Saturday, August 18, 2007

The Wildliza

The Wildliza. The Wildliza, the times, the cement, The humity, the local mafia.

The plastic windows, The plastic bags, the plastic people. The mariscadas in the pubs. The people of the mariscadas. The garçons. The fuel, the no fuel, the antifuel, the poetry of the in-absence of the fuel. The rich. The poor. The extremely poor. The people who even don't have the word poor.

The Conselleiros. The secretary of the conselleiros, The secretary of group A of the conselleiro. The lover of the conselleiro. The second woman of the conselleiro. The third Audi of the conseiro. The inexistent degree of the conselleiro. The travels of the conselleiro. The ignorance of the conselleiro. The clothing bill's of the conselleiro.

Wildliza, my land

The hostel

The hostel.
The hostel is cold, The room is alone.
Smell to men working.
No much, only a little. So cold to smell anything.
Today is friday, normally in that kind of rooms come men to sleep from Monday to Thursday.
The room of the hostel is cold, and all the terrace is of the seventies, from times when the people had money. Yes, from the times in which people had money and they spent it in putting floor tiles in the facade of its houses.
Not now, Not at Freixeiro, not at Ferrolterra. Now the floor tiles fell on the ground.
I go to the bathroom.
Humidity and more cold.
I touch the tubes of the heating
The heat is cold. No heating in winter.
I open the hot water. Is the only hot thing here. Maybe it's a kind of hot-cold water. There're a forgotten and pink used soap, with pink water around it.
I return to the room.
A chair of the sixties, living with a wardrobe of the nineties, probably bought at the hypermarket, that hypermarket that grew with the economic disaster of the eighties.
I see a narrow door. A white and cheap narrow door. I open the door , and there're a small terrace. More humidity, more cold. I see the street. The buildings of three and four floors without elevator, the buildings with floor tiles, the swimming-pool houses, like I like to say.
The light signs of a karaoke.
Cars. Cars of the seventies. Cars of today. All of them, baroque cars like a statue of a virgin in a Galician rural church.
The museums are for the politicians, people use cars.
I return to the room.
There are a small television. very small, with a small antenna. The television is over the mirror, over a little toilet.
The plug of the television it's wrapped by the wires. But at the ceiling there're a low-comsuption light.
Yes, not heating , but you can use the television from the bed. Digital era in the swimming-pool house.
Pink-orange walls.
It's Narón.

The unemployment card

Dad, the cartoon, why today I can't see the cartoon.
Dad say nothing. Dad arrive later ten minutes. Dad is a criminal for that. Dad don't think so. When you have no work, Galician government give you a card. A card, telling you when you need to return to the unemployment office.
The unemployment office open between 9 a.m to 2 p.m. , but the card says clearly that you need to go between nine and eleven, and if not, you'll lose whatever right . But Pepe was soo tired too waking up today.

Shin-Chan, the name of a cartoon of the Galician TV. Xose, little Xose four years old see the cartoon every evening, when he return from the school.
Pepe say nothing. Pepe arrive ten minutes late because he works every night at a local company, loading potato coats. But no contract, and no money, so enough to eat, not many more.
Mr. José, -says that woman at the unemployment office- we can't guarantee your rights, because in the card put clearly that we renovate the card between nine and eleven, now its time to get attention to look for a job.
Pepe can't go ahead for more time. Pepe say nothing, Pepe see her
Because these ten minutes, Pepe loses the money which pays the government to him, and that he uses to pay the flat.
Now , where to live?
What it will be about his little Xose. Xosiño, my dear, he lose his mother time ago , he lose his mother because she worked in a company who uses toxic products. A big-fashionable company all around the word, but which it paid nothing to her, nothing for Pepe and Xosiño. No money for Pepe, and no money for little Xosiño.
Pepe starts crying
Dadda why youth are criiiyingggg?
and Xosiño is crying too.
Pepe open the gas. Pepe give a big and strong hug to Xosiño.
Years ago, when Pepe have no money , He went to the sea to look for fish anything, to search for any seafood for the him and his parents.
But not now. Because thirty years and five black tides before, no free food available on the Galician coast.
The gas cover the room while the cartoons of the Galician TV made stupid gags in a Castilian accent.


Mum, mum , where's mum?

The last thoughts in her head, now are the noise of the machines.
The dressmaking machines.
The fashion-machines.
Exploitation it is not fashionable, then let's put the fashinable-brothel in a fashionable-chicken factory, in the middle of the gorse.

She works at a chicken-factory.
Well, there're no chicken, but the air is full of sweet and heat.
Many women, like her, working at the same time in with the fashion-machines.
She tries to think in Pepiño, four years old, so cute, and so small.
She loves to go with Pepiño to the mountain, to go for a walk.

There aren't many free time.
Many weekends she is working.
Go for a walk to the mountain with Pepe, his husband, and with cute Pepiño.
Go picnic, between the gorse, the lovely galician toxos.
Yellows spots of the xorimas, the flowers of the gorse, along the hills, behind the sea.
In other mountain far of the mountain of the fashionable-chicken factory.

When she was a girl, she loved to go with grandpa to the mountain.
Grandpa was a intelligent man.
Grandpa knew the science of to do the zocas, the traditional wood's shoes, essential in other times when there wasn't Wellington's, only zocas.
Lovely days too , near the lareira, with histories between the fire and the tenderness of the family.
Gorse. gorse.
Green and yellow.
Love and denigration.
Mountain and black-sea.
Gorse, toxo's Galician yinyan.
Gorse iconic, in an iconic land.
Sara went with grandpa to collect gorse, to use as firewood.
Sara now was lacing green trousers, one piece, other and a madeinmarroco docket.
Marroco at Galicia.
Sara didn't saw the bodkin, and the red began to dye the green.
She stopped to think about this new kind of gorse, who give her blood on the green, but no histories at the night.
No family tenderness of grandpa.
Only Pepe and Pepiño, her precious treasures.
No toxos for a little of heat, only a broken bloody bodkin for a little of money.

songs of desperation and elocuence

songs of desperation and elocuence.
among the years remained the true
among the forest remained the
deeply scared by the blind artist
the beauty of the stone reminds
the song of the waves reminds
it's remain the sound of green and yellow gorse.

The council as his toy

Paco, Don Paco, is the Mayor.
The Mayor of a council near the coast.
The council have a big big shield, but Don Paco missed these times.

Or at least he says that when people asked him about a shiel from the times of Franco dictatorship.
Don Paco spend the summers in the Franco's camp , when he was young.
Now, he see, everyday, from his windows, the shiel, made of stone and blood,in the park, where the children plays.
While play the children of the democracy.
The democracy of Don Paco.

new spring, at the sea club

New spring at the sea club.
New cocodriles in the chest.
New chest in front of the local caciques.
New local caciques in new yachts.
New yachts in a new harbour.
New harbour at the new spring, made over the old ria (now, were're was the ria, so green was our ria with money from the white industry.

At the end, the iconicity of the cocodriles , is superb in la villa.