HUNZA virus outbreak !

 WARNING !

No one is permitted to enter or leave this area without permission of the local health authority.

Due to HUNZA virus outbreak anyone found to violate this regulations will be arrested and put in quarantine custody !

Center for Desease Control general instructions :

People affected by the HUNZA virus tend to show one or more specific symptoms :

- will work for 400 dollars per month,

- will try to kiss ass for the abovementioned amount of wages,

- will lick clean the inside of a rectum for a sandwich,

- will suffer delusions of grandeur,

- will appear confused and generally extatic if given a free bus pass on Friday,

- will not absolutely ever confront any authority at any cost whatsoever,

- will never ask why if molested,

- will show general downfall in intelligence and literacy.

Because of many rumors as to the cause of the epidemic, some have reported widespread panic in large urban areas.

Preliminary reports show 1991 as the year of the emergence of Patient Zero.

Antiviral medicine is still not available. Prevention and isolation are still most favorable precautions.

(Roger Mortis 034)

The Old Cat

The old cat, worn out, blind and crippled, decided to lay down for a while under the eaves of the hospital. The smells of the urban jungle he was used to were different this time.

Something undefined seemed to hang in the air, something unrecognizable to the domain of the feline mind but quite specific to his instinct. Who was telling him to run, to run somewhere outside the city of fallen angels, expelled from the neon paradise by decree of the government.

He would have done that if he were young and strong, at a time when he was fear and trembling for local rivals, the father of dozens of kittens. But he was nothing anymore... and all he could do was find a dry place and lie down.

Licking his paws, deaf as he was, he did not attach particular importance to the fierce sound, the sound of the approaching shock wave of the hundred-kiloton bomb that had just exploded over the city.

And if he had known what it was about, it would have been too late. He never liked people who stepped on his tail and hit him with stones when he rummaged through garbage cans. As if garbage had any value to people... And it was better that it was limited to the cat's range of perception, at least he wouldn't be terrified by man, the pinnacle of evolution, who decided to drop a tactical nuclear bomb on members of his own species. Only a shadow remained where the old cat had stood. A shadow of a cat on the wall, with all ears and tail, a phenomenon of radioactive radiation that immortalized his presence on Earth. Too bad no one was left to see it.

And the cat continued on, as in Hugo Pratt's stories - to a cat paradise where there was an abundance of sparrows, fish, milk... and of course mice, neatly sorted and fresh, to the delight of the departed cat's soul. His expression took on a satisfied grimace that crossed his crooked lip. He recognized a few cats in the distance that he hadn't seen in a long time.

That shouldn't have surprised him. Because all cats go to heaven.

(Roger Mortis 033)

The Tin Can

The working hours had just ended and Obelisk saw his friend Asterisk in the distance. He was too far ahead to call out to him, and his boots weren't exactly in the best condition to try to catch up with him. He set off home alone. He was half-happy, considering that after a long time he had managed to arrange a meeting. A date, as the new and promising generations liked to say.

On the way to the apartment, he stopped at the local colonial and bought something to eat. If buying can be considered signing a contract. The salesman's cynical remarks that he had an outstanding debt and that he was doing him a great favor slightly dampened the half-happiness he was in, but despite this, the pinkish cloud on which he was sailing remained intact. While getting ready for the date, he noticed that the cavities were dancing a tango in his mouth, that the razor had long since been dulled, and that the lotion smelled too aggressively and smacked of cheapness. But he didn't have the strength to worry, even though all those facts were corrosive to the semi-happiness he found himself in.

Improvisation is a specialty of certain social classes, and so was Obelisk, and his resourcefulness was at a high level. He knew how to make lunch out of any leftovers from yesterday. And on cheap electricity. He knew how to eat for a sum that would drive even the inhabitants of Bangladesh to despair. It was a little more difficult with clothes, and his health never obeyed resourcefulness, unfortunately. The date, as a date, began with a bouquet of flowers. There was an old-fashioned trait in Obelisk's character that wanted to let the feminine know that he was feminine. Theories about gender equality were suspicious to him.

