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.

domingo, 17 de janeiro de 2010

The Epic Poem of the Darkness (102). My atmosphere, the daily existence is a constant film of terror of Stephen King

We want to be colonized again

He had a friendship strengthened with him, since it arose to minister didn't go more recognized. We are treacherous, we betrayed ourselves

In these you vacate marine am unrecognizable
African when it arises in the life is the sky, it is God in the clouds
He changes the friends, it despises the friendship for a vulgar brilliant automobile, accompanied of women and whiskey bottles
We went back to the ruins of our temples
We resigned in the expectant ones in the tradition of the African hamlet, of the quilombo (fortified camp of the jagas, design. attributed to the people that invaded Congo and Angola in the end of the century XVI.) In Dictionary Houaiss
We became used to the hunger, to the poverty and here there are no stairways to arise
It is always to go down. The ground moves to the wait, in the meat it dries deteriorated
In seeking in the containers of the garbage the peels that remained of the banana plantations
And they got that our children remained genetically modified astonished.

When they arrive, after the storm wine cellar, of the mixture of liquors, they offer us just tobacco: "Mother, do you want a cigarette?”
After they exceed, badly they love, they spend what won
with partners lovers that got off the clouds of the night
With the names forgotten in cataplasm. Being served as the Bible with slander:
It is written: youth amuses you". They reinforce: My clock doesn't have hours, it wasted the time in the nights fed up with the alcohol"

We can in the dark nights to be clear, transparent in our dialogues
Then the dark nights can be clear
As they are strange and unfathomable a woman's loves

They were born at a place, somewhere in any street
He gives in learned to polish shoes to survive
Quickly he adapted, he learned the art of stealing
She gives in learned to sell his body to survive
She didn't waste a long time. She specialized in offering, in giving pleasure to the men
Sex is an art!
Later, he finished their days to face, to find
a candy well-aimed policeman. He left like this, it was not gotten right, he ignored that at least could be happy
She later was invited by a great friend
AIDS, for an eternal meeting
She died, it lost the immunity of the happiness, convinced that it was happy
The youths today come across the misfortune
Bum! Bum! The sound of the bullets loaded of gunpowder

Alive in the roofs of the cottages of the failed states
I don't have anything, I cannot defend the homeland
To care for what doesn't belong me. When I have difficulty to sleep
I listen to the politicians of my Angola. I receive the effective medicine for my insomnia of the prison, prisoner in my country
The colonial structures were left, it was everything done, and nothing was just continued: To "destroy everything that belongs to the settler"
It is not enough to have the wealthy safes, if the minds were not educated for providing. They become exhausted and it is pled to the divine providence. To trust the stagnation:
There is "a lot of money! Everything will do again! It is one more barrel of petroleum! "
We cannot industrialize our agriculture because we are illiterate
We have many dismissed. The views short colour-blinds, confuse the tractor with a human being
My atmosphere, the daily existence is a constant terror film
of Stephen King


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