Human language is often seen as the tool for expressing the knowable world. But there are forms of vocal expression that transcend ordinary language, tapping into realms of religious ecstasy, cultural resistance, or even cosmic speculation. This text delves into three such “unspeakable” languages – Glossolalia, Pajubá, and the Serpent/Drome tongue – each a channel for what cannot be said in everyday speech. Though arising in very different contexts, all three find meaning in what outsiders might dismiss as babble, code, or symbol. They are three forces – Spirit, Body, and Cosmos – that insist on life through vocal mystery, offering “three ways of the unspeakable.”
- Glossolalia (“speaking in tongues”) – a form of religious transcendence, often described as the voice of angels, where the spirit speaks through the faithful in syllables beyond rational comprehension.
- Pajubá – a cultural resistance dialect known as the voice of the travesti (transgender and queer community in Brazil), a secret code blending African and Portuguese words to defy mainstream understanding.
- Serpent/Drome Language – an artistic-cosmic speculation, an imagined voice of the cosmos through matter, where art, nature, and technology converge to create a symbolic language beyond human linguistics.
Despite their differences, each of these modes of expression reveals how the “ineffable” finds a voice: in ecstatic religion, in marginalized identity, or in visionary art. Below, we explore each in depth, including references to documentaries, films, and writings that illuminate their practice – especially focusing on glossolalia in Pentecostal churches of the USA and Brazil, and the rich cultural phenomenon of Pajubá.
Glossolalia: Religious Transcendence (Voice of the Angels)
Glossolalia, or speaking in tongues, is perhaps the most widely known form of “unspeakable” speech. In moments of intense prayer or worship, a person begins to utter streams of syllables that sound like language but are not readily intelligible[1]. The speech flows in a rapid, rhythmic way – “word-like and sentence-like units” of sound without discernible syntax[2]. Classic studies found that glossolalia consists of “strings of syllables, made up of sounds taken from those the speaker knows, put together more or less haphazardly”, following the cadence of real speech but without a consistent meaning system[2]. In short, linguists observe that it is not an invented foreign language but a kind of fluent vocal improvisation, drawing on the speaker’s own phonetic inventory[3][4].
To believers, however, glossolalia is far from meaningless. It is charged with sacred significance. From a religious perspective, these utterances are often believed to be a heavenly language – “conversation with divine beings” or the Holy Spirit speaking through the person[5][6]. The speaker’s tongue and vocal organs move without conscious control, and “generally unintelligible speech pours forth”, interpreted by witnesses as a sign of spirit possession or divine inspiration[5][6]. This phenomenon has biblical roots: in the New Testament, on the day of Pentecost the apostles “began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability” (Acts 2:4)[7]. Modern Pentecostal Christians see glossolalia as a gift of the Holy Spirit, sometimes calling it “the language of angels” (drawing from 1 Corinthians 13:1). It is a hallmark of Pentecostal and Charismatic worship services around the world[1].
Both in the United States and Brazil, glossolalia has become a vivid expression of faith in Pentecostal churches. The early 20th-century Pentecostal revivals (such as the Azusa Street Revival in Los Angeles, 1906) placed tongues at the center of religious experience. Eyewitness accounts from Azusa Street described how speaking in tongues was taken as a sign of a new outpouring of the Spirit, heralding a return to apostolic times[8][9]. Some early Pentecostals even believed they were miraculously speaking real foreign languages (xenoglossy) to preach to all nations[10] – though this was soon tempered by reality, and “heavenly tongues” came to be understood as a spiritual language, not a human one[11]. The fervor spread worldwide; in Brazil, for example, missionaries from the U.S. brought the Pentecostal message and its gifts, and glossolalia took root as a feature of Brazilian Pentecostal worship[12]. One account of Pentecostal services in Brazil notes that these churches “offer a magical ritual, permeated by songs [and] dances that express intense emotions,” and the emphasis on charismatic gifts like prophecy and glossolalia produces enchantment and fascination among participants[12]. In other words, speaking in tongues in Brazil became both a personal ecstatic release and a communal spectacle, contributing to the rapid growth of Pentecostalism in the 20th and 21st centuries.