Semipyramid, his partner that evening, wasn't who-knows-what, but she wasn't anything either. More or less of the same class as Obelisk, she knew what to expect, but still she didn't fail to insist on a restaurant that Obelisk didn't know.

Still, she agreed and they went there.

The date was good, without any drama but also without any slips. She noticed that Obelisk was nervous. He just prayed that she would go to the bathroom so that he could study the menu carefully, do the math, see if there was any kind of trap hidden, a trap that would kill poor Obelisk's Ego. Unfortunately, Semipyramid never went to the bathroom, `Are there women like that?' Obelisk thought. Apparently there were. And there were some who drank at least 750 milliliters of wine on a date. But whatever. Obelisk is resourceful, he'll manage. He said that he was in therapy for something so he wouldn't drink alcohol that evening. The truth was that his budget didn't allow him two bottles of wine in a restaurant, but he had to give wings to improvisation.

The moment of truth came, the waiter, like a mythical monster with the bill in his hand, slowly approached the table. Poor Obelisk, now he knew what it was like for soldiers in the trenches on the Western Front before the attack. She was saying something but he was focused on the waiter like a guided missile on a target.

And the verdict was in. Seven hundred and twenty shinters. Darkness descended on Obelisk's eyes, darkness enveloped his brain, the room seemed to be shrinking and would crush him. He only had 750 shinters, almost half his salary. What now? The waiter expected a tip, and a date was a date, long-term plans were at stake with Miss Semipyramid.

All 750 went, and it was time for a taxi.

The goddess of improvisation did not abandon him, she remembered the possibility of a long walk because of the beautiful evening. She looked at him uneasily, her heels were not designed for six-kilometer marches and on the other hand she was still a kind of semi-romantic nature and still agreed. Obelisk almost smiled and was pleased to dare to send a kiss. On the cheek, as befits a gentleman from behind the gas station.

If the goddess of improvisation was inclined towards Obelisk, the god of time was not. She might have had problems with the union of gods in the Pantheon and decided to vent her anger on ordinary mortals. Yes...it began to pour as if a flood were imminent. Obelisk and Semipyramid tried to take shelter in several places but the wind carried the rain right into their faces. Finally they found a place and Obelisk noticed that his feet were flooded. The Chinese clogs were worthy of their reputation. They were even inclined to make an extra effort for our Obelisk by the fact that the sole began to peel off and hang. This time Obelisk had only one way to save his Ego from the massacre and that was to part with her immediately so that the slapping of the peeled sole would not be heard. He told her that the date had been phenomenal but that she had to take her therapy on time or it would be for nothing. He muttered a few apologetic phrases and left, leaving Semipyramid completely disappointed.

He knew that she understood what was going on. And he didn't expect to see them again.

Arriving at the apartment, he noticed the plastic bag with supplies from the colonial. A can of sardines, yesterday's bread, a bag of shampoo, a light bulb. He wasn't hungry, and he thought about going to bed after he'd had his last cigarette. It wasn't worth getting disappointed anyway. He might not see the morning in the arms of the semi-beautiful Sammy, but a breakfast feast of sardines awaited him. Not ordinary ones, but the ones with tomato sauce!

And then...back to work.

(Roger Mortis 032)

Anarchy all over Somalia

At first glance, the term Somalia evokes unpleasant feelings, conditioned by the wonderful film ``Black Hawk Down,'' the footage of jeeps dragging the corpses of American marines through the streets, the inevitable children with bloated bellies and flies on their eyelids, pirates who, like 300 years ago, still fill the headlines of the world press, escaped Islamists and general lawlessness.

But even so, Somalia ``exists'' in the collective vocabulary of paradise. ``Whatever, just like in Somalia'' is not an unheard of sentence. In that collective mind, Africa consists of Egypt (because of the pyramids), South Africa (because of the secular), Zimbabwe (because of the name that people find funny), Nigeria (football) and Somalia. Yes, and that country where there was a genocide, whatever it was called... But that's another story. As someone in an attempt to be witty noted - Somalia is the real life answer to Mad Max. Maybe it's some black Baba Zanetti on the coast of the Indian Ocean who replaced his engine with a boat.

