Taboo 2.0

Many seemingly clear situations I have never managed to arrange in an appropriate folder in my brain, and one of them is the one in which diseases in people, in this case exclusively in men - are considered something shameful and for some reason, a condition that causes ridicule. Of course, the conversation is about the last taboo of the male population, the concept that makes bones tremble and for which comfort is sought in Ethanol and clumsily directed aggression, the problem that dare not speak its name, the absolute of fear and horror - Impotence!

For the point of this rant, the causes and consequences, the classifications of what kind of disease it is and the ways in which men deal with such a problem are completely unimportant. Another interesting thing is that this disease as a term has acquired the right to citizenship and can be used in an offensive connotation and even in order to provoke a random character, very often by the female crowd. It is even more illogical when it is used by the male crowd...

No one, if we do not count psychopaths and sociopaths, would make fun of a blind person or a person without a leg. A malarial or tuberculosis? I do not believe it. Dementia and Alzheimer's? Syphilis perhaps? Difficult... Without possibly randomly browsing a medical encyclopedia in which diseases that would cause someone to laugh would be found, I am not sure that such a thing as a comical disease can exist.

Is the reason the inevitable sexual connotation, or is it that despite the superficial 'emancipation' of the population and the use of smartphones and similar electro-exoteria that has processing power to shame NASA's computing machinery for the Apollo space program for a trip to the moon - we only have a strong delusion of emancipation and progressiveness behind which lies a centuries-old dullness that is just waiting for someone to scratch the surface a little... who could know...

There is also the tradition of male patience and the perception of men as beings less sensitive to pain, so various war veterans with damaged bodies and psyches, various victims of accidents at work or just 'ordinary' diseases like jaw rot - have had to 'grit their teeth' (if they were left to clench at all) and bury their pain somewhere between the interrupted restless sleep and the crying of the seventh baby...And it doesn't matter in the end. A disease is a disease and under no circumstances should it be the subject of ridicule and malice. At least not for people who consider themselves to be anything more than a medieval enclave in the year 2025.

`Hey brother, I heard that Mitre couldn't see a white cat in front of him, he was completely blind, you know, like that from birth... take your mobile phone if it gets hit by a beam it will be bad...`

Stupid?

Stupid indeed!

(Roger Mortis, 140)

Rant about Kitschevo

To have a new and dramatic experience, it is not always necessary to travel far. Local areas also hide unexplored and unknown territories that can amaze the traveler-initiator. One such territory is known as Kitschevo located in a country widely knows as Northern Macedonia. The land of Kitschevo left a strong impression on me. At the entrance to that mysterious land, there are several grain silos that tower over this settlement like Christ the Redeemer over Rio. All two lanes along the main (and only) street are masterfully designed in the form of a straight line. On the left and, by God, on the right, there are buildings, some with four and some with five floors!

Around the ground floors of the buildings, you can see chopped firewood, which suggests that hardworking and honest people live there. There used to be traffic lights somewhere around the city bus station, but more recently that technological marvel that confused the locals was thrown out and replaced with a roundabout... which confused the locals even more.

The elderly people in the tin bus seats wore cut-up handballs on their heads. I don't know where that custom came from and whether it was a result of their local religion or some new fashion. And so one walks around that place and wonders if there is anything unusual... when there, out of sight, on a piece of track sits the main tourist attraction - a locomotive the size of a Yugo and a pair of carriages. Back in the day, when figures in fezzes brought that thing to the city - it must have made an impression on the people of Paradise that would be left by a spaceship landing today. Later, the narrow-gauge system was replaced by a wide-gauge system, during the reign of characters with five-legged heads, and the little sheep named Qiro was left without a job...

Speaking of spaceships, constant UFO activity has been observed above and around Kitschevo, which is sometimes reported by local and national media, but most such incidents remain within the framework of local folklore. It is assumed that in 1947 a spaceship really landed in the district. And that is no coincidence, after all, the term Kitschevo consists of nine letters, thee more than Roswell! And that cannot be a coincidence. Another similarity with Roswell is that in Kitschevo it was planned to film a teenage series called `Kercove High`, which was supposed to be the local counterpart of the American series that had a strange influence on the young population in the infamous nineties.

