MAGAZINE OF GARBAGE COLLECTION
Nļ 24. YEAR 2000- NOVEMBER, THURSDAY 9
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
THE JARAMA INDIAN
THE FUSION WITH MORE FUTURE OF THE
INDIO GRIS Nļ 24
a lady confessed to me that she no longer has any illusion, that from now on she
will only love herself.
26th, 1991: Today Iíll see two clients, today, in a certain way, my
holidays are over and I donít very well know if Iíll stand it.
personal matters follow an almost normal course, now I have to dedicate all of
the time to my writing and to the direction
of the Psychoanalysis School and I don'í know which of the two
situations is more difficult for my ego. My
writing means assuming to be one of best styles and the Psychoanalysis School
means assuming myself as director, that is to say, transmitting other styles but
Since ten years ago, without chocolate, without tobacco, without alcohol, only my own wishes can kill me. And war?
is no durable peace, thatís why I prepare myself in a way for some war.
be a great writer so as to be able to narrate that fall of man into animality.
desperate green branch! Water and light for the beauty that only grows to die.
is due to the fact that Iím starting to live my own life, that I donít owe
anything to anybody but to myself. And they will come to ask me for my accounts
and Iíll lie once more.
was given to me by poetry and this will be so till I become one hundred.
5th, 1991: I send by phone a bouquet of flowers to my mother for her
10 years working as the Psychoanalysis School Institution, Iím in conditions
to say that something has been done.
name, a multiplication. We have only founded and, we must say it, only a few
passed the founding examination.
nobody should worry too much, only now we consider the competition initiated.
few days before becoming 51, Iím amazed by the emotional, sentimental, sexual
and economic disorder with which the first 50 years of my life have been marked.
makes me ashamed, having to recognise that all that disorder has affected in
some way all my production.
change oneís life at 51 isnít something that you can buy at the supermarket,
but anyway I want to propose it to myself.
donít need stories to narrate even though some story Iíll narrate. My
paintings are in various spaces, my poems in various times, my disordered life
in various directions and Iím not going to talk about my sexual disorder
because there, Iíve been always faithful. I always made love with women, even
though I recognise that once, among friends, I told one of them that I loved him
in order to make him feel like a man.
loved, also, in the middle of disorder, children and elderly people, Indians and
communists and because I didnít know what to do with so much love, I wrote
verses till I was fed up.
those red flags, those days when the proletariat ate the illusion of being.
women onto the wind, verses in the pocket.
the verge of abandoning Funchal forever I write on my laptop in an airport. I do
understand, even if everything goes wrong, one always learn something.
will pertain to time and something will become from truth. Not everything went
well in this trip even though Iím sure I have planted some seeds. But it was
to me that things didnít go well. Poetry is always gratifying for me, people
not so much.
have taught me in Funchal: Judasíembrace, Cainís stab and the Romansí kick
in the balls. I didnít either stay behind. In two days I questioned all
knowledge, all life, all love. Iíll soon forget my little emotional failure,
sooner than they will forget the great intellectual catastrophe
caused by my words, but anyway I would have liked to be treated a little
bothered me most was the fact that
they didnít place a tape recorder to record the six-hour lecture about the Interpretation of
51, away from all delirium, I open my eyes and I predispose myself to perform
the next three decades. Hard work until becoming ninety and then I leave things
as they are. The idea is simple, a magazine surging from me and reaching the
world. Papers flying, showing that here is the world and a man lives.
start my task without great ambitions but with a certainty: Iíll publish at
least, 200 issues.
already stopped drinking, stopped smoking, Iím already making love only
whatís necessary and if itís necessary, for everything to be possible to
stop gambling, Iíll stop gambling.
a weak being, war affects me, it really affects me. Iíd rather have peace even
if Iím dominated. And who knows
if I would have said this before war. 50 years, half a century. Calm down, I
must have arrived some place. Iíll drink water from that place and then Iíll
think over about it.
worries will be transformed into flying, my deliriums in skin.
Everything has an end, January, too. In suspending all my sexual relations because of the pain caused in me by war, my face swelled. There are things which arenít suspended though they may be suspended. It is perverse if one cannot be normal and the current world, war, arenít normal things, that means that they are perverse things.
bursting molar tooth, my dick slightly irritated, my digestive apparatus
dislocated, or I make war or war will kill me without having made it.