What is certain is that most of the territory of former Somalia is stateless. The state of Somalia was established on the territory that was Italian Somalia and British Somaliland, with decolonization as the antithesis of the scramble for Africa. Later, the ex-colonies were united into a British colony that, in the wave of declaring independence at the end of the fifties, itself became an independent state. State!!!

From 1960 to 1969, some pro-Western despots ruled, until in 1969, after a bloody coup, the Marxist Mohamed Siad Barre came to power. Aid from Eastern Europe followed, several wars with neighbors and domestic `traitors`, famine, misery, corruption, Bob Geldof, white uniforms and medals – heaven and earth reigned supreme and in January 1991 an uprising broke out where various clans united in order to overthrow the regime. But here an unexpected twist occurred because it was not just a matter of overthrowing the regime but also of overthrowing the state as an entity.

The leaders of some of the larger clans tried to establish state power for themselves but all of this ended unsuccessfully and `power` usually extended to a few neighborhoods of Mogadishu. Every attempt to establish a central government was met with armed resistance. A civil war began in an attempt not only to exploit the power vacuum but also to restore the state. The restoration was forced by the UN, which immediately sent "blue helmets" to the field, heavily armed forces that ultimately ended ingloriously and were withdrawn after heavy losses, including the famous Black Hawks and Pakistani tanks.

After five years of war and the withdrawal of foreign troops and their support for favored clans - a relative peace begins that lasts from 1996 to 2006, Somalia disappears from the pages of the press and television and Anarchy All Over Somalia stabilizes. Of course, stability is not for sale, who wants to read and watch for peace in the Horn of Africa!? Doesn't everyone know that some strange biological entities thrive there, evolutionary freaks of human flesh with grafted AK-47s that have grown into their hands?

In the part that once belonged to the Crown, the state has been restored, the Republic of Somaliland retains the statist framework but remains unrecognized by the outside world. The part that belonged to Italy remains in anarchy and signs of prosperity appear.

Then again...

Then again it can't be like that and in 2006 there is a rise of Islamists, supported by Saudi petro-dollars. In this case it is difficult to talk about Islamists of the rank of the Taliban, more about Islamists who love dollars, alcohol, drugs and expensive off-road jeeps. Maybe even rock-n-roll although I would not dare to claim such a thing. But even as they are, they manage to establish control over a large part of Somalia. Ethiopia intervenes, sending troops and air force against the Islamists, supported by the USA and the UN, who try to push the idea of ​​a state again through the cannons of the Abyssinian army. Yes, Ethiopia of all the countries. There is also something patriotic about it, the war for Ogaden when the Marxist brothers Mengistu Mariam and Siad Barre sent an army to slaughter each other for a few kilometers of dust.

Bye-bye Anarchy, the state and religion return to "save" the people. Eight years of a new civil war follow with a few "oases" where certain clans of pagan origin remain outside the chaos. After the fall of Anarchy, the coast of Somalia becomes interesting for fishing companies from various countries, including Japan. Huge fishing factory ships devastate the fish stocks on which the survival of hundreds of thousands of coastal residents depends.

Faced with hunger, people turn to the revival of a forgotten craft, made famous by Stevenson's novels - piracy. Pirates are achieving spectacular results, from capturing Saudi tankers to cargo ships under Liberian or Bahamian flags transporting tanks and missiles from ex-Soviet countries to random African despot clients. The world is `horrified` and sends serious naval forces to put an end to piracy. The Bab el Mandeb Strait is also nearby, which is a feeder to the Suez Canal, and threatening such a sea route is a crime against modern corporatism. Fifteen men on a dead man`s chest yohohooo and a barrel of Oil. It is certain that the number of pirate attacks has been reduced by interventions, and hunger reigns again on the coast. Ten years is not a little for a human being. And ten years of Anarchy for a geographical entity, previously ravaged by wars, corruption, hunger, epidemics and tyranny? Who knows. Whatever would be the case, the phrase resurfaces. And today there is only a shadow of a central government that rules over two cities and nothing more. There are also Islamists who want to replace the deity of the State with the deity of Allah.