If your road ever takes you through this picturesque and not at all interesting place - stop and take a walk, give this European pearl of boredom and monotony a chance to touch your heart. You never know, Las Vegas was once just a couple of saloons, a couple of corals, a brothel and a gas station in the middle of the desert. So, Kitschevo can grow into something significant. And in that case, if you visit the place, one day you will proudly argue with your great-grandchildren - `yes, I was in Kitschevo!!!`

(Roger Mortis, 140)

Neighborhood

 he immortal Monty Python, in their famous song The Galaxy song, humorously talk about the nothingness of man in the vast, dark and cold universe. However, a satirical song can hardly capture the place of man in the universe. And man as a man - has divided infinity in order to better understand it. As we know since the days of the meager and atrocious education system - the earth is the third planet in a row in the solar system, which until recently consisted of nine and today of eight planets, after the disqualification of distant Pluto from the team. Here we already reach the limit of knowledge obtained through the medium of the monotonous voice of a random teacher and go further.

The solar system extends over some fifty Astronomical Units (one astronomical unit is the distance between the Sun and the Earth or 150 million kilometers) which comes to approximately 7.5 billion kilometers, more or less. Leaving the solar system, we leave kilometers behind because they do no more work and move on to Light Years (the distance light travels in one year). We leave parsecs to astronomers.

Our modest Solar System was just part of a cloud of stars and at least 200 other solar systems about 30 light years across. That is our slightly more distant neighborhood. The cloud in turn was part of the Local Bubble with various clouds of stars/solar systems over some 800 light years. A collection of several local bubbles formed a belt of bubbles called the Gould Belt and stretched for at least 3000 light years.

Next we come to the Orion Branch as a collection of bubbles and belts 10,000 light years across and as an integral part of the Milky Way galaxy, a modest galaxy of 100,000 light years. Together with several galaxies that gravitated towards it, it formed a subgroup of galaxies 2.7 million light-years across. That subgroup was part of a group of 54 galaxies spanning 10 million light-years known as the Local Group.

Several local groups formed a Cluster of galaxies, we have been in the Virgo Cluster (over 1500 galaxies across 54 million light-years) which in turn was part of the Virgo Supercluster which in turn was a collection of clusters of galaxy groups and had at least 100 clusters of galaxies across its roughly 120 million light-years...The Virgo Supercluster was an integral part of the Lanicae Megacluster, which consisted of a multitude of superclusters and had at least 100,000 galaxies spread across 520 million light-years. Lanikea is the last division, as an integral part of the Universe, at least the one whose shape and size are assumed to be known across 13.8 billion light years and which contains over 100 billion galaxies as part of the complete Universe.

And that, in turn, may be just one of the trillions of existing Universes...If time is added to space (and it cannot be otherwise), then we arrive at at least four billion years of vicissitudes, coincidences and coincidences on Earth and in our Solar System alone that resulted in the emergence of life and finally of course - Man, a completely new phenomenon with his 200,000 years of existence.

I don't know about you, but such information does not seem depressing to me nor does it make me feel insignificant. On the contrary, we are all an extremely rare situation in the Universe and perhaps it is high time to give up as a species the trivialities that dominate the short-lived stay of each individual in this reality. It's clearly impossible and I just hope, I would even say I'm rooting for us not to be the only self-aware species in the Universe because that would be, to paraphrase Carl Sagan - a truly insane waste of space.

No, seriously...I hope Mitre from Resen isn't the highest life form in the Universe.

(Roger Mortis, 139)

Transvestite's last Flight

A certain Jewish savior once declared (or at least is credited with declaring) that mountains can be moved by faith. Twenty centuries later, a strange character named Maurice Wilson attempted to test the accuracy of that statement. Including fasting to supplement prayer as the basis of his understanding of theology, Wilson, a British veteran of the Great War and enthusiast in the field of sacred activity known as Daydreaming - decided to climb Mount Everest in 1934...It would not have been anything particularly spectacular, expeditions to conquer the highest peak on the planet had been undertaken since the late 19th century. Although all of them up to 1934 had failed, often with fatal consequences for the climbers - this did not deter Maurice. Even less so that his greatest mountaineering experience was climbing the sixth floor of a building in Leeds...

As a war veteran, Morris, in addition to several serious wounds, also suffered from a mental illness, in modern terms Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Unable to settle down in one place, his life turned into a nomadic one, including such destinations as the then exotic New Zealand, on the very edge of the British Empire. He was engaged in various things, no one knew exactly how, but Mr. Wilson managed to acquire a small but significant fortune. Tormented by physical and mental ailments, he decided on mystical therapy proposed by a certain mystical Mystic in London, a mixture of Christian and Hindu beliefs and practices that, according to him, could change human destiny for the better.

