WildlizaArchive for the '' Category

Xan carallán, British Xan

Domingo, Maio 22nd, 2005
22/05/2004

Three fourty, saturday night.
We’re on Sunday, technically, at now.
Two girls from London at a narow Galician street, Xan said, ‘ goodness’ with a very bad speech, girls don’t stop, girl’s don’t look Xan, girls give no any present of a word to him.
Xan , then , thinks about all, about his family, about dirty times , time ago, at suburbs at London, Father died,because cancer, because only Galicians want to work behind those material, dirty and dangerous and who knows the name of that material. Now his body lies buried in a lost corner, in a forgotten suburb near nowere,yes, in the kingdom, UK -for sure-.

Xan.
Xan tried to recover the bit of his life at Galicia, he returned with his mother to that village, and had no opportunity, no chances to growing , to made himself a man, only the chance to survive. He was near to lose his leg, working at a building for a local cacique -good jobs was only not for good workers like Xan, but for wannabe-mafia boys.
Xan carallán, he says, and many dirty words to the church, to the local mafia, to teachers, to politicians, to all the one.
Xan didn’t turn his head to see the girls, Xan go on, Xan return home, tomorrow is Sunday , tomorrow another -more dirty words. Fucking, what the hell- Sunday.
Another working-Sunday, you can’t work, oh God save me, oh Jesus please pardons my sins, oh priest and sacred heart, save me , but what a hell no money , then Xan, -who’s the real carallán?, WHAT THE HELL ARE THE PRIEST AND THE SONS OF THE MAYOR, THE TEACHER WHO HURTED HIM, WHAT THE HELL???, Xan is shouting, a cat jump over the wet stone wall, with a ‘tourist: Galicia is not Spain’ grafitti- Xan return home, thinks about the girls, no time for a girl, no time for nothing, his old friends,-what a hell- no notice about him, everybody at the university, all the ones cry-cry boys, fathergivememoney to study, fathergivememoney for drugs, fathergivememoney for the yacht.
Xan’s shoes, dirty shoes, broken shoes, shoes like a joke of real shoes, and no money to wear decent clothing, and what the hell, Xan, great Xan don’t speak English -he was four when he returned Galicia- , only a bad wannabe Castillian-castrapo, and Galician lenguage all the time. He wish speak other languages, see new faces, have other chances.
But other Galician boy. Nothing more.
And nothing less.

who remember us? nobody Who remember us now? Who remember us now?

Xoves, Xuño 10th, 2004

i understand daddy, but now,

who understand us?

nobody
more than that

fuking nobody

Fontvella with a little touch of lemon juice, like in uk

I remember daddy, who remember us?
Nobody
Fucking nobody

I rememmber, he was polite , i was polite, everybody was polite

who remember daddy

No one

Maybe I’m fucking polite, who cares about it. Who says ‘fucking’ ,maybe the polititians, not me , but, who cares? Nobody

I looked for a job. For any job, any fucking job

Dirty words,,yap. I know it. I don’t like it, but it is worse, my life, at now.

Where’s your education?
I forgive it working at ZARA, same place where you go to buy all your fashinable clothing around the world
rules it? isn’t it? Where is your etic, Buying ZARA clothing? aren’t you so fashinable?

I remember daddy, and what’s the hell, who remember us?
fucking nobody.

I remember now many people, like in a psalmus

Here is not the priest, not the church, not the bishop.
Here is not the teachers, not the all the ones.

Who remember us now?
Nobody

Whe’re only a little tool of they
Where’re nothing, it will be better open the window and say goodbye

who will miss us
nobody
who miss my father, in a cemetery, under a new big road?
nobody
who will remember me
nobody, nobody, nobody

Galicia in a nutshell.

Martes, Xuño 8th, 2004

Galicia in a nutshell.

Galicia. Galiza. Gallaecia. Perpetual rain over old green forest.

Paco

Martes, Xuño 8th, 2004

Paco

Paco is the big chiken

Paco have an Audi, and he have no problems of money.
He have the half of the village.
Paco is the son of his father.
His father the son of Paco’s grandpa.

savage Galician: Wildliza is on war

Domingo, Maio 30th, 2004

Today is Monday, Wildliza is on war.
There are many empty houses, many empty flats at La Villa, but you can’t go inside, forbidden action, it will be.
They, young people, and many young people are looking for be working, but who finds a job, and you can’t begin from zero, alone, many taxes.
They can’t aim for any European help, when helps are only for the ones who have anything.
They can’t occupy a house, because then they will be a savage Galician.