Both "options" are only seemingly opposed because they are too similar to each other in their basis. Both are dependent on the dollar deity. Both are financed by money collected from taxpayers across the seven seas, many of whom have never heard of Somalia.

It is an inexhaustible source.

And they will continue to pay, until the last fighter against the state and Allah falls dead, from a bullet, hunger or disease, it doesn't matter.

Two studies that deal with the Anarchy in the Horn of Africa, at the following links:

http://www.independent.org/pdf/working_papers/64_somalia.pdf

http://www.peterleeson.com/better_off_stateless.pdf

(Roger Mortis 031)

Alchemical bastards

No pain no gain, they said.

What about lotta pain and shit full of gain. That, they never say.

I-Phone anarchists, champagne socialists, pork islamists, caviar communists, dollar patriots - everywhere the abject need for belonging creates hideous monsters without any ideological basis, let alone consistency, the need to always be in the flabby semi-context of the herd, mixing oil and water, fulfilling the dream of the former alchemists and fantasizing that it is possible to turn shit into gold, maybe not real gold but gilding in any case. Looks like shit, smells like shit and talks like shit, but it`s gold folks! And we are proud to be a part of it! We`re golden! And if We are golden, so am I?

Liberals that Khomeini would be proud of, Russians that Jesus would gladly liquidate, traditionalists - owners of a wide range of hepatitis and gonorrhea, family people whose children are strangers in the night, idiots with bigger nominal titles than Tesla, moralists - diminutive maniacs, hardcore Nazis who fuck in the ass and die of AIDS, racists who smoke on blacks, the incredible orgy of superficiality reigns everywhere.

Instant belonging, instant declarations, hollow in the void, value for money. No one can pave the way for someone else, there is no messiah who will take on the sins of others on his back, there is no ideologue who will create a matrix of well-being, there is no Guru who will open the gates of perception, there is no one and there is nothing.

Apart from the price paid on the path that everyone must walk alone, which most likely leads nowhere, and if it does lead us somewhere - it costs much more than we imagined at the beginning of the individual Odyssey. Of course, before setting off on the individual path, no one will give a warning that the cards have long been dealt and that it will be hell. Kismet.

Hope is a powerful drug, beats coke in round one.

Rant over.

(Roger Mortis 030)

Privates on Drugs

The use of narcotics during the most massive massacres of the 20th century, a century in which drugs were outlawed for the first time, is a classic tragedy of statism, where on the one hand we have draconian legislation aimed at any possible dealer of Meth (or any drug), but only if that dealer is not authorized by the state. In the event that he is authorized, the drug is wonderful, humane and irreplaceable.

And patriotic!

A tragedy in which the main actors are Methamphetamine, cheap hypocrisy and the drugged up killing machine known as the War Hero.

Methamphetamine, first synthesized in 1893, already in the twenties attracted the attention of the Imperial Japanese Army and somewhat later the German Wehrmacht. In both cases we have a mass distribution of Meth tablets to soldiers (especially tankers and pilots) in combat conditions. The most bizarre form was the German chocolates filled with Speed ​​(known as `Pervitin`) which were distributed to the army. Speed ​​so sweet.

Billions of doses were issued first to the Wehrmacht and the Japanese army and later after seizing a certain amount in 1941. and the Soviet Red Army begins mass production and use of the so-called "Vint", cheap crystal meth, especially for the heroes of the liberation war. Second bizarre fact - when searching the corpses of German soldiers, prisoners or seized supplies by Soviet soldiers, "Pervitin" had priority. Finland, the USA and Britain are other countries known to have used this drug to enhance patriotic fervor and suicidal courage.

