The Epic Poem of the Darkness (53.) The religion and the dictatorship are the handcuffs of the mind.

The emeraldine of the leaves of the plants disappears. It suffers, because the forces of fast intervention hate the green. Everything that is grey, red of the colour of the hell in life it is negotiable. They arrived, they are among us, and nobody seems if he notices. We are commanded, enslaved, for beings of this world, terrible, merciless… it seems science fiction but it is not. The human race is to be exterminated. Wake up people before it is late. The ones that govern us, the most powerful, the owners of our world, of our lives, of our destiny, covered with earth in the earth, they didn't come from another planet. They will put an end to our lives. YOU OF THE SECRET WORLD ARE HERE FOREVER.

The flirtatious was adulterated with one more. The car shone, and it he perfumed her in a serenade protest march. They danced, they celebrated, they went on a spree, and they relived the paganism. They were agreed in the end of the nocturnal misconduct in the river of the kanvuanza (order lack; confusion. In dictionary Houaiss). They headed well to the thousand and touches. Cupid was disarmed, it drained the arrows. They were already in the opportune moment of the facto roads when they hear strong to rustle.

They are alarmed, they suspend the emission and the reception. The flirtatious searches the area, and the one that sees leaves him frozen. He shake-shakes as a haunted castle. The conservation instinct ties the ignition. Of foot in the board is done of flying saucer, it stops and it doesn't repair where it is. It must have flown about a hundred distanced kilometres. Cold perspirations flood him the face and the backs. The flirtatious wakes up him with the rest of the cold of the night. He justifies him because it removed the penis of her heat so abruptly.
- My chocolate, we have to inform the other ones for us not to come here… it was a mermaid.

This civilization is very developed, they say. But we didn't lose the habits of the age of the stone.
The religion and the dictatorship are the handcuffs of the mind.
The dictators don't leave the democrats to rest.
Screams of the death in the dark night. One more hungry person than he said good-bye to the dictatorship.
I need a key to open the seven keys of the lock of this dictatorship.
In the incipient democracy until the dogs are hypocritical.

In the modern societies the prisons are always with the out of print capacity.
The corners of the politics fill with adventurers.
We always lived in the fear, that the prison of the night in the gown to the door.
We are always to relive the moments of Monte Christ's Count.
The best party politician is the hunger, and this is the best counsellor.
The vultures are in the power, but the albatross is in force them.
The military columns move forward in the dawn. They will send candies to the hungry persons.
The hunger is proportional to the politicians' speeches.
If more petroleum there had been, there it had arrived.

There is always further on a ditch, one more oil well.
Until the deaf he hears murmuring of the promises of freedom.
The structures of the power are rusty, they will fall for maintenance lack.
The cruelty is the dictators' Bible.
To feel the wind of the freedom an open window it is enough.
We are as birds caged in the dictatorship.
Until the deaf starving he gets to hear the noise of the hunger.
The incompetent ones are eternalized in the power, but they are not eternal.
The waves of the sea rest in the sand, the dictators sleep in the quicksand’s.
The night finishes, the morning begins, and the day of the power doesn't end.
The light of the lights blinds us, they stole the lamps.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (51) Their gods were trees, rivers and earth

The ship pursued the destiny Atlantic Ocean, the sea that taught the men to navigate. Then they improved the embarkations and they reembarked, they were discovered with other people. He seemed unbelievable, but other people relating to springs that stepped existed surrounded incommensurable wealth. With coveted eyes and dizzy heads were bent the exploiters before so many unexplored mountains of gold. Eldorados, islands charmed, mysterious cities of the gold, emeralds, diamonds, silver, petroleum, uranium. And they killed themselves, they were finished off and they killed. Human wealth, people… civilizations stroke with a swords, they shooting, just because their gods were trees, rivers and earth. They were them superiors because they loved the Nature. Now the neo-exploiters are skinned and they skin. Skilful superficial stupid.

I revived, and I learned again to love, to develop the love of my God implanted in the illuminated tree of emeralds, irreplaceable green wealth.
I praised my inclinations Anfitrite, Ocean and Mentor for the pleasure of the improvised sushi. And we returned to our sounds, as if the sea understood, it participated mute and quiet.
- Mentor, my friend… I am not going in the footballs of the white balls, nor in the mellifluous politicians' politics.
- The author of FFF is respected… the human being needs the proof of constant fire. As the great hypnotists of crowds that they lead us to the final solution.
- The dogs are free, us no.
- I don't understand.
- They can bark, we lost that right.
- For that kennels exist.
- What is discrimination!
- Yes! There is no difference between the men and the dogs.
- There is a, they eat the same food.
- Then the criminals should be in the kennels and the dogs in the men's prison.
- It is time of ending with that injustice.
- The man is not an animal.
- For right, the animals think that the man is irrational.

Even without thunderstorm I listen many thunders. Those that leave the escapes of the motorcycles. Those same ones, the one of the White civilization. When the tobacco comes out white is good. When darkness is bad. It is contrary to the White god's purposes.
A god with colours: Black, white, red, yellow… a god for each colour, for each people, for each race. Ah, the humans, only they could invent a thing like this. Ah… so tired of these things I am, that no longer I know what am. The relativity of the time generated me and it parked me in the harvest of the published, grandiose ecological disaster. No matter how much it tries I don't adapt to the terrestrial railway sleeper.

When will I return to the nebula comet? There are endless years wait that they come to rescue me. I disable myself in this planet. In the another he lived so happily… with my parents in the family fraternity. I don't know, I come undone because I am unable to understand. I want to return, take me!

In the world of the inhuman ones I will only die, abandoned, nobody will tie me. For something… it is not necessary. They only think about the money. If that is lives, that my God, my Green angel hears me him not to abandon me him to transport me.
I AM TO ALERT FOR THE DIRECTION THAT THEY WANT TO TAKE US.

He is not the boy, they are not the rains, volcanoes, hurricanes, typhoons, seaquakes, earthquakes - this always happened, and it will happen - they are the damned ones political that in the they mismanage, that they want his alone world. LET US RENOUNCE MORE TO LIVE WITH BUILDERS OF WALLS.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (51)

- When it arrives to Iberia, later I leave for Armórica… I have a cousin there. Finally… I return to the civilization… of the food.
… Just tracks. Formerly the people rioted, now not. They are tired, submissive, frustrated. The intellectuals disappeared… many pseudo-intellectuals that drive the societies appeared. It is fantastic to see as everyone follows them. They remind Julio Cesar to subdue the Celtic ones.

