Weekly magazine through Internet Indio Gris
Nº 165. THURSDAY, July 17 ^TH , 2003

FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2003

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 165

YEAR IV

EDITORIAL

If it is about the last race, each step can last years. This time it isn't for any success that I'm fighting for, but for the place I will occupy as a man in my death.  Not in any death which might occur at any time in the afternoon, but that death which will carry, just like now, my verses, my name and my surname.

Up to here, we can say, that everything was a game, imitation.

I think I will start to govern and a poet is always a tyrant.

Poem recited in the voice of Miguel Oscar Menassa

RAIF, MY FATHER

When Raif, my father, talked about men
he always talked about Arabs.

Drinkers of liquor
capable of giving their lives for a woman
or daydream in the evening
because of the fragrance of citron blossoms.

An Arab never kills without passion.

Facing uncertainty
he abandons his loved ones and seeks
in the silence of the desert, his destiny.

He loves flowers and cigars
and at dawn
simply sitting at his front door
he awaits the sun to touch life with its hands.

Darling,

One day she had a whim and the next day she had another.
She arrived wrapped up in a black cloak, deadly.
She undid her waist and let fall a gaze over my sex.
When she finished dying, she told me that she had been thinking of me the  
whole day.

Today, she told me:

- Everybody asks me for things. Everybody gives me nothing. Everybody takes away something from me.

 I answered to her that she was a privileged person and, once more, what happened to me was that I saw her no more.

To fuck lustily with everybody will do us all good, moreover, if none of us gets to know about it.

The pawn has no will power. Its motion is steady, forward, towards death, towards what it will never be certain of. And there is no known way to escape from that destiny of being a pawn.

The word "always" usually transforms a possible discourse into an impossible one.

The miserable have been in rebellion for more than 20,000 years and nothing has happened yet. I come for what has not yet happened: the rebellion of the wise men.

 subir