How many Japanese suicide "Banzai" attacks were carried out because of Meth and not because of patriotism is hard to say. How much of a role this drug played in the initial successes of the "Blitzkrieg" is not hard to guess. If an SS man could march twice as far as a French or Polish mobilized peasant (trained to work hard and well conditioned) and if he could get by on half as much sleep - the conclusion is not very complicated.

How many casualties fell because a recruit, naturally reluctant to excel in combat, was hit with Speed ​​and suddenly felt like a superhero with a mission to make the enemy cry is not known. Nor how many civilians died during the trigger happy trips of a random private or corporal. How many recruits would have returned home alive or at least returned home without missing an eye, leg, arm, liver or spleen... is just a sad rhetorical question.

Speed ​​is not the only drug used or developed for combat use, just the most massive. The super-drug D-9, which was tested on human guinea pigs after concentration camps and which was supposed to create super-soldiers, with an extremely high pain threshold, endurance and fitness... is just one of the drug secrets of World War II. The consequences of the continuous use of Meth by soldiers are not even known because drugging "their own" soldiers was an official secret that took decades to surface from the septic tank of statism.

The drugs continued their march further, to Korea, Vietnam, ex-Yugoslavia, Africa, Iraq or in almost all post-WW2 conflicts. Synthetics joined alcohol in the realm of militaristic drugs, suitable for inducing false courage and fierce patriotism that once smelled only of Rakija. New time - new aromas.

It is important to have love for the country that loves us and protects us from drugs.

(Roger Mortis 029)

Coming of age of the Leviathan

By promoting state patriotism and nationalism as its clearer version, phenomenal results are obtained for the ruling elites. The masses gain a new emotion, a new group is obtained to which the frightened individual will belong with a simple declaration of belonging, on the occasion of his birth between certain lines on the map. Or to his ancestors. Or just like that...

There is still no answer to what is positive in patriotism/nationalism. For the people. For the oligarchies, there is always one. It is just one of the mechanisms for the slaves to keep quiet and have a blockage in their minds, a kind of firewall in case they start thinking about what influence the state has on their lives, what they really lose and what they really gain.

The twentieth century was certainly the bloodiest in all of history. Perhaps an indicator that with the sophistication of the state in line with technological development, there would be a possibility of rejecting the idea of ​​the inability of the individual or group to decide for their lives without the tutelage of the competent bureaucrat? Quite the opposite, unfortunately, the twentieth century was the century of the height of nationalism and the century of half a billion people killed by states. After all, technology enabled the development of propaganda without precedent. The role of this new phenomenon was best described by none other than the master of propaganda, the hero of the apotheosis of the idea of ​​the state, the nation and the race - Joseph Goebbels. From the horse`s mouth, as they say :

"If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it. The lie can be maintained only for such time as the State can shield the people from the political, economic and/or military consequences of the lie. It thus becomes vitally important for the State to use all of its powers to repress dissent, for the truth is the mortal enemy of the lie, and thus by extension, the truth is the greatest enemy of the State."

Yes, the Lie!

That you share common interests with people you have never seen and will never see in your life, that you are being robbed for your own good, that you are a commodity that cannot do without a yoke, that there are `internal and external enemies` lurking everywhere, that your life does not belong to you but to persons delegated by the oligarchy for that purpose. That if you have no emotions for your fellow human beings, there are football players or ping pong players who you will love fiercely but seasonally, in installments, and that is the authentic You who has found yourself.

They will never tell you how much death, pain, misery and suffering the idea of ​​a state has brought to man. They will never tell you how much of your life will be taken away by the state. That you would never cast an `anchor` of your own free will at the offered emotional and identificational `harbors`. But never.

They will never tell you that what you expected to receive as feedback is just a cheap myth that is not supported by any legally valid document, a myth, an illusion of the skillfully adjusted scales in order not to outweigh the instinct for biological survival and to play weapons.

And I am embarrassed to tell you that that instinct is on the verge of defeat, if not already completely defeated.

(Roger Mortis 028)