Pornopoemas y otros desvarios literarios

si me saco el hombre y me saco el bollera y me saco la pluma y me saco un ojo
¿qué queda de mí?


Me fui construyendo con metáforas de otros
y, despojada de todo lo que no me cuadra,
me quedo flaca y tiritando de frío
ante una estructura que me repele.
Y qué pasa si quiero ser otra cosa distinta?
Qué pasa si me quiero arrancar esta mierda que me cuelga y fabricarme una vagina?
Qué pasa si quiero ser sólo de carne que sangra, de carne que se muere si la aprietas, si quiero ser algo inútil que no tenga sentido?


Estoy harta del papel de celofán que lo recubre todo,
de la profilaxis, de las mentiras,
de las cosas pulidas y brillantes.
Quiero descubrir qué hay debajo de toda esta mierda que tanto nos ahoga,
Quiero recuperar mi voz de entre toda esta basura, quiero cagarme en todo con mi voz de puta, loca.


Finalmente tengo coño, no lo elegí pero no me disgusta.
Soy la niña que todo lo quiere,
una insatisfecha perpetua,
alguien en quien no se puede confiar.


Quiero salvarme.
Que exista un paraíso en el que sólo entren las perturbadas, las travestis, las transgénicas.
Quiero que los infieles ardan por siempre en un infierno
Pero sin sexo y sin llamas.
Quiero venganza, aún no sé de qué.
Quiero salvarme, como toda hija de vecina.






If I take out the man, and I take out the dyke, and I take out the flame and I take out one of my eyes, what remains of me?

I´ve constructed myself with metaphors of “others” and, stripped of all that doesn’t fit, I remain skinny and shivering before a structure which repulses me. And what if I want to be something different? What what if I want to pull out this shit that hangs from me and build myself a vagina? What if I just want to be bleeding flesh, flesh that dies if you squeeze it, if I want to be something useless that doesn´t make sense?
I’m fed up with the cellophane that covers everything, of the prophilaxis, of the lies, of the gleaming and polished things. I want to discover what’s under of all this shit that suffocates us, I want to get my voice back from all of this trash, I want to yell ¨Fuck it!¨ with my crazy bitch voice

In the end, I have a cunt, I didn’t choose it but it doesn’t displease me. I’m the girl who wants it all, Everlasting dissatisfaction, Someone who you can’t trust.

I want to save myself. I want a paradise where only the disturbed, the transvestites, the “trangenics”
are able to enter. I want the infidels to burn forever and ever in hell, but without sex and without flames. I want revenge, although I don’t know of what. I want to save myself, like everyone else.

Blood orgy

My grandpa was a great fan. He used to take me with him to the bullfighting. I remember how extrange it was, more than the spectacle itself, the way of the people to get crazy. There were something else, for them, wasn’t just a man kiling a poor animal, it was a blood orgy, a symbolic rape, something that in other way wouldn’t be ethical at all.

The sexual connotations are unavoidable: the bullfighter is THE MACHO, the inteligent, the agile; the bull is just a cunt (black, bushy, bright, IRRATIONAL) who deserves to be penetrated in one thousand ways till the exhaustion; white scarfs are waving in people’s hands when it is a great “work”, and suddenly the terraces star to eyaculate.

And the blood... the blood gushing forth from the skin of that pussy with legs and HORNS, impure, dominable. Somebody says that just the vision of the blood stimulates a brain area, yesterday destinated to the hunting, today destinated to sex.

For that reason, when the bull catches the bullfighter, the people suffers a kind of shock, something like a “coitus interruptus”. For me is the opposite, when the bullfighter is penetrated, I feel like if from my crotch sprouts a white, hard and polished horn, and it puts me so horny.

We’re blood animals, even if a lot of people insist in call “art” to the slaughters that put us on.

I would love to masturbate myself over Manolete’s tomb.

Lubna, the first pornoterrorist

I think I had 5 or 6 years old when arrived to my hands a copy of RankXerox. My father had (and still have) a great comic collection and I had unlimited access to it, there were no restrictions, not even with the Vibora comics (a real pornographic spanish magazine). Maybe in that moment, with those stories in my hands I asociated for first time sex and violence.

My favourite character was Lubna, a 12 years old girl that was given a muscular and mad robot (Ranx). She is a pervert Lolita, she loves to fuck with the robot, she orders him to kill brutally her enemies, she turn him in her provider (the girl is addict to all kinds of substances), in her perfect toy.