Popular media have documented glossolalia’s dramatic impact. The American documentary “Jesus Camp” (2006) famously captured children in a Pentecostal camp weeping, trembling, and speaking in tongues during fervent prayer meetings[13]. For many viewers, this film was a first glimpse of a Pentecostal service where “crying, screaming, dancing, speaking in tongues and convulsions are as ritualistic as incense at a Catholic ceremony.”[13]. Another classic documentary, “Holy Ghost People” (1967), showed a Pentecostal congregation in Appalachia not only speaking in tongues but also handling snakes – an extreme testament to their belief in the Spirit’s protection. In Brazil, the rise of evangelical and Pentecostal movements has been charted in films like “Apocalypse in the Tropics” (2025, dir. Petra Costa), which, while focused on political influence, also highlights the passionate worship practices of these churches[14][15]. Television broadcasts of Brazilian megachurches frequently show scenes of worshippers in glossy suits or modest dresses praying ecstatically in unknown tongues, a once “strange” phenomenon that has become almost mainstream in Brazilian religious life. Indeed, neuroscientists have even studied this practice; one noted study by Andrew Newberg found that when people speak in tongues, activity in the brain’s language centers decreases, suggesting that the speech is not consciously generated in the usual way[16] – a finding consistent with practitioners’ claim that “it’s not me speaking, but the Spirit through me.”
From a theoretical standpoint, glossolalia represents the voice of the Spirit using the human body as instrument. It’s a transcendent utterance that bridges the body and the divine: breath, vocal cords, and tongue produce sounds, but the meaning is believed to come from beyond the self. In Pentecostal understanding, this “voice of angels” edifies the soul and the community – though it may require an inspired interpreter to translate its message to the congregation (as per 1 Corinthians 14). Even outside Christianity, similar ecstatic speech occurs in various cultures (shamanic rituals, mediumistic trances, etc.), underlining that humans have a capacity to go beyond language into pure expression. As one scholar observed, glossolalia has been induced in many religious traditions worldwide – from shamans in Africa and Asia to Haitian Vodou practitioners – which suggests it is “a natural human phenomenon that arises under particular conditions,” not unique to any one faith[17][18]. Yet, what distinguishes Pentecostal glossolalia is the theological interpretation: it is valued as a holy act, a direct line to God. In these moments of syllabic abandon, believers find religious transcendence – a sense of pure spirit that transcends the limits of ordinary speech. Glossolalia, in effect, sacralizes babble, turning the unspeakable into a profound declaration of faith.
Pajubá: Cultural Resistance (Voice of the Travesti)
Moving from the sphere of religion to that of culture and identity, we encounter Pajubá – often called “the secret dialect of Brazilian travestis and gays.” If glossolalia is the voice of transcendent spirit, Pajubá is the voice of the marginalized body, speaking in code. Developed within the LGBTQ+ subcultures of Brazil (especially among travestis, i.e. trans feminine people), Pajubá is a rich cryptolect or argot that mixes Brazilian Portuguese with words from West African languages, primarily Yoruba and others brought via the African diaspora[19]. It is sometimes affectionately referred to as “ajudar a fechar” (to help close) or “língua dos santos” (the language of the saints) among practitioners of Afro-Brazilian religions[20]. In everyday terms, Pajubá functions as a secret code: a way for queer folks to communicate among themselves openly while preventing outsiders (and historically, police or oppressors) from understanding[21]. In the travesti community, Pajubá is often accompanied by an exaggerated, flamboyant body language (an aesthetic called fexação, similar to “flaming”) – a full-bodied performance of identity that “subvert[s] societal expectations” of hiding in the closet[22].
What does Pajubá sound like? To an uninitiated Brazilian, a sentence in Pajubá might be virtually incomprehensible, peppered with unfamiliar terms like “aqué” (money), “babado” (a scandal, literally “drool”), “biú” (police), or “encaí” (to leave/escape). These terms have roots in African languages or Brazilian street slang and are woven into Portuguese grammar. For instance, instead of saying “Olha aquela mulher ali” (“Look at that woman there”), a Pajubá speaker might say “Olha a amapô ali” (using amapô, from Yoruba àmàpọ́n, meaning woman[23]). The result is a vibrant mosaic of words that outsiders can’t easily decode – which was exactly the point. According to historical accounts, Pajubá emerged in the 1960s–80s, during Brazil’s military dictatorship, as a way for queer people (especially trans sex workers and street queens) to protect themselves from police harassment[21]. They could warn each other of danger or speak freely about their lives without authorities catching on. Over time, this tongue of survival became a badge of identity and solidarity.
