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

The Epic poem of the Darkness (36)

- Mentor, before here to fall wet the feet in the library of Spleen. I Read texts on Jingola that they surprised me. I summarized them:
Jingola hate the people, they compare them to dogs and cats because they dislike these encourage. They like mice, of the sorcery, of virus and ghosts. They learned how to not to trust in anybody. The one that more hates is her shadow. Affirm that it is a terror. Convicts, say that they invented her, they discovered.
- Hum! Any in his millenarian superstition sees shadows in her everyday one. It is as getting up very early, to go for the work and to return the house at night. Billions of human beings they turned off the marks that their brains atrophied. They don't get to think, and they are attempted, there he appears the message in TV, because it is the first thing that they do when they arrive the house. The message is unalterable: lie down, because tomorrow it is day of work. Get up, it is time to go for the work. They exemplify with an American that affirms: I was born to enrich as entrepreneur, or to be a famous man, working a lot gets him. They omit that him little or nothing slept, and that it ended in the psychiatry, in the psychology with pain of the soul, or he died from heart attack. They are libraries of dynamic connection, they arrive to the work with a built-in chip in the brain. Very submissive as the opposition Jingola, don't inconvenience, they don't think. If some gets to remove the chip, he begins to think, he riots… demanding better thought conditions. It is accused soon of senzaleiro (badly educated) of the ideas incendiaries, no patriot and judged briefly and for a sent gulag.
- Of revolt like Ulysses in a marine gulag, because Penelope transcends the love. Ulysses will love in the turn of the sea.
- When going and to return of the work in the sea confused, countless irreversible hours they are granted to the traffic automobile. And to get up at four o'clock, five of the morning… those hours are not paid. The worker begins to work as soon as he gets up of the bed, that should be pay.
- Don't they pay reason?
- Because just four classes exist in the society. President, minister, director and the… Lemures.

In the slave quarter, the senzaleiras are snuffed. Them and the mice shipwreck in the smallness of the alley. A senzaleira without time to scratch, is leaned in the remaining fencing. She adjusts the crisp hair, it arranges the cloth, it expels the flies with the mateba (broom). She appeals excited:
- That my shame God! The mammy's Ó caçulinha (the newest of the children) brings the brush and the toothpaste! I will interview in the radio!
To super-woman's speed the decayed teeth are brushed. The toothpaste didn't accomplish her mission because it was not noticed change in the dental whitish. It was of I manufacture idle. The reporter beat with the foot in the ground, pressed by the studios that wanted and they didn't know if they should spill the sack of the publicity for the vacuum. The lady tops the breath renewed in the microphone.
- Ready! I can bite!
- My lady, good morning!
- Yes, good morning!
- As he calls himself?
- Teresa Maka (fight).
- So much commotion, reason?
- Since the morning four that we are with this, more we didn't get to fall asleep.

Image: Angola em fotos

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

The Epic poem of the Darkness (33)

- The Orphans!!! The Orphans!!!
Four of them expedite are locked of a zungueira, they tell him to restore the earthen pan full of little cakes as before in the ground. They are served comfortable until the earthen pan to empty, they turn back in search of new arrested. Some fertile ones in leadership they faded and they got to deceive them. After the raid, they join and they ask the poverty for bills. Next days will be added to the martial law of the hunger. Of sorrier look and lighter earthen pans they get ready to dig. To resell and to eat they will have to convince backers that it won't be easy: are "you crazy of the head, didn't you still pay the one what owes, and do you want more?” they will defend: he only "lends friend, I am going paying the ultimatum little by little": I don't "have more money, shit!”

The human jungle is the most treacherous, the most dangerous, in her, valley-everything. Every second a danger peeps. New dangers, new cruelties. More attentive predators for us to jump, they hit. Uniform Mabecos (African wild dog) are planted in the sand dune, they recite bestial. New panic, renewed affliction:
- They are thieves Politburo!
- Sisters, we are going bazar! (to flee)
- How then!? Did they empty us!
The escapes of the previous arm disguise. The convincing doesn't give, the guards healthy Politburo very alive, cangam (they arrest) the necessary escapes of the marabunta. They object, they know that in vain:
- Moxi, (one) the Orphans. Iadi, (two) you. They are going in those of the grocery stores!
- Absolutely! We patrolled for there, negative we were. We won badly, even so they don't pay us. The hunger makes an effort us to the combat ration.
- They are going in the salu (work) of the Politburo!
- Hey shovel! Where has hunger… he survives who can!
- Jiboiados, (to digest meal) crooks, ordinary of shit!
- It shuts up, we sacked you in the prison correctional.
- Is the something? With my baby?
- Absolutely.

The cheerful samurais of the law adapt photogenic for the race. The boss gives order. He would plate her, the wheels, whistle sandy. There space of eyes in the division of the spoils. The unlucky ones are remained in the silence of the curses, while the wheels of the cruelty space far away from the view, far away from the heart. The hollow laments repeat:
- I lift iron at four in the morning without discontinuing, to walk in the moon of the foggy fight continues. We gave them the power, they prohibited to read us, in the distance without eating.
- Friend, is the upstarts' of the fairy tale philosophy anti-humanist, and of their slow sad songs: "Par excellence when levitating in the morning I decide: which will sand today? If he doesn't do him, they disrespect me, they lose me the respect, I am not boss. A real prince to all the force, it should strangle the life of somebody else. Salutary, tasty it is to destroy the destiny of the one that aspirate live. To obtain good businesses it is important to annihilate the friends."

My long day happened taken care. Flies, garbage, puddles of dirty waters, holes and Orphan attackers to the peep. To Radio Oracle update the numeral furious: Forty thousand infected, and thousand and five hundred died.
I noticed, I stood back, I held myself. I saw somebody appear in a third floor, and slash! The content of an earthen pan is shot. That appearance! It is water with fish remains. I look again upward, I see the desert. The shooters are faster than the wind. They make releases as in the game of the hidden ones. They are fine as mice in the dawn. They are discouraged to know well or certain, is easier like this. In the balconies they prepare the food, they are disordered in lying down the water it dirties in the sink. They choose the lazy road. The septic blockage is in the Medium Age. Everything doors the out.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (32)

- Church without miracles doesn't make sense. The believers live, they need that. They walk on embers, they lost the judgement. As guideless convoys, lost without stations, alighting-places, without whereabouts. As avalanche dries from stones to roll for mountain, that we welcomed, promised the paradise. Beings in such conditions believe in any thing.
- Contracted workers for the factory of the Mister. Manufacturers of tithes.
- Is it to play or something?! Does he Look that one don't play with the Scriptures, and much less with Jesus' saint name! That is us very sacred!
- Colonialism, neo-colonialism, there is no difference. He differs in the seedlings of the volatile capital.
- What is the one that he said?!
- That the mythomaniacs are equaled.
- It is that! There is no faith without melomaniacs. A very tuned superb organ puts the believers in ecstasy. Don't wonder that I don't know reason, nobody knows... as the love.
- Nobody knows…
- Truly nobody knows how to explain to it. We knocked on that stranger's good door with the religion, the vain believers in the conversation and we made money on behalf of the love.
- Removing advantage of the instinct of conservation of the species.
- Yes! Yes! The factory love with the convinced believers that are labour… that work for the love. We are not different from the other ones. To win money with the human superstition began in the Earth with the first humans. We are just smart bosses. We woke up to explore the past and the next future. Mine to see not there is any revolution to finish with us. When they revolutionize, in the beginning we are expelled, spoiled, martyred, impaled. Finally, criminals of everything. Then the rage dismays. We embodied with energy, more powerful. Extremely we negotiated very well with the religion. Without a doubt, it is the most tempting business. Inexistent costs, the believers support us. It is the best business and sponsored by God. In a flash we are customers VIP of a bank. It is the dolce vita.
- And the absentee Voltaire when it is reincarnated, do the biblical foundations collapse?
- Very easy! We creaked to the believers that the false prophets arrived. They snatch us.
- And if it doesn't result… counter-revolution?
- We formulated: Ab hoc et ab hac, that means: for here and over there: indiscriminately. We are going in the insurance, we held the faucets of the clean sources govern… so that Dat veniam corvis, vexat censures columbas, that translated he says: The censorship saves the crows and it pursues the doves.
- Do the temples of the memoirs consent mute, will we keel over without change?
- Seemingly they change, but actually not. They are constantly invented new technologies that say to be appropriate for the human. Surprisingly the more sophisticated they are, the poverty, the hunger accompanies them. I am nowadays with the certainty that I never saw so much slavery, as many silent deaths as. If there are not changes, the future skeletons will be filed in the encyclopaedias of other civilizations. They will be found, studied, as an ignored species that went by the Earth. The investigators of the future times will work a lot to discover, to explain, the enigma of this human phenomenon.
- That the sects cooked in the bread of the spirit
- Clear! It is the attribute of the religious sects. It is known by more than one person at night all of the cats are brown. A visionary wolf coins any cult, he puts in the pockets and he sees entrepreneur. Is taking advantage of the religion success for a lifetime does he know reason?
- He/she makes to yield the fish!
- Tax-free.
- He would give good priestess, but it doesn't please me.
- In Veni, Vidi, Vici, there is place for itself, does it accept?
- Not!

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (31)

- Are authentic relics… archaeological discoveries?
- Saint relics, object’s of our miracles. The inventive Foundation the discovered.
- Bishop, are they blessed?
- We blessed everything. That reliquary was blessed by me.
It diffused in a flask of olive oil and it explained his mystery.
- With the olive oil we taught: it was he that anointed Jesus, came from the Holily Land. We saved expenses joining him oil. The water looked for it in the closest river.
- As they get to attract believers that produce terrible shouting, as if they praised the trumpets of the Apocalypse?
- We boomed the square because they lost the ears. They are deaf due to the merrymakings of the lost nights. The neighbours, the few that have audition, are right that we didn't let to sleep them.
- And when do they protest?
- When they judge us, we announced them the excommunication. We reinforced that they serve Demo. It is very important to maintain the superstition in this rabble. They are as sheep, they restrain easily… as the mary-go-with-they-other ones. I tell them: get happy, be noisy because they will win the freedom of conscience.
- And when in the cult they are sick with headaches, satiny nervous system, to break out of stress?
- They believe piously in our words. They are high heaps of the superstition, stupidity… foolishness.
- Wind business in stern, Bishop.
- I prefer no to set to music that psalm, as friendship whispers him that alone we made money in tithes, four thousand times a hundred, it had been the donations.
- Accumulation world, Episcopal.
- Veni, Vidi, Vici.
- The spring flies for Portugal, Brazil.
- To the Eden! I don't trust the Politburo. There is the danger of the elections with a lot of hidden fraudulency. I fear that are to return at the old times of the monotonous combats that the Greeks began in the Bay of Aulis.
- And the miraculous cures of the headaches, of the belly, of the teeth, infertility, to arrange job, it marries, husband…
- Easy, it is necessary to have faith, there is no evil that it always lasts.
- The faith… is to cure toothache miracle?
- It is yes gentleman! Put an end to the candies. The time starts to bite chocolate, we ordered that they stop, the pain passes, they admit that it was a miracle.
- And the head's blowouts?
- We praised for us not to hear very high music, except in the church. The noisy international conspiracy, terrifying of the music, he atrophies the brain, he stops working, the cure appears.
- And the bellyaches?
- It is stormy to convince them that stop eating funje (manioc flour) during one days. Gotten, guaranteed cure.
- And the clang of a bell infertility?
- The male man rejects convict that she is blamed. The dear, stunned with you whine believes that God abandoned her. The male home neighs that it puts her out of house if the belly doesn't dilate, that easily the change for other. We dialogued, we sent the husband for our medical position… it is already! The abandoned ones are fanaticized, word that was an outstanding miracle pass.
- And the job? That is a great miracle!
- We allured a believer entrepreneur, the job is guaranteed. The superstition that Jesus made a super miracle.
- To hunt wife, husband…
- They enter for there, they do dribble, some passes, solve that among them. They find husband, they find woman.
- Church Veni, a lot of creeper, miracle maker.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (30)

There are more religious sects than sowed fields. Endless sowings without farmers. A lot of seed, few farmers. The religious sects don't teach to cultivate fields, they live of the believers' hunger. Sects with surprise churches. The voices of the followers they collapse, the heads and the hearts break as basements. Mens divinior, the divine influx! I remembered this, because I approach my friend's house, Bishop Eden. He is a sovereign well. Dictate the bridge of the postulate of his social brotherhood: "The churches grow proportionally to the amount of existent illiterates". There are rich suitcases, followers decimated, prepared. A lot of manna of the obsessed ones, that well used in the agriculture-livestock would extirpate the material hunger of the exodus. Of certainty that arrived, it is already here. I will listen to him, to reverence him.

Bishop Eden prayed at a mansion that was her reserved extensively. Offensively wall and reinforced with safeties. Always the to work, to enlarge spaces. To drop walls, to build other because the borders expanded. Approach or ignored interference was fatal adventure. Some soul-harmed they tried to profane the shrine, but you hide video cameras always vigilant, they filmed them the inglorious moments. The end, in a hole of ignored earth, that it strengthens the alive ones and it collects the deads.
Shy, face the face with a cautious safety with the hand in the gunstock of the pistol, that insinuates to jump of her thigh. I relive the image of the nostalgic time of the Border, later transported for films. He felt cowboy of the western, hero of the western. The safety defended with habitual distrust.
- Thanks to who?
- With Bishop Eden.
- Name of the identity ticket?
- Jasmine of the Night.
- Quiet down one moment.

The gate of bars of steel spaced. I ventured for the interior, and the gate rested intramural. It arrived me a twinge of indisposition. Two dogs move of warning, they bark. They impose frozen respect, they seem pure wolves. The sanguine pressure of my heart stabilized, when I assured that the canid, was harnessed, controlled by safeties. Before the entrance door, to the left, I spy an enormous cross cemented with the registration: THAT GOD LISTENS TO YOU!

I entered in an enormous room, and they informed me that the venerable would not delay. I sat down to observe the atmosphere. There were a lot of images of saints and crosses that seemed to do part of a collection. Everything in dimness to impregnate the suggestion of mysticism. The priest with mask divine, of shiny appearance as if it has just gone down of the sky, he toasts me:
- Ó Jasmine of the Night! Welcome mine!
I got up mentally blessed. I let my smallness to appear, before so much pastoral greatness. We congratulated ourselves with parsimony. He throws me the probe:
- Do you come in pilgrimage?
- I seek the lost paradise.
- It is that element that misses the church. Hum, hum, a lost paradise that it returns to Eden that pleases me a lot. Great… the Church Veni, Vidi, Vici, and Bishop Eden bless you.

My attention went to a shop window with fragments of bones, olive tree leaves, remains of Jesus Christ's tunic, olive oil, water, earth, remains of wood of crucified Jesus' cross. It was a museum of the study of Christ. For poor it devotes like me, it constituted a plot that inspired to unmask, to clarify, to enter in the occult religious person.

Image: EL PAÍS

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The wind sowed the dust of the cathedrals of flotation constructions. New Deal, project new life, new race to the gold man. A lot of money, a lot of bank redundancy. To destroy, to build, to destroy. To build a tree is more difficult, it is easier to build a building. I felt beginning of inflammation of the conjunctive ones. With medicine appetite I entered in a drugstore. In the bottom of the counter, the pharmacist talks indolent with a customer. They are young, they seem to disguise, to date. I also disguise and I travel the display case until getting to hear the conversation. The youth she accelerates, it shakes himself, it goes up the tone of the voice.
- I am not entitled to the job reason?!
- He knows…
- Do I know the something!? Did I Pass in the admission tests. They ordered to come to the service today, and here I am.
- You don't understand the things.
- I repeat! I am not entitled to the job reason?!!
- You know… if you went more clearly… you would have the job.

She lifted a hand in the intention of dismissing a plated. She hesitated, it harnessed, she was absent frightened her. To shed tears in the exit door, she made an effort the vocal chords.
- That not! That not!
I prepared myself with the medicine and I met again myself in the street. I came unfastened of the illicitness of the contrary winds.
- That God helps us! Again Nero will set on fire Rome and it will blame the Christians!

In the summit of an antenna four birds of prey they await tide of roses. Some distracted pigeons fly close. Two plundering raise flight, they prepare winged village. They hover sly, the pigeon fancying/breeding detect them they are to the window.
The zungueiras (women that sell in the streets) in single line spread fervours, they seem in their litter for carrying religious images. They are young appetizing that they study in the streets of the parallel universities. They carry books of gold, liquids in their pots. Immense lines of vehicles wait, they despair. The stations of supply of fuel are insufficient. I approach the great sewer.

It is noticed that was an extensive street. He is an immense to make a fuss of, mire. Well nurtured, fed without royal responsibilities. They set afloat garbage remains. Colonies of caterpillars colonize, they make atmosphere. The thankful entomology promotes the social development of the species. A truck newcomer parked, it knocked down with the back wheels aimlessly. He got to swallow in the estate crater-shaped. His driver learned with King David: "the abyss fire the abyss". The gear seemed one of the rivers of the Hells.
- My Mentor… is Apocalypse Now version?
- No… it is our sea of the existence.
- Without waves? Without fishermen?
- The street was cleaned up four times. They instructed as she should live at a building. The renters make merchant's ears. The sanitations got tired, they abandoned us to the luck. It lacks ignition for these things and slates. They are vernacular, primeval venatic. They are used of that as revenge stratagem. They own the morbid pleasure of the destruction.

Image: Angola em fotos

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- You will see much more. He looks, sleep her main it is full of ignored corpses. They already divulge that Caronte, the boatman of the Hells, is Midas. The false doctors that the Politburo negotiated, give great support Caronte.

Very notable aptitude that Jingola has for the poetry, as a misfortune collective. In the moulded walk, distanced, I hear them lively of enlarged yawns, pompous.
- Do they already run profits in your book of poems?!
- They still didn't supply recruiters.
- It turns you easy, it eulogizes the facts of the Politburo.
Or:
- I supervised four hundred poems, don't get to deceive them, to publish them.
- I also agonized more than thousand, poetry of the combats… I don't know if you are to see!
- Hum, hum!
- If it publishes a poetry book, I will be electing of Handwriting Politburo's Academy. The young’s will satiate with lewdness, me same. I will be flattered, admired, envied by my friends. In the churches they will peal bells, because one gave birth to a great writer change. I will make a heraldic important person. My literary name will be recorded in the toponymy. The street where I was born will call herself Collapses the Poet.
- Ah! … The poets such different healthy Jingola, as indifferent daggers.
- I disagree! Our poetry is celebrated in the imported daggers, spit, frustrated of corruption. Braked but combative, we delayed convincing. It didn't still set sail for there of the Columns of Hercules, because in the lack time of cleaning the accumulated blood in the night of the real times.
- Of the feet to the head, victorious poetry and concordant defeats.
- Until seeing!
- To firm foot!
- He leaves a debated gloss, declaimed, my vainglorious steed librarian's.

The black gives hope dismounts
She blunts first legs fresh infinite
unusual
Illuminated for whitening accent
Of his bikini heartless, armed and equipped
Heated, transparent of having sweated

Look! She executes anxious around
Maybe that somebody amazed to it undermines her
Be delighted, peep her
Nothing happens. They got tired, they were disordered
In the habitual amnesia lacunar, to stab
Fugitives, outlawed of the Black it Gives hope.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (27)

Answer of the Radio Oracle:
After having consulted, the Oracle revealed us:
Paraphrasing the perfume opiate, still Marxist of Bertolt Brecht, we matched: There are rulers that are corrupt in one day, and they are good. There are other rulers that are corrupt during one year, and they are better. There are other rulers that are corrupt for many years, and healthy very good. But, there are other rulers that are corrupt a lifetime… those are the indispensable ones. They move the climates, move the storms. Everything is composed of hurricanes.
Penetrated greetings.
Committee.
Jingola, 9 Termidor.
Year of the emission of our Radio the whole Kingdom.

The bridge she projected praiseworthy magnitude. Under, a crowd of human pillars looked with altitude. In the board on top, a young one mimed, it distended the hands continually. They arrived, they joined more glances. They felt reminders and hunches. To explain reason, nobody got, he knew. Somebody more meddlers soured that he was crazy, drugged. An suggestion was the sure that was an actor, that filmed a scene for the national soap opera, habitual of Jingola. He slowed down the noddings, it elevated the hands to the sky and in priesthood it nailed the vanity of the truth:
- I went a great fighter, always to the last moment. I don't swallow this poverty life, of hunger, because I see the Politburo eat it everything. Until a little island, that there in Futungo (Neighborhood of Luanda, presidential residence) the daughter of the FAMILY will buy (?). is he Truly now… that is what is the true colonialism, the other was of playing. Because… I don't get to study, there is no job, I was run by Chinese that ended now of leaving the caves. The Politburo they destroy us the lives, they cut us the longings, the wings… ó singular despair! Boatman Caronte waits for me. I won't have anybody to put me the coins in the eyes.

Then it stretched out the head and the arms well, it elevated them, he spoke for the heights.
- Ó you that live in your palaces, surrounded by the days, nights and for starved safeties. Watched by thousands of warriors that protect you of the fears. Childbirth for Flegeton… there we will meet… and we will roll in their fire waves.

The human amount seemed a habituated assembly, inhabited for the almost might centennial middle, bees in a beehive. The commentators of the everyday spread news. This function is them attributed briefly. He is entitled of if they don't silence.
- Ih, ih, that soap opera is linked too much, I won't leave that it cools.
- That is propaganda Carnival, electoral of the Politburo.
- Our eternal Politburo doesn't need that… it already won the elections.

The youth altered the posture, he silenced for the crowd. It caressed with the hands to say good-bye. Then it glued them in the heart, and to it pricks was for the acceleration of the gravity to sink in the eternal abyss, the salvation of the suicides. In the soil a small creek of blood he redden the earth, that collided, joined to the garbage, to the oath of the immoral liberators that they promised that we would be free. That they would never lack jasmines.
The human collection was disaggregated. Some intrigued onlookers didn't remove stubborn. Nobody looked at action suicides. They walked in the fashion.
- That odyssey Mentor, that images mirrored so unequal.

Image: http://www.rosanevolpatto.trd.br/sibila.htm

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- It is!.. Saint good believers, they trust the divinity that governs the Universe. In that that is the origin of the crucible, that created us, it originated us. You are the Politburo that you accept only one god but that follow the doctrines of the sorcery. Everything is resolved and explained by the sorcery. I grant you period of thirty years for us to finish the contention. Then I demand that you make elections or else…
- Except the something?!
- I will support the debt with very heavy interests. Your body will be heavier than the lead, and you cannot support him.
- And lost we will find disarranged us. Damned Greek that invented the democracy and more the elections.

Jingola accessed an emission of radio, where frequently they proclaimed, they uncovered incommensurable vicissitudes. In spite of the diligent Politburo for to silence, she resisted bravely. It was the direction of the without direction, they deified like this to Radio Oracle. Some casuistically ones compared it Asterix Gaulish mini, that resisted arranged, erected in a shaded corner of the mafumeira (existent leafy tree in Angola). The Politburo they argued that it was his heel of Asterix to Radio Oracle. The telephone circuits more intimate of the government they combated that was the heel of the function of the Real.

Jingola he published the epidemic of cholera that militated with many supporters for the interior of the kingdom. As curse nests of female rats without merchant ships. I shoot an arrow with great embarrassment: nobody dared to explain that the main cause of the cholera… it is the hunger. The epidemic registered to the infinite of Jingola. To Radio Oracle she requested approval to implement his Hertzian waves to all the ears of the kingdom, so that the populations found out, they warned, they cured the epidemic. The Politburo liminarmente refused. They boasted, stamped, the parchment for to Radio Oracle.

Venerable Excellencies of the Radio Oracle:
We have a contract with boatman Caronte. The epidemic of the cholera makes the enough victims, the souls that the boatman needs satisfactorily. We felt in the lucky fellows.
If the sign of your faith if it fought for the radio and for whole the kingdom dispersed, victims of the cholera would not fall. We counted in the peremptory ones, and your assumed wind is… it doesn't accept.
We whitened the certain theology of the they want to go far away, for besides the roundness, of the limits of Delphos. The short distances per times become long.
We allowed them to work due to the democratic frequency that it was imposed us. We began her in the summary of the annoyances.
We extended them a finger, now they want the hand, later the body.

To convince that we are democratic, we said that would take place elections. Notice well: that they would take place… in any moment, in any time. Everything depends on our intimate will. It is not the clarity of any oracle that in the group to the solar summit, to date elections. A thing is uncertain: I begin him of the electoral uncertainty.
Our distinguished sailors are in force the prows of your eclecticism sincerely. They intend to half open the window of the dark night, for the mass in the morning. To do a lot of light, to gush in the spirits. With so much candle thereabout to the disposition. We are to the candle.
Abundant Revolutionary Greetings.
Jingola, Frimaire, Year II.
Year of the Uncertain Life.

The Epic poem of the Darkness (25)

Covered of glory for the favourable end of the battle in the ghetto, they looked without horizons at the merchantable wreckage. Flights in the restart of the fight without alternation, he suggested himself the inventory of the events:
- He doesn't give to check. In a neighbourhood where nobody likes confusion, suddenly it comes to the surface one more episode of the War of Troy.
- It was never invested, it instituted so much hunger, as on these rung times, frustrated. Many ghettos without future, as this, will be the anthills that will feed the relentless reunion of the War of Troy. The hungry persons don't fear the death, she supplies them regularly with aeriform basic baskets, of hungers. It is always latent in the hearts the candescent revolt. It will be a great world revolt, juridically universal. Who will disable it of finishing? There won't be walls, ditches, seas that resist him. Crowds starved mutations in cockroaches, flies, mice. He stands back a, it comes two, three. He will speak like this the new War of Troy.
- It should be for that that the Romans didn't like Carthage.

Boatman Caronte reserved a boat, always prepared for to steer in the river Departures. It took in the waves the remains of the souls of the daring wise persons or opponents. Definitively any had been eradicated manifestation of wisdom or opposition.

The Politburo was born wise persons, congenial authorial. They dominated, they whipped the epistles of the opposition. But the minstrels, internal exiles without stain they hardened letters. Unexpectedly he appeared boatman Caronte, he scrubbed the hands of greedy, and it inquired if there were souls for the Departures. They answered her, for the time being still no, Caronte was exasperated.
- Don't play with the games. The politics is not art of fortune telling. Then it doesn't happen future. Of the other French Revolution that have-of coming, they send me a lot of souls. It was always like this, it will always like this be.

The Politburo went up the steps of the power effortlessly. In the altar they worshipped the vast desserts of the crowds without history. That of hands extended, flaccid, they crumbled the cult of the hunger. Everything is composed of conviction.
- No there is any revolution to win us, that it convinces us, or that it removes us of the place. We governed too much, because the time only bill while we are alive. Did we govern badly? The acolytes applaud us for the good government. Other people, especially this that we drove, Jingola, wrap up, they let to take in the happiness that we promised them in the speeches of year end. Before they lived in the extreme slavery, today they are frees. It is true that some exist embarrassments, but the whirlpool of the thousands of decreed laws will solve the emancipation of the people. Finally the poverty will end, we will reach, we will beat the goals of the records of the development.
- Is it?! does it Happen that I made a great investment in the purchase of two thousand boats, and many boatmen for us to drive them, what do run the risk of losing the job. They are not to accomplish the contract, I demand damages. Arrange some epidemics there, criminals' slaughters, any thing… one doesn't survive without corpses.
- Old Caronte, don't slip, corpses won't lack. Be calm that shortly will tumble thousand again a day.
- I don't believe in such curse! Will they make another revolution?
- Not so much to north… we will make another more devastating war.
- I hang of that warranty. It imports me that you accomplish the contractual norms.
- It is true that we exceeded to honour our commitments, but when harmed them press us, we searched the paper work and we moved the payment. We only worked under pressure. We are as a locomotive to steam.

Image: http://www.interconect.com.br/clientes/pontes/diversos/caronte.htm

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The Orphans they made fun of the sermons, of the poverty’s sufferers' exalted desires. In an apex they were. Tangles televisions, fans, sound equipments, money. A mammy was faced and she took hill of having plated. Furious it walled in:
- Crooked of shit, they will steal the rulers of the Politburo, they have everything!
- There we will arrive.
- When?!
- A notion of time.

Sneaking out, a small beauty stole the fence of the Orphans. She seemed a fairy that hovered smoothly in the race to the squad of the police. She arrived slightly. Then it left in a car patrols with six police of looking heavy, and loaded siren. They recuperated, an official descends with pitch glasses. Zorro and members disappeared close, disguised of street salespersons. The products of the fiscal contribution were taking away from Customs in a vehicle of sales of pieces of furniture to the home. The official he plan, underlined:
- Time for disorder, time for order! My wanted… home!
- More home?! Don’t we have anything for us to comb!
- ACCOMPLISH THE ORDERS!!!

The metal jingled in the loyal triggers of the weapons of the duty. Dogs, catnip, mice, serpents… and butterflies, were sheltered in the roundness as witness of the occult. The unhappy that the History attracted uncovers the sad soul.
- Orphans… they are all zebras, logs, trunks of the same branches. They lost the shady souls, nothing else remains them.
- It folds again the deceptive, the sharp posture. My glacial uniform officiates the judgement inside and out of him.
- Hum! Common Politburo, soviet.

The Orphans calculated that the Politburo toasted lively fear of them. They credited the confusion in his bill, they climbed the walls of the huts, they unmasked the sunny roofed zinc coating, they drilled, they kicked about the Juliet’s. Clever in the natural selection of the species, they feathered the female’s bird-pity-paradise, those that they burned them, insisted in the pleasure of the denial of the courtship. They fled with them, and for the adventures of the going astray they distributed damages more than six cars the. They guaranteed the final peacefulness with many shots for the air, of putting fear. The official of the police Politburo offended great without reason to their concepts, precepts of the turbulent maintenance without flag. They left him weak, without flask. He motivated to the side of the weakness:
- Arrest them… they call truck for the devil that carries them!
He stands out a more grown that miraculously accessed academicals jurisdiction. She pleads the Natural Right:
- Are you done with the Orphans it is not?!? Will you already see!
She celebrated voice of command Latin.
- Argumentum baculinum. I want to say: enough of conversation, club in them. It will be worse than Thermopiles. My ladies… TO THEM!!!
And a shower that flooded the dear policemen with having plated fell. The official, the main enemy, was the elect of the discord. They pulled down him beating thunderstorm and beaten. Policed her failed to protect it manoeuvred the hands, he defended for instinct. To appeal to the weapons turned impossibility, because the squadron feminine blanket guard. Sincerely unarmed for the courageous ones, bent down and covered with earth requested forces to the inferior members. When getting up for us to flee, the jurisdictional invoked the voice of the woman of the French Revolution:
- Only one more! Only one more!

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (23)

The neighbourhood continued occasional, mechanic as a mass production factory. The girls perfected, they created New-look. Of not vulgar beauty they faced the musical racket. They danced, they moved around, they oscillated very elastic. Very distracted, it was as soon as deceived the time, because if they didn't remember his existence. They didn't deteriorate with that. The soap operas flooded, and they always shone foolish that they approved them.
The parish-pump pacifism made a pact. Customers supplied the thirst with plastic sacks of water of doubtful freshness. The sandwiches developed, they moved the clientele. The transient rush increased the to invoice in the bags. The flies reinforced they squadron. Everything was composed of regular indications. A sudden one little it arrives. She reminds Fidípedes to announce that the battle of Marathon was won. She gasps immoderate, it lost the way of walking. Oppressive she makes an effort, she breathes very bottom, the voice doesn't come out. The mother sees that she is very afraid, embargoed.
- It is the something shit! Did you see some bewitching?
The girl gets scared, the breathing dilates, it gets rid of the swelling on.
- Were you again to see that terror film in the neighbour?

The cherub moves the head negatively. Unhappily the mother doesn't have time for to stand, therefore she has customer to blink. She decides to end with the little daughter's silence with the mothers' secret weapon.
- Ah, his witches apprentice. I will get rid of the swelling on you with so much stroke with a slipper, that you will be sorry for having been born.
Before the mother to begin their martial arts the girl gets to sob:
- The… the… the…
- A drunk's something daughter!?
- Mammy… mammy… the roosters… they are there.
- The something!? THE something!? Oh my God!

The oldest presses the hands in the head. He revolution two circumferences, drums the feet in the softened earth, of red mud. This helps her to think, to decide what will do to proceed. She stopped, it lowered the hands, it swelled the chest, it usually alerted:
- Gaullism’s to the view!!!
The children amazed the eyes, that shone intense as spotlights.
- Does Asterix come with them?
The girl complains, she tries to elucidate the mother:
- You change everything! THEY ARE ORPHANS… ORPHANS, SHIT OF MOTHER!
- It is well my daughter. Flee! He meets casually Fire Greek OVNI!

The calm he stinks seemed agitated sea when he throws the boats some against the other ones. Confused human tide, of bodies against bodies, of tied children, that in the confusion cost to diffuse in the sustenance of the unsustainable hunger. Sweet, cigarettes, cookies, elastic tablets etc., they suffered the condemnation of the ground. They dabbled for the small old houses. To the children it was silenced that if they hid under the beds, where there were them, because it was normal to sleep in the ground. They were six Orphans. A, without a doubt the boss, masked of Zorro. Redone copy, powerful, worn of black. The black mask her the eyes, it imposed heat vampirism. The pistols hung waist, imposing. They hauled pigeons and sparrows, they allocated calm dovecotes. Mounted in a broom wood, a male that deceived the mammy he cries out with conviction:
- Aió… Silver!

Zorro disgusted. He pleased to laugh him of the daring child, but he had, it was forced to maintain distance, to put fear, or else it would lose the respect, the command of the group. He ordered the child that braked the mounted. Of his habit he selects authoritarian voice.
- It is going home, dictated to the shameless ones that they put everything here out.
- Ok! Masked Zorro.
The mothers looked at the conversation far, they approached, they tears, deplored.
- Don't steal us, please! The little bit that we have was won, crucified! We are slave of the modern settlers, generated for distracting.

Imagem: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (22)

- Hum! Those brutes are too much with the petroleum.
- It is really, we go because then to call Greeks, for us to burn them with his Fire.
- Greeks without that similar to Achilles, don't hole anything.
- That is a big one crooked.
- Reason brother?!
- It hunted the virgin Briseida, it is with her there are more than thousand nights. They say that it is undecided, he wants her to stay virgin.
- Ah, is he after all of those?!
- But what hero, that warrior that is, what doesn't get to remove the virginity to a woman?
- Ours penetrate, they tear well, healthy very vaginal. Very offspring soldiers.
The uniforms of the law recuperated, they imposed several big bullets for the air. The reunion paid off, it relaxed, it dispersed.


It was a neighbourhood that lived in the nostalgic calm. Early in the morning, the mammies armed with brooms and they spit the previous garbage. The daily routine zodiacal marched morning. There were already garbage hills wakened up, that they banished in the deserts. There was not collects, he gave birth to mountain. With ingenuous roguery the children persevered, they achieved the mothers' skirts. They were lowered to the slippers, they remembered the easiness to sweep and they flickered blow with a broom in the infantile flanks. The children panted.
- Mammy, shit, am hungry!
- He/she leaves the garbage to finish. I will basket sweets, to sell some, later I buy you bread.
- Mammy, if you don't give me food, I wallow myself in the garbage can.
- It only tries, go, you will see the beating. I will knead you the bones.

