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Indio Gris FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2003 WE
DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK BUT WE DO IT IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES INDIO
GRIS, IS A PRODUCT INDIO GRIS Nº 147 YEAR III EDITORIAL To
give the ideological support to an affection, is to transform a feeling. No
current feeling could be supported as such feeling in us, if we transform our
ideological models. None of the feelings we support, nor none of the visions of the world could be supported by us if the human relations which support those feelings or thoughts are broken. Video:
Miguel Oscar Menassa reciting: SHE It
was September in the city To
set anchor had been not easy at all. Extended The
only excessive immoderate thing DARLING, I'm
really worried by the realities which distress me as if they were dreams. Embalmed
in my old-young conclusions, I haven't reached very far. It is because of this
that I write you with the interesting purpose of dedicating myself to something
else. It is tender to see myself dying of anguish because of someone else's
pain, everything seems not true. No one but I believe in myself, it is like
always being galloping backwards, sooner or later you reach childhood. The
wind and tenderness look alike, my father told me and I never understood him;
jasmines are violent and white at the same time, and of course, I understood
less still. Clear
are the eyes which don't fin other eyes where to look at themselves, that is to
say, that because some eyes sing, that shouldn't be an attribute of all eyes or
of all voices. A
healthy memory is the one which breaks my heart. I, being reborn and everyone
celebrating the beginning of the worst war which humanity will suffer.
Each
time I understand less the question about the woman. She says to me: -
I'm a slave. And
I answer her: -
How terrifying! In the era of space travels. -
And that doesn't mean anything, doctor, she told me to end, when I fancy
falling in love with a man I cannot be myself any longer. -
We'll continue the next
time.
I
lay open over twilight,
Let's leave our lives go out into the streets freed from themselves. Man
doesn't insist, he doesn't call at the door, it is life in general the one which
insists in what it says it is saying, in what words do to me when they conjugate
with someone else's words. I
forgive, I forgive everything. I live once again. I
harvest and, while I harvest previous crops, I think of what my last crop will
be. To nullify the magic thought in order to add decisions, makes all of them
lighter. If I sow during ten years and then I wait ten years for everything to
grow up, it adds up to twenty years, I would be eighty two, I don't know then if
I would like to plant something or I would prefer to make a living of what has
been planted up to that moment, I truly don't know. |