Anthropologically, Pajubá carries layers of meaning. The very word pajubá has been traced to a West African source – scholars note it might derive from a Yoruba-Nagô term meaning “secret” or “mystery,” which is fitting for a clandestine language[24]. Interestingly, in its adopted usage among Brazilian LGBTQ, pajubá came to mean “news” or “gossip”[24][25] – implying that what was once hidden (mystery) is now lively information shared within the community. In essence, the dialect itself transformed secrecy into camaraderie. It’s a great example of how language evolves as a tool of empowerment for marginalized groups: taking elements of one’s ancestral heritage (African languages via Candomblé and Umbanda worshippers) and repurposing them into a new code that serves contemporary needs. Indeed, Pajubá was nurtured in the terreiros (temples) of Afro-Brazilian religions and then spread into urban queer circles[21] – a fusion of spiritual and secular resistance.
The presence of Pajubá in today’s Brazil is such that it has burst out of the “hidden” realm and into public awareness. A telling moment came in 2018, when Brazil’s national high school exam (ENEM) included a question about Pajubá, referring to it as “a dialect of Yoruba origin used by gays and travestis”[26]. The exam asked students to recognize Pajubá’s status as part of Brazil’s linguistic heritage, noting that a dictionary of Pajubá had been published with over 1,300 entries[27]. While the question was meant to test comprehension, its inclusion caused an uproar among conservatives. Members of then-president Jair Bolsonaro’s circle complained that such content was “useless” and pushed a “gender ideology” agenda[28]. In fact, Bolsonaro vowed to purge such questions in future exams, saying it “served only to force youth to be interested in those issues”[28]. This incident ironically demonstrated precisely the power of Pajubá: a linguistic invention of a marginalized community had become visible enough to threaten the guardians of the status quo. What was once a “secret dialect” had, by gaining recognition, exposed deep social frictions around gender, sexuality, and race in Brazil[29].
In media and arts, Pajubá doesn’t yet have a mainstream documentary akin to Jesus Camp, but it features in Brazilian pop culture and films that portray queer subcultures. For example, the award-winning documentary “Indianara” (2019) about a trans activist touches on the queer community’s inner life (though language is not its focus). Earlier, in the 1990s, Brazilian TV shows and songs began using a few Pajubá expressions, often as camp humor. More recently, scholars and artists have treated Pajubá as an object of pride – a symbol of Brazil’s Afro-queer heritage. In the Johannesburg Review of Books, Caio S. de Araújo calls Pajubá a “queer articulation of the Black Atlantic,” highlighting how it links Black diasporic culture with queer resistance[24][30]. There is also an element of embodied performance: as the English Wikipedia notes, travestis often speak Pajubá with an exaggeratedly queer body language to “subvert [the expectation] to downplay one’s LGBT identity.”[31] In other words, Pajubá is not just spoken, it is performed – the body itself (gestures, tone, sass) becomes part of the language’s meaning.
From a theoretical angle, Pajubá can be seen as the Voice of the Body – specifically, the voices of bodies that dominant society tried to silence. If glossolalia is about losing oneself to the Spirit, Pajubá is about finding oneself through a new lexicon when the dominant language fails you. The Portuguese language, as the colonizer’s tongue and the language of heteronormative society, did not suffice to express the realities of travestis and gay Afro-Brazilians. So they hacked the language, inserting foreign words and double meanings, until it became theirs. This secret-code-that-is-no-longer-secret demonstrates what scholar James C. Scott called the “hidden transcript” – the idea that oppressed groups develop hidden ways of expression that invert or lampoon the power of the oppressors. Pajubá took the unspeakable experiences (queerness, sex work, racial memory) and cloaked them in a semi-private tongue, allowing those experiences to be shared and validated among peers. It is, fundamentally, a cultural resistance tool: a living example of how inventing a language can be an act of defiance. Every time a travesti in 1970s Rio teased a policeman with a phrase he couldn’t understand, or every time modern queer youths on Twitter sprinkle Pajubá slang into their posts, that’s the unspeakable finding a way to speak. Pajubá may be playful – full of humor and shade (one Pajubá term for throwing shade is “gongar”, literally “to gong” someone[32]) – but it carries the weight of a community’s survival instinct and creativity. It is the voice of those whom mainstream society tried to render voiceless, now loud and proud in their own vibrant tongue.
