The Epic poem of the Darkness (36)

- Mentor, before here to fall wet the feet in the library of Spleen. I Read texts on Jingola that they surprised me. I summarized them:
Jingola hate the people, they compare them to dogs and cats because they dislike these encourage. They like mice, of the sorcery, of virus and ghosts. They learned how to not to trust in anybody. The one that more hates is her shadow. Affirm that it is a terror. Convicts, say that they invented her, they discovered.
- Hum! Any in his millenarian superstition sees shadows in her everyday one. It is as getting up very early, to go for the work and to return the house at night. Billions of human beings they turned off the marks that their brains atrophied. They don't get to think, and they are attempted, there he appears the message in TV, because it is the first thing that they do when they arrive the house. The message is unalterable: lie down, because tomorrow it is day of work. Get up, it is time to go for the work. They exemplify with an American that affirms: I was born to enrich as entrepreneur, or to be a famous man, working a lot gets him. They omit that him little or nothing slept, and that it ended in the psychiatry, in the psychology with pain of the soul, or he died from heart attack. They are libraries of dynamic connection, they arrive to the work with a built-in chip in the brain. Very submissive as the opposition Jingola, don't inconvenience, they don't think. If some gets to remove the chip, he begins to think, he riots… demanding better thought conditions. It is accused soon of senzaleiro (badly educated) of the ideas incendiaries, no patriot and judged briefly and for a sent gulag.
- Of revolt like Ulysses in a marine gulag, because Penelope transcends the love. Ulysses will love in the turn of the sea.
- When going and to return of the work in the sea confused, countless irreversible hours they are granted to the traffic automobile. And to get up at four o'clock, five of the morning… those hours are not paid. The worker begins to work as soon as he gets up of the bed, that should be pay.
- Don't they pay reason?
- Because just four classes exist in the society. President, minister, director and the… Lemures.

In the slave quarter, the senzaleiras are snuffed. Them and the mice shipwreck in the smallness of the alley. A senzaleira without time to scratch, is leaned in the remaining fencing. She adjusts the crisp hair, it arranges the cloth, it expels the flies with the mateba (broom). She appeals excited:
- That my shame God! The mammy's Ó caçulinha (the newest of the children) brings the brush and the toothpaste! I will interview in the radio!
To super-woman's speed the decayed teeth are brushed. The toothpaste didn't accomplish her mission because it was not noticed change in the dental whitish. It was of I manufacture idle. The reporter beat with the foot in the ground, pressed by the studios that wanted and they didn't know if they should spill the sack of the publicity for the vacuum. The lady tops the breath renewed in the microphone.
- Ready! I can bite!
- My lady, good morning!
- Yes, good morning!
- As he calls himself?
- Teresa Maka (fight).
- So much commotion, reason?
- Since the morning four that we are with this, more we didn't get to fall asleep.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (35)

It is a day of judgement for the police. A car arrived patrols with six diligent police. Gotten off, they are hidden in the alleys. A tender Orphan alarms the combination. Criminals and innocent they give in the skulls. The earth roars as racehorses in a race track. The tireless watchmen of the days and of the nights, doesn't police sleep is not?!, are they deepened, do they cling in the mazes. The mission is she which goes, is always to restore the legality.

While it awaits for the re-establishment of the law, the driver sinks in the seat with the hands in the nape. It was slow sentry in the vehicle. He throws some profits well for a damsel nurtured of fresh meats. She doesn't give shavings. The police expiration is in such a low step that he doesn't give to buy a bra, the more a bikini. She blinks him the eyes with such intensity that seems that the optical voltage circuit was deregulated. He doesn't understand the message traffic lights, it believes that she is in the point delicate matter. Her hot meat rejoices, it loosens the verb.
- We are very hot, it comes, we will burn!
- His donkey! The firemen arrived….

The Orphans arrived, they surrounded him to the bad face. Children with weapons of war cocked, and sharp cold steel, of the films imitated, copies of safety made. They still don't have notion of killing, of the heart to stop. Therefore they kill, as if it was to play. In the abandonment of the innocence they ask measure:
- He leaves then, we will give a turn, later we returned.
And they were to walk, to give some turns for the city with the inelegant of the same age.
- Mentor, this conflict between Orphans and Politburo will stay for thousands of years.
- I give my sentence. In some neighbourhoods the Orphans dispute the invisible armed force of the militarized civil defence. Without opening contest the Orphans they impose soirée to the morning.

I continue in the crossing of the slow sad songs of the Homo oeconomicus.
Co-operators discussed, they didn't understand each other. Before, they joined and they consecrated a housing cooperative. They imagined, they lifted houses cooperatives. The eternal happiness was born them in the faces, they felt were noticed. They made good face to the fortune. In the windows to the French the rapt couples, watched the children that played to have future. Guaranteed absolute peacefulness for safeties private, armed. It was more than a garden. A botanist and another of the delicacies. They passed to the history the paradox of the love, they stole the time of antenna to love. The block of houses was wind embarkation in stern

It began them to give the wind in the face. Reached by the hurried black magic remained discoloured, myth maniacs, tense, bewitched, hypertensive… they were to see ships. Houses built in less than two years came undone to the pieces. Rifts in the walls used for heads narrow the intimate homes. The hypothesis was invented that formerly the place was cemetery. He persisted she in the reason of State that Jingola lived, would always live in cottages.
- Is mentor, this magic contagious?
- A lot! The leaning Politburo for their structural friends of everyone they gild again the foundations of the popular democracy. Again to fight for here to make money. The wars were invented for some enrich. War… it is the act or effect of destroying, for later to rebuild. They are the philosophies of the life, of the fantastic visions of the cannons that shoot Christ's wine that they drown us or they take a bath in blood. They sweat us, that the human species is a tremendous mistake of the Creation. The Creator wandered in the genetic manipulation. He distorted the rib. It created the Hell for the good ones and the Earth for the bad. Some good ones escaped from the Hell for the Earth. At present struggle ferociously… it struggles unequal because there are a lot of sufferings, a lot of poverty, a lot of hunger. The good ones are few, the bad for the time being are still many. As somebody affirmed: All the Politburo always lies.

Imagem: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (33)

- The Orphans!!! The Orphans!!!
Four of them expedite are locked of a zungueira, they tell him to restore the earthen pan full of little cakes as before in the ground. They are served comfortable until the earthen pan to empty, they turn back in search of new arrested. Some fertile ones in leadership they faded and they got to deceive them. After the raid, they join and they ask the poverty for bills. Next days will be added to the martial law of the hunger. Of sorrier look and lighter earthen pans they get ready to dig. To resell and to eat they will have to convince backers that it won't be easy: are "you crazy of the head, didn't you still pay the one what owes, and do you want more?” they will defend: he only "lends friend, I am going paying the ultimatum little by little": I don't "have more money, shit!”

The human jungle is the most treacherous, the most dangerous, in her, valley-everything. Every second a danger peeps. New dangers, new cruelties. More attentive predators for us to jump, they hit. Uniform Mabecos (African wild dog) are planted in the sand dune, they recite bestial. New panic, renewed affliction:
- They are thieves Politburo!
- Sisters, we are going bazar! (to flee)
- How then!? Did they empty us!
The escapes of the previous arm disguise. The convincing doesn't give, the guards healthy Politburo very alive, cangam (they arrest) the necessary escapes of the marabunta. They object, they know that in vain:
- Moxi, (one) the Orphans. Iadi, (two) you. They are going in those of the grocery stores!
- Absolutely! We patrolled for there, negative we were. We won badly, even so they don't pay us. The hunger makes an effort us to the combat ration.
- They are going in the salu (work) of the Politburo!
- Hey shovel! Where has hunger… he survives who can!
- Jiboiados, (to digest meal) crooks, ordinary of shit!
- It shuts up, we sacked you in the prison correctional.
- Is the something? With my baby?
- Absolutely.

