INDIO GRIS
INDIVIDUAL MAGAZINE OF GARBAGE
COLLECTION
Nº 17. YEAR 2000- SEPTEMBER, THURSDAY 21
FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2000
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
XXI CENTURY
INDIO GRIS Nº 17
1
I
want nobody jerking off or simulating to do so during working hours, nor even
me.
In this very moment my life changed forever.
2
1985
persecutes me: This issue of the groups, I don’t know if I’ll have enough
strength, I don’t know. I have to be able to find out for how long there
will be food.
Only a weak or sick soul allows to be dragged in such a way by external
reality. So let’s continue studying.
3
Sunday,
June 14th, 1985: Yesterday I said to myself clearly: The only thing
that really requires a limit is my passion. My anxiety is the most
irrepressible of all the things that surround me.
I
don’t know if I’ll be able to do a little less of everything that I’m
doing.
4
Irritating
way of walking that of vultures without food.
5
In two days time I’ll be delivering my first classes on Lacan’s work and feminine sexuality at the School.
Nobody
no longer knows how to curse what is loved. Nobody no longer knows how to love
what is cursed.
Perhaps
I’ll know something about what dirty intentions will make me stop writing
someday.
6
Today,
finally and not yet finishing 1985, I feel I can become a great painter.
Perhaps, some social failures are excessive and they only take the form of
failure to force my pace towards painting. I want to make an exhibition of 40
paintings of 1 metre by 81 centimetres. To find myself once more at least in
colour.
I
hope that the issue of the money doesn’t turn me into an idiot.
Darling,
my darling, I’ll never stop. There is no pain that can stop the dammed heart
of my song. I’ll write till the end, I can’t stop.
7
I’m
waiting for my father to die and my father has died. I only have to occupy his
place.
Phallus
you cannot be nor have.
I’m
fascinated, your absence does me good. Your absence is the hole through which
my verses will reach the confines of some universe.
8
Today
she told me with a certain sadness: the scenes of pure reality are more
terrible than any madness. And I answer her: I hope I can defeat all my
passions with my intelligence.
It’s
poetry, not nothingness, what
captures me in vertigo.
9
May
1st, 1985: Taking advantage of the holiday I conversed with the
people in my surroundings and I provoked great passions against me and my ways
when I told them: In the same way in which sex and gambling has been
driven to paroxysm, writing and work must also be driven to paroxysm.
10
Never
a love affair reached so far,
never an illusion was so propitious.
A guttural voice calls me from the shadows:
gambling, losing, gambling, losing, is also dying.
11
Thursday,
May 2nd, 1985: I’m a little afraid that things might not result
the way I so anxiously expect. I’m busy with the economic and family
commitments and I hope to solve everything with my work. Terrific!
12
Though
many people might say I’m going very fast, I still trust that my methods are
always half speed.
Firstly
to make everything last more, but also to have time to correct the direction
of the machine whenever necessary.
13
And
I also ask myself, who knows! if I really want to change the world or what I
want is to be able to earn some money, enough to change my family.
Might
I also be a mean servant of the State ideologies? Group, sex, family, these
concepts, depending how they are managed can become so anti-revolutionary as
alcohol, designed drugs or love.
14
Everything
was spectacular and grandiose at the same time when she pulled out my heart
and threw it to the dogs.
15
What
is social is possible without any
selective affective tendencies (a love for someone or something), but with an
increase of complications or coldly, that is to say, in an antisocial manner.
16
The
incentive of money in exchange for work or some other type of submission
(sexual or social) is well seen even by the poor, even by revolutionaries.
17
Sometimes
it’s me who hopes for a miracle to happen.
People are very frequently close to foolishness and madness
and don’t charge anything for that.
Why me? the wretch asked himself.
18
Sometimes
my audacity gives me the thrills, said the wretch to his wife and when his
wife asked him why he said that, he answered her simply: I’ve just bought
five kilos of shit and now we have no money to pay the rent.
19
I
am the acoustic eye, I write and speak at the same time.
I
don’t know if someone will be able to use my unconscious knowledge but it
happened to me.
There is something of saying which is in walking, there is
something of walking that is in
all saying.
20
The wretch looked at me in the eyes and told me boldly: The diversity of music only interests the very young and the experts, the rest, us poets, always love the same music. What we like to see changed are the disguises of the music, the faces of the music, the names of the great masters of the music.
21
She
arrived and told me: the only thing Culture does with the citizen is to make
him stupid. The rest is Lacan’s
algorithms that won’t go very far.
Freud says it clearly: Fair distribution of the produce in
relation to work or total destruction.
As what he said didn’t sound totally bad to me, I said
nothing to him.
22
There
are days like today which seem to have no end.
They
are days with a thick fog in the
throat at the edge of the abyss.
Those
Freud’s days facing the anguish of not being able to know exactly until
further on.
Those unforgettable days of Cesar Vallejo confronting death
with the crunch of bread.
Those days of sad beer when a poor, mediocre or very
sentimental poet realised that nobody will read him in the next century.
Those days when the soul breaks to allow words to reach the
poem, and also those days when the poem abandons us, definitely, to invent the
soul.