The Mentor is to the fishing. He throws the fishhook without bait, it collects him, he throws him again. That patience of Job. Fishhook without bait… it should be fishing of crazy. Oh, after all it beats well. He fished a very big one. He becomes conceited:
- It is a gold one! I will make sushi.
Calm Ulysses gets confused with the sea. Maybe because Penelope flies, hug and give him sweet calm. Conversation goes, conversation comes.
- Where he smells on business, immediately they appear the men.
Mentor it is inconvenienced in the cut of fine slices, tender, fresh, of the quartered fish. He gives manoeuvre whistle:
- It is soccer… it is lacked integration, concentration and psychic force, he gets lost the battle.
- No, it cannot be. God that created the Man was not, that aberration, that imperfection, that monstrosity. We are dominated, governed by the demon there are more than two thousand years. This is the true. The founder… the founders, the followers of the Church, are… Satan. He is here, he sits down, he moves, it dominates us. Here is because the world is at the end, in the chaos. Satan is on the whole side, nobody gets to escape him. We are tied, we lived the last days of the cruelty. Satan triumphed.

They remained silent. That fortune. Far away from house, in the marine solitude the thought is more sagacious. He perfectly discourses. In the conviviality of the verbosity human it is almost, or else impossible to think. Today, the human madness created her best discovery: the noise. Therefore the brains have been so decadent, gotten untidy, that they don't get to reflower. I was without complex and I exposed myself to Mentor:
- Mentor, I accompany you because I don't believe in the intellectuals Jingolas, they put me fear, and they are false, opportunists, terrifying. But, I believe that it was always like this from the origins, from that affected when our ancestral ones lived at the caves, later they learned how to use a bone as weapon. That simplicity. As if somebody believed in that. It costs me to understand the reason of so much violation of the History. As less contacts humans better. Because it is pernicious, dangerous, and we avoided many insipidities. Do we live as hermits? Yes, because not? Does it exist anybody what likes to live with poisonous serpents? It is not still everything lost. He arrived the hour of the great crusades. The time of to unsheathe our swords and to end with the wicked ones. To do a river of divine blood again, and to save the humanity. There is no alternative. We are going to that, let us put an end to them!
- The extinguished times continue experts… things that before were given as right, later we verified with surprise be wandered. One of them is fundamental: Black Africa stays, it will stay primitive.
- Shit! Those guardians of the temple of the memory are very dangerous.
- The nights of the times are always same, they don't lose temper. The days finish and they unsheathe, the nights end and they dawn.
- The slavery didn't change, because the man didn't end. They are so many the slaves that she cannot count.
- The White civilization of the hunger makes them the swinging.
- Yes… the White man, the White civilization… the destructors of civilizations.
- If they gave me to choose between a man and the demon, he would choose the demon, because he would help me to eliminate the man.
- When man doesn't exist, there will be peace finally in the earth.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (50)

Sincerely I don't know that interests have the nations, won, in to stupefy their populations with super doses of soccer stadiums. That is the other civilization, the one of the ball. How many, so many soccer stadiums that would must be transformed at culture libraries. Olympic Games of the book, of the literature, of four in four years. That existed in Greece but… the dictatorships and the Christianity put their padlocks, invoking that they were ceremony pagan. The poets were forbidden of playing their odysseys. The Celtic ones with their traditions oral they rising the Church, and later Santo Grail was written, King Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Avalon... Yes! And Excalibur, the magic sword that symbolizes the forces of the Nature, the Humanity's destiny. Here is the paradox: to be born to die. Or better: to be born to destroy civilizations.

The poverty forces what was dropped by any reason die, in any unexpected place, without right the medical aid and social. The pedestrians, unnailed of humanism - but, who does only think about money, does he have time for these things? Until they call him of crazy! - Tired of the vicious death they scream automatically: He died! He died! - In the time of the Romans it was: he lived! He lived! - The victim he lays in the ground indefinitely abandoned. It is the daily life of the concentration oilfields of the Golf of Guinea.

The new convoy will pass. It will be faster than the other than existed. They got up protection walls. The residents for us to circulate have to jump them, the funerals also. Children without conservation instinct take advantage the evening and they defecate at the summit of the walls. The residents climb and they seat the unpleasant hands. It was oasis for thieves. For the uneasiness the safeties receive extra, they make money in the people.

The History is not stopped thing, it is moved. New discoveries appear. What today is a revolutionary discovery, the other day no longer it is it.
Families live her to the dew. The nobility Politburo steals lands and he manufactures Somalia’s cottages to build small palaces, palaces, with the abundance of the incomes of the petroleum. What is in the he shouts, in the fashion, they are the condominiums. Opened inside, in the occultism on the outside.
The primitive ones had caves, the presents not even that dislodged have. The onlookers approach in the custom subjective. They are interrogated that maybe is a circus of horses dispersed.
- The street your new house is?
- The Politburo broke us the houses, they stole us the lands and always so forth.
- They will complain in the human rights.
- He doesn't give brother, those when they speak the Politburo threaten us, they arrest us, they kill us. And that he would be ahead that? Laughter’s and paper work no dispatched.
- It is leprosy contagious Politburo! Be exiled!
- Yes… we are going to the Indian, to some to be seen slaves' merchant in the purchase.

I returned to the sea, it wakes up for dimensional wave that it balanced the embarkation. I held myself well. The sailors nor for that, in the calms, insensitive to the waves. Sensitive speakers, don't get tired. Ulysses tacks:
- The dirty money civilizes us. He is the owner of the world, boss of the contemporary civilization. Before they devastated, they killed, they decimated, and they enslaved the ancestors. Until that it finishes… when nothing doesn't remain….
Before he forgot, I introduced a clue:

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (49)

Alienated, mice of the garbage work Uncover containers, they open sacks with garbage in the hope of they find dainty. But he doesn't give for the petroleum. A grace, innocent floral talent of the first steps corals of the evangelical spirit, distrusts for a mouse:
- Of where come?
The mouse looks at her, it considers her fairy of the garbage cans. He dips the hands and almost the head in the container. He doesn't have anything to say, he doesn't know what is to live. The answer can only be given as the life of the garbage.
- Sanded, badly sanded!
A cat feels offended for the verticality of the stride of the mouse. The cats are eminent competitive disloyal. The feline stands back of her alimentary habit, he gives some jumps and other safe garbage to the view. Two politicized children and continually educated of the last year they satirize:
- Against millions of hungry persons nobody combat.
- That is good! Reason?
- Because defeated, it is very costly to feed them.

The coming worms of the garbage invaded back yards. They sought better road for us to spoil at the houses. The sewers and stopped waters originate the incipient democracy. Democracy forced in the illusion of the words of the freedom, because the starving ones in the prisons of the hunger don't feed of the epidemics of the political ideologies. And the black plague, partly, as all know did the feudal system to tumble.
It is not possible the human being to love, because it destroys the love!
The dark waters of the putrefaction habituate the people to the darkness. And of the window always to the peep, a good observer always note something that takes advantage. The cars were made for they walk, and in the highways they are continually stop her. Progress is the time of the life to pass in the seats of the cars.

