In
the encounter with tears she,
we could say, was happy. she
searched, weeping, for a destiny and
she found within her, always
weeping, her own self.
Man
always suffers for the same reason,
in the summit of poetry, I
still feel that my man can die for
lack of food. And of love? She
asked suspiciously and, without waiting for
a gesture of mine or an answer, she
pounced herself upon my poor doubts
and broke everything that was breakable.
And
she spoke of me and of her
as if we were the same person: Then,
there are also those women who
love you because they're bored
or else, those who are crazy
and they are by side as
a personal defence technique against madness. That
also happens to me, when
everything is about to burst
when I don't any longer tolerate birds flying, I
get sick in your arms for an instant and
the world becomes once again what it used to be.
Today
I'm intoxicated in several ways,
darling, I said to her on the verge of fainting.
the party alcohol, your drunken kisses
making me enjoy till dawn
and, then, that Himalayan golden gift,
took intoxication to the centre of delirium.
I saw myself arriving at places in silence,
several of my lovers died terrified
because of my creepy way of reaching the skin.
Something
much worse happens to me, she said,
sometimes, I'm my own slave,
I chain and I beat myself pitilessly
and I ask myself what was it that happened:
We
were goblins and savages,
everything at the same time.
Goblins when we made love
savages when we talked
Inexorably,
everything must come to an end,
she said enthusiastically and I give my cigarette another puff
and the smoke, nor hot nor cold, not even smoke,
wraps me in a vortex of madness
that I cannot but recognise as my own.
Later
the guitars start to tremble
and the afternoon contemplates itself
and it feels happy because the party
will start before her death.
And
in a festive day everything is mixed up,
a fat lady and even a baby crying,
a weaned and anxious mother
and the dairy centre on a general strike.
The
poor baby suffers during the first days
but he decides to go on living and nurses on his own,
afterwards, when he becomes a man, he needs to feel
that someone loves him for no reason, for nothing,
And, although he turns into a successful man in everything hedoes, he is
capable of dying everyday because of love.
A
fatal night,
of drinks and loves
a woman told him:
You need your mother's love
and without saying a word
he delivered her
thirty stabs.
Indio
Gris
MAXIM
FOR PSYCHOANALYSTS: Interpretation
out of a session is an aggression.