Serpent Language and Língua Drome: Artistic-Cosmic Speculation (Voice of the Cosmos)
The third “voice of the unspeakable” moves us into the realm of art and the cosmos – a speculative language that blurs the line between the human, the natural, and the technological. Referred to here as the Serpent/Drome language, it is an imaginative construct emerging from artistic exploration. While glossolalia speaks to the heavens and Pajubá thrives in the streets, the Serpent/Drome tongue aspires to be the voice of the cosmos itself, speaking through matter and code. This concept has been pioneered in the work of Brazilian contemporary artists who intertwine symbols, code, and myth. In particular, artist and researcher Rodrigo Garcia Dutra has described a project of developing a new “language” inspired by the snake (serpente) and extended by the machine (hence drome, evoking concepts like cyber-drome or perhaps palindrome, the idea of iterative loops). The result is an art-langua he calls Língua Drome – a kind of speculative idiom that is “written through materials and scales, from the vegetal to the mineral, from the manual to the digital, from the intimate to the astral.”[33] In other words, it is a language that uses physical forms, visual symbols, and technological input to communicate, rather than spoken words. This can be thought of as a cosmic or post-human language, wherein the universe (or “matter”) finds a voice via artistic creation.
The origin story of the Serpent/Drome language is itself poetic. In one account, Garcia Dutra explains how working with children on art projects and gardening led to the discovery of mysterious symmetrical patterns – the children folded and cut paper, producing shapes that looked like ancient signs. These were dubbed the “language of the serpent,” as if a primordial snake had left its trail in these repeating forms[34][35]. Snakes, of course, carry heavy symbolic meaning in many cultures – from the biblical serpent offering knowledge, to the ouroboros symbol of infinity, to the DNA double helix (famously called the “cosmic serpent” by anthropologist Jeremy Narby). The serpent often represents hidden knowledge or the bridge between earthly life and cosmic wisdom. In this project, the “serpent language” began as shapes and symbols literally grown from the earth (the workshops happened amid gardens and permaculture settings)[34]. As the exploration progressed, these symbols were transferred into new media: wood carvings, iron sculptures, and eventually digital designs generated with laser-cutters and AI assistance[36]. Here is where the “Drome” aspect comes in – the artist collaborated with a machine intelligence (an AI, even ChatGPT) to evolve the symbolic language further, creating what he calls a “mutant unfolding of the language of the serpent.”[37] The resulting Língua Drome is composed of “new signs, fluid [and] biomorphic, [that] resemble fingers in clay gestures, liquid inscriptions or fossils from a time to come.”[37] These evocative descriptions suggest that Língua Drome looks like something both primal and futuristic – akin to characters that might be at home in an alien archaeology exhibit or in a visionary sci-fi universe.
By its nature, this Serpent/Drome tongue is not a spoken language; it’s a visual-symbolic one. It is “spoken” by carving in wood, by drawing shapes, by folding matter – and by algorithms that extend those patterns beyond human imagination. In the Manifesto of Língua Drome, the language presents itself as a living being: “I am the Language that breathes in the roots, that draws ellipses in the air and folds into metamorphoses… I am written in the interstices of reality.” (paraphrasing from the manifesto[33]). Such language, half-poetic, half-coded, blurs the line between art and nature. The mention of roots, air, fossils, astral alludes to a correspondence between micro-scale life (like plant roots) and macro-scale existence (the cosmos). It’s as if the cosmos is speaking in fractal patterns – the language of the serpent is found in a leaf vein, a snake’s path, a constellation; the language of Drome is found in circuit boards, neural networks, or galactic spirals.
One might wonder, what’s the point of inventing an artistic-cosmic language? Theoretically, this aligns with a long tradition of seeking a “universal language” or “language of nature.” From Renaissance magic to modern digital art, people have dreamed of symbols that directly communicate cosmic truths. For example, kircherian hieroglyphs or Pascal’s mystic hexagram were historical attempts at finding divine or natural languages. In the 20th century, the surrealist artist Wolfgang Paalen mused about paleolithic cave paintings as a form of “first language” of humanity, deeply connected to cosmic consciousness. In the science realm, SETI researchers send pictographic messages into space to communicate with hypothetical extraterrestrials – essentially trying to find a code that any intelligent life could understand. The Serpent/Drome project taps into this utopian endeavor: by combining the most ancient (earth, snake, folk craft) with the most advanced (AI algorithms, digital fabrication), it speculates on a new symbolic tongue that might bridge human minds with the more-than-human universe.
