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.

terça-feira, 20 de outubro de 2009

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

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