High sea, as if the world went water. Where he wants him to look see everything liquidate. That immensity in my smallness. I feel microscopic before so much vastness. The powerful waves make freedom. But, I am apprehensive, this is not life for me. I will relax my companions near, to hear what talk. The sea for them is as if he was an old friend. They are children of him. I think Ulysses is the with subterfuges, always.
-… With a good shepherd and obedient sheep…
- Without leaders?
- Mentor… if the such masses are intelligent, thinking, they know the Road, the politicians end.
- He leaves of having left political.
- Exactly.
- Putting an end to them, they finish them equip.
- As in the soccer.
- Not! The people can kick the comfortable ball, be round or square.
- Preferably square, round any plays.

The sea doesn't get tired of waving. He was born like this, he lives, it is happy endless, it is jasmine. I am to let to take me for firm earth, to recall the misfortune, the uncertainty of the Man of the bombs. Man, the stupidest invention than the Nature created, the monster, the predator, the damned Man that in conflict with the fellow creature, break lances for, it throws him bombs. And they are born blessed in the sunroofs of God.
Churches don't lack. Maybe be superior in number to mice, to cockroaches and garbage’s that command the daily activity of the Jingola of the hunger oil company. In front of holes garbage and sewers a church exists. And their liturgical songs reinforce the millennia: "Jesus, my life is pieces of your spilled blood”.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (48)

I escaped from taking, when I saw to steal motorized to the blow. I avoided the sorcery of the cockroaches in single line, and the black cat that always meowed at midnight. Boys and girls burned, tortured, sorcery accused, or used in the roast cannibal ritual. Now, they get complicated for any thing, and they catch fire, or they are shot, they kill themselves of imported scourges. As Trajan, the empire Bush exported the violence in the reconquest of Iraq. Such and which as before it happened, the retreat is inevitable, and the violence sent again. The magnetic field of this slavery is very intense. To live in the cruelty of this society, it is the self-destruction in five seconds. The death is the short circuit of the life. After a short circuit, the fuses of the death are irreparable.

Of my eyes tears reigned, when I read the announcement of the deceased’s' mass. The prayer, memory of mother's eternal love for his baby that lived some months. "My son, 21 years are passed, but actually it is as if it had happened yesterday. My love, words, would be immense necessary newspapers to express, as big it is my suffering. A thing I say, and I will always say: he hurts, it hurts, it hurts, as it hurts, my God. Rest in my peace baby, and that you are well very approximated of ours Mr. Jesus Christ."

The truck loses control. In the main rail two containers they are unbalance, they walk border out and they rest at dock dries where three vehicles receive death penalty without appeal to tribunal by arbitration. The populace with the very awake hunger thanks God for the draft of the day.
The money of the petroleum is the Terror of the French Revolution. A lot of money, many democrats, and many adventurers to give a help. A very rich nation with many poor, with few very rich.

The propaganda without conviction walks her for the neighbourhoods in the ineffective retentive memory of to clear to the confused electric’s beaters for they tie not threads, because they cause many fires and human carbonizations. Many electric’s cables, guaranteed fires. At night, in the clumsy alcoholic torpor, it happens who supplies generator with candle of lit wax, and it is with the candle in the hand. The democracy is as an electric’s installation, he should have good circuit breakers.

A recurrent criminal of the cellular phones didn't get tired of the prison. The conniving mother favoured it, she paid to see him out of the grating. Mom got tired and he didn't loosen him. An uncle it removed him of the grating. He arrived home much depreciated, and he asked the mother: "because you didn't remove me of the prison?” and he gave him a mercy shot.

Even in the corpses there is cynicism, in this kingdom they are transported as vulgar merchandise.

Six graces came out in rush of the church. As an angel, the voices infantile stimulated the alarmed occasional walking. To full little lungs they rehearsed the spiritual black of the stealing.
- It catches! Catch!
It was a thief, fake believer, that uncultured it disturbed the cult. Sacrilegious, it stole the cellular phone of the priest officiant. The now fearless they rioted bowing the thumbs. The unpopular tried to redo of the Eucharistic accidents, but not of the one of course. He was already to eat the bread that the devil kneaded. It is worth him of tears was incomplete. Fiscal government they attempted him in the sack of the backs and in the wallet, and they disappeared. His soul fled him. A Baden-Powell it arrived, it ordered to their scouts that they carried him to the church. He survived of the extreme unction.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (47)

- Due in the game that causes intoxication but no convinced. To liquefy… to write, they say that it is important to have a style and to use metaphors. When they invented the gunpowder said the same thing. In the era of the nuclear, they invented other contentions. In the time in that the thought dominates the matter, they won't like extraordinary luminous rays: "because the bluish tone of this thought is very loaded, the shade of that pink thought is too clear, the shade of that red thought flees to the colour of the blood." The editors will continue to pursue us, they will say: "the style and the metaphor of the colours don’t have harmony in the structure, it lacks them character". Always slaves of his will. These are the true benevolent dictators. Only his ponderability is immanent. Finally, any power that she respects supports intellectuals. In the intellects the pleasure of the vital resistance lives. Who says that the slavery ended is a dreamer one. The slaves' democracy is the revolt.

Ulysses dips the mind, sweetly in the seas foamy, superficial oceanic crystals. She happen a beach that is delighted with the horizontal nakedness of Penelope. The melodious undulation arises and it goes down the sand that leans appearing, refreshing the desire of the rousing epidermis. Penelope sits down, it fills the hands of sand and it goes them by the breasts that increase in volume, later it sinks them in the pubis, in the vagina of the loyalist absence. She looks distant for the infinite ocean, and she comes off:
- My husband, in the seas where you navigate is easy face the fury of the waves. In Ithaca I don't support the waves of the human bad weather that they pursue me. Last days are lost, unrecoverable. Everything seedling. Only beating of the waves of the sea stays unalterable. If the people went like this…
Ulysses full of vocation in the excited earth uses the fatigue of the hoarseness.
- But they are not, they will never be!
- But they like moments of those similarities… they behave as seals.
- They behave as crazy, they live in crazy cars, in crazy highways, that are altercated crazily. Like this it is the civilization.

In the boat, five men of the foreigners' service awaited us patiently. Mentor and Ulysses notice the confusion of the incongruous stationary vagrancy. A, cooks the palms of the hands in bain-marie, he strengthens the seasonings ready to serve. Sad, it explains whiny:
- We facilitated the foreigners' illegal entrance, for later to the exit we made money.
With certain fraud they demanded five thousand dollars. Mentor dissuaded them in a slope of two thousand.
Mentor and Ulysses are on board. Mentor invites me:
- It comes! You and us in the patera, heading for Gomera… later Ulysses leaves you in Ithaca.
And I went.