I remember me wanting to be like her, to have my own robot (I included it in one of my letters to Santa), make him my slave, make him gut with a whisk that annoying and precocious brat of my class, make him fuck by the asshole that authoritarian and idiot teacher who always was ordering me to shut up...

I really recomend to those who don’t know this comic to get some of them.

You can find it in Ebay, I’m not sure if is translated to english, probably yes. The original is in italian. The name of the comic is “Rank Xerox” (Gaetano “Tanino” Liberatore draw it and Stefano Tamburini wrote it). The best of all of them is “Happy Birthday, Lubna”.

It is also a comic which participated to the begining of ciberpunk, so as well as you can masturbate with it, or suply your brain with blood, innards, sex with minors and excessive drug addiction, you can culturalize yourself. What else you can expect from a comic book?

Thanksgiving dinner

//Spanish version//
Today, I’m going to be witness of a really erotizing american culinary habit. We bought the turkey yesterday, the bastard weighs 15 pounds, 6,8 kilos (a huge baby but it’s still usefull). When you put your hand inside its ass you find that OH! it’s full of little plastic bags with its various innards inside. In the neck (I was expecting it with head), another bag has the heart.

Its skin feels like a pussy interior lips (a little bit cooler, of course). I daydream with my hands poking there inside when the animal was still warm (we bought it semi-frozen), my hands between viscosities and liquids and little softy protuberances.

In a moment of my fantasy the turkey turns into a baby (they are really similar, right?). Assails me the terrible vision of myself inserting in a dead baby blueberries and stuffing by his more and more dilated anus, washing down him with cider and puting all that in the oven at 400 degrees farenheit (that is... 204 celsius).

I wonder if I’m a real sick mind, although the answer, sincerely, doesn’t worry me so much.

Enjoy your meal!!

Hands

//spanish version//
It’s so difficult try to not be all the fucking day horny when everybody goes everywhere showing their naked hands. I fuck with my hands and other hands use to fuck me. The vision of a penis or a boob eroticises me (a little bit) less than the vision of a good strong hands, long fingers and short nails, please (fillets just at butcher’s).

I have been always in favor of nudism but I admit that in some occasions, clothes make the subject more interesting, what we can’t see wakes up additional curiosity on desire. That’s why gloves put me on. I don’t think I’m a fetishist in this way because be it of the hands for a lesbian should be the logical equivalent of be it of the glans, the clit or the ass hole for someone who don’t use the hands for fucking...

All that people in the streets, taking things, lighting cigars, holding books with their erect and ready for the action hands, mmm, it's indecent and lustful.

Hands are like the sin’s snake for me.

Matters of the tonge

//spanish version//
PORNOGRAPHY, near 1880. derivative from the greek ‘pornographos’ > who describes the prostitution. Composed with ‘porne’ > bitch, and ‘grapho’ > I describe.

it’s curious that ‘pornes’ inspired that ‘graphia’, this make me think that pornography, in the beginning, was a women bussines, and even if without the males it would never have existed like it is, were females the active part of it.

TERROR: the etymological origin of terror is in the ancient greek: ‘tromos’, in relation with verb ‘tremo’ or ‘treo’, wich means tremble.
And it comes from the onomatopoeia ‘trrr’, tipical in somebody who shudder, and it designates a superior state of fear wich rises inicially like an effective response, but that don’t entails the pannic disorder that disable the individual and breaks the reactive functions hierarchy.

Quivering flesh, terrify flesh, mmmm

Etymologies have always turned me on, they reveal the primal character of words and they help us to understand how and why for they were created. Also they show us the human stupidity in it’s less recreational side: we use up them so much that we turn them useless.

A thousand of times fucking I got speechless. Now that I know the meaning of this two words I will say: darling, I’m terrrrified cause you are so porn.

So, a terrorist is who makes the others trrrrrrremble. I hope to become a great terrorist. And a loyal pornographer.

Happy marriage

//spanish version//
Is something more beautiful than the fussion between the words “porn” and “terrorism”????
:::: The eroticism of the terror, an unresearched field that is open like a corpse ready for the autopsy. In the same way that funerals make me laugh, the image of a beautyful corpse, sometimes, makes my panties get wet. The first feeling is that you will never overcome the shameful situation, the humiliation imposed by the society when something politically incorrect seduce us. But you overcome it, oh yes, you overcome it with the first jerk off, with the first cult act to the terror.
That’s the only way to beat it, leting you seduce for it, being its tender little friend::::