The cheerful samurais of the law adapt photogenic for the race. The boss gives order. He would plate her, the wheels, whistle sandy. There space of eyes in the division of the spoils. The unlucky ones are remained in the silence of the curses, while the wheels of the cruelty space far away from the view, far away from the heart. The hollow laments repeat:
- I lift iron at four in the morning without discontinuing, to walk in the moon of the foggy fight continues. We gave them the power, they prohibited to read us, in the distance without eating.
- Friend, is the upstarts' of the fairy tale philosophy anti-humanist, and of their slow sad songs: "Par excellence when levitating in the morning I decide: which will sand today? If he doesn't do him, they disrespect me, they lose me the respect, I am not boss. A real prince to all the force, it should strangle the life of somebody else. Salutary, tasty it is to destroy the destiny of the one that aspirate live. To obtain good businesses it is important to annihilate the friends."

My long day happened taken care. Flies, garbage, puddles of dirty waters, holes and Orphan attackers to the peep. To Radio Oracle update the numeral furious: Forty thousand infected, and thousand and five hundred died.
I noticed, I stood back, I held myself. I saw somebody appear in a third floor, and slash! The content of an earthen pan is shot. That appearance! It is water with fish remains. I look again upward, I see the desert. The shooters are faster than the wind. They make releases as in the game of the hidden ones. They are fine as mice in the dawn. They are discouraged to know well or certain, is easier like this. In the balconies they prepare the food, they are disordered in lying down the water it dirties in the sink. They choose the lazy road. The septic blockage is in the Medium Age. Everything doors the out.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (32)

- Church without miracles doesn't make sense. The believers live, they need that. They walk on embers, they lost the judgement. As guideless convoys, lost without stations, alighting-places, without whereabouts. As avalanche dries from stones to roll for mountain, that we welcomed, promised the paradise. Beings in such conditions believe in any thing.
- Contracted workers for the factory of the Mister. Manufacturers of tithes.
- Is it to play or something?! Does he Look that one don't play with the Scriptures, and much less with Jesus' saint name! That is us very sacred!
- Colonialism, neo-colonialism, there is no difference. He differs in the seedlings of the volatile capital.
- What is the one that he said?!
- That the mythomaniacs are equaled.
- It is that! There is no faith without melomaniacs. A very tuned superb organ puts the believers in ecstasy. Don't wonder that I don't know reason, nobody knows... as the love.
- Nobody knows…
- Truly nobody knows how to explain to it. We knocked on that stranger's good door with the religion, the vain believers in the conversation and we made money on behalf of the love.
- Removing advantage of the instinct of conservation of the species.
- Yes! Yes! The factory love with the convinced believers that are labour… that work for the love. We are not different from the other ones. To win money with the human superstition began in the Earth with the first humans. We are just smart bosses. We woke up to explore the past and the next future. Mine to see not there is any revolution to finish with us. When they revolutionize, in the beginning we are expelled, spoiled, martyred, impaled. Finally, criminals of everything. Then the rage dismays. We embodied with energy, more powerful. Extremely we negotiated very well with the religion. Without a doubt, it is the most tempting business. Inexistent costs, the believers support us. It is the best business and sponsored by God. In a flash we are customers VIP of a bank. It is the dolce vita.
- And the absentee Voltaire when it is reincarnated, do the biblical foundations collapse?
- Very easy! We creaked to the believers that the false prophets arrived. They snatch us.
- And if it doesn't result… counter-revolution?
- We formulated: Ab hoc et ab hac, that means: for here and over there: indiscriminately. We are going in the insurance, we held the faucets of the clean sources govern… so that Dat veniam corvis, vexat censures columbas, that translated he says: The censorship saves the crows and it pursues the doves.
- Do the temples of the memoirs consent mute, will we keel over without change?
- Seemingly they change, but actually not. They are constantly invented new technologies that say to be appropriate for the human. Surprisingly the more sophisticated they are, the poverty, the hunger accompanies them. I am nowadays with the certainty that I never saw so much slavery, as many silent deaths as. If there are not changes, the future skeletons will be filed in the encyclopaedias of other civilizations. They will be found, studied, as an ignored species that went by the Earth. The investigators of the future times will work a lot to discover, to explain, the enigma of this human phenomenon.
- That the sects cooked in the bread of the spirit
- Clear! It is the attribute of the religious sects. It is known by more than one person at night all of the cats are brown. A visionary wolf coins any cult, he puts in the pockets and he sees entrepreneur. Is taking advantage of the religion success for a lifetime does he know reason?
- He/she makes to yield the fish!
- Tax-free.
- He would give good priestess, but it doesn't please me.
- In Veni, Vidi, Vici, there is place for itself, does it accept?
- Not!

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (31)

- Are authentic relics… archaeological discoveries?
- Saint relics, object’s of our miracles. The inventive Foundation the discovered.
- Bishop, are they blessed?
- We blessed everything. That reliquary was blessed by me.
It diffused in a flask of olive oil and it explained his mystery.
- With the olive oil we taught: it was he that anointed Jesus, came from the Holily Land. We saved expenses joining him oil. The water looked for it in the closest river.
- As they get to attract believers that produce terrible shouting, as if they praised the trumpets of the Apocalypse?
- We boomed the square because they lost the ears. They are deaf due to the merrymakings of the lost nights. The neighbours, the few that have audition, are right that we didn't let to sleep them.
- And when do they protest?
- When they judge us, we announced them the excommunication. We reinforced that they serve Demo. It is very important to maintain the superstition in this rabble. They are as sheep, they restrain easily… as the mary-go-with-they-other ones. I tell them: get happy, be noisy because they will win the freedom of conscience.
- And when in the cult they are sick with headaches, satiny nervous system, to break out of stress?
- They believe piously in our words. They are high heaps of the superstition, stupidity… foolishness.
- Wind business in stern, Bishop.
- I prefer no to set to music that psalm, as friendship whispers him that alone we made money in tithes, four thousand times a hundred, it had been the donations.
- Accumulation world, Episcopal.
- Veni, Vidi, Vici.
- The spring flies for Portugal, Brazil.
- To the Eden! I don't trust the Politburo. There is the danger of the elections with a lot of hidden fraudulency. I fear that are to return at the old times of the monotonous combats that the Greeks began in the Bay of Aulis.
- And the miraculous cures of the headaches, of the belly, of the teeth, infertility, to arrange job, it marries, husband…
- Easy, it is necessary to have faith, there is no evil that it always lasts.
- The faith… is to cure toothache miracle?
- It is yes gentleman! Put an end to the candies. The time starts to bite chocolate, we ordered that they stop, the pain passes, they admit that it was a miracle.
- And the head's blowouts?
- We praised for us not to hear very high music, except in the church. The noisy international conspiracy, terrifying of the music, he atrophies the brain, he stops working, the cure appears.
- And the bellyaches?
- It is stormy to convince them that stop eating funje (manioc flour) during one days. Gotten, guaranteed cure.
- And the clang of a bell infertility?
- The male man rejects convict that she is blamed. The dear, stunned with you whine believes that God abandoned her. The male home neighs that it puts her out of house if the belly doesn't dilate, that easily the change for other. We dialogued, we sent the husband for our medical position… it is already! The abandoned ones are fanaticized, word that was an outstanding miracle pass.
- And the job? That is a great miracle!
- We allured a believer entrepreneur, the job is guaranteed. The superstition that Jesus made a super miracle.
- To hunt wife, husband…
- They enter for there, they do dribble, some passes, solve that among them. They find husband, they find woman.
- Church Veni, a lot of creeper, miracle maker.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (30)

There are more religious sects than sowed fields. Endless sowings without farmers. A lot of seed, few farmers. The religious sects don't teach to cultivate fields, they live of the believers' hunger. Sects with surprise churches. The voices of the followers they collapse, the heads and the hearts break as basements. Mens divinior, the divine influx! I remembered this, because I approach my friend's house, Bishop Eden. He is a sovereign well. Dictate the bridge of the postulate of his social brotherhood: "The churches grow proportionally to the amount of existent illiterates". There are rich suitcases, followers decimated, prepared. A lot of manna of the obsessed ones, that well used in the agriculture-livestock would extirpate the material hunger of the exodus. Of certainty that arrived, it is already here. I will listen to him, to reverence him.

