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INDIO GRIS
FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2001 WE
DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK BUT WE DO IT IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES
INDIO
GRIS, IS A PRODUCT INDIO GRIS Nº 56 YEAR
II EDITORIAL Today
is Sunday, 8.30 in the morning. The question of the sections represents, if not
exactly, more work, at least a certain order, a certain discipline. If
I have to say some truth so early on a Sunday morning, I can say that Cero Group
Editorial, in the Madrid Book Fair broke all prior achievements, its own and
others', becoming the Editorial which sold more
poetry books in the Fair (everything legal, with the presence of the
Notary) and, now we are happy for two reasons: 1- Because we are the most read
poets in Spain. 2- Because in spite of being the most read poets in two
continents, considering that the same happens to us in Argentina, we continue
being unknown for the official press. Read it correctly, official press means
all the supplements of the most important newspapers (only because of their
circulation) joined in an indissoluble way with editors more powerful than ours.
And that isn't the most important thing because sooner or later we too will be a
powerful editorial; the
worst is that we don't like how they write, we don't like them to spend all
weeks slandering Poetry, when they were never able to write a verse. Only
a few minutes have passed and I have already reached my second truth. Yesterday,
Saturday evening, we held a party, we read poetry, we had one or two glasses of
Spanish wine (Ribera del Duero, 95 vintage), we embraced and cried, as is fit
when people succeed, all together at the same time, in the same instant, and
afterwards the poetry of the young breaking all moulds, demonstrated materially
and historically that years had gone by. In
the pages of Cero Group School of Poetry two poems are published daily, one
published previously and the other one, unpublished, both
belonging to members of the Poetry Workshops. www.poesiagrupocero.com
this is also advertising, a sort of first quality social service without charge
so that citizens can
check by themselves the existence of beauty. I
HAVE SEARCHED I
have searched, stubbornly, Always
in the same place, I
leave footprints of my steps In
full freedom, Madrid,
March 23rd, 1977 I
admit, darling, I ask your forgiveness for the I
admit having been wrong with you. My
writing is mortal, it lives in your body. Where
are the suicides? Love
doesn't exist, darling, A
diamond in the entrails of the ferocious beast, Fourth
dimension exists, darling, I
am all of them, Madrid, March 23rd, 1977, in the afternoon
I
drill rocks, She
arrives and I show her that I have written some pages in the notebook she forgot
yesterday. I tell her that I have begun to write her clinical record. She goes
to pee, comes back, starts to roll a pot cigarette and says: -
Be careful because today I have no makeup. -
More than literature she is air. Today, for example, it took us twenty
minutes for her to lie down on the couch. -
I'm thinking of that woman. How she impacted on me! She had an unreal
body, as if she were a ghost, a supernatural woman, especially her eyes. In
front of this vision is where the mechanisms of envy and despise unfolded, and I
immediately said to myself: what happens is that this woman is a drug addict.
And I began to look at other women who don't know what to do with their body,
they are crooked,
characters that turned me completely mad. With one of them I delighted
myself in ugly mirrors, I saw him as a thief of ideas belonging to others. I
judged severely, so much that I came to think that if you wanted to save me you
would have be a god. And if I caused few problems it was thanks to thinking all
the time that you were God, this idea supported me. It seems strange, but it is
so. The problem is that contradictory ideas can co-exist in me, for example:
today I see you as a God and I extend you a God-card, tomorrow I see you as a
Demon and I extend you a Demon-card. I
live in a very odd way. (When I hand these writings to be read I'll say: try to
recognise yourself, it'll do you good, but don't feel yourself identified, you
are not the only one.) This
morning I was thinking in this sort of barrier, this fear of madness, of the
other one… it's a fear of a subdued woman. If
I'd decide to have faith in something, perhaps I'd do better. I generally live
with my body in pain. (I
wanted to tell her that she did nothing during the whole day, that was why her
body hurt, but I said nothing to her.) There
is a part of me very worried about the body. Here, I spoke little of the body. A
rebelliousness against you, psychoanalysts. Everything hurts. (In
a low voice I thought: why doesn't she free herself?) It
irritates me to find myself, all of a sudden, in these modern things. (Psychoanalysis,
for example.) Yes
a certain type of Psychoanalysis. (
Yours). No,
I'm in love with my Psychoanalysis, that's why it enervates me that you may
think I should liberate myself, because I think that you want me to free myself
from you and this, I tell you, doctor, because I know myself, hasn't yet begun. (Submit
yourself). She
laughs as if she had listened to me, she asks me if she can
undress and starts to do so. Shoes. Blouse. Skirt. -
This underwear is orthopaedic (referring to the bra), it makes you feel
your breasts the whole day. I have a childlike breast and, now, I'm very cold.
