THE SIGNS OF GOD'S LOVER
(To Ernesto Cardenal)
Poet and priest, politician
And GodŐs Lover
Where did you come from?
-From the Trappe, in Kentucky, brother
What has been offered to you?
-Have you seen my God
In Prayer and Mysticism ever?
-Yes, father Ernesto, yes, I have seen him
And I know the signs of him:
He is tall, dark and very bearded
Tall bearded manague
Christian and Marxist at the same time
A "Nicoya" like RubŽn Dar’o
Through the whole world sung
As Tino L—pez Guerra sang
To the great poet RubŽn
That the JesusŐ crucifix keep you
In a pine kerchief
Embroidered by Ileana, his girlfriend
Who promised to you
Until she was his wife
And that, with devotion, said him:
-I have waited seven years, Ernesto
Another seven I'll wait
If you don't come to fourteen
I'll be a nun.
NICANOR PLAYING HIS DRUM
I am walking, with my friend Apianus, the RetiroŐs Park, in Madrid and already, in the Big Pond, in front of the monument to the king "Pacifier" Alfonso twelve, whose horse has fewer eggs than the EsparterosŐ s Horse, we see Chinese and more Chinese offering their massage services with ŇTiger BalmÓ B‡lsamo de Tigre; a few other women send you play cards offering you a sexual plan; others, gentlemen or women from other stalls, offering you pipes, olives, chewing gums and caramels and, others, "Fresh Chochos", lupins.
But, the one that caught our attention the most was a man who was blowing a little cloak held with one hand, attached to a doll that played the drum with a toothpick in each hand, pulling, under his feet, a string with the other hand ; doll caling with his mouth: ŇPeople, look at me: "Nicanor Playing his Drum".
This ŇNicanorÓ doll was in fashion and you could find it, too, in the Madrid Rastro, in the Plaza de Cascorro (FleasŐ Market), , in the old traditional Madrid.
This man was very funny to us, because, when he stopped playing the drum along with the doodles, he kept quiet and, making ŇNicanorÓ play the sticks on the drum pulling the string, singing:
"Chinito tś, chinito yo
Chinito del Culo, Chinito de amol
Trump, Trump. "
ŇChinese You, Chinese Me
Chinese of Ass, Chinese of Love
What made the kids sing, they jumped and more jumped for joy:
A virus is coming
Oh so bad and insane
Oh what a son of the beachÓ.
A mother carrying a child in her arms smiled, while the child reached out, wanting to take the doll. Others, older ones, said to their maid:
-We bought one, that our mother has given you money.
Once the doll was purchased, boys and girls opened a long procession and, with all their strength, sang the "Chinese You, Chinese Me", making all the people we met in that moment smiling in the park.
My friend and I bought one. For us, this moment was the party of "Nicanor playing his drum", which should serve for the universal history of human entertainment. And more today, that we have lost our way and the star of dizziness.
Before leaving the park, and marching towards the Puerta de Alcal‡ (AlcalaŐ Door), my friend told me:
-I vote for such, Silenus, that I am sure that the Influenzavirus, or Asian Flu, the GB or Sarin, and the Covid19 - Coronavirus, all three came from Chinese asses, and everything that global human understanding tells us is no more than a Chinese fairy tale for unbelieving or delusional miscreants.
-I'm with you, Apianus. Although the death count, all of them put in the same Covid bag19, is not a story; the truth of their true deaths has not been confirmed. Everything in our lives is done and has been done by fools to deceive slime boobies and throw it at them.
-To me, you say the truth, Silenus.
YOUNGSTERS WORSHIPERS OF THE ASSŐ DUNG
We were kids and little girls, boys and girls, mischievous and unruly children, "chisgarab’s" (pipsqueak), about 40, from four to six years old, the only ones we had in the town of Ca–ete, in the province of Cuenca, Spain, who, tired of teaching based on stick and tentetieso (tentety), and the reed of the catholic national doctrine, we created a "rock" in which we worshiped the Donkey's dung, and its Hee-Haw.
The Ass`Hee-Haw was our guide, and not that insipid, insubstantial and false Hee-Haw of the teachers, priests, doctors and mayors, the four important figures of the town, to whom we changed the name Ca–ete for Chiquiburra.