Iíd need to take care of myself a little more. Something from life must be also for me. Ambitions are good for health, but unmeasured ambitions are the perennial pain of the hypochondriac.
have preferred peace, comfort, progress. It is difficult for me to lose those
watchwords. War, decay, misery, I donít know If Iíll be able to hold up
I look only at my hands, I feel that I have another 100 years more as a writer.
The rest will be easy, outliving wars, loves, domination of peace, Iíll attain
realise that writing is also saving oneself from something.
still young to spend the whole day writing, something like my love memoirs. To
be able to narrate that cosmic intensity, that tenderness, who knows if somebody
could?. I try it beloved, I try it with all my dexterity and I only get these
murmurs away from love.
bodies damaged by war, definitely hurt by doubt.
so scary that Iíd need a person looking at me while Iím writing. That woman
is me, she said trembling and yet, after 30 years it can be said that though
sometimes she doesnít accompany me, I keep maintaining her. Afterwards there
were others who said the same thing and donít accompany me either but I
maintain them anyway. In that sense I look more like an affluent Arab than like
a desperate Spanish-Argentine.
I was a desperate Latin-American and worked from dawn to dusk to maintain my
loves. And this way we were happy and we only knew love until the day in which I
got tired and no longer went to work. My beloved had to go to work and we knew
dignity of work, in reality, was no dignity and poetry was on the verge of being
sunk by 500,000 tons of mistaken bombs. Then it was necessary to abandon
everything and take poetry home with me.
I have to realise that what is happening to me is not happening to the world. I must come out of myself, place myself in the world. That will make me live without parents, without children, fixed to language.
July 27th, 1997: Everything was the delirium of fever. Later came an
era of solitude where there was no fever nor disorder. I became a solitary. I
and some pages of some books. I started then to earn some money.
never thought that money was an achievement, but with money I achieved several
things, some of them of great taste.
was evident that in order to separate myself from my work, my work should be
published. I have to publish grandiosely but without believing that
Iíll obtain heaven. Weíll make a bit of a scandal, weíll sell some
books and weíll get some work. For the time being thatíll be all.
when Iím asked, said the wretch, why I stopped making love with all my lovers
who were several, because all of them were ill suffering each one from a
different illness. And the doctors wanted me to undergo all the treatments.
Better, I said to myself, I stop making love for one or two years and later,
Iíll try to know something.
little fools suffer from erotic intoxication and when Iím with them I have no
occurrence because we are always talking about the same thing.
13th, 1988: Little by little life will go by and every life will have
its situations. The Ego resists also to all salvation. Ego doesnít see,
doesnít feel, it never completely comprehends.
donít find peace but Iím neither in the middle of a war. Iím a neurotic.
Someone who is only afraid of his own dreams, of his own grandeur deliriums.
Morning comes and I get up, night comes and I collapse as a giant who dies crushed by his own weight. I understand it, all of my life is going through within me. Even poetry is made on its own within me.
any need for drama, events exist for me anyway. Even if I write nothing, next
morning there is always a verse written. I blow and winds are generated,
infinite waves of remoteness.
I donít know how to go on but Iíll go on. The most important things of life are only known afterwards and afterwards is always too late.
|MENASSA IN BUENOS AIRES||MENASSA IN BUENOS AIRES|
Monday November 13th at 7 PM
in the Central Headquarters of the Universidad Abierta Interamericana
( 951 San Juan Av., Buenos Aires city), Dr Miguel Oscar Menassa,
psychoanalyst of renown trajectory
both locally and internationally, will
receive the Professor Emeritus
The diploma that validates the
discernment will be granted by Dr
Edgardo N. De Vincenzi, Principal of
the U.A.I., in the presence of the
members of the Superior Council of
Dr Miguel Oscar Menassa, Founder
and Director of the Grupo Cero
Psychoanalysis and Poetry School,
will deliver the lecture ďGrupo Cero:
Psychoanalysis and PoetryĒ.
MENASSA IN BUENOS AIRES
|MENASSA IN BUENOS AIRES|
ďThis novel is a monument to desire, not to its satisfaction and desire doesnít fit in moulds normsĒ
Leopoldo de Luis
ď Menassa transforms eroticism into a real encyclopaedia of sexual relationsĒ.