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.

sexta-feira, 7 de agosto de 2009

The Epic poem of the Darkness (23)

The neighborhood continued occasional, mechanic as a mass production factory. The girls perfected, they created New-look. Of not vulgar beauty they faced the musical racket. They danced, they moved around, they oscillated very elastic. Very distracted, it was as soon as deceived the time, because if they didn't remember his existence. They didn't deteriorate with that. The soap operas flooded, and they always shone foolish that they approved them.
The pacifism parish-pump made a pact. Customers supplied the thirst with plastic sacks of water of doubtful freshness. The sandwiches developed, they moved the clientele. The transient rush increased the invoice in the bags. The flies reinforced squadron. Everything was composed of regular indications. A sudden one little it arrives. She reminds Fidípedes to announce that the battle of Marathon was won. She gasps immoderate, it lost the way of walking. Oppressive she makes an effort, she breathes very bottom, the voice doesn't come out. The mother sees that she is very afraid, embargoed.
- It is the something shit! Did you see some bewitching?
The girl gets scared, the breathing dilates, it gets rid of the swelling on.
- Were you again to see that terror film in the neighbour?
The cherub moves the head negatively. Unhappily the mother doesn't have time for to stand, therefore she has customer to blink. She decides to end with the little daughter's muteness with the mothers' secret weapon.
- Ah, her witch apprentice. I will get rid of the swelling on you with so much stroke with a slipper, that you will be sorry for having been born.
Before the mother to begin their martial arts the girl gets to sob:
- The… the… the…
- A drunk's something daughter!?
- Mammy… mammy… mammy … the roosters… they are there.
- The something!? THE something!? Oh my God!
The oldest presses the hands in the head. Revolution two circumferences, drums the feet in the softened earth, of red mud. This helps it to think, to decide what will do to proceed. She stopped, it lowered the hands, it swelled the chest, it usually alerted:
- Gaulish to the view!!!
The children amazed the eyes, that shone intense as spotlights.
- Does Asterix come with them?
The girl complains, she tries to elucidate the mother:
- It is well my daughter. Flee! He meets casually Fire Greek!
The calm stink, seemed agitated sea when he throws the boats some against the other ones. Confused human tide, of bodies against bodies, of tied children, that in the confusion cost to diffuse in the sustenance of the unsustainable hunger. Sweets, cigarettes, cookies, elastic tablets etc., they suffered the condemnation of the ground. They dabbled for the black-people's huts. To the children it was silenced that if they hid under the beds, where there were them, because it was normal to sleep in the ground. They were six Orphans. A, without a doubt the boss, masked of Zorro. Redone copy, powerful, worn of black. The black mask him the eyes, it imposed heat vampirism. The pistols hung waists, imposing. They hauled pigeons and sparrows, they allocated calm dovecotes. Mounted in a broom wood, a male that deceived the mammy he cries out with conviction:
- Aió… Silver!

Zorro disgusted. He pleased to laugh him of the daring child, but he had, it was forced to maintain distance, to put fear, or else it would lose the respect, the command of the group. He ordered the child that braked the mounted. Of his habit he selected authoritarian voice.
- It is going home, dictated to the shameless ones that they put everything here out.
- Ok! Masked Zorro!
The mothers looked at the conversation far, they approached, they cried, deplored.
- Don't steal us, please! The little bit that we have was won, crucified! We are slave of the new settlers, generated for distracting.

Image: Angola em fotos

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