We liked to tell ourselves that we were mulatto and black children or vice versa, or children of india and zambo or vice versa, because we felt longing for Cuba, since most of our grandparents had been in its war, and they told us good adventures and, rather, bad.
When our heads hurt, our mothers would put slices of grease-smeared paper on our temples as a home remedy for pain.
When we crossed paths with fellow countrymen or women from the town, and they asked us:
-Where are you going little ones (chiquitos)?
We answered them:
-Mr. Mrs; Gentlemen, Ladies, "chiquitos" are the Indians of the southwestern region of Bolivia, and "chirapa" in Peru calls rain with sun.
So much was our love for America discovered by Columbus!
In lofts, corners or hiding places, or at the top and most hidden of a haystack, we looked at our bulba (chirimbolos) and their flageolet(chirim’as), objects that we did not understand that they were used for anything other than pissing. Thus, the boys called the girls: "Las ojetes"(The holes); and the girls to the boys: ŇLos pellejosÓ (The Skins). Although, for us these two were instruments for touching and kissing.
When we heard a Hee-Haw, we listened attentively, trying to see where it came from and how its master was called in town, to see if he was a good or bad man.
Once seen, we followed the Donkey wherever it was, calling it Ň the Holy FatherÓ, and also was called ŇYouÓ, waiting with enthusiasm and passion, that come out from its arse hole, to which we saw opening and closing like a fig, throwing those half-spherical and warm, steamy dungs, taking them in our hands, and passing them from one to the other, sucking them as in a game of caresses. Someone passed their tongue to see what they tasted like.
Some sparks or particles came to our eyes, blurring our sight.
The owner of the Donkey was called "Uncle Chirigu‡n", because he looked like an Indian from the interior of Cochabamba, in Bolivia, and he was also a beekeeper, because he had hives, and they also called him "Uncle Chisquete", because, when speaking , spit was coming out of his mouth.
This was in the afternoon, when we had already finished school, and our parents did their homework, and they went home confident that they would not have to put up with the kids.
While we passed the dungs from hand to hand, like the small change of money, we sang out of tune:
End of work.
Don't pay your jobs
Based on sticks.
When breaking the day
You beat it
So what it cares your garden
And your ferris wheel
At dawn in the afternoon.
On top of that you hit
It gives us free dungs.
Master, You are lucky
For a donkey's wages
It does a great job for you
Without paular or maular
Without saying a word
Giving a lesson
To the world of work.
Your Ass is evening
The same as morning
Hours are of it
Although yours are
The orchard and the ferris wheel.
The Ass is your life
Take care of its dungs
That its light shines
All our paths and roads
For us to live
Always in its presence Ó.
Sometimes, in summer, the Ass made us very funny, because "Uncle Chisquete" put on a top hat. We looked like a herd of goats and goats behind him.
At night, we took the dungs, which we had brought, to the goshawk that spent the night with the partridge that flew after a not too strong north wind, in the stable of "Uncle Chisquete". Also, the chochas gallinaceous birds felt love and affection towards dungs, so much that they began to peck them as if they were bean or beans.
-You're kind of giddy
You scare yourself with very little
Some compare you to a snot
And they call you "turkey mucus."
This is what my beloved tells me
Well I was scared of a mosquito
That has entered through the window
And it's settled in the curtain
From our bedroom.
-What bug is it
That, although it does not seem a cynife
It has a beak
As harmful or more than him?
She asks me.
I think it's a creek bug
What we call "Rio Vena"
Similar to those that fly
The waters of the Arlanz—n river
But much uglier
Well it's all black
Very long legs
And only two wings.
-Well, he's uglier than a demon.
He is a monstrous cynife!
She answers me.
-Willn't it be one of those that come from China
Transporting the Coronavirus?
-No, I answer her.
It's a wolf mosquito
With eyes like dishes
And a sucking organ
Willing to feast
-Thank you have crushed him
Between the glass and the curtainÁ
She gladly answers me.
GERINELDO GOES TO THE GYM
Today i come to the gym
But I don't want to do a single exercise
I want let the King of Heaven
Do it for me.
My friend Gerineldo is on the bench press
Three turns circling the bar
Being able to see how his dick was rising.