You can’t work for yourself without papers -even poor people-, because then your a savage -sons of richmen don’t need to do this, daddy pays taxes-.
But young Galicians can go to a construction, and work inside without papers for the local mafia. This is legal and society will say ‘what a normal thing’.
You can’t teach without a degree, but is legal than a teacher works and maybe this teacher have no idea about how to teach. Difference is that the family of this teacher have the chances that others don’t have and sure that will never had, because savage Galician had no rights, and it says that you need to work, but you can’t.
You’re only a savage.
Empty summer houses to the major, empty summer houses to the university teacher, empty houses to the guys selling drugs at night and beds at the morning.
Today is Friday, Wildliza is on war.
Next day everybody to the new supermarket -where was the old shops- , and vodka, and whiskey, and wine, San Damian wine, or whatever is good to win the war, boyos, let’s shout at night, and get drunk and have sex, and nihilism, and what a hell, and hit the garvage, and shout, and drink, and shout more, and drink, and drink and spend the money that you don’t have in the vodka, yap, boyos owners of the pub at the night, at the day selling white fariña, al LAALALLALAL HAYLALEEEEELOOO FARIÑAAAAA SHOUT SHOUT LET’S SHOOOOUTTTTT
Today is Saturday.
Wildliza, is on war.

La Villa

Domingo, Maio 30th, 2004

La villa, cute village, in other times, now party for drugs, party on yatchs.
Danny boy, my Danny boy, wanted to go to the university, no money, no chances.
No jobs in the pub, that pub only to wash- not even that-.
Today arrive a new bag to the beach.
Cocaine.
Black & white beaches for black & white photos.
Black for the fuel, white for the cocaine.

But nobody says anything, police don’t talk about that only about their salary, politicians only talk about their money, church only shout about sins.
You know, it’s life, but keep away of my daughter that Danny boy, keep away of my business that Danny Boy, but is no problem if Danny boy tomorow have an accident in the work

new spring, at the sea club

Domingo, Maio 30th, 2004

function OpenLarge (c) { window.open(c, ‘large’, ‘width=500,height=370,scrollbars=yes,status=yes’); }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.

Puri is a waitress.

Sábado, Maio 22nd, 2004

Puri is a waitress.
Rich yatchs in the ria, Bit yachts near the cafeteria of the club.
Gin & tonic, Puri is working every day, and in summer every night.
Puri had a boy, Luis.
Luis died two years ago, because a very strange illness killed him.
Killed him but not to Nick’s daughter, from Birmingham, UK.
Nick’s come to la ville since three years old.
Mel -Melanie- her daughter, now six years old.
Puri give Perrier to Nick, Juice to Mel.
Puri remember her boy, small boy, cute boy, he will have the same age of Mel, both blue eyes, beautiful couple it will be.
Puri returns to the kitchen of the cafeteria, Puri is crying.
Outside, behind Mel and Nick, is Manolo, another man of the local mafia. As a member,in other times, of the council, he recive many presents, many mariscadas, a full of shit. Now manolo is the owner of many buildings and business. Local mafia.
Puri dry her tears with the tea towel, and go to the terrace, and give Manolo his dry Martini, and thinks about the no help from autonomic government, no help from the council.
No chances to Luis.
No way to survive being a galician woman.
But Puri look forward to go on.

Comments:|Comentarios

Agremon on 22/05/2004

Real names are at the same time forbidden and neccesaries…

The street

Xoves, Maio 13th, 2004
13/05/2004

That street were Lorca was.
Time ago.
Now, over the mud, a thousand tons of cement.
Money from Europe.
Money for fireworks.
Money for seafood.
Money not for food.
Money for the petrol company.
Not many money for the sea.
That times, at Argentina, Lorca said words about Compostela.
About the sea.
Here no granite, but cement.
Cement over Lorca.
Forgetfulness over his words.

the council as his toy

Venres, Abril 23rd, 2004

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.
.