The Nature continued to paint with paint of water. Their brushes seemed cellos in the glasses of the window. The water ran, it seemed that she was in a hurry in arriving to her destiny. She wanted to become distracted, and the distraction is the corruption of the mind.

To walk to the rope, to screen without wheat to sift… the hunger is a political subject. The politicians divide the wheat fields amongst themselves. In the streets, the salespersons resell the surpluses of GDP. This life stink he stink the drink. She reminds unanswerable championship of barrels of alcoholic gunpowder, fermented in the immensity inquisitorial. She hovers, the probable monotonous song is resented from the return to the weapons, to the death, to the destruction.

Exporters of petroleum, importers of alcohol. Slaves cloning in the sleep, of the slave dream of eighteen quilombos.* Frustrated in the marshy aroma of the freedom. Without formation, the slave frees continues in the slavery. Submissive in the flooded sky of black clouds of IMF.

*Fortified camp of the jagas, design. attributed to the people that invaded Congo and Angola in the end of the sXVI. In dictionary Houaiss.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (46)

- The most violent racism is the intellectual prejudice… the economical growth dispersed her.
- The economical growth is a very rich father, an eternal president and with the children in the insult of the hunger.
- Without books there is no development, there is no job.
- By chance there are universities for unemployed? It is that, I always play in the it equips of them, I put many goals, and they tell me that I am lost. I don't get to play in that equips. I don't belong to the class of the ones that receive superior orders, because it means that we lived as inferior. My Penelope is already old, she sells any thing for us to survive. Our two children and the daughter follow the determination of the red wine. You know… in Jingola the only freedom that remains is to caress us, to turn with the fingers, glasses with any hotchpotch that drinks. It saddens me the certainty that any learned of our feather writes on our glorious facts. Us… yes… us… glorious alcoholic, we have a lot of odysseys to live, for who wants to narrate them. Many, endless books would become full... they would build a library of the size of a great city. Our day by day gives to write a literary work, where the author would win - of shadow and fresh water - the Nobel Prize the Literature.
- Dreams of an alcoholic one are not taken into account.

He reappeared the similarity of the lute of the medieval round to tinkle. He was the neighbour that took advantage to supply the extenuating circumstance. The drunk with the awarded mind, it was congratulated, it imagined princess with xanto, and it imagines her:

Princess of shaking, brewer
They left the daggers Septembers and Novembers
to become rusty
The seeds of your eyes got lost
in the sad green fertilizer, without books
They are always your sad eyes
without precautionary measure
You are probability, deceased without cry, it represents ornamental
The nights are delayed, mordants night and day
Slaves, in the backs loaded of rounds children
Your lips hardened without future
Only of out outside, of out inside not

My sadness flies, he only sees desolation,
in the nation
Everything wasted by the party and no distributed
Without beating feet they don't walk, they turn back
Everything is obstructed, gnawed
Everything of closed facade, frozen

The sadness of contemplating poets
of bottled poetry
Independent slaves' poems
in the mortal poets' homeland
Always the same voices rise
crestfallen in the repeated intentions

The atmosphere reminded alcoholic ship that it lost the rudder, balanced in the crests of the waves. He still had not reached the depth wanted abyssal. As the reports of IMF, right equations, wrong politics.
Divine dreams for who he knows how to liquefy. - He drifted Ulysses.
The neighbour makes an effort for to use what remains him of the vocal chords. Luckily the mind it collaborates.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (45)

Per moments the silence reigned. The seen moon of the only and small window seemed to float at random in the sky. He insisted on challenging, to show that the night is ephemeral, and only reminded because it launches hugs sleepy, hypnotic. Until a fearless warrior like Ulysses doesn't resist to the horizontal tumbles, of the bed without matrimonial spaces. Ulysses lives momentary in the sleep, in the eternal dream of a distressing Penelope. Mentor, mint the mint and it perfumes the words:
- That my friend's longings Ulysses. I see him, I know that it is a sweet dream. It is one more of their cunnings. You are you Ulysses… now I already understand because it felt the pleasant noise of the waves of the sea… that accompany us with his mysterious melody from being born to die. You are you the origin of the whelks, of that permanent whisper leaned to the ear, and forever unalterable.
- I am fed up with this life shit and of the humans, I only want to return for my immortal Penelope.

He saw her that Ulysses felt as stagnated boat. He wanted to navigate but it didn't get, because the rocks in earth are not compared to the of the sea. These are foreseeable, and the ones that are in earth has many unexpected tentacles. Good wind came Ulysses.
- To a lot of age he brings a lot of fatigue of many adventures. He arrived the hour of the rest. When Ithaca returns, I hope Penelope is not displeased when telling me I am not entitled to the old age pension, after so much to work, after so much to struggle, to fight and to fill the pockets of the other ones. That will be a great injustice. An entire work life… the old to arrive and not to have right the anything. Do they move the times? No! Who changes them, it is to increase the hunger that before existed, but now there are no seas that if they compare him. Always against the tide… of manners that I didn't see anything again, of bass, and to the surface of the oceans. A thing saw in earth, a thing that I never thought to see: the cruelty and the hunger increased so much, that nor Zeus can quantify him. Like this, what Zeus does forgive me and Apollo also… but with so much hunger, as it is that will have faith and to love my God?

It was noticed that Ulysses he filled the candles, awaiting winds of good feature to do to the candle, in the constant escape of the sea for earth, of the earth for the sea. There is Seaweed Sea, in earth there are many businessmen. Ulysses knows that the man's destiny is the inhumanity.
- The civilizations are seaquakes. They emerge and they submerge… they appear and they disappear. It is this the human being's tragic destiny. When he is born is inoffensive. Later, surrounded by the forces of the evil, I was instructed to destroy. They don't lack malefactors, teachers of the diabolical sciences. Never entrust the feelings to anybody, because in the times that run will be mocked. The human being only understands, he only answers with the language of the violence. He proclaims the damned extermination of the species, but nor all will perish. The wise person humanist will survive, later he will build a world new, free damned. Let to detest them, to reign on this time, because in the next flood they will never reign. When it appears in the horizon a white dove full of bright light, it is the sign for the armies of the darkness move forward. They will come with crosses of blood in their fabrics, and their swords will be invisible. A great terror will fall about the nations that they will be undone, and a great red lake, of the colour of the blood, will cover the surface of the Earth. The children will run to their mothers' encounter, and they won't find them. The birds will be spotted of red, nobody will escape from the divine fire.

He pleased me to call him apocalyptic prophet Ulysses, but I controlled. He feared that the fury of Achilles invaded him. Ulysses gives two violent punches in the table. They are heard the return of the shots and barking of the dogs. He laughs her, and speech for the waves of the moonlight, that flood the night of spread candles:
- Host, the beer flutters. Still in the lack a lot for us to arrive besides the profundities of the earth.