Bishop Eden prayed at a mansion that was her reserved extensively. Offensively wall and reinforced with safeties. Always the to work, to enlarge spaces. To drop walls, to build other because the borders expanded. Approach or ignored interference was fatal adventure. Some soul-harmed they tried to profane the shrine, but you hide video cameras always vigilant, they filmed them the inglorious moments. The end, in a hole of ignored earth, that it strengthens the alive ones and it collects the deads.
Shy, face the face with a cautious safety with the hand in the gunstock of the pistol, that insinuates to jump of her thigh. I relive the image of the nostalgic time of the Border, later transported for films. He felt cowboy of the western, hero of the western. The safety defended with habitual distrust.
- Thanks to who?
- With Bishop Eden.
- Name of the identity ticket?
- Jasmine of the Night.
- Quiet down one moment.

The gate of bars of steel spaced. I ventured for the interior, and the gate rested intramural. It arrived me a twinge of indisposition. Two dogs move of warning, they bark. They impose frozen respect, they seem pure wolves. The sanguine pressure of my heart stabilized, when I assured that the canid, was harnessed, controlled by safeties. Before the entrance door, to the left, I spy an enormous cross cemented with the registration: THAT GOD LISTENS TO YOU!

I entered in an enormous room, and they informed me that the venerable would not delay. I sat down to observe the atmosphere. There were a lot of images of saints and crosses that seemed to do part of a collection. Everything in dimness to impregnate the suggestion of mysticism. The priest with mask divine, of shiny appearance as if it has just gone down of the sky, he toasts me:
- Ó Jasmine of the Night! Welcome mine!
I got up mentally blessed. I let my smallness to appear, before so much pastoral greatness. We congratulated ourselves with parsimony. He throws me the probe:
- Do you come in pilgrimage?
- I seek the lost paradise.
- It is that element that misses the church. Hum, hum, a lost paradise that it returns to Eden that pleases me a lot. Great… the Church Veni, Vidi, Vici, and Bishop Eden bless you.

My attention went to a shop window with fragments of bones, olive tree leaves, remains of Jesus Christ's tunic, olive oil, water, earth, remains of wood of crucified Jesus' cross. It was a museum of the study of Christ. For poor it devotes like me, it constituted a plot that inspired to unmask, to clarify, to enter in the occult religious person.

Image: EL PAÍS

The Epic poem of the Darkness (29)

The wind sowed the dust of the cathedrals of flotation constructions. New Deal, project new life, new race to the gold man. A lot of money, a lot of bank redundancy. To destroy, to build, to destroy. To build a tree is more difficult, it is easier to build a building. I felt beginning of inflammation of the conjunctive ones. With medicine appetite I entered in a drugstore. In the bottom of the counter, the pharmacist talks indolent with a customer. They are young, they seem to disguise, to date. I also disguise and I travel the display case until getting to hear the conversation. The youth she accelerates, it shakes himself, it goes up the tone of the voice.
- I am not entitled to the job reason?!
- He knows…
- Do I know the something!? Did I Pass in the admission tests. They ordered to come to the service today, and here I am.
- You don't understand the things.
- I repeat! I am not entitled to the job reason?!!
- You know… if you went more clearly… you would have the job.

She lifted a hand in the intention of dismissing a plated. She hesitated, it harnessed, she was absent frightened her. To shed tears in the exit door, she made an effort the vocal chords.
- That not! That not!
I prepared myself with the medicine and I met again myself in the street. I came unfastened of the illicitness of the contrary winds.
- That God helps us! Again Nero will set on fire Rome and it will blame the Christians!

In the summit of an antenna four birds of prey they await tide of roses. Some distracted pigeons fly close. Two plundering raise flight, they prepare winged village. They hover sly, the pigeon fancying/breeding detect them they are to the window.
The zungueiras (women that sell in the streets) in single line spread fervours, they seem in their litter for carrying religious images. They are young appetizing that they study in the streets of the parallel universities. They carry books of gold, liquids in their pots. Immense lines of vehicles wait, they despair. The stations of supply of fuel are insufficient. I approach the great sewer.

It is noticed that was an extensive street. He is an immense to make a fuss of, mire. Well nurtured, fed without royal responsibilities. They set afloat garbage remains. Colonies of caterpillars colonize, they make atmosphere. The thankful entomology promotes the social development of the species. A truck newcomer parked, it knocked down with the back wheels aimlessly. He got to swallow in the estate crater-shaped. His driver learned with King David: "the abyss fire the abyss". The gear seemed one of the rivers of the Hells.
- My Mentor… is Apocalypse Now version?
- No… it is our sea of the existence.
- Without waves? Without fishermen?
- The street was cleaned up four times. They instructed as she should live at a building. The renters make merchant's ears. The sanitations got tired, they abandoned us to the luck. It lacks ignition for these things and slates. They are vernacular, primeval venatic. They are used of that as revenge stratagem. They own the morbid pleasure of the destruction.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (28)

- You will see much more. He looks, sleep her main it is full of ignored corpses. They already divulge that Caronte, the boatman of the Hells, is Midas. The false doctors that the Politburo negotiated, give great support Caronte.

Very notable aptitude that Jingola has for the poetry, as a misfortune collective. In the moulded walk, distanced, I hear them lively of enlarged yawns, pompous.
- Do they already run profits in your book of poems?!
- They still didn't supply recruiters.
- It turns you easy, it eulogizes the facts of the Politburo.
Or:
- I supervised four hundred poems, don't get to deceive them, to publish them.
- I also agonized more than thousand, poetry of the combats… I don't know if you are to see!
- Hum, hum!
- If it publishes a poetry book, I will be electing of Handwriting Politburo's Academy. The young’s will satiate with lewdness, me same. I will be flattered, admired, envied by my friends. In the churches they will peal bells, because one gave birth to a great writer change. I will make a heraldic important person. My literary name will be recorded in the toponymy. The street where I was born will call herself Collapses the Poet.
- Ah! … The poets such different healthy Jingola, as indifferent daggers.
- I disagree! Our poetry is celebrated in the imported daggers, spit, frustrated of corruption. Braked but combative, we delayed convincing. It didn't still set sail for there of the Columns of Hercules, because in the lack time of cleaning the accumulated blood in the night of the real times.
- Of the feet to the head, victorious poetry and concordant defeats.
- Until seeing!
- To firm foot!
- He leaves a debated gloss, declaimed, my vainglorious steed librarian's.

