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FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2003
DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK BUT WE DO IT IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES
GRIS, IS A PRODUCT
INDIO GRIS Nº 143
must start to write without stopping at least up to page one thousand, so that
my words begin to have their own weight.
educating the last decadent persons, I have to be simple, to say that there
won't exist another line beyond the lines.
if life were that impossible quietness. We'll see who remains open-mouthed, I,
because of my sentence or they because of my ability to evade divine justice,
because that is what it's all about when the super ego is at stake.
time I begin my task quartered, broken into a thousand pieces of shit,
crystal-clear and smelly at the same time. This time, nor vengeance, nor love,
this time I come for the gold, for the intermediary without barriers and nothing
will stop me.
had wounded me, shot me mercilessly, I had pieces of bullet or else entire
bullets all inside my body, some pieces of lead were located in my noble innards
and even my brain was reached by the lead of love. I mustn't forget that, more
than writing, what I have to do is to know what to do with what I have already
written, hundreds of pages which don't find their way because I, who must have
the power to give them the order, don't find my way and it seems incredible that
so much of the writer's life is involved in his writing, in times when no one
has to do with anything, much less with what is produced like art, like
are the murders I have to crystallise before they start to speak about my
writing. So, the quickest, the best.
stopping, I fly above the joy of light.
great melodies of my time vibrate in my road.
is a carnival, a crazy carnival which joins us,
is charming to see how everything the modern man does comes out more or less.
The modern man lacks serenity, that is to say, exactness, nothing is correct in
Look, doctor, what I do is practically impossible, so I'm not interested
in how it comes out, someone will forgive me, someone will justify the results.
very carefully at what I say, doctor, all the mirages are regulated from the
money earned monthly, do you understand? I am, doctor, a scandalous enamoured
serpent, all the delirium are the pesetas opened to unreasonableness of some,
desperate, unknown, lithe poems.
We'll continue the next
went to the bathroom and left the door open, I plucked up and drank two or three
long sips of a liquor made of fire.
starts to kiss her own face in the bathroom mirror and offers her buttocks to my
lips thirsty for loving her.
No one ever exactly danced for me, naked for me, I told her for no
reason, and she started to move her ass and to wet her fingers and after with
the wet fingers by the warm saliva, she squeezed a little her nipples as if she
were sucking them.
she kissed with ardour her own image in the mirror and looked at me with eyes of
an immortal pleasurable person, and I saw her accompanying me, among other
beloved women, in the Olympus and she looked at me once more and she told me:
I will dance for you, darling, I'll dance for you.
Now that no one can take away from me what I have, I will have.
Afterwards, I will find the way to escape from myself. Some verse, some
desperate song, will uproot me.
never have to salute if that is not part of a strategy. No one knows yet what my
own future offers me.
idea of recuperating all the writing from my notebooks and loose pages moves me
to such extent that I would leave everything for that. I'll be calm, I have
already learnt that life doesn't end tomorrow. I'll wait crouched for the
opportunity and, then I'll seize the booty. I am the art of bullfighting, my
cape has no going back. I have never looked behind. What is behind always comes
from another place. I don't think I can get it, to be a teacher of all martial
arts. As if it wasn't enough to be God, with having him, with loving him. I want
to be a man, someone who loves that foolish thing of dying. Someone who can
reclaim for his freedom, for after not being able to obtain it.