Great Pablo Iglesias, which once wanted to change the world, now has an audience that looks like a chorus of housewives. It was expected to see Pablo Iglesias again in squares creaking like a gallows, with the roar of youth and the stomp of boots on backpacks, but this is no longer happening. I still remember when he returned from vacation, his return was even announced as a Christmas colony, like when Brummel returned. It was still a rally or a bonfire, but now Podemos only holds school events for the elderly, with that great sadness that the old people give to playing children. In a small, multicolored, hot hall, where there was something like a fair booth with a tablao for Los del Rio, I realized that Podemos had shrunk and aged along with his people, that this pink-haired civil servant was now only gray-haired. a civil servant that all the youth are on lists, on posters, in debates, like wet T-shirt contests, and what is left of the bases and fans, now only gentlemen and ladies John and a Half. Podemos is an old and shabby party, just like Iglesias himself, who looks like a bacalo DJ, sounds hateful and lollipops.

Due to the threat of rain, the event had to be moved from Plaza de Arturo Barea to Espacio Rastro, descending the Ribera de Curtidores, where Madrid continues to sell waffles as if it were selling its Doric columns, as well as paintings or records of a grandmother, or the same grandmother stuck in a vase or chest. In other words, the rain washed away the entire meeting like a flood of mattresses and armour. I couldn’t help but think, watching Grandma’s party for the messiah and the all-powerful former vice president, that Podemos now looks like a dismantled mansion, just as it did when the mansions on La Castellana were dismantled and later seen, dismantled, or dismantled. smelly on Rastro, banks fake sofas Josephine Also counterfeit, fake faucets from the Titanic, lion’s paw tables with Louisiana clocks on top, and things that mansions or Podemos give away. People said “yes you can” and it sounded like they were saying “if you drink don’t drive” or “spark of life”. I believe that the party and its fans only keep each other company in melancholy and decrepitude, raising their fists as if they were dancing to Los pajaritos. His people don’t realize it, but he only exists so that Iglesias will continue to exist, which I believe is actually more Juan and Medio than Ferreras or Jose Maria Garcia what he imagines.

They were waiting for Iglesias Alejandra JacintoTo Roberto Sotomayor already Carolina CorderoWell, the crowd that seemed to be waiting for Mokedades. I was very surprised and went around for a long time looking for the partisan youths, those in black and iron, not that they were not there, but it seemed that they were there to accompany their elders and hold their canes while they applauded. It is true that people stayed on the street, and that on the bus, which is already Podemos, the elderly usually sit down and the children are left to play tag in the street. But it seemed like a big revelation to me. Gentlemen with the same earring they already had when Philip Gonzalez or electro-goblins, and grandparents in hats and sprinkler-type suspenders, and ideological baldheads, that is, balding from dogma, from revolution, from decades of struggle and deceit. When I saw some girl with a nose piercing, she looked like a live babysitter for grandparents. I think that’s the case because contrary to what was thought, Podemos ended up melting into IU, not the other way around, which is why I’ve seen old heavyweights on the left like old bikers on the left who have been wearing like this ever since. Ana Belen sang at the PCE party.

What remains of Podemos? I think the first row of youth chairs remains, as well as the first row of tomatoes in a pile of pocho tomatoes, with Lilith Verstringe with some of Anne of the Green Gables, and those unscrupulous young candidates who nominated us, and who are campaigning with a pushpin in the teacher’s chair, as if it were a campaign for class delegates. There is also a tradition of ideological flea markets, chandeliers from the past, in those books that I saw on the table at the entrance, along with plates of revolutionary stars, like destroying meteorites, revolutionary books that, it seems to me, were already under Iglesias. returned with the colony. and until when Cheek lost his wig There is an irony, as in that shirt, which was also seen on that table and on which was written “the left to the government, the people to power.” No doubt they have forgotten that they are in the government. Roberto Sotomayor, the mayoral candidate, also showed us his “black lives matter” T-shirt. I just remembered that I saw there, in the center of the hall, only one black man, shining like a precious stone. But, perhaps, again, the symbolic was enough. Even Alejandra Jacinto left some irony by appearing with a patriarchal bouquet of flowers next to Wallet which, perhaps for this reason, seemed to be like never before. Alejandra Jacinto by the way, naturally out loud, the most chic thing I’ve come across since Yolanda Diazthat I think they should at least be Compyyogs.