By doing the four laps
We saw a beautiful girl, brown wench coming
In her tight gym outfit
Dark light t-shirt
Short black shorts
Under which it showed
Her two breasts and her dreamy chestnut
With sports shoes, of course!
The first thing the girl did
Was stand on the leg press
That, by pushing the platform
Gerineldo looked at her askance
Well she was by our side
Staying with the desire to say:
-Up those two thighs, lassie
If you said "yes, I want to"
I would give you love with my staff.
Afterward, she switched to the Bib Machine
That it was right in front of us.
At the end of the exercises
And go to another machine
He noticed that she had come
Well she was pretty tired
And so he told me.
But, healthy and alive as she was
Roding the exercise bike
What I do sayÁ to the Indoor Cycle
Gerineldo staying, seeing her
With his battered dick
Not only for to see her, excited
the bar fell on him also.
Finished the exercise of statics
She paced past us
Until reach to the Elliptical.
Just by seeing her, Gerineldo exclaimed:
-The trunk has turned me upside down
And my heart breaks.
I love her just by seeing her!
What a sprig! What a gooseneck!
What little ass! It is the flower of the place.
When she's gone to the treadmills
He has gone behind, standing beside her
To, among fears, tell her:
-Your body, precious, is a heaven to see.
Anwering she, to his amazement:
-Knight, if you want
Enjoy my beauty
the only thing that I ask you
Is that you wait
And let me finish my studies.
We'll be another day
And in another nice place
As soon as the Selectivity was approved.
The young woman ended up in the Rowing Machine
Gerineldo looking at her with passion
But, always, in life, there is a ŇbutÓ
Before leaving the gym
From a main box
A voice called him to reception
Informing him that he should stop harassing
That girl who was a minor
Although she seems
To be twenty years old or older
That her father had complained
ŇAnd that cannot be tolerated in this CenterÓ.
-Take care of your fever, Gerineldo
And if you rise up like a lion
Go to the shower
Or we will have to expel you. "
- No, don't worry, Gerineldo told them
I'm not a pedophile priest
And I thought I'd unsubscribe already
Well, the bathrooms of this Gym
Smell like rotten shit
And its machine room like a male tiger
Because only muscular guys come here
Preparing for exams
To the Security Forces
And, the women who come
The most are chubby and older
With hanging boobs
Femoral, gluteal, adductor and quadriceps
Flaccid and with varicose veins
Nothing less, and more.
I listen and watch the Marty WildeŐs music video
"Teenager in Love"
On my tv
And all my memories of youth
As angels rejoice and transport me to:
When I flooded with Love
To the prostitute on duty, in Tirso de Molina
On Calle La Ballesta
In the Plaza de Salamanca
Or in the Plaza de Oriente, in Madrid
Feeling like a Juan Nicol‡s Arturo Rimbaud
Filling with joy
Through the disorganization of my senses
And its seed wandering all over the body
Of these sex workers
Including the Hole, tunnel in which at the end
The light is not seen, nor will be seen.
I looked myself as I was hugging a tree
With its branches pressing me to death
Dislocating my bones and jaws
In that wild ejaculation
In which my love was resurrected
And at the same time was defeated
For that dark night of the Vagina
From faked orgasm
Joyful singing of the outgoing macho man
With whose largeness
Women gives us Light, Truth and Life.
From her belly, when I get up
And leave her crotch like a puddle of ducks
Although some money left my purse
She gave me new life, risen from the dead
With the dream of always me
Walking down the street
To find a good and loving woman
To continue, with her
A path of union and procreation
Although our erect Easter is immolated
In the transposition of two Asses
Because, when I threw myself on a whore
My life and its erection
In defeat was transformed
Well, the duel of Sex
In glory it became for her
And I was just an inhabitant, a living dead
That, between her thighs, her light shed
As in atoning sacrifice
Slavery to a fucking boner.
But since I had been happy and relieved
Through the streets of old Madrid I sang:
"Stop hatreds and wars
Unite men and women for Love.
Enjoy we can the life
Let's be woman, man, lesbian, transvestite
Sarasa or fagot.
If we lead Life, like Sisyphus its rock
With grace, hope and delusion
Our own Life will be our salvation Ó.
