando en sus ojos
la belleza dormía en sus senos perfumados
la luz -toda la luz- se me daba en su boca
la humanidad – mi humanidad – era ella.

Más allá del cristal
más allá de la lluvia

Yo separé los ojos de los ojos de ella
para verlos pasar.

Marchaban chapoteando en el barro
los pies descalzos.
Desfilaban los rostros anochecidos de hambre.
Y las manos encallecidas de miseria
y las almas curvadas de injusticia
y las voces amanecidas de odio
desfilaban los pies descalzos.

Iba la madre con el hijo al cuadril
y el anciano rumoreando penas.
Y el mozo flameando la bandera,
iban de frente hacia la vida
armoniosamente rebeldes.

No sé si me lo gritaron ellos
o si me lo grité yo mismo.
Pero en las filas, de los que pasaban
estaban mi puesto, mi bandera y mi grito.

El cristal empañado de lluvia
esfumaba los rasgos de la calle
por donde pasaban los míos.
Volví los ojos hacia ella
que se hacía casi yo entre mis brazos

y le dije:

– Me llaman los que pasan.

Sus ojos empañados
me separaban de su alma
como el cristal con lluvia
me separaba de la calle.

Me dijo lentamente:

– No te vayas.

Y se hizo más menuda entre mis brazos
y me ofreció su boca palpitante
y sentí junto a mi, temblorosos sus senos.

Yo escuchaba chapotear en el barro
los pies descalzos
y presentía los rostros anochecidos
de hambre.

Mi corazón fue un péndulo entre
ella y la calle…

Y no sé con qué fuerza me libré
de sus ojos
me zafé de sus brazos.
Ella quedó nublando de lágrimas
su angustia.

Tras de la lluvia y del cristal
pero incapaz para gritarme:
– ¡ Espérame !

¡ Yo me marcho contigo !

Otero Silva

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Along the Blue-Treaded Way

Educated fleas and your top o’ the mourning gnats.
Bewintered bluebirds that spring into song.
And all the day, along the blue-treaded way,
There sounds a requiem for all that was soft, fine and gay.

Exalted larks in strange exultations.
A brace of nightingales embraced against the storm.
And all along the hedgrerows
The thrushes in their throes,
And so it goes –
And so it goes.

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A Mi Hermano Miguel

A mi hermano Miguel

In memoriam

Hermano, hoy estoy en el poyo de la casa.
Donde nos haces una falta sin fondo¡
Me acuerdo que jugábamos esta hora, y que mamá
nos acariciaba: “Pero, hijos…”

Ahora yo me escondo,
como antes, todas estas oraciones
vespertinas, y espero que tú no des conmigo.
Por la sala, el zaguán, los corredores.
Después, te ocultas tú, y yo no doy contigo.
Me acuerdo que nos hacíamos llorar,
hermano, en aquel juego.

Miguel, tú te escondiste
una noche de agosto, al alborear;
pero, en vez de ocultarte riendo, estabas triste.
Y tu gemelo corazón de esas tardes
extintas se ha aburrido de no encontrarte. Y ya
cae sombra en el alma.

Oye, hermano, no tardes
en salir. Bueno? Puede inquietarse mamá.

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This is my favourite of many loved poems by Sylvia Plath.

“I shall unloose / I shall unloose”

The unleashing is an explosion.


Jade —
Stone of the side,
The antagonized

Side of green Adam, I
Smile, cross-legged,

Shifting my clarities.
So valuable!
How the sun polishes this shoulder!

And should
The moon, my
Indefatigable cousin

Rise, with her cancerous pallors,
Dragging trees —
Little bushy polyps,

Little nets,
My visibilities hide.
I gleam like a mirror.

At this facet the bridegroom arrives
Lord of the mirrors!
It is himself he guides

In among these silk
Screens, these rustling appurtenances.
I breathe, and the mouth

Veil stirs its curtain
My eye
Veil is

A concatenation of rainbows.
I am his.
Even in his

Absence, I
Revolve in my
Sheath of impossibles,

Priceless and quiet
Among these parrakeets, macaws!
O chatterers

Attendants of the eyelash!
I shall unloose
One feather, like the peacock.

Attendants of the lip!
I shall unloose
One note

The chandelier
Of air that all day flies

Its crystals
A million ignorants.

And at his next step
I shall unloose

I shall unloose —
From the small jeweled
Doll he guards like a heart —

The lioness,
The shriek in the bath,
The cloak of holes.

Sylvia Plath, 1962

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