INDIO GRIS Nº 41- Einpersonen-zeitschrift zur ansammlung von müll

INDIVIDUAL MAGAZINE OF GARBAGE COLLECTION
Nº 41. YEAR 2001- MARCH, THURSDAY 8
FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2001

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

Spain declines to take the same measures other counties have taken against foot-and-mouth disease. She waits that it is demonstrated that England is good, in the meantime the British minister of agriculture, Nick Brown, admitted that it's impossible to stop the foot-and-mouth outbreak, which means there's no other alternative than to export it.

Spain takes measures against the British foot-and-mouth disease, but she can do nothing with the Spanish crazy cows.

She forces 24 Ecuadorians to return to their countries but she has no money for the 24,000 who enlisted themselves in the Government project.

Floods spread viruses and bacteria throughout Europe. But Spain looks well, a three-storey building in Princesa Street crumbles down and the experts say that the cause was the rain.

In Barajas Airport planes are delayed up to one day thanks to the pilots' strike, the pilots say that the cause was the rain.

The rain, the humidity it produces is responsible for the maltreatment most men in the civilized world exercise over their women.

The little sheep not to be less than cows got ill too and pigs were always bad naughty.

Without anything natural to eat man has surpassed himself, he has become self sufficient, he eats his own shit.

I'm planning a sort of health care and social security plan for all of us in Madrid, because it is very difficult for foreigners to obtain those things of health and social security.

I want to communicate to you that democracy doesn't exist in Spain either. All laws, and this happens all over the world, only take into account the will of the powerful.

And to be powerful is that which you told me when I was yet a child. To have money, to have prestige. Your words were never so real in a country like Spain, where to register your son in the civil registry you must have a bank account.

For the time being, I'm deciding little by little, to submit myself to the laws which allow me to live. I have two accounts, one in pesetas in the Meridional Bank, and another one, in dollars in the Industrial Financing Bank. I'm slowly following the procedures to obtain my residence. I'm trying to adapt myself well to this country where I had the chance to live.

And to adapt yourself is never easy. Everybody has its aspirations, and I have mine also.

I'll impose what I believe in, my human rights. I'll do everything slowly, I'm almost a wise man. I'm not in a hurry for anything. For the time being, I'm considered by some people one of the best living writers, the rest I imagine, will come alone.

P.O.: My next book will have 350 pages, what do you think, Dad? I'm coming closer to the great book that you always wanted me to write.

Well, mirages lie in ambush and he who doesn't suffer because he has, will suffer because he doesn't know and nothing is better.

The same raving summer makes me recall the ocean. Writing is always a challenge, always a desperate staging. An act, in all cases, humane.

Small letters, small writings, my beloved poems, are building a great book which will be named Cero Group, that Impossible and Psychoanalysis of the Leader.

Around 300 pages, trying to show a new combination, for which - as the writer says - we are not yet prepared, not even ourselves.

The book begins with an introduction of about 100 pages, its first words are from August 10^th, 1977.

A few days from my second arrival to Madrid,
                                                                       everything goes fine.
I'm happy,
                              I'm sorry for having finished my best work,
Somersault,
                 a book where the poet attains to poetize what is most stupid,
the most banal, what we all know.
                                               Little by little we'll achieve it,
certain ethic values
                               will spring into the air.

As you may see, a good beginning, a way of saying that everything that happens to us is our life.

I must confess, my writing stopped for an hour. I walked through the house, I ate from love, the ripe fruit of the evening, I grew old together with the sun in its perfect decadence and, before returning, I kissed the half-opened lips of plenitude.

Writing to you is something I don't know, It's something new to me, it's something truly revolutionary among us, because as we all know, what is repressed in our movement, whatever people say, is heterosexuality.

A man, a woman, should be, as the poet says, an edge of an irreproachable abyss, a man and a woman should be that what they are.

And this isn't , as believed, something natural. I roam among the stars and I traverse memories without piety, I look for a social agreement between us and I find no one, I search for a harmony among our words and I find myself headless, without knowing what to say, without knowing to whom to say what I don't yet know.

Some of us once said that everything was the joy of the foundation and well, I say to myself, why if a man can, others can't?, why, if almost al men can, all women can't?. And I ask and I speak alone in the mornings and I say to myself that some of my pondering about passivity, contemplation and envy aren't enough to explain what I think is a phenomenon.

Trying to unleash my megalomania, I tell you that we are confronting the opportunity of being able, perhaps not all, because no form of life must reach the absolute, at least all who wish to.

I explain, a sort of second foundation, or what we decided to call the Cero Group First International.

"I am tense, I have appetites, hungers of millenniums and now they'll want to content me with some piece of cheese, excrescence of some pastoral cow, or the same cow beaten to death and quartered on the table, recalling ancient rites, where men ate each other, and that was love.
               I stab my small knife mercilessly into the cow's heart and the cow moos, it tears itself with passion in front of the murderer. I, with surgical precision, separate grease and nerves and I give my beloved one a morsel from the cow's burnt ovaries.
               -We're free, she says to me, while she entertains herself with the noise of her teeth trying to chew the burnt parts of the universe. Later, lighter, making a mirage of everything, a lie, she says to me with ease:
               A magisterial cow that moos and murders all the time lives in me. Sometimes she seems in pain, but nothing matters to her, she knows that she was born to be beaten to death, and then she shits everywhere and the mad flowers eat what is essential of shit and grow rapidly towards the future."

A book written by Miguel Oscar Menassa
To get along with your partner in the Holiday Season
and during some of the working days

“This novel is a monument to desire, not to its satisfaction and desire doesn’t fit in moulds norms”

Leopoldo de Luis

“ Menassa transforms eroticism into a real encyclopaedia of sexual relations”.

Juan-Jacobo Bajarlía

THE PABLO MENASSA DE LUCIA ASSOCIATION
MARCH 8^TH , 2001

2001 Working Woman Award to the
psychoanalyst and poet Amelia Díez Cuesta

The award will be delivered by the actress and director
Antonia San Juan, winner of the previous edition.

C/Princesa 17 - 3° izq. - Madrid 28008