Weekly magazine through Internet Indio Gris
Nº 200. THURSDAY, APRIL15 TH , 2004

FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2004

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 200

YEAR IV

 EDITORIAL

AS WINGS ARE GOOD FOR FLYING,
I WILL CREATE WINGS FOR THESE WORDS
WHICH SEEM TO HAVE IMMORTALISED THEMSELVES IN ME

I will open the gates
I will flood with my words the nearby villages
to find myself at last with my destiny.

My destiny of sugar and citron blossoms.
                                                                                  Country of madness
where wild animals and golden ocas
go about freely.

Kingdom
               of the sweet licking tongue through the ass
or of the strange and inciting nocturnal journeys
where loving our fellow man, was in reality, our only goal.

Anemones
let us throw anemones to the eyes of malefactors
let us look in their skins
the kind kiss of a distant and gloomy mother
Eve of Adam, goddess of the sad whores of the West,
show them the apple
lodge in your bosom what will have to die.  

Your Adam will not die.

As wings are good for flying

 

  I AM INTERCONTINENTAL

I spend
the whole day
walking
around the streets
in the centre
of Madrid
and, also,
of Buenos Aires.

And nobody
can explain
the grandiose phenomenon
of seeing how
a man
writes
engine-like verses
which allow him to fly
without moving from the place where he is.

In the morning
I have my coffee
with three croissants
and some woman,
close to the Obelisco
and thinking of
Gardel.

At noon,
I have lunch in a "tasca",
fried squids
and shrimps cooked on a plate
and potatoes
and wine, too.

In the evening,
I sleep in the ocean
and I belong to no one
nor Falla, nor Gardel.

I am intercontinental

A VERY SIMPLE THING

I would like to know
a very simple thing,
how am I doing?

Perhaps I'm doing well
but not realising the fact
happy, I can't be.

Perhaps I'm doing bad
and without realising it
I won't be able to remedy it.

I listen through the radio
how my songs are sung.

My beloved blesses me
because famous I am
but I enquire myself,
how am I doing?

Perhaps I'm doing well.
perhaps this pain
means nothing.

Perhaps I'm doing bad.
perhaps this happiness
doesn't belong to me.

My beloved says to me
looking into my eyes:

Ah! how beautiful you are
when you disappear.

And when you are asleep
you seem very happy
and when you get up you moan
because of a pain there.

I don't understand you any longer
when it's time to write
better dead than alive
to make you happy.

 A very simple thing
 

CERO CLASSROOM OF FRENCH

Practise French in Madrid
INTENSIVE COURSES
Tel. 91 542 42 85. From 8 p.m. to 10 p.m.
ALL YEAR ROUND  
www.aulacero.com
aulacero@retemail.com

 

MY FATHER SPOKE HAPPILY OF HIS SEA

My father spoke happily of his sea.

About my country's sea I can say everything.
To speak about its colours and its mildness.
The sea of my country looks like a prairie.
In the middle of the sea acacias and geraniums grow
as in my grandfather Antonio's house.  

That blue prairie bursts in colours
when in spring its women bloom.

At dawn they cast the nets hand-knitted at home
by old women in silk clothes
and great ivory ornamental combs
who, never, according to my father, nor even in celebrations,
kissed their sons.

When the men returned with their sea catches
those ceremonies acquired their senses.

  MY FATHER SPOKE OF HIS SEA HAPPILY
 

Cero Group 
Consulting Room

Cero Group 
Consulting Room

Amelia Díez Cuesta
Psychoanalyst

Carlos Fernández
Psychoanalyst

Appointments: 
 
91 402 61 93
Móvil: 607 76 21 04

MADRID
AMELIAA@terra.es

Appointments:
91 883 02 13
ALCALÁ DE HENARES (MADRID)

 

IT WAS LIFE ITSELF

It was life itself
which took me
through unjust roads lacking love.

Each time I went
for a walk
with closed eyes
evil ran me over.

It left me thrown out
and very injured
and told me, poor you!
There'll come a time when you'll get it.

When I arrived home
my wife was waiting for me
very happy and beautiful
dancing with her band.

I'm exhausted, I told her,
and she also told me:
Songs pick up my spirits
and dancing does me good.

My tits dancing
look like two butterflies
and my ass and my waist
are part of the dance.

I can't bear any longer, I told her,
I'm going to bed, I'm going to sleep
and she said to me, clearly,
I stay with the band.

I dreamt the whole night
with her winged tits
her silvery waist
her delighted gaze.

My dream was very odd
she moved, jumped and danced
and, I myself, in the dream
moved, jumped and danced.

Each time I went
for a walk
with closed eyes
evil ran me over.

It left me thrown out
and very injured
and told me, poor you!
There'll come a time when you'll get it. 

           IT WAS LIFE ITSELF

What do you think?

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EROTIC LITERATURE WORKSHOP

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SOME POLITICS OR RECOLECCIÓN DE BASURA

MALEDICTION

You will have to live far from the sun.

You will inhabit the south
your name will be Miguel
and you will have in your voice
the whisper of the Mediterranean
and the gift of word.

You will be beautiful, Miguel,
(any good warrior must be beautiful).
The sun of your ancestors will be your story.
so that your gaze might shine
                                                          you will possess hatred.

You will have to be amiable and delicate
because when the war bursts
                                                         my son
you will look after the children.

 Malediction

LETTERS FROM THE EDITOR

                   MY NEIGHBOUR FINALLY DANCED

You should see how
my neighbour got the other day
when I started to sing
a rock which astonishes her.

My neighbour cried,
laughed and danced,
touched her legs
and even her heart.

I went on singing
without realising
that we had congregated
the whole neighbourhood.

She, noticing
that the neighbours were watching her,
danced more and more each time
and held her buttocks.

Seeing that she moved
with talent and elegance
I sang louder and louder
more rock and with more love.

She shouted happily
While  she followed the rhythm:
"you'll see, you'll see,
the whole neighbourhood will dance".

Elvira, the professor
of natural sciences,
took off her shirt
while embracing me.

Her husband, who studied
comparative sciences,
seeing that I liked it
wanted to commit suicide.

His woman consoled him
shouting:
"It's our singer, don't suffer,
come and kiss him, too".

The husband dashed to me
to kiss me in the mouth
and my neighbour, jealous,
reprimanded the poor man:

If you kiss the singer
I will kiss your woman
and I promise, I swear
that she will never return. 

And after the song
the singer will have to dine
and will do it in my room
even if things go bad for us.

My dancing neighbour
crazy music of love
no one will be able even wanting it
to do it better than me.

I want to tell you, neighbour,
that everything has been a great dream.
I didn't sing, and there was no professor
and, from your wheelchair, you never moved.

               My neighbour finally danced

  THIS MATERIAL WAS RECORDED LIVE IN THE SPACE

                                       "AWAKENED POETS"

 THE PAST APRIL, 4TH, 2004

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