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The Epic poem of the Darkness (44)

Mentor brought a box of empty beer and Ulysses made comfortable in her. Mentor opened sardine cans and tuna. He screamed for the neighbour that had generator so that he brought fresh beers because he had companies home and that later would pay the bill. He asked him also to order one of the children to seek bread. There was a functional small table that it accommodated them live together. As the water always makes scarce, the empty preserve cans served as plates. After some bottles they have rendered the mental heating, they were abandoned in the rest of the tomb forgetfulness. Mentor approaches Ulysses:
- Ulysses… you… in earth?!
- My name is Odysseus! I don't know who was the stupid that invented that name. Was the Greek language depreciated? Ah!.. Those Latin ones with the habit of hiding the originality of the civilizations. They copy us and later they turn off us. As if we didn't exist in the time. Fortunately the archaeologists of the truth they exhume us, and they prove our maturity. The true History is now to be counted. Our gods are same to the actualise, they just changed of name. No matter how attempts do, they always end for retreating to the origins. It is that that he calls himself History.
I interrupted because I thought something was wrong.
- Ulysses, don't eat more sardines, the tuna is more digested.

He looked at us as if we were the mystery of the human nature. He showed the melancholy of the time passed in the wandering boats that they atrophied the destiny of her return, always in the treacherous seas
- It has been thirty years that I walk in this life. I miss my earth, of my Penelope, of my family. I think Penelope already arranged other. It costs me to believe that she tolerates the itches of the moonlight of the nights. The vaginal walls should be melted, because Venus contemplates her. I feel immense jealousies of the Venusians that adulterate Penelope, but my arrows will be well-aimed. When it arrives I will destroy that cursed planet. I will provoke the chaos in the solar system. Ah!.. But that divinities are these that separate husband and woman, that she delight horrifying the love! How can I love God above all of the things? If I have to choose among two divinities, God and Penelope, and as it is not me possible to love two entities at the same time, then rock, I want to love just one: forever I will love and I will dip in the divine nectar that God gave me. I won't make any sacrifice, because Penelope is my God of the love. She can eat myself, to banquet with my body, with my spirit, when and where him to steer for. When if act truly in the love, the body and the mind they are disappeared… they stop existing… ready! They pass for an ignored dimension. They are to live in the ethereal planet, and of him they don't want to leave. The body in the earth, and the linked soul by such a fragile umbilical cord, that an any bird babe in his first undecided flight can interrupt it. To love is the most powerful of the feelings. It is as an empire that at any moment collapsed. Where has immense power, immense fortress properly consolidated, the enemies are plentiful, they peep. The walls of the love are broken, they don't resist to the tragedy of the family bows. The love is condemned to navigate, to be transported, loaded, and to travel in the effort of the waves of the sea. And they beat every time with more force, they invade they run danger the safety of the nations. They notice that the love is returned, leaving what remains, after the invasion of the waters immeasurable earth inside. Then the cries, the sadness of the destruction of the pieces of the suspended gardens that covered with earth in the foreseeable flood. The vacancies when they arrive bring offers, and in the return they are accompanied by a great cosmic choir, they forget the offerings, they roll up, and as a gigantic hand that he closes, they still make last effort with a finger, and they take for the abyssal the bean of the human storm. Where has a lot of money there is a lot of injustice.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (43)

The small corridor in the centre of the cottage kept seven mint vases. I thought that it was because of the thieves. In simultaneous I looked at them and for Mentor that explained:
- As the mint it is very good for the breathing diseases, I bought vases and in them I planted her. She grew fast, it was attractive. The leaves they make green the freedom of the plants.

To middle of the night he woke up with the breathing oppressed that he reminded creakiness of cats. He got up, it went to one of the vases, and he picked enough amounts. He chewed her, it swallowed her and little later it felt better. The expectoration came out forced for the cough, the lungs aired and the breathing normalized.
He had a small garden and I noticed that some sparrows appeared. At once I counted eight. Peeping was very noisy but pleasant. Maybe they protested because they didn't have food. It relived in them the salutary Nature. I put them containers with rice and water. They came regularly, they ate, they drank and they went. In passing of the days, I notice that a sparrow ran with the other ones. I was surprised… because he took possession of the food and drink. When other sparrows appeared, he flew as a missile, and slash! He didn't want to share her private property.

He became used to my presence, it felt comfortable, but always suspicious. It recognized the area as a dog or cat. The chair where sat down didn't escape to the watch. It felt himself be of house.
He liked to observe the growth of the mint. In an early morning I verified constrained that it had almost disappeared, including roots. I didn't delay to find explanation. The other sparrows, furious because they were prohibited of if they feed of the friend's food, they took revenge in the mint… as if I was blamed.
I became furious, I removed them the rice and the water. I screamed them: "here no he has been eating more and drink for anybody". I Made him for revenge, resolved the never again to face ingratitude of wings.

The guest reappeared, she saw that the food disappeared, he peeped strident until getting tired. Immobile, he probably thought: "but, what badly did do?! “ Did he Repeat for four days, when did I notice with great surprise: It was not a, it was a pardaleja (female of the sparrow) that accompanied his little one that it began the handling of the wings. The baby spoke up to the wait that there any fell thing. The desperate mother pecked sand and she spilled her for the throat. But the baby didn't remain silent, he wanted truth food. I noticed… it was blackmail. The mother blamed me of the son's death for the hunger. I was pierced, I screamed them: she "arrives, I am bewildered!”
I remembered that the sparrows are as the hungry people. When they are hungry, they are valid any survival rules.
I dragged the vases for safe place, I replanted the mint. I put them regularly rice and water. Now, she has condition to feed the son. She leaves him located because she knows that it is safe. She gives some turns, who knows… maybe to discuss with the husband that dared to abandon the son.

The dogs and the wind howled nervous, fearful of the darkness that agitated the sounds of the silence of the night. Shots were heard once in a while. It was a melancholic nocturne of a fantastic symphony.
We heard meowing of cat in the street door following by scratches that they are going increasing of tone. Then barking of dog following by two punches. We were very attentive, expectants. Mentor sketches a square smile, he gets up and he opens the door quickly. He comes across somebody that brings a display case of sales. He doesn't demonstrate surprise, he had guessed who had arrived.
- Ulysses… it is not possible… do you sell her cellular phones!? Always with cunning!
- Clear… later it will be the president's of a political party disguise. I will demand the money that is me due, later I will finance a Greek armada to attack the Politburo. I will throw them arrows, where it hurts them more.
- He enters, he enters, and I will seek something for you seat yourself.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (42)

The long walk for Thule moved forward, it reduced the course. The youth's landscape Jingola that filled buckets with water to wash cars and to solidify the eatable faith, didn't get better. Young dainty they auscultated in the glasses of the cars and they changed impressions on the price of the meat. The safeties stayed leaned, leaning in the pillars. Others sat down in having improvised chairs.

