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, 28 de setembro de 2009

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

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