INDIO GRIS
INDIVIDUAL
MAGAZINE OF GARBAGE COLLECTION
Nº 22. YEAR 2000- OCTOBER,
THURSDAY 26
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 22
1
Today
I couldn’t listen to her not even falling over her. So I relaxed in the
armchair waiting for the tentacles of life. After fifteen minutes she said
clearly:
-I’m
going to pay something, I’m going to spend something and I’m going to put
an end to all illusion.
2
I had finished with my father a long time ago, so this question of the small inheritance comes to bother me. The best thing would be for me to spend that money quickly.
3
Today
is Monday, March 16th, 1995: In only seven days I’ll be flying to
Cuba. I haven’t yet prepared neither the conferences nor the recitals. So to
speak, I go to Cuba as you might go to meet a beloved one, without previous
thoughts, to face whatever might happen.
4
I’m
entangled in a thousand love and money stories with more than a hundred
persons. With the trip to Cuba everything is questioned. When I return from
Cuba, if I return, I’ll try to make up all my life again. In good time I
verify pain, the joy of living.
5
I can’t stop thinking that everything will go downhill, but I’m happy, I have painted a picture, a face. In the natural encounter with things of life I have seen freedom be born and that seemed to me stupendous, wonderful.
6
May
25th, 1995: I don’t understand what they are saying to me or what
they are talking about. I realise that I’m very far from finding any
solution.
The
only thing that is left to me is to quit everything and everything for me is
the significant Cero Group. To quit. To quit. That, only that, to quit.
One
must quit. I have to quit. I’m going to quit. Enough of Cero Group!
7
I’m
about to understand everything and nothing.
Everything:
death is inevitable.
Nothing: life, also, is inevitable.
Mental
illness has to do with the distance the individual takes in relation to this
truth.
8
I
don’t have to go on speculating. Everything has been already seen. The only
radical difference is the one existing between working and not working.
I
ask myself what to do to be normal, egoistical, stupid…
Now, I have to leave everything, everything. Love poetry, dedicate myself to a full life, to the, public writing, to the utmost power of the written word.
9
Each
time I make a balance, said the wretch, I feel that each day I have less. The
sensation of having been cheated during my first twenty years of voluntary
exile, remains unaltered.
I
want to blow up the circuit. Now, just now I understand Lacan’s No to his
School. There is a time when
nobody wants to grow nor to assume the growth that came about,
if the boss resigns, in that very moment, a truth is opened to each
one, even for the boss.
10
Without fear, without guilt, without remorse, we have to fight for a Culture where poetry collects taxes.
11
She
wants something strong from me, even if it is a fright, something that will
allow her to dream with a certain degree of grandeur.
12
If
I weren’t so demanding, she told me this morning, I would be very happy and
I answered her: Stop living to live, good controversy! What I want for myself
is all the time.
13
Sunday,
August 9th, 1988: I’m in love with my own future, without knowing
almost nothing of what is going to happen to me, something will happen and
that possibility is the whole motif of my love.
To
love what will happen to me. The steps not yet given, I love with fervour the
verses not yet written, the loves never imagined.
14
Sonorously
I pick up the flag of death and drive it into me.
Words
like towers, phrases like cliffs, rags stained with blood,
flying in me, inside me, breaking laces,
sonorous open laughter of death, noises like silks torn apart in the sea.
15
March,
1991: I’m glad of having obtained so much in barely 30 years and now that
poetry has reached the zenith of all thought, of all knowledge, I’m not yet
satisfied, I still want to enjoy.
The
first association that crosses my mind about Poetry and Psychoanalysis is that
when I was 16, before publishing my first book, I used to go to read my
unpublished poems to the factories at lunch time.
While
the beasts ate I read my verses to them. Once in a while, they stopped eating
to laugh or curse while I was reading, and I felt understood. Afterwards we
shouted to each other and I tried to explain to them that writing poems was a
job, as serious and as alienated as the one they themselves performed.
16
Memories
sometimes kill, like some psychoanalysts say and, sometimes, memories
resuscitate like some poets say.
It
was impossible not to remember, so that according with the master whom I was
working for, I kept on dying and resuscitating at any moment. I had time for
nothing. One day the Other sex held me up in the truth about Psychoanalysis
and the freedom of poetry and, there, I was as mad as ever.
Freedom
had stopped being a pair of centuries ago and truth was impossible to find
without transforming it in something else.
17
I
turned over my steps and found something. Us men were like monkeys. It
wasn’t strange that some men thought to be better than others, more
developed. This way, one day Superman (very honest and legitimate) would
arrive and do with the rest of men what men did to animals and plants.
18
There
are things that shouldn’t be done.
If
they are done they shouldn’t be told.
And if they are uttered, details shouldn’t be told.
19
Ibiza,
September 28th, 1993: Really I cannot adapt myself to any type of
solitude.
The
end of analysis is the construction of a new ghost, not the end of analysis.
And this ghost is built in the place of the ID but under the condition of a
work on the formations of the unconscious (dreams, jokes, Freudian slips,
symptoms).
We
can say that the ID (1923) is announced in the Freudian metapsychology with
the notion of Fundamental Repression, while the unconscious undergoes the
effects of the secondary repression, that is to say, the repression itself.
We
could say that the ID is a “thing” that already existed in the first topic
, but there wasn’t any means to call it without denaturalising it since it
is a “thing” that resists precisely to be named.
Here
there is a “thing” that I cannot name therefore it cannot be confounded
neither with the unconscious nor with its reservoir of drives.
20
Lacan
introduces the term “real” not only to designate what words cannot name
but also what words can produce.
The
ID, what is real, is what has no name and is produced by words. The
inaccessible reality exists only because man speaks and is separated from the
world, exiled from the world, by the whole weight of Language. In this sense,
the first inaccessible reality is neither the objects nor the things that
surround us, it is the individual himself. It is the individual that above all
is rejected in what is real, and that is what constitutes fundamental
repression which will be called ID in the second topic.
In
this place of the real first, place of the unknown, the reserved place where
the ghost builds itself up through interpretation.
21
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