Suddenly the atmosphere suffers storm. Two rude safeties manifest pain of the soul. One narrates for the friends the last events. He asks support, but the friends are limited to hear him, because to the minimum it slides lose the job.
-… The director of the company of the vanguard Politburo presented laments: He discovered that some reward disappeared of the safes. He goes then, anything easier than to blame the safeties. The obscure proselyte, which fossil hulk of Miocene ordered: "call the police Politburo". The police arrived, he gave them the necessary amount for the investigations and they acted immediately. They meditated for four safeties, they dragged us and they had fun a lot of hours the plated to give them with cutlass in the backs and in the faces. In an of them, the Politburo pulled him the nails of the fingers of the hands. Then they threw us for housing with the bones so kneaded that somebody remembered to say: "that bone paste gives to do elastic tablet."
- Mentor… is mental disease?
- Hum, hum. They promised those worlds and bottoms, the eternal happiness. In the beginning it is easy to abuse of the people's good faith, with many electoral promises that they get lost in the gales. Many dividends are removed, but with the time everything collapses. It is as the life imprisonment.

I was ahead in a street where was listened an ode to the automobile. Horns roared, they trumpeted metallic choir of harmony with human voices. He seemed really an immense mental hospital. So many raving mad to the free! Some erect fists were anxious fearsome. The explanation jumped to the view: an enormous abandoned container in the street obstructed the senses of the traffic. No car enters or he left. I satisfied my curiosity in a motorist:
- Is this street conditioned to park of containers parking?
- Not! The driver abandoned the container at five in the morning, and he continued… he set sail for the spree with the truck.
- And?..
- And how it belongs her a company of a Politburo, we cannot make anything… or else we took in the horns.

Mentor's cottage didn't pay the low attention when we arrived. He seemed that the wavy foils that covered the roof smiled with our presence. More foils zinc coating surrounded the cottage. Against them I sand him and the water of the close sewer rowed, they steered for uncertain destiny. Mentor opened the Gothic door and we entered. He diffused in a candle, he lit her. The shadows of the objects were revealed as ghosts. I took care when sitting down in a chair out of the flock. He had a vulnerable heel. I guarded against, I it carefully in the wall. Suspicious, if the structure would resist to the pressure. Mentor smiled, it presents explanations:
- You know, he doesn't give to have a house in conditions. Only the indispensable minimum, because when the attackers and the predators of the demolitions of the Politburo arrive, she doesn’t get to steal anything, they catch him fire. We assumed an obligation to live in the Gothic style. Light is impossible… at night appearances of ghost pliers that cut the figures of the immaterial cables are plentiful. He looks… we have to render attention to the candles, some seem that they explode.
Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (41)

A participant is shielded in the careful silence. He fears to speak because they can throw him the first gravel of the incompetence. Live together poke them him, then it clears the loss of courage of the throat, it refines the spirit, it is evidenced and it reproves the group of the it is all the same:

- Jingola wants to review the statutes of the hunger. The politicians speak bué, (very much) many assemblies, many debates, rains of words, drought to feed. Canine hunger of uncovered wind. The hunger overcomes the oceanic flows. The profits of the banks arise, the hunger also. Words… to give the statement for the not said and the wicked profits are covered with earth, victims of her cruelty. Political that raffle justification, all are gods, of those inaccessible ones.

The obstinate speaker felt the mouth glue. It was a disaccustomed effort, polluted for the powder convenient that flooded the buccal cavity. He requested mineral water, there was only removal of the property of mineralization due to the constants ebullitions. The throat was scratched, it was clogged, and it was congested. In the affliction any water serves. He made a whirlpool, a thrashed of sips. With the repaired throat the theme paraded.

- The feudal procession of the flow autumnal automobile, luxurious of the discredit actual, embarrasses the habitual soil of the mortal poverty. The vestals predict to the charmed princes that the king of the cannons will announce elections. They will be flagellated in 1132, 1133, and 1134. Deforested in 1135, 1136, 1137. Unaccustomed in 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. Awaited by Renaissance, abandoned for the Baroque. Our difference lives in that cannot have different ideas. Who is not prepared to govern, that will hunt… crows. He urges a good one enterprising that he screams: CAMERA! ACTION!

The generatrix of the ideas exposes the ideological fervour. He gets lost the moral sense, the good Samaritan is abandoned. The danger of the sectarian politics incites and it confronts the spirits, it encourages the immersion of civil conflicts. When one on the sides is against everything and all, the power jumps to the view. The anarchist’s omnipresence’s throw dust in the incautious eyes.

- Is there anybody what gets to flee of the protective custody of the cities? What doesn't of doing love get tired, always with the same woman?

- Elections, with billions? When the kindness sees herself and want… is ripple… the Orphans and the one of the Politburo are warlike, the election will be ruled to the blow, beating. If the Orphans win, the Politburo ties the game, they will turn the result. United with great businesses, won't give the backs the Midas. If the Politburo loses - they have to win - the military ones are there to solve, to decide the favourable contention to the Politburo. It is like this that he survives a warlike nation, with his eternal leader put in the clouds. With mystery air in the kept apart sea.

- The sword of the barbarism of suspended Urundi.

- For each gang of malefactors there is always a hero. As Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp, the pantheon of the history reminds them.

- In the history of the Western… cowboy

- In the laws of the History. The heroes are necessary, they enter in action and they restore the legality.

The fear of the cholera hurt the minds, it congested the public roads. The cholera is painful because the power doesn't sit down. It is dream of the day. The cunning of the mouth to mouth was interrupted. Updating of the agent of the cholera was radio broadcasted.

- Tolerate the cavalry! He will leave locution of the numbers epidemics.

- It changes for to Radio of the Oracle, the other makes discount.

- It is already! Let to radiate.

Radio Oracle. Numbers of the cholera… forty and two thousand infected and thousand and six hundred died.

More information with our correspondent:

… I miss each other in the desertus mirabilis. Boatman Charon has the controlled situation. It diverted a tributary of the river Estige that floods the desertus mirabilis. The victims are exceeded. The deceased’s progress with the alive ones. These, for us to escape from the fluids of Charon, they jump for the windows of the hospital, that it seems the angel of the death Mengele. The smell of the corpses is unbearable. There is more than one month that the local authorities keep silence. The cholera disperses as an invasion of grasshoppers. Who publishes information of what happens, the authorities threaten with tribunal ad hoc. When I speak to you, the Politburo sets up me guard. They say that will study me informative shock treatment. That furious times these. Ó of the guard! I say good-bye to the world.

