FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2001
DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK BUT WE DO IT IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES
GRIS, IS A PRODUCT
INDIO GRIS Nº 57
are things which are hopeless, they are like ice facing the sun.
morning of a hot end of June and I'm embarked in a new moving. The Cero Group
Psychoanalysis and Poetry School is moving from the third floor on 17 Princesa
Street to two premises in 4 Duque de Osuna Street, which means, in Princesa
Street, but overlooking the street and with a garden. Do you realise?
on the other hand, will be able to accommodate the three offices that I used in
17 Princesa Street (consulting room, group room and office) in three storeys:
ground floor with a patio of 56 square metres (I recall: Princesa Street, 30
metres from Plaza España) for the painting workshop.
My private consulting room will be in the first floor (between 30,000 to
40,000 pesetas per session), a big lounge for the attention of groups (around
60,000 pesetas per month and per participant) and a small office in walnut and
green tapestry for counselling interviews with companies, industries and similar
studies (around 300,000 pesetas per consultation) and from August onwards I'll
have 32 walls to hang my pictures and if I'm not completely happy it's because
there are things in the world which are hopeless.
the readers that visit its pages and leave something written to testify that
they had done so, Indio Gris
offers the opportunity of attending Sigmund Freud's Seminary, delivered
by psychoanalysts belonging to Cero Group Psychoanalysis School, without charge.
I hope to find and put at your disposal
the complete information in the next issue.
you know I was coming back? Were you waiting for me?
and taciturn, after a thousand failures,
are not there, but desperate greens announce you.
from skulls that do not stand the wind,
Madrid, March 24th, 1977
attempt against the purest.
March 24th, 1977
Today, I loved your loves.
I ask your forgiveness for all the excesses. They are unavoidable.
want to sing,
spike of May
March 29th, 1977
told you that our conversation
won't be an end for what is just beginning.
mark the beat of madness.
and perpetual night for lovers.
and scents of silence for the final act.
The final silence.
lie on me, they crush me. That radiant future, that radiant future is in my
hands, is in my hands and, however…
she told it to me in a moving way.
I have come, with this look, to die in your arms. I come badly hurt, I
bring the art of breast feeding destroyed by ambiguous passions. I mixed up
everything, doctor, I desire my children, I love my mother and I was
psychoanalysed for five years, before coming to see you, with a woman just like
And why didn't you commit suicide? I asked her dryly.
Because, when I was thinking of doing so, one of your books fell into my
hands (from heaven, I imagine) and after reading it new hopes were born in me
and I said to myself: I'm going to see him and if he doesn't save my life, at
least I'll die happily. To live 200 years! as you say in your books… How
Well, Doctor, are you going to cure me?
was a bit frightened and I answered with another question:
became pale, she let her arms fall between her legs and bent
to the point of almost touching the floor with her head and from that
hole, from the deepest place one can reach, she told me in a muffled voice:
Cancer…cancer… cancer… cancer…
she stopped, I inhale deeply and said to her:
If you come to see me for that, only for that, you may lie down on the
lain on the couch, while she lit a cigarette, she said that she
What should I do now?
You should go and come back tomorrow to your second session. Good
she left, I did fifteen pull-ups
of the difficult ones with my arms, I opened all the windows and sat
again on the armchair. The first thing that occurred to me was the following: If
I come from my ass, I'll end up in a sewer. As I closed the windows because of
the cold I thought I didn't quite understand what was happening.
I became entangled in the reading of future events and it didn't do me any good
to see myself working as God in the next years.
times, I let her do.
always had clear ideas,
I pushed her with her ideas
is an honourable work, she said to me,
cases like that, I caressed her forehead,
she walks around the house
the mornings I listen to her without blinking.
sweeps and stops sweeping,
she prepares an orange juice for me,
when we are making love she asks me if I love her.
declare myself hers,
we make love like woman and man,
Bible, the book
Babelia have done it well. Two weeks ago animals had to be defended, last
week we had to allow the dictatorships coming from the American democracy
to dominate us, and this week, touch your feet, the Bible is the book of
the world. I think that these guys won't last another week in their jobs.
Just in case, keep your places some more weeks, we advise them with one
example. The Bible: Universal Book,
this way we would have avoided, at least in Madrid, hundred of thousands
of people to think that Mundo was the Bible for Babelia's journalists,
"cultural" magazine of El País newspaper and we continue not
wanting to speak about Saturday's poem.
Today I have finally understood it, even if we published the same authors, we would publish different poems.
País, Saturday, June 21th, 2001
There are things which are hopeless, they are like ice facing the sun.
Foreignness Law is only useful to expel foreign workers from Spain.
MARCA, Monday, June 25th, 2001
will be important changes - I respect Gil,
but now I'm the coach for Atlético de Madrid.
For Miguel Oscar Menassa
poet and friend,
night, Friday, June 8th, 2001, something extraordinary happened
to us that I can't avoid telling you. Enriqueta didn't want to watch TV,
it was 6 p.m. and very dark in Buenos Aires, when she suddenly said:
" I'm going to read Letters to my wife, by Miguel Oscar Menassa. And
so she did. She read the pages of the book in a loud voice, leaving no
word without being pronounced, while I smoked my pipe, and laughed
frequently at your sincerity in that fierce autobiography, which in some
way made me remember of Anaìs Nin. The reading lasted two hours.
Enriqueta resembled Sara Bernard when she recited at Paris theatres, and I,
Gerard de Nerval or another specimen when I was going after Jeny. We had
everything. Your book and your confessions, Anaìs Nin and Juan
Jacobo Rousseau were the only things that existed. The world had
disappeared. It was a grandiose show.
suddenly something similar to the objective chance of the
surrealists surged. In the last pages of your work
the number 35 was mentioned over and over again. In the three last
games of the roulette and of 35 as the final and winner number. It was
then when I told Enriqueta: "We could go out (there was plenty of
time) and bet on 35 at the lottery". She thought the same, but none
of us moved, fascinated by your book. Next day, 35 was the winning number.
We therefore lost an opportunity that was announced in your book, that
left me, in need of money as I am, nostalgic for the remaining part of the
day This is undoubtedly a variant of the objective chance which was
not favourable to us.
had mentioned your 35 so many times in Letters to my wife, that it
couldn't fail us. But destiny is already codified and we cannot elude it.
write to you about this "adventure" so that you can enjoy it. On
the other hand, Enriqueta couldn't stop thinking of Olga, and while she
read, she would stop to say: "Olga and Miguel Oscar are two lucky
June 27th, 2001
Juan Jacobo Bajarlía
and your charming wife have been awarded with the $ 200 prize that Indio
Gris has instituted for the reader who for the first time, when speaking
about the book Monologue between the cow and the moribund (which we advise
to read) mentions the number 35.
prize will be delivered to you in Buenos Aires, within the next fifteen
days, by one of our beautiful contacts, Marcela Villavella.
receive a strong hug for both of you. I hope you will share the prize with
your wife because of its implication.
Thanks for existing,