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.

sábado, 31 de outubro de 2009

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

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