- Mentor…

- My Jasmine, the cholera angers the spirit blind men.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (40)

I adjusted the binocular field. A journalist of physical weakness, but strong spirit, tried to appease an antagonist strong man. They were discussed and they were insulted. The journalist when running of the feather echoed that she had just given a light touch in the rear of the vehicle of the strong man. They were to be impassable, because the strong man didn't consent. To the opposite, he publicised that was formed in boxing by the most violent rings than they still subsist. Without feather, it shuffled the stubs brawny and it unseamed the fists of natural steel. To beat the steel in the journalist's intellect, that just knew to defend with pen and paper or portable computer. The words disappeared in the mind editorial. He lost the sense of the life. The strong man as caged animal no he relieved the victim. Tireless as programmed metallic machine to kill. Manual powerful they got to immobilize him when they turned off the main circuit breaker that it fed the inhuman machine. He felt fully accomplished because it hated journalists. He murdered a journalist for fifty dollars, that it was the price of the severe reproof. Triumphant, inclinable, it was cleared that just used the hands.

Jingola concluded the inaptness of the religion of the interior life. God expanded the sky and the earth, later it hired devil to create the Man. The wild animals live in the cities, the civilized animals in the jungles. They improve utensils, they invent, and they renew discoveries. New diseases, new epidemics appear. They are finished off more and more, with new weapons.
Alarmed, I certify that we didn't develop: we manufactured the children as set down in the physical anthropology. No we altered: we kissed each other and we caressed in the anthropology. There is nothing again in the cosmic egg.

Explorers of the robbery and of the death, I begin and end of the idealism subjective. Then, what usefulness does have the human being? To be born, to destroy, to kill. A tame lunatic nicknamed him Homo sapiens. The name correct is: Homo Credo quia absurdum, (Man has faith for being absurd). God is the Man's imagination. He only exists when necessary, he appears and it disappears. We always went and we will be pagan. It lacks in the courage for admitting.

When the information makes scarce with intention, the travelling oratories be speculative and they develop for street observatories. A figure event is told, with the time he becomes fabled, a myth. Jingola instituted street observatories, in the clandestine streets. Popularly, naturally, they called them observatories mouth to mouth. In an of these mouth to mouth, the speaker speculated that a simple plan without director would be enough for Jingola to park, to be well parked. It was sum of the prominent ones that they studied her degraded jurisdiction. Of having improvised pulpit and of contentious jurisdiction it is fenced:
- It is the moral relativism. Europeans recovered, they refreshed, after the secondary universal war. Reason!? Because it is constant the corruption a of the societies without a corruption economic plan. After the war economy, of toothpicks, driven, closed, informal, invisible, mixed, popular, old, uf!... AND of market… the one that we needed is to burst a great Plan Soldierly.

The listeners, systematic unemployed misunderstood him perfectly. They were born, the die-flower of the higher education
- Oh! There are almost fifty years that we are with that emergency plan.
- We lacked the information, of the refraction of the loss of intensity of the light of the backbone.
- I exasperate myself with similarities, unlikeliness.
- The quinquennial plan?!
- Yes! That same one, the one of Thursdays.
- Not! The triennial.
- The cowboy of going for a sloping plan.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (39)

Would happen what if we unmasked, we spoke, and did we open our soul? To do the invisible, visible? There is a lot of superstitious fear. The people live in another world possessed by the religious cults.
The History is filled of holy wars, of exterminations, of liberation cults. All assure us, they are liberators. Then because we continued oppressed? Because they are not liberation wars. They are wars of continuation of the oppression.

During many years of my life taught me that the other people were late, uncivilized. They needed the magical food of the Christian faith, of the paradisiacal transport. They would be freed of their gods, they would ignore the cruelty, shadows, darkness of the demoniac paganism. In consonance the politicians invade in the better life, and the religion promises to live us in the eternal paradise. But when an I am governed he doesn't take the responsibility before the citizens in the minimum provisioning of water, it shines, food, foils of zinc to redo lodging and some clothes that is slavery. Comparing the times, the modern ones crossed the old ones. He never happened in the History so much slavery, submission, spoliation as now.

Colonized autochthonous Jingola were freed. Their liberators bled the colonial end and slavery defender. Soon afterwards as ships scouts they overflowed the humanization of the History. Submitted to the modern laws of the new slavery, to the laws of the unalterable hunger, to the laws of the epidemics that accompany her. It is the destiny of the people, the frustration of the History. Isolated as island lost somewhere in any ocean, awaiting the salty death. Regimes of suspended exception in actions unconstitutional, business, free actions. There are no citation orders, there are penal mandates. The business power is occult, fearful. Ruler that doesn't walk for the middle of his people is unpopular, apprehensive.

The galloping tuberculosis enrolled in the picture of the epidemics. In the hospital the available places are insufficient. In spite of some new focuses, the cholera, was said, no longer had it scared. It equips her doctor affirmed that it would be extinguished in the next five years.

This is world of dinosaurs, stone beings with minds of incoherent sources that they disable the validity of the light natural, cerebral. Hollow of line it lasts, they are fished with fishhook in his insanity. Shocks are prescribed in the dark fabrics but, the encephalons insist that we submitted of his uselessness… perfectionists of the Murphy's Law. Lacking, believers in the for life power stay skeletal to the death, to disorder. They don't use the guilty conscience, they don't advance young substitutes' formation. They become tired in the demagogic creation of jobs, in the opportunities to the rejuvenated grey mass. The bridges tumble, the one of the power no.
The most powerful man and the weakest man don't have the same importance. The weakest man is more important, because at any moment it drops the most powerful man

My best friend is the silence of the odor of the embalmed forest sanctity, of the admitted laments, convinced. My enemies are the four horsemen of the apocalypse: the real estate speculator, the lawyer, the financial speculator and the agent mortuary. But, my largest fear is to be burned by heresy.
We believed, we defended resolutions, revolutions, and later we let to crawl in the current of the hateful poverty
They educated me, they taught me, they re-educated me that the Western civilization is superior. Later I discovered with lonely smiles, the all was harmed. I didn't produce statues or other works of art because my beauty, the purism in my ways, are rebirths for the artists lovers of the superiors primitivisms. My civilization is inferior in the technology, but it is superior in my other impression of nascent sun.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (38)

- Mrs., it passes two bombs there.
They are two transparent sacks of plastic. Very visible capital letters jump: Bad Whiskey. 43% volume. Fast, they spilled the drink for the stomach tunnel. The lyricism invaded them. They unstuck more two sacks that capsized. The repressed desires extravasated.
- Shit shovel! This shit is too much!
- Prostitute that gave birth to him!
- Hum, if somebody me annoying, we will be killed!
- He pleases me a pistol shot!
- Me also!
- We will toast!

The words skimmed buccal us before quiet servants of the strange goods. The insolence confused them.
- Ó lady, pumps more two. We paid tomorrow.
- Are they already admired, destabilized, the eyes… won't they reassure the company?
- I want there to know of the company!
- We will lean in the fourth world of the past, in the present, without future.

