Weekly magazine through Internet Indio Gris
Nº 101. THURSDAY, MAY 2 ^TH ,2002

FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2002

WE DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK BUT WE DO IT IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES 
SPANISH, FRENCH, ENGLISH, GERMAN, ARABIAN, 
PORTUGUESE, ITALIAN, CATALAN

INDIO GRIS, IS A PRODUCT
OF  A FUSION
THE BRIGTHENESS OF THE GREY
AND
THE JARAMA INDIAN
THE FUSION WITH MORE FUTURE  OF THE 
21st CENTURY

Indio Gris

INDIO GRIS Nº 101

YEAR II

 EDITORIAL

   I clearly pretended to be stupid when I saw the number 100 go past. in front of my eyes. I didn't see, I didn't want to see, I won't buy anything.

 Afterwards I also said to myself that arriving to the number 100 would give me prestige, that somebody would say in amazement "he reached number 100", that some woman would want to kiss such grandeur.

 Nothing great happened, nor something fantastic, what went past was only the number 100.

 1^st of May

Today
the International Labour Day
is also celebrated.

Days to remember
everything that could not be done.
Those days
in which the dead come in multitude
to ask,
why are they remembered?

Tears to be able to cry
what could never be had.

Crazy horses
maddened mares
drab reflections
of the fire
where the witches were burnt
quiet wounded dove
calmness interrupted intermittently
by truth
peace
with broken wings.

Today I thought, and that I swore not to do, about my Motherland and without warning a pain burst on my side as a limitless love, being bombed.

My Motherland is in the south of the south, that is why I tremble when I remember it.

Argentina made of silver
small Republic of bread,
you are wounded, hunger touched you
you are wounded, on the verge of dying
poverty flooded your heart,
poverty reached up to your loves.
The melancholic rhythm when walking
transformed itself into a painful howl
money took over the soul
and the powerful took over the money.
Without money and without soul
the average citizen
lived and didn't live, died and didn't die
and nothing else happened to him.

When Winter arrived
he felt that he had already gone through such situations
but he couldn't realise anything,
he was never ready for the season changes.

He was soaked through by rain,
he was flooded by rain,
his crops were ruined by rain,
he was being killed by rain.

Afterwards the sun came and he dried
the sun came and he was burnt
the sun came and it killed him
it dried his crops, it burst the flower.

Sometimes, after the sun, snow came
and the snow isolated the little towns
the snow froze the vegetal life
the snow froze love in the throat.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she smelt my body for a long time before touching or looking at it. I pretended to be asleep and she believed it and masturbated to delirium smelling my body.

1

There are things which cannot be covered up.

You can pay less taxes of what you should, but you cannot hide that you are a worker.

You can hide an old love, but a new love cannot be hidden.

2

Ecstasy of light
I looked for you out of time
and out of time
there were no ecstasies.

3

Democracy is ill. 40% of the population (percentage that regularly represents the absolute majority) shouldn't, though they might, tyrannise the other 60 % of the population.

4

In politics as in love, anything can get together with anything.

5

I have discovered the radical differences between the ultra-right, the right, the left and the ultra-left.

The ultra-right says that it will maltreat if necessary, to its total disappearance, all what is foreign, what is strange, what is novel…and it  does it.

The right doesn't say it but it does it.

The left says that it has no alternative and does it.

With the ultra-left, don't maltreat foreigners because they kill you!

Darlings, darling orphans of love.

Let the water drink all thirst.

I'll make myself responsible of separating definitely the road from the night, the night from evil, the evil from nostalgia, nostalgia from good-bye, the good-bye from death, death from oblivion, oblivion from recalling, recalling from memory, memory from history, history from men, men from their lives, life from woman and if I could, my hand from my ball pen, my ball pen from my thought, my thought from sexuality and my sexuality from yours, my love, that I can't no longer.

There are many things which I don't deal with in this letter, many questions that I leave without separating with the hope that the world won't end tonight.

INDIO GRIS   

THIS IS ADVERTISING

Tears of exile

author:
MIGUEL OSCAR MENASSA
75 pages
18 Euros, 3,000 Pts.

It contains thirteen illustrations of some of the best paintings of Miguel Oscar Menassa.

subir