The black gives hope dismounts
She blunts first legs fresh infinite
unusual
Illuminated for whitening accent
Of his bikini heartless, armed and equipped
Heated, transparent of having sweated

Look! She executes anxious around
Maybe that somebody amazed to it undermines her
Be delighted, peep her
Nothing happens. They got tired, they were disordered
In the habitual amnesia lacunar, to stab
Fugitives, outlawed of the Black it Gives hope.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (27)

Answer of the Radio Oracle:
After having consulted, the Oracle revealed us:
Paraphrasing the perfume opiate, still Marxist of Bertolt Brecht, we matched: There are rulers that are corrupt in one day, and they are good. There are other rulers that are corrupt during one year, and they are better. There are other rulers that are corrupt for many years, and healthy very good. But, there are other rulers that are corrupt a lifetime… those are the indispensable ones. They move the climates, move the storms. Everything is composed of hurricanes.
Penetrated greetings.
Committee.
Jingola, 9 Termidor.
Year of the emission of our Radio the whole Kingdom.

The bridge she projected praiseworthy magnitude. Under, a crowd of human pillars looked with altitude. In the board on top, a young one mimed, it distended the hands continually. They arrived, they joined more glances. They felt reminders and hunches. To explain reason, nobody got, he knew. Somebody more meddlers soured that he was crazy, drugged. An suggestion was the sure that was an actor, that filmed a scene for the national soap opera, habitual of Jingola. He slowed down the noddings, it elevated the hands to the sky and in priesthood it nailed the vanity of the truth:
- I went a great fighter, always to the last moment. I don't swallow this poverty life, of hunger, because I see the Politburo eat it everything. Until a little island, that there in Futungo (Neighborhood of Luanda, presidential residence) the daughter of the FAMILY will buy (?). is he Truly now… that is what is the true colonialism, the other was of playing. Because… I don't get to study, there is no job, I was run by Chinese that ended now of leaving the caves. The Politburo they destroy us the lives, they cut us the longings, the wings… ó singular despair! Boatman Caronte waits for me. I won't have anybody to put me the coins in the eyes.

Then it stretched out the head and the arms well, it elevated them, he spoke for the heights.
- Ó you that live in your palaces, surrounded by the days, nights and for starved safeties. Watched by thousands of warriors that protect you of the fears. Childbirth for Flegeton… there we will meet… and we will roll in their fire waves.

The human amount seemed a habituated assembly, inhabited for the almost might centennial middle, bees in a beehive. The commentators of the everyday spread news. This function is them attributed briefly. He is entitled of if they don't silence.
- Ih, ih, that soap opera is linked too much, I won't leave that it cools.
- That is propaganda Carnival, electoral of the Politburo.
- Our eternal Politburo doesn't need that… it already won the elections.

The youth altered the posture, he silenced for the crowd. It caressed with the hands to say good-bye. Then it glued them in the heart, and to it pricks was for the acceleration of the gravity to sink in the eternal abyss, the salvation of the suicides. In the soil a small creek of blood he redden the earth, that collided, joined to the garbage, to the oath of the immoral liberators that they promised that we would be free. That they would never lack jasmines.
The human collection was disaggregated. Some intrigued onlookers didn't remove stubborn. Nobody looked at action suicides. They walked in the fashion.
- That odyssey Mentor, that images mirrored so unequal.

Image: http://www.rosanevolpatto.trd.br/sibila.htm

The Epic poem of the Darkness (26)

- It is!.. Saint good believers, they trust the divinity that governs the Universe. In that that is the origin of the crucible, that created us, it originated us. You are the Politburo that you accept only one god but that follow the doctrines of the sorcery. Everything is resolved and explained by the sorcery. I grant you period of thirty years for us to finish the contention. Then I demand that you make elections or else…
- Except the something?!
- I will support the debt with very heavy interests. Your body will be heavier than the lead, and you cannot support him.
- And lost we will find disarranged us. Damned Greek that invented the democracy and more the elections.

Jingola accessed an emission of radio, where frequently they proclaimed, they uncovered incommensurable vicissitudes. In spite of the diligent Politburo for to silence, she resisted bravely. It was the direction of the without direction, they deified like this to Radio Oracle. Some casuistically ones compared it Asterix Gaulish mini, that resisted arranged, erected in a shaded corner of the mafumeira (existent leafy tree in Angola). The Politburo they argued that it was his heel of Asterix to Radio Oracle. The telephone circuits more intimate of the government they combated that was the heel of the function of the Real.

Jingola he published the epidemic of cholera that militated with many supporters for the interior of the kingdom. As curse nests of female rats without merchant ships. I shoot an arrow with great embarrassment: nobody dared to explain that the main cause of the cholera… it is the hunger. The epidemic registered to the infinite of Jingola. To Radio Oracle she requested approval to implement his Hertzian waves to all the ears of the kingdom, so that the populations found out, they warned, they cured the epidemic. The Politburo liminarmente refused. They boasted, stamped, the parchment for to Radio Oracle.

Venerable Excellencies of the Radio Oracle:
We have a contract with boatman Caronte. The epidemic of the cholera makes the enough victims, the souls that the boatman needs satisfactorily. We felt in the lucky fellows.
If the sign of your faith if it fought for the radio and for whole the kingdom dispersed, victims of the cholera would not fall. We counted in the peremptory ones, and your assumed wind is… it doesn't accept.
We whitened the certain theology of the they want to go far away, for besides the roundness, of the limits of Delphos. The short distances per times become long.
We allowed them to work due to the democratic frequency that it was imposed us. We began her in the summary of the annoyances.
We extended them a finger, now they want the hand, later the body.

To convince that we are democratic, we said that would take place elections. Notice well: that they would take place… in any moment, in any time. Everything depends on our intimate will. It is not the clarity of any oracle that in the group to the solar summit, to date elections. A thing is uncertain: I begin him of the electoral uncertainty.
Our distinguished sailors are in force the prows of your eclecticism sincerely. They intend to half open the window of the dark night, for the mass in the morning. To do a lot of light, to gush in the spirits. With so much candle thereabout to the disposition. We are to the candle.
Abundant Revolutionary Greetings.
Jingola, Frimaire, Year II.
Year of the Uncertain Life.

The Epic poem of the Darkness (25)

Covered of glory for the favourable end of the battle in the ghetto, they looked without horizons at the merchantable wreckage. Flights in the restart of the fight without alternation, he suggested himself the inventory of the events:
- He doesn't give to check. In a neighbourhood where nobody likes confusion, suddenly it comes to the surface one more episode of the War of Troy.
- It was never invested, it instituted so much hunger, as on these rung times, frustrated. Many ghettos without future, as this, will be the anthills that will feed the relentless reunion of the War of Troy. The hungry persons don't fear the death, she supplies them regularly with aeriform basic baskets, of hungers. It is always latent in the hearts the candescent revolt. It will be a great world revolt, juridically universal. Who will disable it of finishing? There won't be walls, ditches, seas that resist him. Crowds starved mutations in cockroaches, flies, mice. He stands back a, it comes two, three. He will speak like this the new War of Troy.
- It should be for that that the Romans didn't like Carthage.

Boatman Caronte reserved a boat, always prepared for to steer in the river Departures. It took in the waves the remains of the souls of the daring wise persons or opponents. Definitively any had been eradicated manifestation of wisdom or opposition.