Now the delusion doesn't rise
And I start listening this music video:
"(I Just) Died in Yr Arms"
Wanting to lower the angelsŐ panties or underpants
For contemplating their Sex.
Lust tormented me, killed me and, at the same time, sustained me, because I confess the religion of Sex. The Ass is the only true God with a single Eye in the middle of two cheeks. A God who looks with one eye like the Cyclops Polyphemus, drawn by Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein.
Hesiod described three one-eyed Cyclops who served as builders, blacksmiths, and craftsmen: Brontes, Steropes, and Arges, father, son, and holy spirit in Greek mythology. That the Ass is the only true God with only one Eye was believed by the playwright Euripides, the poet Theocritus and the Roman epic poet Virgil, among many others.
I was, and still am, a martyr to Lust. The martyrdom of Lust was and continues to be death or torments suffered by the "true" religion and all the "false" religions.
We lose the Life and the sap of the bones between straws and bitchinŐ parties of any type of sex. "Before a martyr of Lust than a confessor of a fucking God," a friend told me when he left the Madrid Seminary.
Today, old and tired, although I do it three times well: I piss, fart and shit, and I have a friend, here in Burgos, Diocletian. As we both suffered harsh penalties because of bone pain, we decided to go to a "happy ending masseuse" one of these days.
Today is the day, August 29, and we are going to visit the "masseuse with a happy ending". Her name is Augusta Gemella. It has been an unhappy surprise because this Augusta was a vain, hollow person and of little or no value or merit.
She is a figurehead with a large, misshapen face like those used as decoration on frontispieces and cornices, fountain mouths.
Although disappointed, I have said to Diocletian, who was now showing a disgusted face:
-We have come to what we have come, friend.
-Yes, let's close our eyes and open the eye of the ass. What a bagpipe!
-Who comes first? asked the masseuse.
-You go Diocletian, I said. That you are a skin.
We went to a room, which was next to the hall, and there, she made him lie down on his knees and naked on a mattress full of pebbles, because, according to the Gemella, it was very good for blood circulation.
Augusta Gemella drew Diocletian towards her from behind and on her knees as she was. Kissed him his third Eye, putting into it some anisees, three grains, saying:
-Your Hole, Diocletian, has more leaves than a calepino (A. Calepino: Italian Author of a Polyglot Dictionary (s.XIV). Not only it has done that, plus the other, do you know.
-Yes, he's a bit of a fagot, I commented so the masseuse could hear it.
After massaging his buttocks to behind the knee with an oil that she said rosemary, she went with both hands to his balls, bending the dick to her, and speaking to the cocoon in this way:
-You are dumber than peepee.
Suddenly naked as she was, she crawled on his back under him, opening his crotch, taking his dick beyond what was just, doing more to please him than Diocletian could have expected; Well, that's why she exclaimed, before going under him:
-It's better a shot than two I'll give you.
Diocletian wanted to speak, but she cut him off, saying:
-It's better if you shut up.
For me, what I saw was firecracker. She worked it harder and better. Massage, straw and powder for only ten euros, my goodness, what a luxury! And then, when they broke apart, seeing that thick white mixture that results from incorporating a seminal liquid with a powdery matter that, to me, seemed to make bread, cakes, wafers.
What I have told is, no more and no less, what happened.
She, without being too young, hurriedly, while Diocletian dressed, addressing me, said:
- And you, whatever your name is, come back tomorrow, because now, at this moment I find myself scarred like raw sugar, but purged with mud.
WHAT A JOY, WOMAN
-What a joy, woman, if we live
In harmony and with courage
Forming a single body
Looking for Sex with Love.
-With your help, woman
We have to fight
And to the world announce
Our true love.
-Shut up, you idiot
Don't say crazy
That when you're out
You don't take care of anything.
-Yesterday, by the way, I saw you arriving
With another very healthy mare
The one you didn't know how to ride.
© Daniel de Culla
Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet and photographer. He is a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, and other groups. He is director of the Gallo Tricolor Review and the Robespierre Review. He has participated in many festivals of poetry and of theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Geneva. He has exhibited in many galleries including Madrid, Burgos, London and Amsterdam. He moves between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos; e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org