What else is left of Podemos? Of course, there is Pablo Iglesias. There were candidates, a little indistinguishable, a little on the verge, waiting, like everyone else, for Pablo Iglesias, who, without a ponytail and with a bachelor’s degree, which I already said that he had left, seemed Chimo Baio before his old admirers of the road and chaos. He didn’t find the vice presidency very attractive or rewarding, but he still loves the megaphone, and he couldn’t resist his megaphone solo, still on the street, like a repetitive clarinet kid who has to play a clarinet solo. for you. Iglesias has never been a politician, he is a magician, he is still a magician and he needs his magician stage, his magician space, his magician script, his magician effect. He spoke first, and like the prophets, in parables. It was like a sinister songwriter telling a fairy tale about witches for grandmothers. He was with his Operation Chamartin and Florentino Perezwith his mafia and his Ferreras, between Supergarcia and Teresa Rabal.

Iglesias has already renounced politics, now he only dedicates himself to cleaning up the city, cleaning up Madrid, cleaning up the city of the West, or say he does it from his minaret. Iglesias, as I said, was the first to speak, walking around in his tiger cage there and retelling in the form of a serial script a crime novel about the Madrid mafia (mafia seems to be the word he repeated the most, more than right, although less, than Florentino). The mafia of the powerful, who put and remove politicians and journalists, but who can never get along with him, are curiously hired as a journalist by another powerful man. The truth is that I can tell even more creepy and cinematic stories from my city (local policy does not allow The wirequicker Fargo, which is even better) or without leaving the socialist Andalusia, but this does not make either a screenwriter or a ruler. Power is never innocent, and neither is politics, but politics against the powerful has more to do with exploiting the fact that one is the vice president of government than using podcasting. Although, of course, podcasts take more.

Podemos barely has Iglesias, and Iglesias has his podcast, he has Florentino with his ninja mamacichos, he has Ferreras as the Nibelung that he is, but he has them not as enemies, but as inspiration

Iglesias now has only a listener at dawn, outraged by insomnia or longing, revenge in pajamas, a drug addict crazy from the hill, with the philosophy of an ashtray and the justice of a sofa, perfectly adapted to his ass, to his prejudices, to his wretchedness. Todo Podemos now appears to just be public for his podcast, which he did on the spot by starting the podcast. Podemos hardly has Iglesias, and Iglesias has his podcast, he has Florentino with his ninja mamacichos, he has Ferreras as the Nibelung that he is, but he has them not as enemies, but as inspiration. What he wants is to have Florentino’s power (another power, politics, already had it and he didn’t know what to do with it) and Ferreras’ influence with his Red Channel, which he of course touted as just starting a podcast. like a bumper sticker.

Podemos has only ignorant people of the century and Iglesias anti-mafia podcast, his mafia is like Kaos Super Agent 86. The Podemos campaign in Madrid is the one podcast whose stellar offerings are akin Ayuso and slap Florentino Almeida, which inspired them with two posters that seem to them to be the Sistine Chapel of politics. They were there to prove it, Alejandra de Jacinto, who is still the one left with the face of the Ayuso family, and Roberto Sotomayor as a sensei of sorts to get us in shape against Florentino’s ninja mamachichos or himself. who slaps his neck, as from Rumasa, as from Jose Maria Ruiz Mateosat the same time, all capitalism is concentrated in a single energy point.

In fact, after a show, a podcast, a demonstration of the irreducibility of a politician, showing that he is useless in politics and prefers to become a communicator or a star in Las Vegas, it becomes clear that what is left of Podemos is that of Iglesias’s clients. The clientele for the podcast, for the signaling, for the fairness of their balls, and the like. I looked again at those old reds who maybe were real reds or still are, and now they just look like a sect of comb merchants, and I thought they looked like the Japanese who did not understand that they had lost the civilization war. that they participate only in the affairs of the Church of the Rulo with a fluttering fakir. Even Iglesias does not believe in revolution. Only in the audience. He already has a script with Jr, which is somewhat old, but its clientele is older than the bacalao. Even if Podemos goes bankrupt, Iglesias will survive. He will survive even better, like a stone tradition, like a saint in Heaven, like a future promise, like a thousand-year-old messiah, if Podemos drowns. Which is about to happen, so there will be many seasons of his series.