There
are days like today which seem to have no end.
They are days like those of war when the wife of an enemy
enamours me.
23
Madrid,
April 18th, 1991:
Poem
for the living
Tribute
to gabriel celaya
It
was an extreme pain,
simple,
open to desolation.
I had seen a poet
dying of poverty
and it happened in Spain.
Afterwards
I felt nothing,
furtively, I broke
the most beautiful flowers of my garden
and transformed them
into wrought iron bars.
they did not take photographs among bars,
I manufactured my first verse:
After
me,
no poet
will die of poverty.
I
don’t swear it, I write it,
I stammer it in the mornings,
I draw a thousand paths of glory
and I
sell them in instalments
so that I’ll never lack
an
interest in my favor.
I
mumble fervently
I
also let him die
and the verse condemns me
to realise that
there’s no time left
to pay tribute.
And
it is because of those
simple things of life,
that I declare war to you
and without doubting I say:
A
man alive is worth more
than the picture of a man.
24
I have to live by my own means, to be my own exploiter. I think I already said this another day. I have to be able to put my papers in order. Leave the “and” aside a little and occupy myself a little more of the contents.
25
She
arrived and told me very seriously:
-I made him pay each sexual abandonment with a social
abandonment. So it was and I could care less dying in that revenge. Because I
wanted to commit suicide in each abandonment, in each abandonment I killed
him. That was my desperation, in killing him I killed myself and condemned me
to another abandonment. I couldn’t separate
myself from him, but the only thing I felt for him was hatred.
And
it was then when I felt hated by a hundred thousand jealous and vindictive
women, transformed into hyenas and then I wanted to explain her I don’t know
what and I could only say: We
continue the next time.
26
Since two days ago I can’t get away from the newspaper; live from flesh.
September
13th, 2000
The
covers of today’s newspapers made me somewhat gloomy.
Mr Blair resorts to a war law to achieve some peace in the war against gasoline.
Brussels
lifts sanctions but warns. If you fool around too much we will increase of the
poor.
Denmark
is about to say no to European sexual insufficiency.
The
Commission warns: Dignity, liberty, equality, solidarity for friends, for
enemies, the Law.
Russian
military take over the power station that left them without light.
Our
Rato, though, asserts that Spain is doing well and for his Spain there’s no
crisis. The minister advises, in the same speech, that the only way out is to
decrease consumption and to keep away children and animals from gasoline.
We
want to remind that apart from the Chilean and Argentine military there are
military of the same characteristics in all countries of America, including
those in the North.
A
runaway declares that he doesn’t trust his persecutors.
The
direction of the PSOE reveals why it didn’t win the election: 16 out of 26
spokesmen are more than half of our voice.
The
number of illegal immigrants held up in “patera” (which are small rafts
built by people from Algiers and Morocco trying to enter illegally into Sapin,
raft representing their own homelands). Terrible, isn’t it? And later they
take hold of these “pateristas (illegal immigrants) who according to the
newspaper are the inhabits of “patera”.
The
Congress rejects the absurd idea that a Spaniard continues to be a Spaniard in
foreign lands. How funny! Isn’t it?
Half
of humanity lives with 386 pesetas a day, that is to say two dollars, but we
have decided to spend 500 million dollars to stop AIDS that we ourselves help
to spread, I couldn’t see clearly which of the ministers made this last
statement.
The
World Bank advises in order to fight poverty: alms, charity from powerful
peoples. How nice! Isn’t it?
Congress
rejects a plan against school
discrimination of immigrants and at the same time editors sell 15% less text
books than in 1999.
The
Health Department negates that there is health and the organisation of
transplants has produced a deplorable rejection, the oneirocritics say.
A
hundred children and women poison themselves with lead when the Dutch
Parliament approves marriage between homosexuals without giving any advice on
how to distinguish, without mistake, a homosexual person from another one that
is not homosexual, in the meantime an illegal company quadruples its sales.
Genetics
disqualifies the concept of race because only a 0.01% of the genes work on
that. At the same time a young lady who seems to be very well informed, says
that it is surprising how all those genes can function correctly together,
when she can’t even get on well with two persons.
To
know a little more about man and this is scientific, we have to spend great
part of the food of half of humanity to study the chimpanzee genome.
The
community will give books free to 140,000 school children
and at the same time leaves 8,000 three years old children in the
street.
The
president of the bank of the balls warns the markets that they are wrong when
they bet on investing on the dollar rather than on the Euro, when the Euro has
only lost 25% of its value in one year. Trust is the base of our European form
of production and I give you an advice, the president said: Austerity,
loss of worker’s purchasing power, fasten belts more like dictators from the
third, fourth or fifth world advised, speeding up of dismissals
and recommend to the citizens in general, to go out begging in the
streets.
A
cluster of mad people, ministers, bank managers and the hierarchists of
Internet, go around all of the streets in Europe shouting:
HE
WHO DOESN’T HAVE, DOESN’T HAVE
AND
HE WHO HAS, FUCK HIM.
And
to say good bye till next Thursday I’ll tell you that Valdano has very
clearly said:
-The
appreciation that we have for wise men is maximum.