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DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK BUT WE DO IT IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES
GRIS, IS A PRODUCT
INDIO GRIS Nº 133
have more fear of writing about the things that happen to me with money and the
persons surrounding me, than writing about love relations, even the most hidden
ones. To give and to receive money is, also, a love relationship, but more
law doesn't sanction, not even realises of a badly given or inconvenient caress
from father to son, but the same law condemns the father who gives money to his
all women tolerate, more or less well, a love affair from their husbands, but
they don't tolerate nor well, nor badly, an economic treason. Some men can
tolerate a love affair from their wives, but none of them tolerate an economic
treason, in this, they are able to kill what they used to love. For the current
man and woman money seems stronger than sex and more effective to solve the
problems of living.
the other hand, money can produce sex, love, if you want to put it this way, and
money. Sex doesn't produce money, unless it turns into an unhealthy work (for
example, prostitution). And the money produced by putting sex to work is never
too much and it suffices, but for very little. And the love for money only knows
how to spend it.
investigations, almost thoughts are a possible way to be able to start some day
to write of the relation to which money submits me.
submits me means that, when I decide to live well, to love, to study, to talk,
if someone wants to go on holiday and occupy himself a little in politics, money
tells me that without money all that I want, that I desire, that I ambition,
cannot be possible. Or much worse, some intelligent person can tell me that I
don't want, that I don't desire, that I don't ambition, because if not I would
produce the money which can make it possible..
is in this point where money is, for the subject, once more, stronger than sex.
Men and women who could have shared with other men and women, their bodies and
the bodies of their lovers, now in adult life produce money only to eat and
shit, in order not to share it.
want to say that envy in the individual is more structured, is more expressive
in front of the money fetish than in front of the sexual fetish.
I'm jealous of your secretary, unbearable jealousies.
he, in order to tranquillise her, tells her: "but darling, if we never made
love", she promptly answers: "I don't care that you make love with
your secretary in your tales, I am jealous because she is allowed to sign
also suffers from the same malady, because he would have been ready to stop his
love affair with his secretary, but he isn't ready to take away from his
secretary her signature from the bank accounts.
more, and this time in thought, money was stronger than sex.
could say that I have been all morning with these lines and I haven't
accomplished narrating anything, when they are simple things referring to money
and it seems to me that it is a pornographic sex narration.
had been losing in the road
tell me everything and, that way,
the ones who could not maintain
To see the video you must have installed the programmes in your computer.
impressed by the time I haven't been able to touch you not even sideways. I
can't completely understand the distance to which we are submitted, everything
must be from far away, the distance must be longer than the length of my poor
short enamoured arms.
ductile when I write to you, I don't let things carry me away, I say them and,
of course, they lose some of their shine, of their spontaneity.
having to remain without your body, my darling, I remained without poetry. And,
only with talent, things function but more or less.
write a poem a year isn't being any poet, is to be a worker of history, there
isn't much creative gratification for a historian. A historian works the whole
time, when he reads he interprets, when he interprets he modifies, when he
modifies he is writing his own history, that is to say, he psychoanalyses
have been frightened all this time that what happens to me wouldn't have
happened. I expect that you adequately understand my modern opinion about the
issue of love.
like an idiot because of the functions, I never end to be far away from horror,
I'm disorientated, it is like saying that nothing that I recall is beautiful,
remote. Something in me lacks of a known shape, that is why I ask you for
calmness, time to think over the universal orders that come to me from all the
places of a verse, someone who may have that comprehension that doesn't kill,
that doesn't punish, that finds sense to all things man does.
I want a bit of money, it is to understand that the world is only for those who
never sleep. Money so that someone doesn't sleep for me.
The future of man is dark, but the machine, this decade, will grow up to paroxysm, and for another two more decades it will be thought that I am the brain of the machine; I will have to learn how to manage it, so that it doesn't affect me.
in your Moorish perfumes, I spell my name:
I'm called the Professor, I'm a modest smuggler of ready done phrases. In
my already said phrases, poor souls look for shelter, desperate souls, thrown to
their own destiny. Do you see, doctor? I'm desperate because everything goes
well with me and that disgusts me a little. What a shame, I'm sure nothing of
this happens to none of your patients.
didn't answer him, but I thought that the same things occurred to patients all
over the world, in the end they weren't used to win.
Sometimes, when I was a child, I was looking for someone in the street
who would break my face and, that way, walking, sometimes I found a friend.
more for intervening than for feeling it, told him that the only time that can't
be altered is the time of love.
Yes, what you tell me is a very important thing for all human beings'
lives, but I'm tired of obeying, doctor. I think that the time has come for me
to impose my ideas, to change everything so that it becomes beautiful, so that
it becomes wonderful, do you understand? To dominate myself.
Well, I told him, so we can continue the next time.
temperature of my belly increases when you recite your poems in public. I open
my pussy towards your singing tongue and my fingers are your fingers nailing
down to the bottom of my soul.
I'm very happy. My failures aren't the
failures of the world. Nor the world's failures are my failures.
go on without having, as when I was young, no idea in my head.
liked it before, now it makes me unquiet.
not going to walk as a lost walker. I'm going to stay here.
already planted, now I'll grow.
people trust in me, there will have to be a general disappointment. Everybody
will have to cry for what they lost and I, surely, in that way, will have more
time to write and for my little things which are never too many.
so many years, almost 45, she and I, poetry and I. everything is monogamic in my
life, overall because what never changes is the ego.
ego and the world, the world and my ego.
keys sound like daggers onto the wind.
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