My last ones follow the habitual rhythmic rhythm of the fight continues… of singing of José Afonso:

Ó cheerful singer
What is of your happiness?
You have so much to walk
And the night is so cold

Moral degeneration is seen as inevitable in the absence of social control’s against greed and competition. William Golding

The man learned how to dominate, to worsen, it tied the Nature. He judged her as a bank of limitless bottoms. Drafts, drafts to lost bottoms. Finally he abandoned her, he got divorced, and he doesn't want to love her. The Nature dominates the man, he appears in her as harmful plant. He is the plus, it is not part of the it equips. God created the men for diversion. He smiled, sells them be exterminated with the weapons that everyday invent. With hypocrisy invented the hope, the continuous wait of the death. They say loaded of deep cruelty that is her finishes thing that remains. It is the cruelty without limits. They kill and later they regret the deads.

Oh, this longing, this sadness of the whiteness of the lost Nature.
For something so many sophisticated instruments, she are enough to observe ants to foresee the asperities of the time that in the it doesn't calm us.
I misunderstand reason the human beings are always very busy. It lacks them time to observe a tree.
The religions are passed, nothing else has to unsay, and we have that substituting for those that love the Nature.
The boast very powerful: will we work, to live, to live together daily with the hypocrisy and the swindle? It is not possible cruelty like this! We have to refute, to return to the habit, to rescue the insolvency of our survival. To struggle before the evening. The cleaning of soul of the Nature periodically destroys the men. It saves some to resume the cycle of leaving the circus to catch fire. The elements of the Nature become aware: "suddenly they retake the multiplication, a never ends, they will harass, to commit the previous atrocities filed in the déjà-vu. All is enough, we put an end to them."

Image: Angola em fotos

Groom to say 'I do' four times at once

The man who will be exchanging vows with four brides simultaneously today says his wedding was a "well-thought cost-cutting exercise" rather than a record-seeking stunt.Milton Mbele, 45, the municipal manager of the Indaka local municipality near Ladysmith in KwaZulu-Natal, is set to wed four women all at once today in a Christian wedding followed by a traditional ceremony tomorrow.Speaking to The Independent on Saturday ahead of his quadruple nuptials, which have made headlines across the world, the traditional polygamist said he could not wait for the biggest day of his life.

"It was a matter of negotiations, really," he said of how he managed to get the women to agree to wed him all at once. "I don't know what the future holds for me with them, but I am very excited about this, not just because it hasn't been done before, but because I believe in it."
His brides, Smangele Cele, Thobile Vilakazi, Zanele Langa and Happiness Mdlolo, will share the stage in a wedding that has courted controversy and excitement alike.The festivities, which will cost Mbele R100 000, will be held in Weenen and the traditional ceremony at nearby Nhlawe.Mbele said he had thought about marrying just one wife 10 years ago, but later came to the realisation that he might be "tempted" to take more.

"I initially thought of just two wives," he said frankly. "But then I met the third wife and decided instead of marrying them one by one it would make sense to cut costs, so in 2005 I told each of them about taking four wives all at once."It would take another four years, though, to finalise the finer details of the plan.Although Mbele agrees his marriage to his four sweethearts - aged between 22 and 35 - is rather unusual, he doesn't see anything wrong with it."This is my tradition and it can't be wrong," he explained."I have been waiting for this moment for a long time. I have had sleepless nights preparing for this. It wasn't so difficult convincing all the wives to agree to it... each knew of the others in my life."But Mbele is aware that having four wives under one roof might be a headache, so he's going to put them up in their own homes to avoid conflict. And, asked how he intends handling the competition among them for his attentions, he would only say: "I will cross that bridge when I get there"."You know... like a lizard if you cut its tail... wherever it points to that's where I will be going depending on the mood. I will accommodate all of them, though, as I have already in the past few years."
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The Epic poem of the Darkness (37)

He is printed shooting. The alley is forced, it is affected with the personal and impersonal quarrel. Disordered them jump as rabbits in the demand of the burrow, pursued by hunters of the close season. You, to the irritated cry out slanderer:
- Ah, already the politics Politburo arrived!

The pursuers of the ideals of the law, born men, grown, educated, and with historical shootings continuous always baptisms, callous in the index fingers, they move as taut cats of jump on the mice. The official, erected, it levels the devotion of the speed reading of the law underneath. He has the habit of asking. Without questions, without interrogations it is not possible to accomplish the law. He interrogates Teresa Maka that is with the reborn hope.
- Is that stupefying one drugged?
- It is… it is!
- Is the shooting like this reason?
- When it cocks, he says that it is liquidated.
- Didn't it still kill himself? It is feather!

The police are oases, pleasant, very suitable in safe trenches. They don't attempt offensive. Teresa Maka is exasperated:
- They are stressing me, move forward, pick him!!!
- Are you crazy ó something? I don't want to be bleated!
- Ah, are you afraid of the pistol shot after all?!
- Absolutely!... Yes… no… it is not that… we are to the wait that the brute becomes distracted, or fall asleep, later we filled him with holes. We guaranteed that has the counted time, won't remember the register from birth. He will remember the day in that he died.

Mentor, social and religiously it appreciates factual:
- It is the civilization of the candy in the execution of his destiny. The easiest that it exists, and they are not necessary courses, schools, universities… it is to carry in the trigger. Our civilization and our lives just depend on a finger leaned in the trigger of a weapon. They are the weapons that decide our future. Any of us takes a risk to every moment in the bad road. Without humanism the life doesn't have sense. Our gold dreams, wanted, they disappear in the longings of an any with any weapon.

Where many safeties have is because there is a lot of insecurity. They are human statues erected to hold what is stolen, what doesn't feel to the hungry persons. I stopped two of them close to, I heard edifying dialogue.
-… I filmed everything! They ordered me there to do emergency service on that night.
- It puts in the play.
- Shit! Cost to accept.
- Oh, he speaks there mine!
- I never thought to be sounded out of tune like this.
- What thing? I am already anxious!
- It was at the Island of Luanda… couples… of husband and woman. They stood back, to put the foot in the highway, as lions horns that attract the hunt night owl. The cars stopped with lynx eyes, they purloined a, the husband scrubbed the hands of happy, it acclaimed happy: they "already took mine! They already took mine! ". When the other if it pleased, it was with luck, the consort rejoiced: "Today I will fit in beer! ". They made very fasts the social service, and they stored in the husbands.
- Hey! Hey! Well done! We believed in the promises of the Politburo… we will become bored of settlers.
- Ho My! New settler’s new languages.
- And do they know how to speak our language?
- Not! We have to learn her language.
- And will we have time to study so many languages?!
- For something? We have the corporal language.

To boil the sorrows of the nervous system central they conspired in a transparent drink that a salesperson she made corner.

Image: Angola em fotos