tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
"A fundamental idea of Aztec religion was that the gods sacrificed themselves in order to benefit humankind. In one myth the gods threw themselves into a huge fire to create the sun; in another they spilled their own blood in order to create people. These myths established a debtor relationship between humankind and the gods - a debt that could be repaid only through offerings of human blood." - Michael E. Smith

"How the gods had their beginning, and where they began is not well known. But this is plain, [that] there at Teotihuacan...when yet there was darkness, there all the gods gathered themselves together, and they debated who would bear the burden, who would carry on his back - who would become - the sun. And when the sun came to arise, then all [the gods] died that the sun might come unto being.... And thus the ancient ones thought it to be." - Bernandino de Sahagun, Florentine Codex
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
The Devil's Paintbrush Road (Annabelle Chvostek/The Wailin' Jennys)

I held on for so long
Dusty quaint old song
Things attach with glue
Live and die and gone

June flowers are so bold
On the devil's paintbrush road
The devil paints a double life
And there I dare not go

Live and die and gone
Live and die and gone
The devil paints a double life
Live and die and gone

I'm not the cheating kind
It snuck up from behind
Kicked in the door to someday
I can't get her off my mind

All or nothing now
Might as well be true
Leave the dream of hearth and home
That never will come true

Live and die and gone
Live and die and gone
Leave the dream of hearth and home
Live and die and gone

Sweet wild road ahead
Sweet wild road ahead
If I lied and said that all was well
I might as well be dead

Single I was born
And single I will die
I'll marry myself to the whole wide world
And never make her cry

Live and die and gone
Live and die and gone
I'll marry myself to the whole wide world
Live and die and gone

Live and die and gone
Live and die and gone
The devil paints a double life
Live and die and gone

(Get it here.)
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A Being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the Sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the Stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a God, or Beast;
In doubt his mind and body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his reason such,
Whether he thinks too little, or too much;
Chaos of Thought and Passion, all confus'd;
Still by himself, abus'd or disabus'd;
Created half to rise and half to fall;
Great Lord of all things, yet a prey to all,
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd;
The glory, jest and riddle of the world.

- Alexander Pope
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.

Translated by Robert Bly

Pablo Neruda

Sucede que me canso de ser hombre.
Sucede que entro en las sastrerías y en los cines
marchito, impenetrable, como un cisne de fieltro
Navegando en un agua de origen y ceniza.

El olor de las peluquerías me hace llorar a gritos.
Sólo quiero un descanso de piedras o de lana,
sólo quiero no ver establecimientos ni jardines,
ni mercaderías, ni anteojos, ni ascensores.

Sucede que me canso de mis pies y mis uñas
y mi pelo y mi sombra.
Sucede que me canso de ser hombre.

Sin embargo sería delicioso
asustar a un notario con un lirio cortado
o dar muerte a una monja con un golpe de oreja.
Sería bello
ir por las calles con un cuchillo verde
y dando gritos hasta morir de frío

No quiero seguir siendo raíz en las tinieblas,
vacilante, extendido, tiritando de sueño,
hacia abajo, en las tapias mojadas de la tierra,
absorbiendo y pensando, comiendo cada día.

No quiero para mí tantas desgracias.
No quiero continuar de raíz y de tumba,
de subterráneo solo, de bodega con muertos
ateridos, muriéndome de pena.

Por eso el día lunes arde como el petróleo
cuando me ve llegar con mi cara de cárcel,
y aúlla en su transcurso como una rueda herida,
y da pasos de sangre caliente hacia la noche.

Y me empuja a ciertos rincones, a ciertas casas húmedas,
a hospitales donde los huesos salen por la ventana,
a ciertas zapaterías con olor a vinagre,
a calles espantosas como grietas.

Hay pájaros de color de azufre y horribles intestinos
colgando de las puertas de las casas que odio,
hay dentaduras olvidadas en una cafetera,
hay espejos
que debieran haber llorado de vergüenza y espanto,
hay paraguas en todas partes, y venenos, y ombligos.
Yo paseo con calma, con ojos, con zapatos,
con furia, con olvido,
paso, cruzo oficinas y tiendas de ortopedia,
y patios donde hay ropas colgadas de un alambre:
calzoncillos, toallas y camisas que lloran
lentas lágrimas sucias.
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
Lancelot rode on a swayback mare
he won in a card game up north somewhere
he was bottom-out lonesome, he was too tired to care,
keepin' one step ahead of the rain

well, he blew into Broken Bow late last year,
talkin' up the vision of his lost Guinevere
but he couldn't tell a grail from a glass of beer
so he settled for Lady Elaine

singin' "yodelayhee, i ain't no untarnished Galahad
down from Arcadia like a dream in your head
but gentle lady lend me the true heart i never had
and i'll wash the years from your bed
with all the salt tears i have shed," Lancelot said

well, mornin' came sleepy and mornin' came slow
and the mirror revealed a face she didn't know
and the last autumn robin was packin' to go
as another year slipped by the way

