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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 144
accept mortality, something like a permanent sexual limit, that is what has
happened to me, that is to say that what you thought
was so great in me, was, in reality, a sexual function inhibited by fear
of death, of shit.
cup of tea, exaggeratedly sweetened, and I'm on my way towards what of God
remains in me. Love, life, illusions, good manners, order, progress, good
poetry, good wine, cordial friends, songs, two women are all of them and by the
way, all women. There I go, my God, to destroy you, to collaborate in the
universal atomic plan.
for the blind, life for women, illusions for the prophets, good manners for the
very small children, order for the municipal police, progress for the states,
good poetry for the academy, good wine for the rich, cordial friends
for the bourgeoisie, songs for their singers, two women for my past and
all women for all men.
SAW YOU PASSING BY
comes out bad for me. It is as if I were a leper, people flee from me. I also
deny, I am also the bleeding mask of nothingness.
die, what is really dying, I won't die, but I will remain touched by death.
Afterwards I will recover and wish to make love, to make hatred, to publish a
book and, then, I shall know a truth: years will have gone by and I will have
Today I feel an infinite tenderness for everything that flies, for what vanishes in the air.
There is a fundamental lack of equilibrium between women and men. She's
made of flesh and bones, she's real; he's a symbolic creation, inexistent.
afterwards, she didn't say a word for several months.
walks along the street as if she were bored, but, when going past the
greengrocer's, she says:
Well, I'm going to do a blow job to that banana.
in a cannibalistic gesture she ends up eating it, and adds:
Now I'm going to lick the navel of this beautiful orange.
I'm going to break this fig's ass.
while she introduces audaciously her tongue in its juicy womb, its honey will
trickle down over her chin and in this way she will fuck them one by one and,
also the little cream pies which she sucks while she empties them and Don José's
dreamt that a journalist asked me: Can you, in two phrases, tell us how were
your relations with men and your relations with women?
one phrase I can express everything I could do with men: WORK AND WAR.
I can't do in one phrase is to speak about my relations with women because, if I
desire the truth for those relations, I will have to speak about LEISURE AND
LOVE and that doesn't fit in one phrase.
it is here where I have to write the most important part of my poetic work, it
is better to start right now: not to ease up, to earn the biggest possible
amount of money in the shorter possible period of time; afterwards poetry will
arrive as a roofless goddess to shelter herself among our little dreams.
will be one and a thousand, together or apart, all at the same time and each one
alone, at the same time with everybody and with their solitude of being among
others, for others, because of others.
voracity of other times will be sold in parts for the construction of a sport
field for the cure of the vices of the soul, from writing to reading, that is to
say, a big house for our old age which no one will take care of because us,
after all, didn't cause any problem but the history one and no one really cares
about that, not even the states. Everybody wants no lack of food, for the time
being the soul is something related to religions, peoples, idiots and
psychoanalysts: we are far away, far away from ourselves.
times where the perjurers give up their own illusions, I was one of them, a
poetry trapped in a piece of misery. Not to say bread because I'm ashamed when
verses remain trapped in a piece of bread.
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