Ordered a 16GB iPad mini bought a Samsung GALAXY Centura to replace the one I washed . . . doing a variation (Letters to Myself) on the Burroughs/Gysin cut-up process . . . B/G thing to be posted later . . . The rest of the day with no mind . . .
Gotta transfer service from my old fone to the new one . . .
In “poontang or petenera” I posted some lyrics copied from a subtitled video about flamenco by Carlos Saura . . . the cantaor featured was Jose Menese.
And after listening to the song many times, I realized that the subtitles were miles away from what was being sung . . . so after several hours of research and translations . . . I have what is as close to the cante jondo as I can get . . . but still much better than what was originally copied . . .
Fragmento . . . de la pelicula . . .
My intention is death
Mi intención es muerte
(if they saw me, they spoke with uncle.)
si me vieron hablaron con tío.
Hablarán a su tío
They will speak to your uncle
They have sharpened their knives
Han afilado sus cuchillos
I have been through much
Para que empiedra
. . . (that) it paves with stone.
el pasar con tal tormento y dolor
. . . going through such torment and pain
Soy duro como piedra
I am hard as stone
So I would not feel (No sentiría tan)
. . . I would not feel
The wounds in my heart . . .(Las herida a mi corazón.)
No sentiría las heridas en mi corazón
Carlos Saura . . .
Underpants G-nome
WAAAH !! OMG OMG OMG . . . under pants, pants under . . .
I started to write a poontang tribute to porn queens but got sidetracked . . .
Why does the Inyo County Office of Education have to bring Sherman Alexie to talk about poverty, racism and “following tradition”?? What’s wrong with a local Indian . . . we kicked cavalry ass with just bow and arrows AND no horses, just bare feet . . . don’t need feathers and powwow fancy-dance costume to be Indian, you just look at me and little children run and hide behind mommy and I’m not talking little “white” kids, Indian kids run too, cos I’m one scary motherfucker. Sherman Alexie reminds me of Conan (TV host) who I don’t find amusing, and George Lopez (late-night comedian??) who I cannot stand . . . why do all the media comedy dah-lings wear suits??
Alcoholism?? There are as many non-Indian drunks in town as Indian drunks, the difference is, the non-Indians don’t stagger down the side of the road to the liquor store . . . they drive . . . and they usually are in line at Von’s, not the liquor store. Racism? Indians are extremely prejudiced, they blame the “white-man” for All their problems. and discriminate against fellow tribal members who try to better themselves.
Two men (Tom and Harry) go fishing together, one is an Indian Tom) and the other is “white” (Harry) . . . Harry keeps having to stop his fishing activities to keep his worms (bait) from crawling out his bait-box. This goes on for some time and finally, the Harry asks Tom shy his worms aren’t crawling out of his bait-can, and Tom says, “They’re Indian worms, they keep pulling each other down . . .”
And poverty . . . same as alcoholism , , , actually the Indians on the four reservations in this region have access to “commodities” (monthly), a quarterly state gaming revenue sharing check, and they pay no sales tax on items purchased and delivered to their reservation residence (new cars, appliances, building materials, etc.).
Another bit of information:
Did you know that the stem cell horror story is nothing but CRAP? You can use “cord blood” (blood from the umbilical cord taken at birth) to grow the “stem” cells, so all the anti-abortion crap about using the “stem” cells of unborn fetuses is just that, “shit”, stirred up to cloud issues. Thank you, all you Christian assholes, now I have to catch a plane to Indonesia to get my eye fixed . . .
I never really understood what all the fuss was about over the “Poontang Trilogy” I mean why did the feds confiscate the film?? I guess the same logic that was behind giving the 404 to Tropic of Cancer and Lolita . . . HOLY CRAP; look at what is on prime time Tellyvison these days . . . some shit that is only suitable for 5th grade mentalities . . .
South Park and Robot Chicken are like Ozzie and Harriet, and Saturday Night Live used to be, pretty tame by comparison.
POON poon, POON poon . . . makes me think about the backseat of my old ’49 Merc with the suicide doors . . . you could have a PARTY in the backseat!! You coulda hung a disco ball from the ceiling and not worried about hitting your head on it when you stood up . . .
The first thing the girl at the DMV said when I was registering the Merc was, “It has a BIG backseat . . .” I don’t know if that was a hint or simple statement of fact . . . Ronette-style beehive hairdo and a tight sweater . . . POON poon, POON poon . . .