For sure, the central heating is not even working here. -
Do you hear me? With so much noise that the wind produces, I have the
sensation that I should shout for you to listen to me. -
You feel that your naked body hasn't drawn enough attention in me… -
You realised
that my body wasn't well at all and that's precisely why it drew your
attention. I have red spots everywhere. In the front, in
the rear, I have red spots everywhere. Of various sizes too, a huge one
here, on my ass and other smaller ones everywhere and some of them look like
small bumps. To look at one's body sometimes isn't at all as one may feel it. Of
course, now I don't know if I'm looking at my body, or if
what I'm only doing with my body is showing it to you. She
laughs loudly as if she were really happy. -
I wasn't like this before. The
small sun gets through the window mercilessly. -
Before, I showed myself naturally. I used to masturbate naturally. Now I
feel a clearly childish sensation, I intensely recall a two-coloured word, green
and blood-like, do you realise? What happens is that I love to undress and this
is something that almost can't be done without unleashing a scandal, without
causing strange passions. The
sun fades and appears again several times. While
she got dressed, I went to the bathroom and then to the kitchen, just because,
to leave her alone. When she finished putting on her shoes, I kissed her
forehead and we said good-bye, we'll see again.
I walked out of the porch
and, with quick steps, I headed towards Princesa corner to take a taxi.
I was filled with a pleasant sensation of unreality, I felt like a
character from some novel or even from a comic, going back to headquarters after
fulfilling a difficult mission, secret of course. To
make the events of the last two hours coincide with my life was almost
impossible, unbelievable from all points of view. But
the evidence: my smile of supernatural peace, couldn't be denied, not even I
could ignore it. Suddenly,
in the midst of the quietness of the afternoon, he told me: -
Shall we fuck her? -
I don't know if I'm prepared. While
I answered him with that stupid phrase, I felt that I had fallen in a trap, I
had committed a beginner's error: I had challenged him. Now,
I didn't have no other alternative but to breathe deeply, hide the tremor of my
legs and face the storm in a way as dignified as possible. She
came back and sat by my side. I thought, in that moment, if he had told her the
same thing he had told me: -
Hey, shall we fuck her? From
that moment on, the order of the events was very confusing. I
recall her open pussy before me, like an immense sea, enraged by the fierceness
of love. Open
sea, now, also for me. I
plunged in the deepness of that inaugural womb, trailing with my tongue the
scent of your beloved sex and she, among moans like cries for freedom and
murmurs and caresses and… Yes.
Yes. Go on. Yes. Go on. Words
with which she guided my steps towards your heart. You
appeared every now and then, somewhat absent-minded and asked: -
How are my untamable little whores? Then
she would throw herself over your huge dick and sucked all and swallowed all and
she would hold your balls, while telling me with her gaze: -
Come, he can be your man too. I
must confess that fear paralysed me. Fear detains my hands, floods my head. Fear
of recognising that brutal pleasure among three. I
open my legs to the voracity of that desire and she took advantage to put in
completely your beloved dick and we both sailed over your enormous marine dick,
in an incredible dance directed by the movement of her desire. I
lost all notion of time and space. Paradise coincided with the limits of that
bed, where one more chapter of the history of love was being written. -
I know that important things don't leave trace, he said to me rapidly,
and looking around me I see traces all over the place. If
I would really get to investigate, I would realise that the people that surround
me don't do many important things. I
never really know if I'm surrounded by fools or intelligent people. It
seems to me unreal that at my age I ask myself that, but I do so: -
Am I
a genius or directly a fool? -
You are a
genius, my love, you are a genius, he said without doubting.
We
praise Maximo's optimism as all ministries need Psychoanalysis, even the
Ministry of Culture. El
País, Saturday, June 18th, 2001
And
if someone breaks, may the next one pass.
But Spain is doing well. El
País, Saturday, June 16th, 2001
USA publishes a book, where it is taught to world-wide citizens how to tolerate dictatorships when they come from the American democracy, and we don't even mention the Saturday's poem. El
País, Saturday, June 16th, 2001
Quick
dismissal, sex in solitude or with the wife or with the boss; assured
illness, cheap burial. But Spain is doing well. El
País, Saturday, June 16th, 2001
Of nobody. El País, Saturday, june 16th, 2001
And
the prosecutor answered: To friends a hand; to enemies the law. El
País, Saturday, June 16th, 2001
But
Spain is doing well. El
País, Saturday, June 16th, 2001
And
promised that if they let him play Star War freely, he will end up
shouting:
Hail Europe! |
