SET SAIL II

Lovers of delicacy,
sink with me your atlantic claws
in the body of the beauty who has just died.

I leave the sea.
Build on the clear plateau
-above all levels-
the poet's house.
Small and warm tower
where shit and ghosts,
blue birds,
claim for
their privilege over the century

Evanescent little century,
there will be
I promise you
at the end of your ends
a little man of words,
a small law,
a little total darkness.
The man of the beginning will be born from shadows.

          Menassa reciting Set Sail II (1.57 min.)

 Madrid, January 25^th

It seems to me foolish to go on writing, I know you won't understand.
 

I told you:
I could care less for anything.
I'll speak
and I'll make my body explode against the opaque mountain.
Everything seems the same to me
my life is the time of hurricanes.

My mind isn't
the stupid little calculating machine you know,
my mind is time,
your body open like the sun, that is my mind.
I'm glad that we live whichever way.
Passion,
we shall find out,
is an art.

 Menassa reciting Love letters (1.27 min.)

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I've decided to grow a beard, it'll grow.
You have to know: any growth depends on a decision.

The prohibition of incest continues to seem to me
an adequate law
for the maintenance of social relations.
First neurosis should be banned,
see if it is possible to set sexuality in good shape
as the bourgeois revolution claims.

Later, other kinds of sexuality will come.
the extra pleasure,
and this is true in any place in the world,

before or after Oedipus,
before or behind the mirror,
it has to do with slavery. 

He who wants his freedom, let him obtain it.
To me, particularly, freedom doesn't interest me.
I'm interested in condemning
those who, because of the weight of a theoretical word,
pretend to redeem the corporal error repudiated.

The body doesn't exist,
neither does the word.
It happens to be a combination.

Groups should forget their prehistory.
If the past doesn't exist,
the mother is an invention.

Everything
should be written again.

 Menassa reciting Psychoanalysis (2.28 min.)

 

I'm a gold seeker.
I look for an unsustainable passion,
a passion which may turn you mad,
a definite colour for your eyes.
This time I'll deceive you up to the end,
you'll have to fall in love with my way of writing.

Forgive the poet's word
He doesn't belong to us, either
his voice is the storm of our voice,
his singing is the burst of our singing.
The poet's body
lies
a thousand kilometres deep,
it's unreachable.

 Menassa reciting Eroticism (2.05 min.)
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What do you think?

Pornography   or     Eroticism

So far people have voted:

Pornography: 221.000                                    Eroticism:377.000

 

 Madrid, November 27, 1976

Everything turns better harmoniously.

The silence occurred
because it is prohibited to sing while working.
I have done all jobs
and I have also done the night work
and I have enjoyed with all the jobs I have done.
Nights of smoke and passion where my words
heaped up against truth and crushed
memory.

I live in a world where it's better to suffer.
Where humanity is measured by the quantity of suffering
and all this
couldn't have happened, in any way, in only forty years.
Certain gestures, certain words have the seal of antiquity
and this
isn't, as it is believed, a good thing.

Let's invent time, it will do good to all of us.

Menassa reciting Politics or garbage recollection (3.03 min.)
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LETTERS FROM THE EDITOR

I wait patiently for life to occur.
The oriental style
suits me.
Everything is slow in a people where civilization
has caused damages.
My days don't have your stories,
they have a window towards a city,
silly memories of blood
and absence of words.
Installed in old age,
I think that parents,
the true parents, don't die,
they are their words.

Any past that doesn't turn into writing
will be
vane nocturnal perfume.
It's difficult for me to write about the slow and tedious life.
Counting money stubbornly,
feeling
that, this time
I won't be able.
Everything has been prepared before I arrived
and nevertheless
they won't be able to get rid of someone who knows them so much.
I am,
I tell Her in a letter,
the anthropologist of contemporary society.
Food and those things I think I shall have.
I live among them, I send my children to their schools.I'm all right, I'm only interested in old age,
the mechanisms of death.

Menassa reciting Letter to the editor (1.49 min.)

Indio Gris

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   THIS MATERIAL WAS RECORDED LIVE IN THE SPACE
 "AWAKENED POETS"
 THE PAST MAY, 2^TH, 2004
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