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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 73 YEAR II EDITORIAL Beyond
war, I imagine, there will be misery for many. Having
been mistaken, one more time, will bring ominous consequences for humanity. There
won't even be chaos. The new order will be: no type of order will be possible
except the order of weapons. As when the white men made black people slaves or
when the Spaniards conquered the Indians. After
this war, for three decades, there won't be anyone left who will be able to
think of anything. Some
poet will die to say something and some things he will say, but the rest will
all be confusion, all obscurity. We'll
go back to ancient ways of cohabitation and the feminine revolution will suffer
a retrocession of a century. Man,
desperate for not being able to solve his own questions, destroys everything,
for no one to profit from what was built up to that moment. What
other thing is war? Today,
darling, Today,
I love this pain that makes me feel alive, It's
the world's pain, I say to myself crestfallen, They
are, I say to myself, the desperate cadavers, The
freedoms, females dead of love,
Darling, I
hope to remember you only one time, open and scented, the rest of the time
is as if all the scent would open to the nothingness of memory. An
effort of love, I say to myself, an effort of love and work take away all
my energy. Although,
truly, I also think that the alterations of the being in these times have
to do more with the money that one doesn't have, than with the sex that is
being repressed. I
write foolish things, calling you, my love, calling you as when, hurt, you
embraced yourself to my hands and we wrote together those unforgettable
poems.
She,
after a silence, said: -
If I could realise what my privileges are, I'd live much better.
Yesterday I was reading Pavese, he writes better than you, he's a great writer.
I'd like to write like him. And what about you, doctor? She
dropped a silence waiting for me to answer some little something and then
continued: -
Today I have things to tell you about, terrible stories about my head.
All my nerves are from sexual origin. If I become pregnant, I'll have an
abortion. Today I feel more hysterical than ever. At last I can see myself,
here, as a masochist. Why,
doctor, tell me, why do I want to tell my husband everything? Is it that I want
him to be my mother? I don't know, I don't know. I
feel that maintaining two relationships is really complex. And
as she dropped another silence, as gazes are dropped, then this time I told her: -
Oedipus complex, isn't it? -
Please doctor, I don't come here for you to talk to me about sexual
problems, I have enough with mine. -
No more sex, doctor, now I want to become a writer. Now I want to lock
myself up during twenty years to write. No fighting for life, no desire of being
a pioneer, that is what my ancestors did and they weren't happy either. War
among men frightens me, I prefer to lock myself up, see you once a year for you
to give me your blessing and I want you to understand this, I don't want to
blame anyone. I
think, without telling her anything, that all this seems too strange to me,
she wanting to retire from public life, when in reality it's me who has
to retire from public life. -
I think that I'm not being well understood by you… -
We'll continue the next time. So, you aren't angry with me, are you?
At
times, she is a real madwoman, she says to me that she has to give up our
love and jumps out of the window. From the ground, all broken down, she
signals to me moving her head, that the one who has lost is me. That she
has won and she dies tranquilly.
1 I'm
not even the man of the future. I'm the man who also criticises the future
of man. There'll be no future for a man who sees himself in solitude,
there'll be no future for a man who always thinks himself as his
own self. 2 A
better administration of the same thing, would give other results. 3 Apparently
communism has failed, for that to be possible, capitalism had to humanise
itself, that is to say, communism in that sense has succeeded. The History
of the bourgeoisie continues, but is already another one.
4 Thinking
of the dead: Sometimes it's better to continue alive, even if
our desires may not be entirely accomplished: well, it's better to
continue
alive even if nothing is accomplished. 5 To
be powerful is not enough, afterwards you have to be able to stand it, to
carry it on, to be responsible for the love that is generated by power,
being responsible for the knowledge generated by power, that's what is
most difficult. 6 The
empire falls. The last stars crumble down. An empire where everything was
too demanding, even if in the end everything would result
to us the same as to everyone else in the world. We
got up in the morning and we had to feel that the world was ours. And this
way we drank the morning coffee and we never had consolation. LETTER
FROM THE EDITOR I
don't know who loved my body that night, INDIO GRIS
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