And things really did get better for Morris. The pain had almost stopped, his psyche had begun to heal, and extremely euphoric thoughts about conquering Mount Everest, one of the last barriers unsurpassed by man at that time, began to swirl in his mind.A great relief from his suffering was caused by wearing women's clothing (!?) in the privacy of his home, and especially women's underwear in the privacy of his pants. Much like another war veteran and enthusiast who twenty years later would `conquer` the world of B-movie production with his `worst films of all time`, the legendary Ed Wood. No one would pretend to find a correlation between the suffering of veterans and the corresponding relief through wearing women's panties, but the thing is, the brain looks for patterns everywhere anyway...

The journey by boat to Hindustan and then by rail and horse-drawn carriage to Nepal or Tibet seemed unnecessarily slow and tedious, so Wilson decided to fly there. Again, nothing special for 2016, but in 1934 there were no air routes between Europe and the Himalayas, so Wilson decided to fly there himself, piloting a plane! The fact that he had only seen planes in pictures or seen them flying far in the sky did not stop him from planning to fly from Yorkshire to Nepal! Planes tended to be an expensive means of transport in general, but fortunately Maurice had enough money to buy a de Havilland DH-60 Mott, in this case the `Gypsy Moth` or Gypsy Moth in our language, a plane weighing about 450 kg `dry` and with a 100 horsepower engine, more suitable for short flights and basic training than for transcontinental epics. The Gypsy Moth was renamed Ever Wrest, a sexy variation of the noun Everest meaning `eternal fight` or something similar...

Although it took him twice as long as the standard one to obtain a pilot's license, Maurice's persistence paid off and here he is as a pilot! The other side of the plan, the mountaineering one - was taken nonchalantly, Maurice simply did not expect that climbing mountains would be something complicated and began to `train` by walking around the surrounding Yorkshire hills that rarely exceeded 600 meters above sea level or fifteen times lower than the 8848-meter high summit of the world. The fine weather, ham sandwiches, thermoses of tea and other comforts of 'training' were a total contrast to the harshness of the Himalayan glaciers, ravines, avalanches and sharp cliffs but Morris did not bother too much with all that...

Wilson's plan, if one can speak of a coherent plan, was to fly to the Himalayas, crash-land on a glacier and continue on foot to the summit. When reading his plan, the terms `irresponsibility`, `naivety`, `absent-mindedness` and `stupidity` come to mind, but I would add something like `admirable simplicity` that is not found even in cartoons. Not having permission to fly through various countries in which he had to land and refuel, Morris set off from Bradford for India in April 1933...and landed within a few minutes due to bad weather conditions. Determined and fanatic, after a small repair of the plane, he prepared for the mythical flight. At that time, the tabloid newspapers somehow joined the event, introducing the public to the ``madman`` who wanted to conquer Everest, presenting him as a combination of a character who built a ``Perpetuum Mobile`` and a sectarian stuck in mysticism.

Despite the flight ban issued by the British Ministry of Transport, Morris flew again on May 21, 1933 and this time he easily left British airspace and continued to Cairo and from there to Persia, today's Iran, an independent kingdom where the local authorities rarely showed good will towards the adventurer Morris. From there, he tried to fly to Bahrain but the colonial authorities refused to allow him to fly to India, after which he returned to Persia and with new supplies of fuel headed for the subcontinent.

And he succeeded! After a nine-hour flight, riding on the last fumes of fuel in the tank, against all predictions and expectations, like Leicester City in the Premier League in 2016, he managed to do the unthinkable - he somehow reached the city of Gwadar in western India from where he was supposed to head to Nepal or Tibet. But here the bureaucrats decided to put an end to his ideas of flying to the top and his plane was seized...

Not losing heart due to the new blow of fate, Morris decided to "winterize" in northern India and with the first days of spring to head for the goal. He hired three Sherpas with whom they disguised themselves as Buddhist monks to avoid the authorities and controls and with very modest equipment and supplies they set off for the goal. But Wilson proved to be overenthusiastic even for the experienced Sherpas - veterans of several previous unsuccessful expeditions. Wilson ignored their warnings that he was going to certain death, and this resulted in him being left alone because the Sherpas decided to return and postpone his death to another time and place, not then and there by sending the unequipped and inexperienced amateur-pilot-transvestite-do-it-yourself-pseudo-mountaineer...