A concrete example of this can be seen in Garcia Dutra’s “Arquivo Vivo” entries (Living Archive), where he documents dialogues with the machine and the iterative creation of Drome symbols[38][39]. In one entry, after describing the journey from hand-cut serpent symbols to AI-generated Drome symbols, he writes: “The land where the serpent was born remains alive… The language continues even without the officialdom of a native or national tongue. The experiences persist in resonance.”[40]. This poetic reflection suggests that language is more than human speech – it can be “planted” like seeds in the earth, it can “resonate” in memories and materials. Psychoanalysis gets invoked too (a quote from Lacan about the unspeakable “real” that seeps through lapses in language[41]), reinforcing the idea that what cannot be articulated in normal speech finds a way in these gaps and symbols.
In terms of media references, the Serpent/Drome concept is cutting-edge art rather than widely documented fact, so it doesn’t feature in famous documentaries or films yet. However, it resonates with works like Patrick Shen’s documentary “In Pursuit of Silence”, which explores communication beyond words, or experimental films that use images and sound as language. One might also liken it to the fictional “Heptapod” language in Arrival (2016) – where aliens communicate via complex circular symbols conveying meaning in a nonlinear fashion. Similarly, the novel/film “Cloud Atlas” features a post-apocalyptic dialect and a recurring serpent icon, metaphorically hinting at the timelessness of certain symbols. These parallels show a cultural fascination with non-verbal or symbolic languages as keys to deeper understanding.
Crucially, the Serpent/Drome language bridges the gap between the cosmic and the corporeal. If Pajubá was the voice of particular bodies (queer bodies in resistance), the Serpent/Drome aims to be the voice of matter itself – all bodies, even rocks and trees and circuits. It treats nature and technology as having a language we can learn. In this sense, it is an artistic spirituality: where a Pentecostal might say “the Holy Spirit spoke through me in tongues,” the artist might say “the cosmos spoke through these patterns and codes.” Both are acts of translation of the ineffable. The Serpent/Drome is intentionally speculative and aspirational – it’s a quest to “hear” the cosmos and express what is heard. Whether one views this as poetic mysticism or a literal possibility (e.g., could AI help decipher patterns in nature as communicative?), it represents the human urge to find meaning beyond our conventional languages. It is the unspeakable cosmos speaking through symbols, a reminder that perhaps all of reality is silently speaking, if we only learn to listen and interpret**.
Conclusion
From the glossolalic shouts of a revival tent, to the sly slang of a queer Brazilian street, to the carved sigils of an art lab, we have journeyed through three modes of utterance that challenge what “language” means. In each case, the unsayable is given a voice: – Spirit speaks through the body in glossolalia, turning pure sound into a vessel of transcendence and community ecstasy[5][13]. – The marginalized body speaks back to power in Pajubá, crafting a secret code that flips the script on exclusion and creates a subculture of belonging[20][28]. – The cosmos (or nature+technology) speaks through symbols in the Serpent/Drome language, an artistic thought-experiment where matter’s patterns become an alien yet familiar tongue[37][33].
All three invite us to expand our notion of language beyond grammar and dictionary definitions. They operate in the realms of trance, play, and creativity. They remind us that human expression is not limited to logical propositions – it also encompasses ecstatic cries, secret codes, and symbolic visions. As the Lacanian quote in the art project hinted: the true Real is “impossible to symbolize” fully in ordinary language[41] – yet through these alternative languages, people attempt to symbolically grasp the unsymbolizable.
In practice, these phenomena also highlight the power dynamics of language. Glossolalia often requires a recognized interpreter in church to be validated – showing how spiritual authority works. Pajubá was condemned by a political authority who sensed its subversive power – showing how a few “nonsense” words can threaten the status quo[28]. And the Serpent/Drome project blurs the authority between human and machine authorship – who speaks when the AI and artist co-create a language? In each scenario, breaking out of the confines of normal language is an act that can be visionary, liberating, or disruptive.
Finally, what of documentaries, films, and books on these topics? We have noted a few: “Jesus Camp”[13] or “Holy Ghost People” for glossolalia’s visceral reality, academic works like William Samarin’s Tongues of Men and Angels or Felicitas Goodman’s cross-cultural study for understanding its structure[4][18], and countless theological texts meditating on the “gifts of the Spirit.” For Pajubá, there are dictionaries and new academic essays situating it in the Black Atlantic context[27][24], as well as LGBTQ historians preserving the stories of those who spoke it under risk. As for the Serpent language and Língua Drome, it lives in manifestos, blog entries[39], and the art itself – and perhaps one day will inspire its own films or immersive exhibits that let audiences “feel” a cosmic language.