“True love baby, no shit . . .” (POON poon is similar to the sound of your heartbeat) . . . and with the stick on the floor you could brush your GF’s bare leg as your hand returned to the steering wheel and not get slapped, but if she was sitting THAT close, your hand never go back to the steering wheel . . . POON poon, POON poon . . . Santo and Johnny sleepwalking in the backseat
And, remember how the PT Cruiser was “supposed” to be the “Personal Transport” Cruiser?? BULL SHIT, we all know the “PT” stood for “prick teaser” . . . that’s like saying you didn’t recognize “Muno” in the KIA Sorento CM as the red DILDO that he is . . .
The trashman . . .
p.s.
I gave you the “bare bones” version of “Sleepwalk” because its like finding your GF “forgot” to wear panties . . . here’s another listen . . . 1968.
Back when I was in San Francisco at the SF Art Institute beating my way around Columbus Street down to the Mission District I remember seeing a screening of the “Poontang Trilogy” (1964) at the Institute. Mostly I remember the grainy black and white clip of a woman with a film superimposed on her naked torso and that left a serious dent in my psyche. I lived for a while on Leavenworth in the Tenderloin, just up from Mission . . . hooker bar across the street and the landlords were a couple of gays, said they liked having an “artiste” in the building.
I was looking at Ferlinghetti’s “A Coney Island of the Mind – Pictures of the Gone World (1955)” and it just reaffirmed the fact that I am a holdover of the Beat Generation – I still think like Kerouac and Ginsberg and Burroughs . . . and, oh yeh, can’t forget Pound, although I don’t think he was considered a “beat”, just a traitor for hanging out in Italy and broadcasting what was considered seditious manifesto . . .
Somehow this all leads to Jenner Street in the desert and to Federico Garcia Lorca, Spanish poet murdered – “It is thought that Garcia Lorca was shot and killed by Nationalist militia on 19 August 1936”.
I wrote wild crazy words in the Mojave Desert, filling the empty spaces with the capricious banker’s wife . . . and later . . .
But before this I was in the Spanish town of Santa Fe nueva Mexico, lost in the adobe maze, standing mute in the rust-stained sundown by the Agua Fria, looking up at the mountains, imagining the Blood of Christ . . .
The “Sleep of Reason . . . ” – Francisco de Goya y Lucientes (dibujo preparatorio,1797).
The following is from the poem “Romance Sonambulo “(Ballad of the Sleepwalker) by Federico Garcia Lorca:
“Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green…
”
Illustration by Federico Garcia Lorca from Poeta NY.
“ Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde…”
“Maja Urbana” Francisco de Goya y Lucientes.
“La esposa precoz” was the “muse” in the waning months of summer, 1968 . . . amante vestida y desnuda . . . she writing poems in Spanish, introducing me to “Everything that has black sounds in it . . . duende.” – the joys and sorrows, the emotional ‘blackness‘ or shadow of life. Now I see my fascination with the work of Goya y Lucientes, Picasso, Dali, Garcia Lorca, and Miro . . . la esposa was La Petenera . . . in disguise.
Peteneras – Carlos Saura. This link doesn’t work, so copy and paste the following onto your browser to get the video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6szfza4SQM”>Carlos Saura – enjoy.
“I’ll be sentenced to death
if they see me talking to you . . .
I’ll be sentenced to death
if they see me talking to you . . .
My killers can, oh mother of my heart
My killers can get their knives ready
I’ll be sentenced to death
If they see me talking to you
Ay, I’m tough as stone
Ay, I’m tough as stone
I’ve been through so much
Torment and pain,
Oh my lover
So I wouldn’t feel,
So I wouldn’t feel
The wounds in my heart . . .
Ay, I needed to be so tough.”
Since I don’t speak the Andalusian dialect of Spanish, a rough translation will have to suffice – the video is sub-titled (poorly) – however, I give you this:
A popular theory sustains that this palo originated in the town of Paterna de Rivera in the province of Cádiz. According to a legend, the name of the song refers to a cantadora called “La Petenera“, who was born there. She was reported to be the “damnation of men”. AND, “as suggested by Hipólito Rossy, the petenera originated in the songs of Sephardi Jews . . . assuring that Sephardi Jews in the Balkans still sang the lyrics containing the verse of the Petenera as the “damnation of men” . . . I leave that up to you.
I used my Retro Camera app for the screen caps of la maja desnuda that I inserted in the “song”. for a more intimate “look” at the maja . . .
Old school - NEW world 