Weekly magazine through Internet Indio Gris
Nº 136. THURSDAY, DECEMBER 26 ^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 136

YEAR III

EDITORIAL

There is no keyboard or obscurity of me that she hasn't touched with her purity, that is to say, one of the forms of ignorance.

She touches, but ignores her capacity to touch.

She lives not having touched, lives not having lived and, afterwards, she receives as gifts, the effects produced by her own experience (still unknown by her) of having touched. Stimuli which produce in her the effects of illness, rather than by being morbid, by being unexpected.

There where she didn't expect it, what was hoped for couldn't meet her (an ego of hers) but an empty space of her ego, a nothingness of her.

That hole in the ego, impossible to be conceived as word, takes hold so that the mechanism of the individual's own body is able to be possible and leaves a mark in his body that death, from the future, claims as its own.

POETRY ALLOWS EVERYTHING TO ME            

To stammer

To stammer
when there is no road
to stammer
eventhough, little by little,
to start saying.

First, a solitary word,
after the word
memory will come
and the words of memory
that recall in us the word.

Shivering
crying
full of fear
does not stop saying.

I started to fall
and because of a trick of destiny
I saw myself falling.

Sometimes
I was falling like snow
slowly
more than falling
the real game was to fly.

Olympic cotton-like ice
I alighted over the souls
and in the obscure passion
of encounters
an instant I was myself
later something else.

Sometimes to fly meant falling
abruptly 
against nothingness
against the ground
against a woman.

Stone
winding hail
fell without interruption.
Hardened heat
vertigo of reaching the end
traversed all confines.
Beast condemned to die
traversed the soul.

I was free all the time I wanted.

From possessing such freedom
my hands and my eyes
were filled
with violent miseries.

Solitude and hunger
in each freedom
took possession of my mind
and ruminated freedom
as if freedom
were a wild grass
and I, a beast.

Freedom, useless freedom,
and once more I bit that emptiness
and went out into the street
and the merchants looked on me
with disapproval
and some friends told me:
You are losing weight
if you go on like this
it will take you to silence
some afternoon you will die.

Dead
I looked at them
stultified, without understanding.
They wrapped my body
with delicate clothes
like nobody had ever seen me
and they shouted at each other:

Freedom lived in him.
Freedom has died.

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DARLING,

There, where sarcasm asked itself for the unreasonableness of hatred, there

I will wait for you.
Sad slave of God,
there, where the trees swear for us the fidelity of time,
there, where the nocturnal birds age slowly,
there, I will wait for you.

She insists that she will go on being crazy till the end.

And I answer her that making love with people who still love their mother, is terrible.

-Don't be worried, doctor, next year I will fall in love with you and some stupid will say that psychoanalysed women only love their psychoanalyst.

 - We'll continue the next time.

On the table, as usual, he always remains seated, by chance, between two of his beloved women.

When they were all preoccupied choosing what they were going to eat, inconspicuously, he lowers his hand the most he could to hold her thigh, and then he lowers the other hand to hold my thigh.

Slowly he approaches his hands very close to both pussies.

I had a yellow dress, very short, and he could slide, hand on skin, directly to my skirt.

She and I looked at each other like accomplices, as if there were a pact  signed some days ago to look at each other.

I, in her gaze of a rejoicing person, listened to:

-Ah, what this son-of-a-bitch is doing to me and staring at me fixedly she asked me, do you want some cheese?

 She with one hand and I, with the other, touched lightly his dick, penis yet and, slowly it went on taking extraordinary proportions underneath his white trousers.

 -You are going to make me come as two crazy women together and in front of your boyfriends, your girlfriends. What a shame!

 I looked at her with desperation. She half-closed her eyes and I let my fork drop to the floor, when she moved her head affirmatively and when bending myself to pick the fork, I was able to drink all his semen. She, with her hand under the table let go his dick and touched my head tenderly.

1

I don't think I will believe a lie. Life hasn't been done by no one, yet. And whoever would want to start, it would take a relatively big work to achieve it.

2

If it is something that is going to happen for the first time in the world, I told him calmly, it cannot happen from one day to the other.

3

A man attempting against himself the whole day, won't be able to exist. The enemies must be outside of us.

-To change my life will mean to encounter what is beautiful, with my face full of life.

 - I will commence by dedicating myself to the health policy.

 No, no, the voice said to me, you will start by changing your sexual relations and almost all your social relations.

 - I will start by living, I will start by living.

No, no, said the voice, you will start by changing yourself.

 - To change… to change… yes, of course, I would like it, but how? To bind myself to what new delirium, if I'm already unwinded.

To change, the voice repeated dryly.

 - I understand, I understand, there is a dawn in my gaze but it is cloudy.

Or you stop writing or you change, this time the voice gave no alternative.

 - I'm a tough man, I'll change, I'll strip off my skin and I'll be someone else.

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