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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 63 YEAR II EDITORIAL
THURSDAY, AUGUST 9TH, 2001 The
favour that you could do to people is to draw limits for them and that will be a
limit for me. LOVE
EXISTS The
will of loving, Silence, I
draw the curtain, I pull the nails off the coffin, May
1st, 1982 Oh!
sad albatrosses, mutilated doves. My father has died, but my father lives
in this sadness of rolled up sleeves, ready for everything. She'll
come, for sure, accompanied by her mysteries and her foolishness. She'll
put some sort of rag on her forehead and start screaming the word freedom,
like a mad woman. I plunge myself definitely in an apathy of dreams, I let
loose the anguish of killing myself to be like him. I'll have amianthus
blood against the same sad passions that made of you, oh, father! a small
stone, calcine and dead. I fight with all my strength which I don't have.
I fall time and time again, so close to you, so close to your tears, I
remember, crying a son as one cries a life-long loved pet. Gods
of art, gods of curse, I condemn you to die with me among my tiny tears of
future. Besieged,
I'm always besieged. There are days in which it's my turn to die and
others in which although it's not my turn for anything, it's my turn to
die. Strengthened
by holding my chains so much, I allow my presence to illuminate itself and
fly. I'll start a new life, but this time I won't tell anyone.
The
boxer arrived five minutes before time, but I let him pass anyway, when I saw in
his face something similar to anguish. He dropped quickly on the couch and told
me: -
I'm eager to smoke a cigarette. I
interrupted him perhaps too promptly and to say the least, even making a
mistake. -
How long have you been without smoking? -
Please, doctor don't say that, those are foolish things compared to what
is happening to me today. I'm a father, aren't I? And
as he remained silent, I made a mistake once again and answered him: -
Yes, you're the father of six children, I think… -
Stop your nonsense, doctor, let me speak. I'm a father, and I want to
tell you, a disturbed one. At times it seems to me that I get more and more
muddled up. -
Like you made me do at the beginning of the session. This
time he pretended that he hadn't listened to me and continued speaking of what
he thought was happening to him. -
I'm a disturbed father, a desperate lover. My lover abandons me because
I've got another job and I have less time to be with her. Think of it, partly
she has good reasons: six children, as you yourself reminded me a few minutes
ago, two jobs, afterwards a little gym everyday…As you can see, I have no
time. And she's French, you know, I'm desperate. If I don't work I feel I'm a
bad father, if I work I feel I'm a bad lover. Tell me, doctor, have you ever
suffered like this, with such intensity? I,
that had felt small and ignorant during the meeting, answered once more: -
No, really, not with such intensity, but I think because of similar
motives, yes. I remember once in Reggio Calabria… -
Hey! Wait, doctor, that this isn't your session, besides the fact of not
having money, you spend my time recalling your things. What is left for me? I
admitted having abused his trust and afterwards I couldn't avoid adding that it
looked to me this morning that his intentions were to make me look like an
asshole, mainly, in front of him but also in front of other clients, other
readers. -
It may be that I envy you - he said, as if admitting something- I imagine
you behaving correctly with your children, wife, lovers… Because you surely
have them, don't you? I
felt that the patient's irony encouraged me and then I told him: -
Look, Ernesto, if I answer you that I don't have lovers, I would be
playing the fool that you have programmed for me today, and if I say yes, that I
have lovers, I'm playing the fool that the media has programmed for us, so I
prefer to let you know that what I have had were many patients like you who
before doubting of themselves, doubted of me. We
continue the next time - he himself said gravely, but happy.