The Politburo was born wise persons, congenial authorial. They dominated, they whipped the epistles of the opposition. But the minstrels, internal exiles without stain they hardened letters. Unexpectedly he appeared boatman Caronte, he scrubbed the hands of greedy, and it inquired if there were souls for the Departures. They answered her, for the time being still no, Caronte was exasperated.
- Don't play with the games. The politics is not art of fortune telling. Then it doesn't happen future. Of the other French Revolution that have-of coming, they send me a lot of souls. It was always like this, it will always like this be.

The Politburo went up the steps of the power effortlessly. In the altar they worshipped the vast desserts of the crowds without history. That of hands extended, flaccid, they crumbled the cult of the hunger. Everything is composed of conviction.
- No there is any revolution to win us, that it convinces us, or that it removes us of the place. We governed too much, because the time only bill while we are alive. Did we govern badly? The acolytes applaud us for the good government. Other people, especially this that we drove, Jingola, wrap up, they let to take in the happiness that we promised them in the speeches of year end. Before they lived in the extreme slavery, today they are frees. It is true that some exist embarrassments, but the whirlpool of the thousands of decreed laws will solve the emancipation of the people. Finally the poverty will end, we will reach, we will beat the goals of the records of the development.
- Is it?! does it Happen that I made a great investment in the purchase of two thousand boats, and many boatmen for us to drive them, what do run the risk of losing the job. They are not to accomplish the contract, I demand damages. Arrange some epidemics there, criminals' slaughters, any thing… one doesn't survive without corpses.
- Old Caronte, don't slip, corpses won't lack. Be calm that shortly will tumble thousand again a day.
- I don't believe in such curse! Will they make another revolution?
- Not so much to north… we will make another more devastating war.
- I hang of that warranty. It imports me that you accomplish the contractual norms.
- It is true that we exceeded to honour our commitments, but when harmed them press us, we searched the paper work and we moved the payment. We only worked under pressure. We are as a locomotive to steam.

Image: http://www.interconect.com.br/clientes/pontes/diversos/caronte.htm

The Epic poem of the Darkness (24)

The Orphans they made fun of the sermons, of the poverty’s sufferers' exalted desires. In an apex they were. Tangles televisions, fans, sound equipments, money. A mammy was faced and she took hill of having plated. Furious it walled in:
- Crooked of shit, they will steal the rulers of the Politburo, they have everything!
- There we will arrive.
- When?!
- A notion of time.

Sneaking out, a small beauty stole the fence of the Orphans. She seemed a fairy that hovered smoothly in the race to the squad of the police. She arrived slightly. Then it left in a car patrols with six police of looking heavy, and loaded siren. They recuperated, an official descends with pitch glasses. Zorro and members disappeared close, disguised of street salespersons. The products of the fiscal contribution were taking away from Customs in a vehicle of sales of pieces of furniture to the home. The official he plan, underlined:
- Time for disorder, time for order! My wanted… home!
- More home?! Don’t we have anything for us to comb!
- ACCOMPLISH THE ORDERS!!!

The metal jingled in the loyal triggers of the weapons of the duty. Dogs, catnip, mice, serpents… and butterflies, were sheltered in the roundness as witness of the occult. The unhappy that the History attracted uncovers the sad soul.
- Orphans… they are all zebras, logs, trunks of the same branches. They lost the shady souls, nothing else remains them.
- It folds again the deceptive, the sharp posture. My glacial uniform officiates the judgement inside and out of him.
- Hum! Common Politburo, soviet.

The Orphans calculated that the Politburo toasted lively fear of them. They credited the confusion in his bill, they climbed the walls of the huts, they unmasked the sunny roofed zinc coating, they drilled, they kicked about the Juliet’s. Clever in the natural selection of the species, they feathered the female’s bird-pity-paradise, those that they burned them, insisted in the pleasure of the denial of the courtship. They fled with them, and for the adventures of the going astray they distributed damages more than six cars the. They guaranteed the final peacefulness with many shots for the air, of putting fear. The official of the police Politburo offended great without reason to their concepts, precepts of the turbulent maintenance without flag. They left him weak, without flask. He motivated to the side of the weakness:
- Arrest them… they call truck for the devil that carries them!
He stands out a more grown that miraculously accessed academicals jurisdiction. She pleads the Natural Right:
- Are you done with the Orphans it is not?!? Will you already see!
She celebrated voice of command Latin.
- Argumentum baculinum. I want to say: enough of conversation, club in them. It will be worse than Thermopiles. My ladies… TO THEM!!!
And a shower that flooded the dear policemen with having plated fell. The official, the main enemy, was the elect of the discord. They pulled down him beating thunderstorm and beaten. Policed her failed to protect it manoeuvred the hands, he defended for instinct. To appeal to the weapons turned impossibility, because the squadron feminine blanket guard. Sincerely unarmed for the courageous ones, bent down and covered with earth requested forces to the inferior members. When getting up for us to flee, the jurisdictional invoked the voice of the woman of the French Revolution:
- Only one more! Only one more!

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (23)

The neighbourhood 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 parish-pump pacifism 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 to invoice in the bags. The flies reinforced they 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 silence with the mothers' secret weapon.
- Ah, his witches 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… the roosters… they are there.
- The something!? THE something!? Oh my God!

The oldest presses the hands in the head. He revolution two circumferences, drums the feet in the softened earth, of red mud. This helps her to think, to decide what will do to proceed. She stopped, it lowered the hands, it swelled the chest, it usually alerted:
- Gaullism’s 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:
- You change everything! THEY ARE ORPHANS… ORPHANS, SHIT OF MOTHER!
- It is well my daughter. Flee! He meets casually Fire Greek OVNI!

The calm he stinks 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. Sweet, cigarettes, cookies, elastic tablets etc., they suffered the condemnation of the ground. They dabbled for the small old houses. 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 her the eyes, it imposed heat vampirism. The pistols hung waist, 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 selects 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 tears, deplored.
- Don't steal us, please! The little bit that we have was won, crucified! We are slave of the modern settlers, generated for distracting.

Imagem: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (22)

- Hum! Those brutes are too much with the petroleum.
- It is really, we go because then to call Greeks, for us to burn them with his Fire.
- Greeks without that similar to Achilles, don't hole anything.
- That is a big one crooked.
- Reason brother?!
- It hunted the virgin Briseida, it is with her there are more than thousand nights. They say that it is undecided, he wants her to stay virgin.
- Ah, is he after all of those?!
- But what hero, that warrior that is, what doesn't get to remove the virginity to a woman?
- Ours penetrate, they tear well, healthy very vaginal. Very offspring soldiers.
The uniforms of the law recuperated, they imposed several big bullets for the air. The reunion paid off, it relaxed, it dispersed.


It was a neighbourhood that lived in the nostalgic calm. Early in the morning, the mammies armed with brooms and they spit the previous garbage. The daily routine zodiacal marched morning. There were already garbage hills wakened up, that they banished in the deserts. There was not collects, he gave birth to mountain. With ingenuous roguery the children persevered, they achieved the mothers' skirts. They were lowered to the slippers, they remembered the easiness to sweep and they flickered blow with a broom in the infantile flanks. The children panted.
- Mammy, shit, am hungry!
- He/she leaves the garbage to finish. I will basket sweets, to sell some, later I buy you bread.
- Mammy, if you don't give me food, I wallow myself in the garbage can.
- It only tries, go, you will see the beating. I will knead you the bones.

Strange to the diatribes the sun admonished the soil, it singed the faces. A squadron OVI - identified flying objects - of fly-blowflies green and fresh they make recognition, they defend their interests. Objectives are plentiful, so many that fly undecided, not knowing where to graze on. In exhibition in the landings sweets swarmed, cookies, cigarettes, elastic tablets, soft drinks, smoking beer, to explode. Finally, a mercantile rosary. The mammies requested to the divine right a calm in the storm to facilitate the sales. Or else, it would happen storm home. I have enough him home-made nursery, the out of hours misunderstands because they don't give him food.

