F a b r i z i o Q u e m é—
translated by Ó s c a r M o i s é s D í a z
from“Huequitos of tecno-viral poetry”
Sailor moon
Venomous techno
techno-cucarachas
-frenetic-
-narcotic-
the future was yesterday
the future is to be on the verge of anal prolapse
the future is a diagnosis
a hard addiction.
Sakura card captor turned us into tarot readers
Sailor moon turned us into cosmic whores.
The nostalgia of dancing on a neon dancefloor!
dance the tortuous past and
the chaotic present.
NO ONE
deserves our madness…
II
Pornotopia marikona
It’ll probably never arrive
no more than a distant humid and cum-filled dream.
It is the fragility of being and feeling,
the insistence, and
the restless wait in
the darkness.
Huequito what do you wait for in the dark,
In the profundity of your frustrated desires
the uneasiness eats you up?
The desperation for a caress or for an onslaught?
huequito of my stabbed heart
there are no more tears,
you’re a cactus,
a firefly that wanders about in
the desert of the suburbs…
III
Fecal Aroma
mixed with incense, poppers, and tobacco,
I want to mix all the filth of this existence,
an explosive cocktail to expand our corporal limits.
We were born to be dead,
to celebrate in a bacchanal,
debauchery, rebellion, and anal fury.
I want to be expansive,
I want to explode once and for all and
on my deathbed
I’ll continue moaning
A bitch in ecstasy
a voluptuous she-wolf
an insatiable pig
an incurable pathology
from “Little Fecal Fetus”
I
The crisis of existing…
The desire to be abducted by a UFO,
The desire of extinction…
I want to be guided by a cerberus
II
Waking up in a sick world…
My bruise on my arm is a sad, but
beautiful poem at the same time.
I set down eight coins
to buy a cheesecake,
I take it out of its paper bag and
position it on my table full of cigarette butts that I didn’t smoke.
a bit of coffee for the livid,
to calm the rancor towards the forgetful lovers.
We are replaceable,
a non-essential piece in
this pathetic recycled world.
III
All the possibilities
TORTURE
the mind.
IV
A cut D E E P
memory c-l-a-w-e-d a-w-a-y a-t
body m u t i l a t e d
V
Sometimes I write depressing things,
other times: it’s a fire
many other times it is carnal excess.
They are my three voices
my three reptile tongues
my three demons
my three furies.
VI
I have the SHARP EDGE
of a person who is
SOLITARY
from “Poems for A Marika Kapitalipsis / Marikas on an Interspecies Strike”
I
I inhabit an alleyway of solitude
together here with my plants and inanimate beings.
Yesterday echoes
the memories rumble within me,
the silence hugs and comforts me like
a lullaby.
I’m awakened by the flame of my altar,
it’s potent,
I approach sleepily
observe my deities,
to my stones and make a petition…
it’s the wild time
the chaos consumes us:
It is the beginning of regeneration.
I embrace with other crazy and sick queens,
like me.
The inner flame drives me
I connect with all my past selves,
present and uncertain future
I form a collective dialogue
a body that escapes the logics of materiality.
We make a survival plan,
a plan of revolt,
a revolt from the vegetal quietude
a silent revolt.
III
“C” asks me, after getting me pregnant twice,
if sometimes the solitude doesn’t invade me,
He’s surprised by my solitude!
I turn over, after serving myself a bit of water and
answer him:
“Sometimes I just miss coexisting with him”
And he’s surprised by the fact that a whore like me,
still knows how to love.
IV
-We are not immune to tenderness-
I tell you mentally
as if trying to establish a telepathic communication, all
the while hugging your nude body.
We are two tired bodies full of boredom but
also with lust.
I see myself reflected in your vulnerability, in your hostility towards the conventional.
V
In solitude,
I write my poems for a cactus
I regenerate myself in muteness
imagine the absurd
I turn myself in as a sacrifice to
the behemoth of the days.
.