GONY, HOW TO BE HUMAN: A MAN AND HIS DICK
After a moment to myself with my girls, I tell myself that Gony is a sensible chap. Thanks to his good sense, wherever he goes bourbon whisky follows. We have visited Las Vegas together and he has no regrets.
He loves himself, and only cries after wanting that which he can’t have. Yet he doesn’t grieve for his inexistent 6-pack because he never had any abs. On the other hand he gets upset if he’s not left to breakfast in peace and to his large appetite’s satisfaction.
Suppose Gony was still living in Buenos Aires, what might he be like? He’d most likely be even portly than he is today, sport a magical singsong accent peppered with Latin American colloquialisms, hold a university degree, be making love to some of the hottest girls on planet earth, live off steaks and dulce de leche, be just as good a person but broke. He might possibly have been run over by a train worrying about his number one concern in life: abandoned cars in parking lots and streets, the stories behind them and their former lives. Wretched things. He just can’t help but think about and feel sorry for the big lumps of junk metal.
And what if he didn’t surf, what would Gony be doing in a drug-addled Vigo if not snorting lines for brekkie? Continuing his search for alien life while his nose slowly disintegrated, he’d surely work in something simple. A man whore perhaps. No, sorry, a transsexual who walked the seaside boulevards of the industrial metropolis.
And what if he lived in a landlocked part of provincial Spain? Known for his work in the hotel industry, he’d be serving expensive wines and cured ham, pig’s trotters and beer. With a past not to speak of, he’d be as stout as the guests and conduct affairs with their wives.
In reality though Gony would be truly happiest working as a private investigator in some place far from the sea, where eating is considered a sport and drinking the reward.
Few are familiar with his alter-ego Gonzalo. Growing up in Vigo, in the Val Miñor, his schooling, his friends, his real life. Nothing feels better than drinking by his side and serving as his accomplice. Watching how the women hate on him, watching how he insults them, watching how they get in his way and try to stop him from being happy. Never one to simply want to please.
That’s the way things are, people in their true light, not as their parents wish to see them. They chase after women and cry for so many others. The fate our primitive instincts brimming with life.
I wish people really knew Gony, like me, Hodei, Johny, Aritz and all those who have come in contact with his true person that grows fat from inactivity, stays in shape through suffering and ages with the many women who take me to bed without extra charge.
Only our closest friend Oscar Vales makes us laugh. As the Galician surf brand Vazva came to his salvation, drugs came to mine and we came to Gony’s. Drinking and time heals everything, or at least they both provide some relief.
foto: Victor Gonzalez
Surfing in Galicia is only just getting started, like the young breasts of an adolescent, a project with a future, stages and a lot of people with opinions. Some embellish and others give an impression of modesty. Too bad, so much beach and so few people.
In many places, Gonzalo is a miner with no light on his helmet. He kills and steals at will. In Vigo, his city, everything is in a constant mode of flux. Like Birmingham it grows increasingly industrial. Iron Maiden and Lemy, Motorhead’s lead vocalist, come from Birmingham. Gony and Siniestro Total come from Vigo. When it rains, they all see cranes and shipyards from out of their windows. Just catch a wave and you’ll get your mojo back, it’s been proved.
There are many asses in the world, some smell of roses, others sweat, and others still stink. Some shit more than ten times a day and I do not want to pursue this subject, I find it boring.
Gonzalo idiolises the late Johnny Cash, the quick fuck and life. As the man in black says, he’s a solitary man.
He’s a fucking junkie for sentiment, for knowing how to be true to himself, he’s as unique as he is simple, nobody talks to him about their personal life. They only say hello, ask questions and leave. He must have been an inn keeper in Dublin or a postman in Chicago.
He’s no star. He’s just the best thing you’ve seen in your life. He respects you. He likes to drink Jack Daniels and drink until he shags, sometimes he sleeps and weeps, which is why he’s a friend of the people.
To suffer is to drink, to love is to give. Gonzalo knows and is a talented angel with disabled samurai bowels. He drinks and loves. He is more than ignorant, he has a new pair of ankles, the previous ones were made from Portuguese salted butter, the new ones are made of studded black leather.
- Jaji Iglesias Fusté