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
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
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