Some gaunt mammies of the generated estate anchored the tender bodies quietly in any charity institution. Such scanty money didn't reach the school expenses. The expensive books boycotted the glance of the letters. The ones that reign polished unsustainable literary agreement with the neo-customs officers. The happening tribute, primate, rewards safes occult, uncultured. With prices devoted, uneven, few if they took a risk in the adventure of the reading. Alleging that the exporters, of the Phoenician of the worst, were big crooked. That they travelled of very far, subjects to constants attacks of pirates. And that their goods lectureships didn't have warranties of the insurers, of readers. And more: that they didn't have fault in the derogatory ones notarial that the kingdom Jingola if it placed in the boundaries routines. The prices arose in a to scarp cliff. They copulate with seamanship:
- It is border-false, windward, always beside the homelike breeze.

Jingola diffused, they accepted pyramidal commissions. They associated to the Phoenician companies.
The children deceived the school. They joined the Orphan armies. It didn't lack labour force for the soldiery of those spoiled of the lands and of the houses that increased the armies of the before fighters, defenders of the kingdom of the FAMILY and now abandoned, exiled, expatriated.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (21)

The blockade finished, they made racket, for one more gotten victory. The war of the hunger is unjust, unequal. They struggle against the audacity of the hunger of the food again and of the dictatorship.
Our fight continues, with the eyes almost always in the ground. What remains of the streets and of the traps of the holes, that it seems an immense rain of meteorites to have happened. The feet have to be very careful. Some drowned, they appeared cadaverous in the terrifying holes.

A great agitation appeared. For there a dozen of horses of metallic Troy, ridden by warriors strongly armed. They dismount, they besiege the without walls houses. Jingola implore the king's name… in vain! They escape from the burrows, of the martial collapse. Corrupted her demolition had effect, the excuse that they are necessary hotels for tourists' lodging. Habituated to the fright liberator, there is who mocks.
- It is to house the mice of hotel of them. We walked, other thing doesn't see herself.
- With so much species of world rats here pointed, he gives to build a zoology museum.

The defeat of the democracy proceeds frigid, without elections. As the horse, trots, it jumps. The horseman instituted medieval catapult.
The reigning became emancipated with the production oil-producing. For us to survive, Jingola emancipated their wives. They assumed, they dose with stoicism the Herculean irresponsibility of the god protector of the fireplaces. Heroically they invented any thing for us to sell. Misplaced, get to eat something during the day, at night not. Sacrificed, obedient to the hunger, they overcame cottages, they bought glaciers to moneylenders, fans to silence, to move away the load of mosquitoes. They won great friendship with the hunger, for us to acquire the martyrdom of they attend TV Jingola's programming, and the illusion of the felt passion of the soap operas. Equipment to dance, to drum. They depended on the bad will, of the arrogance, of the greed of the reigning, of the taste of seeing everything in the dark. They lost episodes novelistic, due to the intermittences voltaic, and they strayed from.

The Orphans of the wars of the regime pressed surveillance. Moved by the voracious appetite of the belongings of somebody else, they stole artfully the onus of the sinks Jingola. They were vain the protests. Soul-harmed them they hardened.
- Everything confiscated. You buy, we stole. Don't be inconvenienced with the weeping.
A young one is unblocked.
- Everything purloined. We bought, you get up. Pavers in the earth of anybody.
The habituated Orphans, been born, grown, developed in the wars of the blackness Stalinist didn't disperse surreptitious. They left as if they left their ruins. The crowd he uncovers, he gathers by tens, hundreds. Two untidy girls are wiggled.
- Were the police of Fouche, of Stalin?
- His foolish, leaning what are the where? It was the politics of the Politburo.
- And is there some difference?

One intoxicated and newcomer for the gifts of the robbery neo-colonialist he salutes:
- We don't want cottages! We don't want houses of foils! We don't want small old houses! Live Lars Patriots' barracks! Live the one of the New Life! Live the Angry ones!
Unpopular protests are sent. A wave thundering voice echoes for the dyed again labyrinthine. The fools make dizzy.
- Don't we want small old houses? Don't we want caves? Do live the millionaire air of the Island of the Cable? Do live the bad life? Then they do want the something!?

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (20)

The grumpiness of the old age without citizenship also uncovers.
- The light of the Promised Land delays. We cannot conserve food. They dig up only some small eucalyptuses to support our swallowing.
- Our respectable Chinese’s friends installed the electrics cables. They finished the work, the Orphans stole everything. The celestial illumination finished.
- Is to be independent the something?! Independent Slaves the something is?! Are we slave, owners of our destiny… how the dogs.

The information disseminated the anthology of the cholera. Jingola without light, without money for piles, didn't have access to the waves of Hertz. The time was glued, it was drained in the constant attention of selling obsequious. The cholera he disdain a for the borrowed attention. The surface rights catapulted generous. The princely minority information applauded the close season against the exiles. At the end of the day the hunger in society with the death collects the debt, he makes the swinging of the slaughter. The mortal numbers of the epidemics, of the hungers, stopped impressing. They leave reasons for the superb to get happy. Many rivers to reign, a lot of water, a lot of people to die of cholera, because he doesn't have water. They are deepened dig them of the power but, we have formulas for stopping.

Near the bank of urgency of the hospital, the abandoned people for the independence await for their sick relatives. They sleep demented, dependent of the ground, in cardboards. They produce chips, remains of food, excrements, urine. It is that they rebuilt the hospital, they forgot about the external sanitarians. The administrator loosens:
- He already told them for us to leave of here. I think that they are deaf, or they simulate. Everyday in this… I am already tired. I don't know that people are this, the more we spoke to them, they do worse. Our population is not prepared to live in society. Nor with an army of safeties I get to impose myself.

Streets with conducts of water broken out, they lie disloyal competition to the reservoirs of water installed in the sky. If they finished the puddles, filthy lakes, streets muddy, festering, the children would be unhappy, without these infantile gardens. Isolated, in this very concentrated field.

It rains, the palliative bridges tumble and she repeats the inauguration. The crossing of the business is agile. When it passes for the great sewer, I will be more or less to middle of the road to Thule, there for Viana sides.
Some desperate zungueiras (street salespersons) move the lightness of the empty basins.
- Oh my sister!.. That will be of us. The lakes where he leaves the cacusso… (Angolan fish) the fish, they are polluted with the cholera. We will starve!
- It is lie of them, they want to steal us the business.
They disguise the sadness with flows of natural laughter’s, without approval. Suddenly they are dislodged, they go mad she, intersect. The awake escape of new directions. The tenacious of the conspicuous law of the Politburo approaches. The surpluses of their cloths crawl for the ground. In the confusion the children are thrown in any way for the backs. The basins and the slippers seem to flee them of the hands and of the feet. A cloud of mixed dust with garbage rises. He seems a hurricane or an earth tremor. Fiscal and police bring the appearance of the triumphal flock… the persecution.

They used a surprising stratagem. They discoursed, they ran to a lake of the rain. They stopped when the water went up them over the knees. They were… as if they awaited the baptism in the river Jordan. The children to the backs, the basins in the heads, looked smiling, challenging. They were in an excellent refuge. The fiscal system and the police gave up, without courage for the adventure. They feared baptism of impure water.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (19)

"Then my youth as it is that it is going the life in our Luanda-Somalia? Do the police continue to steal the things? " "No my kota, (older) the police are to steal the women. The police killed the whole thieves there in my neighbourhood. Now already it can one to walk comfortable to the nineteen hours.