so she rose and she dressed and she pushed back the night
she put up her hair by the dawn's early light
and the man in her bed was an eagle in flight
and a crooked old crow in the hay

singin' "yodelayhee, i ain't no untarnished Galahad
down from Arcadia like a dream in your head
but gentle lady lend me the true heart i never had
and i'll stain the lavenders red,
with all of the good blood i've shed," Lancelot said

now bugles blow golden and banners fly blue
but these days the castle's just drywall and glue
and tiltin' at windmills is the best you can do
with the black knight of time on your lawn

so i wouldn't know if he left or he stayed,
prospered or starved by the promise he made
or maybe he straggled or maybe he strayed
and the bright world went barrellin' on

singin "yodelayhee, i ain't no untarnished Galahad,
down from Arcadia like a dream in your head
but gentle lady lend me the pure heart i never had,
and i'll bring you roses and bread
and we'll fashion gold out of lead,
with all the illusions we shed," Lancelot said

(download it here)
tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)
Well I'll take two shots said the devil to the man
and layed a little book on the bar
well lord knows the devil he only talks shit
and only drinks whiskey from the jar
and his hands were raw and his eyes were cold
and his breath was pure alcohol and the sound of his voice it never got old
and he talked and talked and talked through the night
kept sippin his shine till the mornin' light
tumbled in through the shades and as he started to go
i put three bullets in his back.

well the devils bleedin' crude oil from a hole in his chest
and its panging on the bedpan drippin through the bedsheets
and all the businessmen are putting pails beneath his wounds
and pawnin the oil at the market
well his heart ain't made of nothin but piss and vinegar
and his boots have trampled more than you would know
and his breath has split open the thermometer on the sill
its so fucking cold in here since you brought in the snow

Black heart leaking oil in the pan,
dealin' insults with his free hand
in this hospital bed bleedin'
Black heart you shot the plan to hell and the apathy ate you up inside

Like slivers of lead inside your food
he's the poison inside you
and you eat until you're full
and you eat until youre full
he lit the fires inside your belly full of medicine and whiskey
the aspirin, valium, codiene pills and silver rum

someone say a hail mary for this house
bless the corners and burn the devil out.

Devil in Mexico - Murder By Death
tezcatl_ipoca: (poster)
Vive esta historia en cada barrio

Por la calle de vieira
Viene ya Don Palabras
Recitando poesía
Viene canta que canta

Cierto día don palabras
Me contó una extraña historia
De cómo nacen las cosas
Cada vez que uno las nombra

El tiempo vive en la memoria

Una noche lo encontré
Había llovido, lo recuerdo bien
Se acercaba a los autos
Cuando les tocaba el alto

A través de la ventana lo escuchaban hablar
Con su voz apasionada
Volver casi real un olvidado amor
Un antiguo dolor que ni el tiempo borró

Vive esta historia en cada barrio

Dichosos los poetas pobres
De ellos será el reino de los suelos
Así empezaba nuestro amigo
Su andar en la ciudad sin sueños

Caminando a su lado todo puede pasar
Un señor adormilado
Puede ser un Don Juan
Dispuesto a enamorar
A la güera del pan como princesa

De boca en boca, viajando en sueños

Miles de historias en cada barrio

Por la calle de vieira
Viene ya don palabras
Recitando poesía
Viene canta que canta

(Live this story in every neighbourhood

Across Viera street
Here comes Lord Words
Declaiming poetry
Here comes singing over and over

One day Lord Words
Told me an eerie story
About the way things are born
Every time we name them

Time lives within our memory

One night I run into him
It had rained, I remember clearly,
He approached the cars
At the red light

Through the window they could hear him talking
With his passionate voice
Render almost palpable a forgotten love
An ancient sorrow time couldn’t wipe away

Live this story in every neighbourhood

Blessed the poets who live in poverty
For theirs shall be the kingdom of the grounds
Thus our friend set in motion
His wandering through the dreamless city

Walking by his side, anything might happen
A drowsy looking gentleman
Can hide a Don Juan
Ready to woo
The grocer's girl as a princess

From mouth to ear, travelling in dreams

Thousands of tales in every neighbourhood

Across Viera street
Here comes Lord Words
Declaiming poetry
Here he comes singing over and over)
tezcatl_ipoca: (poster)
holy fire down in my belly and brimstone in my eyes
everything that a woman might need and the need just might arise
I'm a light-bringer and a soul-singer
I'm a snake-handlin' man

six-foot cottonmouth hangin from a tree on a sultry summer night
sling that serpent around my neck and I take him for a ride
baby I would
hey, baby, you know I can

'cause I got a heart that shines in the dark like the road to the pearly gates
you come creepin' up the slow lane baby but you know I just can't wait
I'm a fire-walker and a straight-talker
I'm a snake-handlin' man

mix that poison up good and strong and lift it to my lips
I'll go preachin' in the pale moonlight with a viper in my grip
baby I would
hey, baby, you know I can



tezcatl_ipoca: (Default)

September 2010

121314 15161718


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 20th, 2017 07:55 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios