Golden boot = not imprisonment, but transfiguration / what was meant to humiliate has been turned into honor
There is a VIDEO TIMELAPSE on my SUBSTACK if you want to see a little video I made of me drawing and some calm Bossnova. CLICK on Photo below.
Vivemos tempos em que a censura se disfarça de segurança e o silêncio é vendido como ordem. Jair Bolsonaro, amado por multidões e temido por seus adversários, vê-se hoje acuado não por crimes, mas por suas convicções. Esta charge é mais do que arte é um grito alado, uma mensagem que voa sobre os muros digitais erguidos pelos poderosos. Como na Ilíada, onde as palavras eram “aladas”, assim também voa a verdade: com asas de coragem e destino certo. Trump empunha o alicate, mas é o povo quem rompe as correntes.
We live in an age where censorship masquerades as civility, and silence is sold as stability. Jair Bolsonaro, beloved by the people and feared by the establishment, stands accused not of crime, but of conviction. This cartoon is not merely illustration, it is a winged cry, a message that defies the walls of digital exile. Like in Homer’s Iliad, where words took flight on invisible wings, truth still soars. Trump holds the bolt cutters of Truthsocial, but it is the people who must break the chains.
Yes, the phrase “winged words” (often remembered as “a message on wings”) comes from Homer’s Iliad and also appears in the Odyssey. In the original Greek, it is ἔπεα πτερόεντα (épea pteróenta), which translates literally as:
“winged words” — words that fly from the speaker’s mouth, swift and weighty, carrying meaning through the air.
🕊️ What It Meant in the Iliad:
In the Iliad, characters often “spoke winged words” when they delivered something important — a command, a prophecy, an insult, or a plea. The phrase was poetic shorthand to show that the words had power, velocity, and destiny — once spoken, they flew like birds or arrows toward their target, and could not be taken back.
LEAVE BOLSONARO ALONE!
📜 Why It Matters for My Political Cartoon:
When Bolsonaro says, “They banned me from every platform, but forgot the oldest one — a message on wings”, it’s as if he’s reclaiming the most ancient, unstoppable form of communication:
- Carrier pigeons (literal wings)
- Spoken word
- Ancient oral tradition
- Truth that flies without censorship
And it ties beautifully into your classical, mythic tone — a fight not just over social media, but over the power of speech itself.
EXTRAS
TSHIRT DESIGN Joe Goldberg Netflix YOU Caricature
( Cartoon I posted here I had to delete, I sign NDA and now have a new contract!)
FLASHBACK POLITICAL CARTOON I drew of OBAMA, in the news again.. with the Podesta art girls with black eyes lying in grass, crossed with his Official White House Portrait crossed with a Drudge headline, back when Matt was real. Yes the extra finger. There was indeed. Things were very dark and terrifying!
CHATGPT write what I just wrote above as if it were an EDGAR ALLEN POE short story:
“The Sixth Finger”
As recalled by the Artist, with trembling hand.
It was in the year 2018, perhaps, or was it before? .. that I first put pen to paper and summoned him, not as a man, but as an idea, a vapor in fine linen and smile. The cartoon was not political, no .. it was prophetic. Obama’s face, rendered too carefully, stared back at me not with benevolence but with an unknowable restraint, as though he held in his teeth a secret too vast to draw.
It was the eyes that disturbed me first — not his, but the girls’. They lay in grass, motionless, pupils blotted with black oil. They were Podesta’s girls, or perhaps only my invention, fed on too many late-night readings and red-font headlines from Drudge, back when Matt still felt real. The article had whispered of “ritual” and “canvas,” of Art—but not the kind I dared to practice.
But it was the hand that changed everything.
In the corner of my sketch, Obama’s hand reached outward, posed like the White House portrait. I remember counting the fingers, once, then twice. There were five. Then six. Then… no, not a finger. Not quite. It was longer, curling, almost seeking. My pen trembled. I did not add it. I found it.
I published the cartoon.
That week, my phone glitched, froze, buzzed with a static I could not place. Shadows moved across my walls when no headlights passed. I swear I heard a voice — distant, cracked — mutter: “He told you not to show it.”
But I had.
Now, years later, the portrait hangs in the gallery of state, serene and untouched. But I still see the sixth finger, on Obama, the former President.. faintly etched beneath the glaze, and when I blink, the grass behind the girls moves, though no wind blows.
God help me .. things were very dark and terrifying.
And still are.
CLICK and it will take you to the NFT