- They install apparels of air conditioned potent, the cables burn, they set on fire, they are without light. They insist, the electric’s cables of the street, the fuses, the houses burn, and they still insist
- They say that the fault belongs to the government.
Residents in panic win wings, they fly, they cover with earth in the safety of the street. They complain:
- My fan is to burn.
- My equipment left.
- My glacier burned.
- My DVD, finishing of buying…
- It had lied, you stole him!
- And does you, make the something?
- Ó race, is to flee, the building seems that will explode.

They hope the firemen arrive, they get be unblocked of the traffic and little or nothing will remain. When they arrive, and the water that they bring to end, cannot make anything else, because there is no mouth-of-fire. If they existed, of them he would not leave water. In spite of two mouth-of-fires institutionalized: On a side the government's hell, of the other the hell of the opposition. There are many fires due to short circuits. Postpartum Jingola are excellent engineer’s electricians.

My progress is curtained by eddies of tobacco. Somebody caught fire the a lot of garbage in the attempt of eliminating. Inside of little time the roundness will be swallowed by the fog dustman. The lonely zungueira (street salesperson) guides the meat in the solidary bathtub. She expels the flies, that don't get tired of doing zigzags. Somebody is not satisfied with that and with her.
- That meat is rotten, destroyed. You buy it in the grocery stores of the sênê (of Senegal) for low price, they wash it with a lot of detergent, they put him a lot of salt, and they sell her as if it was sparks.
- Ah!.. You want to complicate with me, to destroy my business.
The radio accompanies them, propaganda relating to several years whistles. Princely cooked, habitual.
- We will create group of settlers and we bought the surplus of the production, later we stored at silos, for the crisis times.
With well-aimed, cunning conviction, as angel of the announcement that paragon.
- The prices of the Petroleum arise a lot. That is good for us.
And very bad for us. - They pealed the bells of the empty barns.

The stubborn shower unloaded several families. Purged of the goods, they implored Almighty that repaired the escapes of the waters of the pipes, where God inhabits. They shouted for terrestrial help, of the Government of the earth. The expectation attenuated with the recommendation that for the time being was not possible to do anything, because grievous situations existed.
The earthy leader solemnly unmasks to the uncovered faces the memory of the flood.
- Last year sumptuous eucalyptus bloomed here. A providential dike, that it held, it deviated, it chained the current of the waters. Without appeal they pulled us, of their meats they posted business. They lit coal for us to cook and for us to sell.

Image: http://perdidoeachado.blogspot.com/2008_03_01_archive.html

The Epic poem of the Darkness (18)

In the kingdom Jingola Stalin it relives, and clear, the deportations also. The Great Leader already created the tropical gulagui that roguery the Politburo calls zangos. It is pure, it is national and they like. Like this, the extermination of the blacks is assured, for the terrorists' to the entertainment of and international speculators.


It is one of their favourite noisier music, and it insult for the sound to dislocate the senses… to elevate the cultural identity. To show the mythology no ancestral, but the actual, of the sheets oil-producing, of the fields diamantiferous, of the vast extensions of uncultivated lands, starving. She unmasks in the body the dance, but she forgot unmasking of the mystery of the liberation fight that he modernises in the national destruction.
To hear music is as a great thunderstorm, and they are not necessary rumbling of a thousand thunders and the blindness of a thousand orange rays. Seasoned by the new builders' monstrous machines that hole walks, streets, terraces, that destroy and they rebuild the soils, to I sole and together of the escapes free from the fast ones motorized, authorized to challenge Jupiter.

To dance, to intoxicate, to drug.
As Voltaire's father today would say: some children in prose, other in verse. The parents will always be called invalid and small vessels, because they don't feed their children's madness. No longer we have children. I doubt that somebody has them. Servants of Brutus, to steal and to murder parents. For us to dance, they drink and they sleep.

I looked at what remained at that house. Two fans that worked with luck. They were paralyzed, led of rust. The television worked to the blow. Because of the flaws of the electric energy the freezer called, it turned off. The careless bed, always tumbled in the hour of lying down. Of the roofs of the bath house, of the kitchen and of the corridor, the drops of water comfortably destroyed the dream of a home. They stopped being ceilings, they were grottos with almost stalactites. The couple sexagenarian worked and it struggled for his homeland. And silliness in the such fight of the liberation, and now for the homeland and family abandoned, it remains them the comfort of the musical sonority, striping of the romantic moments, of the one more census… to be everything in the same and the same ones always receive the same pensions.

So much petroleum and diamonds! How much more wealth more poverty. Where the safes are very full, there is a lot of slavery. Technological slaves of the new technologies. Slaves of the modern Horses of Troy. I listen the widows that jump in the trees, showing the mantle of his song. I will never believe in the Man, while only one exists human being to starve.

My walk continues. I see that the macroeconomics grew, what allows to many youths to wash cars in the streets. Of these schools of social washes the new man will be born, adapted to the new life. With the cloths they dry her would plate, one more product finishing is ready for delivery. Of cigarettes in the mouth change impressions.
- Do you know where the king is?
- I know! He is of visit deprived in the whites.
- He left us without light.
- My mother when she pays the bill, she claims that we were many days in the dark, and that the value to pay should decrease, but it is the opposite. She arises a lot.
- When the king returns we will be illuminated.

The economic growth is factual. A group of wolf cub floozy the development of the economy. In the children's of the prostitution precocious infantile surrender, they spare exaggeratedly the persecution of the werewolves.
In the entrance of a building it is heard metallic noise. One gushes of vertical water appears. A displeased youth wants to know that happens.
- Mingo, because it is that you made this?!
- I broke the faucet with a stone, because they don't want to give me the key of the padlock. I have cars to wash.
- And who will the flood clean?
- I don't know.
Two fast motorcycles pass in great speed. Without escape, the noise provokes headaches. The alarms of the parked cars shoot. I cover the ears with the fingers.
In the window of a building the conditioned air burns. The boobies at the distance rub shoulders. Some affirm with immense pride.
- It is well done! It is well done! They like to live at the buildings.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (17)

Luanda - THE condominium Jinga Isabel is split, there is still little inaugurated time. Was it built (?) for a Brazilian company. He remains to know the name of the company. In TV ZIMBO.
And when the buildings and do towers begin also split her? It is that when the time of the rains arrives, and the tendency is to rain plus, more and more, much underground water win current, they relive. Literally, Luanda settles on an underground river.

To buy car is to increase one more hole to the storm of our not to live… how to navigate without sea. The highways are not necessary but, it can be admitted that everything is a necessary evil. A horrible effort of altruistic martyrdom went projected to our modus vivendi. Consistence of losing a lot of hours, to find the old age precociously, to lose the health. Delight habits infused without appeal trespass, they propagate in the it would fill up of the streets that no longer the healthy, they will never know him. The main main prizes are holes and mires. Streets dug due to the intense search of the evil feelings oils-producing.

Oh! What nights, that festivals, that mothers with suites of sparrows, where you do walk? The child is ahead, disastrous hurried. He stops, he turns, it incites the course. The mother carries the age of the dictatorship of the suffering, without lament. In the head, a load that doesn't relieve the survival of the unconsciousness of the government oil-producing. In the backs, it overloads the recent weight of the born unhappiness, fallen asleep. For the hand, the child's annoyance crawls diligent in the against-hand of removing the bread of the mouth. He is the mother, of the mothers of the now black settlers of the black poverty. Of the obscure days, of the inextinguishable nights orgiastic of the palatial politics. Ó black poverty, certainly in the uncertain you walk. In the flooded streets of oilfields, black pastures, black grasslands that are not to eat, nor to drink.