Strange to the diatribes the sun admonished the soil, it singed the faces. A squadron OVI - identified flying objects - of fly-blowflies green and fresh they make recognition, they defend their interests. Objectives are plentiful, so many that fly undecided, not knowing where to graze on. In exhibition in the landings sweets swarmed, cookies, cigarettes, elastic tablets, soft drinks, smoking beer, to explode. Finally, a mercantile rosary. The mammies requested to the divine right a calm in the storm to facilitate the sales. Or else, it would happen storm home. I have enough him home-made nursery, the out of hours misunderstands because they don't give him food.

Some gaunt mammies of the generated estate anchored the tender bodies quietly in any charity institution. Such scanty money didn't reach the school expenses. The expensive books boycotted the glance of the letters. The ones that reign polished unsustainable literary agreement with the neo-customs officers. The happening tribute, primate, rewards safes occult, uncultured. With prices devoted, uneven, few if they took a risk in the adventure of the reading. Alleging that the exporters, of the Phoenician of the worst, were big crooked. That they travelled of very far, subjects to constants attacks of pirates. And that their goods lectureships didn't have warranties of the insurers, of readers. And more: that they didn't have fault in the derogatory ones notarial that the kingdom Jingola if it placed in the boundaries routines. The prices arose in a to scarp cliff. They copulate with seamanship:
- It is border-false, windward, always beside the homelike breeze.

Jingola diffused, they accepted pyramidal commissions. They associated to the Phoenician companies.
The children deceived the school. They joined the Orphan armies. It didn't lack labour force for the soldiery of those spoiled of the lands and of the houses that increased the armies of the before fighters, defenders of the kingdom of the FAMILY and now abandoned, exiled, expatriated.

Image: Angola em fotos

The Epic poem of the Darkness (21)

The blockade finished, they made racket, for one more gotten victory. The war of the hunger is unjust, unequal. They struggle against the audacity of the hunger of the food again and of the dictatorship.
Our fight continues, with the eyes almost always in the ground. What remains of the streets and of the traps of the holes, that it seems an immense rain of meteorites to have happened. The feet have to be very careful. Some drowned, they appeared cadaverous in the terrifying holes.

A great agitation appeared. For there a dozen of horses of metallic Troy, ridden by warriors strongly armed. They dismount, they besiege the without walls houses. Jingola implore the king's name… in vain! They escape from the burrows, of the martial collapse. Corrupted her demolition had effect, the excuse that they are necessary hotels for tourists' lodging. Habituated to the fright liberator, there is who mocks.
- It is to house the mice of hotel of them. We walked, other thing doesn't see herself.
- With so much species of world rats here pointed, he gives to build a zoology museum.

The defeat of the democracy proceeds frigid, without elections. As the horse, trots, it jumps. The horseman instituted medieval catapult.
The reigning became emancipated with the production oil-producing. For us to survive, Jingola emancipated their wives. They assumed, they dose with stoicism the Herculean irresponsibility of the god protector of the fireplaces. Heroically they invented any thing for us to sell. Misplaced, get to eat something during the day, at night not. Sacrificed, obedient to the hunger, they overcame cottages, they bought glaciers to moneylenders, fans to silence, to move away the load of mosquitoes. They won great friendship with the hunger, for us to acquire the martyrdom of they attend TV Jingola's programming, and the illusion of the felt passion of the soap operas. Equipment to dance, to drum. They depended on the bad will, of the arrogance, of the greed of the reigning, of the taste of seeing everything in the dark. They lost episodes novelistic, due to the intermittences voltaic, and they strayed from.

The Orphans of the wars of the regime pressed surveillance. Moved by the voracious appetite of the belongings of somebody else, they stole artfully the onus of the sinks Jingola. They were vain the protests. Soul-harmed them they hardened.
- Everything confiscated. You buy, we stole. Don't be inconvenienced with the weeping.
A young one is unblocked.
- Everything purloined. We bought, you get up. Pavers in the earth of anybody.
The habituated Orphans, been born, grown, developed in the wars of the blackness Stalinist didn't disperse surreptitious. They left as if they left their ruins. The crowd he uncovers, he gathers by tens, hundreds. Two untidy girls are wiggled.
- Were the police of Fouche, of Stalin?
- His foolish, leaning what are the where? It was the politics of the Politburo.
- And is there some difference?

One intoxicated and newcomer for the gifts of the robbery neo-colonialist he salutes:
- We don't want cottages! We don't want houses of foils! We don't want small old houses! Live Lars Patriots' barracks! Live the one of the New Life! Live the Angry ones!
Unpopular protests are sent. A wave thundering voice echoes for the dyed again labyrinthine. The fools make dizzy.
- Don't we want small old houses? Don't we want caves? Do live the millionaire air of the Island of the Cable? Do live the bad life? Then they do want the something!?

Image: Angola em fotos