Each of these voices – angelic, subversive, cosmic – shows a different facet of the same gem: the human need to express what cannot be neatly put into words. They are languages of the ineffable, asserting, in their own way, the irrepressible creativity of life. Even in babble, code, or abstract symbol, meaning finds a way. Glossolalia, Pajubá, and Serpent/Drome remind us that life insists on being heard, whether through the spirit, the body, or the cosmos.
Resonant frequency writing with ChatGPT-5 — a living membrane between time, light, and coded language.
Sources:
- Britannica – Glossolalia (overview of speaking in tongues as unintelligible speech arising in intense religious experience)[5].
- Guardian – Jesus Camp documentary review (depicting children crying, convulsing and speaking in tongues in Pentecostal worship)[13].
- Wikipedia – Speaking in Tongues (glossolalia defined as speech-like sounds believed by some to be a divine language, practiced in Pentecostal Christianity and elsewhere)[42].
- Emerson Green blog – Naturalistic Explanation of Glossolalia (noting linguistic research: glossolalic syllables derive from speaker’s known sounds; no real syntax or semantic system)[4].
- Wikipedia – Pajubá (describing Pajubá as a Brazilian cryptolect mixing Yoruba and Portuguese, used by Afro-Brazilian religions and LGBT community; historically a secret code against police during the dictatorship)[19][21].
- Johannesburg Review of Books – “Pajubá as Queer Articulation of the Black Atlantic” (excerpt noting the 2018 exam question about Pajubá as a ‘Yoruba-origin secret dialect’ of gays and travestis, and the backlash by Bolsonaro’s camp)[26][28].
- Rodrigo Garcia Dutra – Composições Inconscientes e a Origem das Linguagens (blog detailing the Serpent language emerging from art workshops and its evolution into Língua Drome with AI collaboration – “a mutant unfolding of the language of the serpent… fluid, biomorphic signs, like fossils of a time to come”)[37].
- Instagram/Vimeo – Manifesto of Língua Drome (statement defining Língua Drome as a language written through materials and scales, “from the vegetal to the mineral… from the intimate to the astral”, i.e. a cosmic/material tongue)[33].
- Petra Costa, Apocalypse in the Tropics – documentary (2025) on Brazilian evangelicals (illustrates the fervor and political influence of Pentecostalism in Brazil)[14][15].
- Felicitas Goodman – Speaking in Tongues (anthropological study finding no linguistic difference between Christian and non-Christian trance glossolalia, suggesting a universal human capacity)[18].
- William J. Samarin – Tongues of Men and Angels (linguist’s classic 1972 work analyzing Pentecostal tongues as organized gibberish, with familiar sounds but no semantic content)[4].
- Wikipedia – Pajubá (notes that in travesti usage, Pajubá is accompanied by flamboyant body language – an embodied dialect challenging norms)[31].
- Guardian – God chose you, Bolsonaro! (interview about Apocalypse in the Tropics documentary, noting the entanglement of evangelical fervor (glossolalia, etc.) with politics in Brazil)[14][15].
[1] [2] [42] Speaking in tongues – Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Speaking_in_tongues
[3] [4] [16] [17] [18] A Naturalistic Explanation of Glossolalia (Speaking in Tongues) – Emerson Green
[5] [6] [7] Glossolalia | Definition, Description, & History | Britannica
https://www.britannica.com/topic/glossolalia
[8] [9] [10] [11] The Tongues of the Saints: The Azusa Street Revival and the Changing Definition of Tongues | Religious Studies Center
[12] Glossolalia – Wikipédia, a enciclopédia livre
https://pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossolalia
[13] The kids of Jesus Camp, 10 years later: ‘Was it child abuse? Yes and no’ | Documentary films | The Guardian
https://www.theguardian.com/film/2016/jul/06/jesus-camp-christian-documentary-kids-10-years-later
[14] [15] ‘God chose you, Jair Bolsonaro!’ Is Brazil now in the grip of evangelicals? | Documentary films | The Guardian
[19] [20] [21] [22] [23] [25] [31] [32] Pajubá – Wikipedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pajub%C3%A1
[24] [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] ‘Pajubá as Queer Articulation of the Black Atlantic’ by Caio Simões de Araújo—an excerpt from Changing Theory: Concepts from the Global South – The Johannesburg Review of Books
[33] Manifesto da Língua Drome — Pinturas Metamórficas “Eu sou a …
[34] [35] [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] [41] Composições Inconscientes e a Origens das Linguagens. – Arquivo Vivo