In Angola they feel prisoners political accused of any crime. They say that it is a democratic regime that it is in the middle of the joy of their functions. The democratic potencies close the eyes and they point that it is like this that it is good, that it is like this that it is made the stability in Africa. Here is the income of the terrorism of which Europe is not gotten to loosen. Who supports the corruption and their dictatorships, in the bottom it is also terrorist without the knowledge.

segunda-feira, 31 de agosto de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (14)

It is not necessary to go a circus for us to laugh us with the clowns. It is enough look for instance for TV and to hear the ambassador of Portugal speak about the relationships of friendship among the two people.

It is the best exit to save what remains, what still lives. To end with the word entrepreneur to begin. They are these the demoniacs that they survived in the battle of the skies against Gabriel, and they fell in the Earth hidden. The humanity's sufferings, the hunger, they are in their hands. We should put an end to them. They were served as the Christianity, they took possession of Santo Grail and of their secrets, for us to dominate us. These are the initiate of the human cruelty, for that it is explained that along the times several secret societies were created to avoid the extinction of the human race. The humanity's fight, the revolutions, the wars… it develops this millenarian antagonism: society’s secret maids to resist to the annihilation of the dictatorial power, to the prohibition of the development of the ideas. It was like this against Voltaire…

We walked, we moved in the as invisible beings. Nobody gives bill, it seats our presence. If randomly somebody trips in our shadow, he turns, it peeps, it awaits undecided. He discovers that it was something… as a sudden thick fog that it appeared of the anything. He thinks that was maybe some tree foliage inconvenienced by the pedestrians anonymous that he wants to recall the times has been passing very, forgotten, when the green leaves that fell, they were worshipped, lovers, goddesses generated by the Earth-mother. The people's crowd to walk her habitually without a destination is very impersonal. The children cross with the parents, they are not recognized. Better, they make zoo gestures. Because he enters human beings in the streets and animals in captivity no there is any difference. Just one: the prison of the species in captivity is small, the grating of the prison of the human species are immense.

We boasted with pleasure that we end with the slavery. When in our morbid proverbial ingenuousness we don't want to accept the supreme truth: We are slaving eternal of the physiologic and biological needs of our body. Our mind is poor, humble servant, before the most elementary need of the human physiology. This is the most merciless human servitude.

Attracted by the pathetic keys of a piano, immortal sound, the man of the street doesn't get to distinguish from where come, but even so it stops hypnotized. Sublime blows in the keys wake up her conscience. He sits down in the soul an inexplicable light. His brain tries to transmit the pleasant sensations of the melody that it hovers. He gets to drag, to stop in his road one more eternal slave. We insisted, we didn't accept, that the musical perfume enslaves us. Just as the love. Only that no matter how much we try, we didn't get to explain the musical sweetness of the sounds that they compose, that they take us to the most elementary road of the human existence. The love of the I begin of our youth's times.

Our thought is immaterial, it appears of the empty space. However it gets to materialize object’s, utensils, what invented and we used. In the doubt if God exists, I believe that our thought is an answer. If we created matter starting from ours to think, here is the explanation for the existence of the divine. God is not matter, our mind also not. Therefore our thought is God. Yes, without we give ourselves bill, we are to accomplish the most elementary of our existence: our ethereal soul accomplishes the Creator's function, it participates in the greatness and smallness of the Universe. Our inspiration is the execution of orders Superior emanate of the headquarters of I control, placed somewhere in the Universe.

Those deep lakes where the conscience, the essence of the human life rests. Some healthy of transparent waters, others of marshy waters. Some, few, they are of calm waters. Other, most, they are of waters agitated, violent. The violent ones ask the winds to make storms, and annihilate the spirits of the waters of the calm wisdom. The knowledge agitates the violent. As the glacial cold that he forces us to seek a homelike refuge. The human lakes of the violence and of the intolerance they disturb us the peace. Even in the nights the justness of the sleep is us denied, interrupted, because a secret lake overflowed. The wave of the new guillotine walks fast to our bed, and it cuts the head, one plus, of any recent conscience. As a ship moored at the wharf of the expected bitterness, and later devastated, lifted up and transported in the air, for the furious trunks, sudden of an elephantine hurricane.

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