It seems that
yesterday night I set sail, this morning almost noon, I prefer not to open
my eyes. I
stretch my hands trying to know where I am, I can't stop recalling my
grandfather Antonio, my mother's father, trying with his hands to bring a
colour out
of things. His faith was blind, his blindness was infinite. I
would creep silently to him to catch him unaware and in silence I would
catch one of his hands and place it on my face
and his fingers would slowly press my lids and an angle of his
thumb would lightly touch my lips and I would blush without him seeing me
and he would exclaim as if it were the first time: -
Here he is, with me, the genius, he who can see everything. And
he would put down his arms touching the sides of my arms and grabbing me
by my hands he would make me fly through the air and in spite of his
blindness, in spite of my tremor, I would once more fall between his arms. -
Night always has the vertigo of passion - he said to me. Under the
sun people become silly. All of the heat remains in the skin, sun - he
said to me - doesn't reach the blood. Without sun time is something else. He
grumbled and lit his pipe and in the middle of blasphemies, he asked me if
he had turned red and I answered, yes, like a tomato, and he laughed as if
dying were also something good, and stood up from his seat and beat the
walls with his close fists, and took me for walks on top of his shoulders
around the patio, and asked me about the colour of the grapes: -
What exact colour are the small plants that grow at our feet? What
colour the sky? What colour is Maria's ass? -
Black. And
this way we spent the morning, and ended up sitting under the fig tree
where I explained for the millionth time, that colours didn't exist, that
everything is black and that colours exist in the gaze. His
soul opened at the pace of my little words. And we remained silent and María
was the music that broke the spell, and we returned to life with his
words. -
Men always have pending affairs with justice. A foolish boy and a
foolish old man, wanting to discover the world and they are both with
their eyes closed. His
voice was crystal. -
Light and shadow
are the same world. And
he started his withdrawal around the patio at a gallop and the only colour
was María.
May
25th, 1977 To
listen, but also, to lead the direction. To progress - and this I have
already written - one should submit one direction to the other. When it's
a question of power to talk about it isn't enough, that is to say, we must
talk in one direction and not in others. May
28th, 1977 The
whole world, when said by a neurotic, is no more than three or four
people. June
27th, 1977 We
should always suffer a little so no one wants what we have. She
goes slowly through life, in a century's time she will realise that if no
one wants what we have, we don't have. August
14th, 1977 To
be present in a grupal idea, it is not even necessary to agree with the
idea. Let's
imagine, who can totally agree with the construction of a bridge of words
over the green and blue and sometimes yellow waves of the sea, a bridge of
words connecting two wonderful and far away beaches. Not even
who has planned this, does totally agree with touching in such a
way, the holy oceanic nature. August
21st, 1977 Having
more agreements than arms or genital organs, is also a way of living. Maestro, Thank
you for the INDIO 61: one has to bear the anxiety of the waiting but… it
was worth it! A
hug, Haydée
Lucía
Dear
editor, Oh,
mister editor!, it is indispensable that you know that your audacity has
no limits and that your intelligence depends on, if it were prior to men
that fought and were not defeated and if it is about the future of the
world, it is all yours. I profoundly admire the way of enjoying,
submitting to that. Nobody is better for me than you, tonight. With
love, Lucía
Dear
Maestro, I
have been the visitor 11070, and to be in this series places me in a major
world, where life is made and is the task that keeps me busy. Just
today I was able to enter the pages easily, and to read the 61st
supported the ideas I have been thinking of, in the Conference a doing
could be seen, and those words spin in my head. Do from zero (Cero). It
seems that that is the phrase, do from zero (Cero). Several
times reading the inaugural paper I imagined your voice above 400 people
in the audience. Do
from zero (Cero), is not only the enthusiasm of a beginning, but it is
also a style. A
hug, Marcela
Darling, So
many things I could say about this wonderful indio, everything is in the
process of being written, to make a destiny, is said in this issue, and
that is something of what I have been saying before, and this poem brought
me all the oxygen of the universe, the purest oxygen, the one that doesn't
allow to be contaminated but by its own particles. I
never feared that a word would touch me, All
the reading was about love for the indio, until the front page of Tears of
Exile left me without breathe, hitting my heart, I was saved only by that
oxygen that touched everything with certain purity. What an incredible
picture the one on the front page, I'm surprised, I have never seen that
face before and nevertheless, it is the only face I could have imagined.
It is a universal face… I associate that there is a knowledge in the
doing of zero (Cero). In all doing there is a knowledge. In that face
rests knowledge. I'm
very enthusiastic about returning to these pages… A hug, Marcela THIS IS ADVERTISING
Tears
of exile author: It
contains thirteen illustrations of some of the best paintings |
