E;Letter from subcomander marcos, Sep 20

Doug Henwood dhenwood at panix.com
Mon Sep 23 10:07:38 MDT 1996


A recent production from Marcos. I still can't decide whether this is
brilliant or pretentious doo-doo.

Doug

----

>Date: Mon, 23 Sep 1996 09:08:06 -0500 (CDT)
>To: chiapas95 at mundo.eco.utexas.edu
>From: owner-chiapas95 at mundo.eco.utexas.edu (Chiapas95)
>Reply-To: Chiapas 95 Moderators <chiapas at mundo.eco.utexas.edu>
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>Subject: E;Letter from subcomander marcos, Sep 20
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>This posting has been forwarded to you as a service of
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>---------- Forwarded message ----------
>Date: Sun, 22 Sep 1996 08:14:03 +0000
>From: Amanecer Press <amanecer at cyberspace.com>
>Reply-To: chiapas-l at profmexis.dgsca.unam.mx
>To: NAP <amanecer at cyberspace.com>
>Cc: chiapas-l at profmexis.sar.net
>Subject: Letter from subcomander marcos
>
>   TRANSLATION
>
>Published in Spanish by: La Jornada Mexican daily.
>Sep.20,1996.
>
>Morning voyage a board communiques
>
>To the national and international press
>
>September 18,1996.
>
>Ladies and Gentleman:
>
>I am still on top of the Kapok tree.   I made a paper plane with the
>commuiques and I sent them off force.   Almost immediately
>it started to rain.  "You should have made a paper boat" my other
>self yelled at me from a shooner.   In the distance, daybreak, ceded
>it's placed amicably, to a lazy dawn.
>
>Vale. Health and who can guess, on the empty floor of today,
>tomorrow's flower?
>
>>From the mountains of Numancia, subcomander Insurgent Marcos.
>
>Me'xico,September 1996.
>
>The recurrent P.S.
>
>Section "the kapok tree is the major pole of unstable sailing".  I
>was at the highest point of the main pole (yes, I know this is a
>kapok tree, but they look alike),  checking the horizon, when there
>in the distance, a fleeting spout was lightning in the lighting that
>gave it life.   The night was dark storm and, yet, the moon was
>barely able to charge towards the east.   One reflection reached the
>sea so that a small bank of white sand could be seen.   It's true
>that the sea at night has surprises, but to find a bank of white sand
>is not common.   What I want to say is that I usually find school
>chairs, mesabanks and even bank branches, but never a bank of white
>sand.*   I reached for the telescope and aimed for the bow, where the
>moon had signalled the beach, and nothing, only the dark yawing of a
>nocturnal rain.   Lightning made visible again that foamy spout but
>now on the port side.   I turned in that direction and I was finally
>able to distinguish a white mass.  One moment!  Now the watery spout is
>again in the direction of the port.!  Is this a pirate ship or a
>merry-go-round? Mmh.....Everything indicates that the sand bank
>moves.....Mmh...I aim again my only eye on the telescope and,
>focusing, I tell myself that, is it not a movable white sand bank,
>then, it could very well be a whale.   Yes, a white whale like....
>Moby Dick! Yes, it is her!  Who else would present itself with such
>impunity?  Cordoba Montoya?  No, he is not of those pirates we are
>taking about.  Yes, it is Moby Dick.  And here I am all alone.  The
>last sailor drowned in a hurricane.  Well, in reality it was a woman,
>but for the situation, is the same thing.   I shood Moby Dick away
>with that of Pavese that says:  " There is no voice that breaks the
>silence of the water/under the dawn.  And not even anything that
>makes it shiver/ under the heavens.  Only a lukewarm that dilutes the
>stars."
>
>Section:  "The kapok tress is a kite".-  I was on top of the kapok
>tree, thinking about how to get down in a way that my pride and
>my behind would come out without injury, when my other self arrived
>and, without much, said :"they say  that they say that the supreme
>says that luck is been drawned, that came out a cross and that they
>prepare your idem because that  "JA!" hurt him more than the
>"Enough!" of 94".  I was not even moved, I just started calculating
>in which part of the kapok tree was there room for a tomb.  No use.
>"I have to come down", I tell my other self.   He looks at me with
>irony and tells me:  "Are you afraid?".  "Neverever", I responded,
>"but over there (I point to the horizon) looks like better times are
>coming.   If I stay up here I miss the best...."
>
>Section  "One kapok tree is an island with flying aspirations".-
>A bottle arrived floating in the crest of a cloud and got stuck
>in one of the branches of the kapok tree.   I got close carefully
>(a fall from this height would be so loud as the one of the system
>in 1988) and I took it.  As it is assumed, the bottle had a message
>inside.   I took it out and found the following letter from Durito:
>
>"My dear Cyrano in decadence:
>
>I found out that once again you find yourself prisoner on top of the
>kapok tree.   This happens due to us letting ourselves go by your
>foolishness, that of the mirrors and falls towards the top.  For now,
>it is impossible for me to come rescue you.   I am very busy
>with the writing of the second volume of "Tales for a sleepless
>loneliness".  here I send you a sample so you find an editor.
>
>Love and the calendar
>
>"There was once a man who would always arrive late to everything.
>And it was not that he was lazy or slow, nor that the clock would
>make him late or that it was his custom.   What was happening
>was that this man was living in another time, before time.  Not much,
>it's true, but always some.   For example when the calendar marked
>the month of september, this man was walking on april's dawn.
>For that reason, his spring never coincided with the improbable of
>hers'.   Death instead, continued to be obedient to the passing of
>time and was delivering absences as the fulfilment of each one's
>days and nights would come up. But since this man was always behind
>time, well, he always arrived late to his death hour and would no
>longer find her, because death had to follow it's own calendar.   Death
>knew that it  was leaving that one pending, that man that should already
>be dead and yet, due to his lateness, was still alive.   The man got
>tired of living and walking, that for this case it's the same, and
>went looking for death in order to die.  That is how they  spend their time
>and the notime.  Death, waiting for the man to arrive to kill him.
>The men waiting to find death to die.  There is no day in the calendar
>for those two waitings to meet.  tan-tan".
>
>What do you think? No, leave the praises for later.  Well, I leave
>now.  I write later, my decadent and long nosed squire.
>
>Don Durito of the Lacandon.
>
>P.S. Do not forget to hold firm to the rudder, they say that
>fierce storms are coming.
>
>The end of Durito's letter.  No comments.
>
>Translated by: Susana Saravia (Anibarro) for Nuevo Aman at LIST0B74.PML
>ecer Press.
>
>
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