Many poets, lawyers, economists and few engineers. Illiterate people will never be independent. Knowledge is freedom. The poverty is black, of the colour of the petroleum. The temporary power is momentary, the spiritual is eternalized.

I threw my cellular cell for the garbage. I avoid the assaults, I want to walk usually, I don't want to be without life eternally. To win the attackers' present and to lose the future. In spite of many metric safeties that they keep what doesn't belong them, the uneasiness is marshy. Many safeties, a lot of insecurity. Everything so uncomfortable, abundant. The garbage is superabundant, the buckets of the filthy waters cook him. Colossal columns of garbage cans sculpted as the stables of Aegis. Jingola hired Hercules for the last thirteenth task… to end with the garbage. It would be pay with several gold fleeces. He didn't get, it gave up, he got loose furious because twenty-eight signatures were commissioned. I don't know, we don't know, nobody gets to explain to me, to understand that regime is this that governs us. I think it is a regime with the governments' equalitarian, totalitarian existent smells of all in the world. Universalized, entangled.

He passes not vulgar administrator's vulgar escort. A priest to cut, escorted fake kindness, he doesn't notice of the plot that the doctors of our slippery destiny they sentence him. The escort of the fear, insecure, fearsome, it falls down in the unprotected, disguised enemy potential, that it disturbs, it inhibits the passage of the more than similar I court funereal. The priest is beaten and blessed for the power timeless. Immolated in the execution of superior orders, sanctioned by inferior. In the establishment of Politburo Jingola's satanic ritual, enchanting barbarism of imitation of the civilized jungle. The pilgrims moved of their shrines. The embondeiro dried the mabuba also.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (16)

In the kingdom Jingola everything that is official and official-general is legal. Everything the plus, including the population, it is illegal.


It is mediocrity, when subjects are not approached with depth. The more the politicians speak, more they are studied and fewer listened. Many words many dreams. The brains of the listeners jump for another audience. They abandon the politicians of vertical body and horizontal soul. Black’s Africa illustration is a favourable adventure for adventurers. Always concordant with the rulers' simplicity. And the interlude of the poverty and of the hunger they continue in all of the moments, in the posters with gigantic pictures that deceive the elector’s voters. In them, the democratic words: where has bread and books, there is democracy.

To believe in the politicians is as living at a ready building to tumble. And they are so many (the buildings). As the generals in the power, widespread democracy, militarized. With two desires, two faces. Which of them, which of them?! Rude deliberate, good irresponsible, moulded and done condition. As monks in phalanstery’s and secret societies that they insist on moulding us, to dominate our minds. There are no good rulers, just men that execute the desire, the will of the people.

A scientist Jingola said that the population is famous for his illiteracy. That they were not entitled the instruction. That, and because of the hunger he discovered that they only used ten percent of the brain.

Don't I know how to distinguish if the water that drags the garbage is, or is the opposite?! Do I Sand, water and food. In the daily transfusion to the Nation, the boom of the cholera expanded thirty thousand infected and carnage of almost thousand. The action planned of the rains will publish the epidemic all of a sudden. In the avid earth for corpses, the cholera will decrease when the population makes scarce.


I took shelter in a container to it despairs her that the rain discouraged. To obtain such permission I bought a beer. I felt that my breathing was hindered due to the tobacco that vulcanise in the interior. Only two small windows in the ends veiled the airing. I moved for the closest, it was, it seemed the tobacco of Vesuvius. I looked at the youth that faked to be used. I tried to defend.
- Of where come so much tobacco?
- Of the generators.
- We will die intoxicated. I suppose that there is delight in this.
- It is that! One is of the general, the other belongs to an upstart of the bakery. Already I grumble, gave me the importance of the contempt. Kingdom governed by generals is like this. I arose to the sanitary gods' castle, they threatened me with the death. The threats became so vulgar. I believe that should change the name for kingdom of the threats. This people are like Napoleon, he is everything of them, and they think that they are invincible.
- New settlers, new mentors.
- One more African field of the death, one more quilombo of skulls.

The eyes began me to burn, the throat to condescend. I fled for under an awning that served as house to two families that were without house. It was destroyed by a prince to build a mansion. He could take shelter of the rain was done expense. There was only beer. The rain appeased. Of here to Thule, more or less in Viana, I will have to turn back about twenty kilometres.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (15)

Jingola kingdom, a kingdom where everything is illegal.

And in this world mental hospital with millions of unemployed, the thieves, shaver’s speculators say that the world economy is to stabilize. It proves the ascent of the prices of the petroleum of that is. And nobody arrests them because no longer law exists.


In spite of the tired body, used, old for the years of the time, the mind is rejuvenated. The dictator uses the healthy body in the insane mind. As harmful plants that they vituperate the suspended gardens of this Babylonia. No matter how much we try didn't get to avoid the persecution of Robespierre. The reign of the Terror persists, it insists, he doesn't abandon us. That times these! No, the History teaches us that it was always like this. The human being is the symbol, the cult of the Terror.

When it ends, the Nature will rejoice, he will sing a praise hymn. The trees won't be static, they will move of one for the other side, as always they did. The rain will fall and the waters will follow her normal course. There won't be dikes to disturb them. To the rivers free from pollution they will return the fairies, and the spirits of the waters will be reborn. The Nature will meet again the freedom, it will return to the normality. It was already given to the human being the time more than enough to respect their fellow creatures. No, I don't refer to the men, because he enters these no there are laws that work, I speak about a simple bird that lowers his flight, he is with a biped one and it is abated without explanation. What is in cause is the following: the Nature cannot share his healthy existence, with vile beings that they are delighted in exterminating everything that moves.

I found the morning to middle in the wharf of Kapossoca. The sky forced the day to darken. The water deserted of the firmament and the horizon was foggy. Intense rain, centimetre, seemed millions of meteorites that opened transparent craters in the surface neptunium.
Will I get Thule to arrive?
Many dangers wait for me, but I will have success in this epic poem. When there to arrive will admire the Columns of Hercules in Viana. I don't know who was the purposed that he called such name to two immense garbage mountains.
For besides them he is the stranger… some Phoenician merchants that once in a while here arrive, they say that for there of the Columns of Hercules seventeen kingdoms exist, governed by praetors. The information that they give is very scarce. What is not known there happens.
In child he heard to talk about those ignored kingdoms, forgotten, abandoned. That nobody if it worried with them. I began to dream that they would be the lost continent of Atlantis.

So many cars for few made holes in highways, permanently bottled. I will never get to understand because it is that Jingola doesn't appreciate bicycles. They combine with the centuries, with the loads in the head without wheels, always to the wheel.

The heart of my spirit tries to free of the surrounding disorder. The garbage angering joins to the trees dropped by the inhuman force. The flowerbeds got lost in the imposition of the concrete construction sites, of the new dear’s builders. Other builders and many eaters of dogs, cats and of everything that moves. Rudimentary genetic weltanschauung, truncated.

The guideless years pass, no representatives continue the tyrants. Tell them that who annihilates a tree, it will be condemned to plant them to the end of his life.
Ah!.. Many banks, many financial, many corrupt, many speculators, many adventurers.

Image: http://perdidoeachado.blogspot.com/search/label/Luanda