And that was unfortunately the last time he was seen alive, sometime around the end of April 1934. What happened next is only partially known from his diary, which was found the following year by an ``official'' British mountaineering expedition, quite close to his frozen corpse. What is known is that he reached at least 7,000 meters (if not a little more), that old and new pains began to torment him, food and water began to melt and the Grim Reaper somehow reached the brave Maurice Wilson. It is not known exactly when he died, but the last entry in the diary was on May 31st when Maurice wrote: ``A beautiful day. I'm moving on!''.

The members of the expedition were amazed by the female clothing of the male corpse and the absence of basic mountaineering tools on him, but despite this they buried Maurice with dignity. Later theories emerged that Morris was the first to climb Mount Everest, especially after the discovery of an empty tent at 8,500 meters by Sherpas accompanying a Chinese expedition in 1960. The Sherpas claimed that the likelihood that Morris had died while descending from the summit rather than climbing was a scepticism. Whose mysterious tent was just 350 meters from the summit remained an enigma, and whether it was the first unofficial conqueror, the transvestite Wilson - or whether it was a remnant of the even more mysterious Soviet expedition of 1952, which was also speculated to have reached the summit a year before the famous Hillary and Tenzing - will remain in the realm of the unknown. In any case, no one survived the Soviet expedition, and they died in icy death walking towards or below the summit like Morris... so the truth will never be known...

But that ultimately doesn't matter... I find this story incredibly endearing, I wish Maurice had succeeded in his intention and been the first, at least he had gone to his death comforted by the knowledge of his success in his intention, he is one of those unknown but incredibly pleasant historical characters, completely forgotten as only such a person could be.

If there is an `other world`, I hope that Maurice is there in some custom built part of heaven, dressed in warm hiking clothes with women's panties peeking out from under it...

(Roger Mortis, 138)

Something else

A mild bout of scribbling...which results in a semi-connected rant about something not particularly important...and things like that...

I've always found it a bit incomprehensible why terms like smoking, sucking, doodling, blowing, giving head and the like that allude to oral sex are used in a derogatory and offensive connotation in order to humiliate the object to which such expressions are directed. I've also used them in an offensive connotation although I've never understood why. After all, oral sex - especially when practiced with a person with whom you are emotionally engaged - is one of the finest things that exist in the world, in my opinion better than penetration and everything else since the level of intimacy is maximum and the experience is wonderful.

I would also stand in defense of the female genitalia because I find expressions like ``cunt'' and the like stupid, which most often imply alleged cowardice on the part of the party to whom they are directed. I don't know how the vagina became a symbol of fear. What is clear is that the vagina, under appropriate hygienic and suitable atmospheric and geological conditions, is a very nice, warm and moist place that can bring incredible mutual pleasure.

How actions that bring pleasure began to be perceived as offensive I'm not sure, it's probably down to sex itself as such, for example I couldn't imagine a situation in which someone would ever say `go away, eat a juicy Gaucho steak with Rosemary preferably grilled` or `fuck off, you're not a Marzipan cake eater!`

This is probably a product of centuries-old sexual repression which used to be useful but is now as anachronistic as a steam locomotive, spiced up with the perception of sex as a sin and there is certainly also a moronic sexism and primitivism which says that `receiving` a penis in the mouth or vagina by a woman is a sign of male dominance and humiliation of the female, an ancient tradition which has tended to destroy pleasure between lovers, either way - maybe it's time to use new types of insults like `go away you politician` which is incomparably more offensive than any sexual activity.

I think the old and tried-and-true expressions like shit, shit, shit and the like are still more logical because the aforementioned end products of metabolism and their synonyms are really nasty, stinky and historically deadly, especially when they came into contact with a well or water source and from there in the form of Cholera killed millions of people...

Join us at Aliens-for-swearing-reform.com.

(By Roger Mortis, 137)

Imagined Time slip

The experimental medium was put to the test by searching through the space-time expanses of the multiverse. Key terms in the search were `madness`, `dictator`, `megalomania`, `genocide` and `funny`. Several thousand search results immediately appeared, but at the very top were a few notable entities of some characters with mustaches. The medium was activated by initiating the first choice, and this led him to a strange, gloomy place.

The scenography was simple, almost Spartan. A narrow room, a red flag with a swastika on the wall, several sheets of paper, a pen and a pendant with a double runic S. The new digital spiritual medium who has the ability to break through to one of the many parallel dimensions has finally managed to establish a connection with Herr A. Schicklgruber. The holographic projection shows a hot-tempered nervous man with a duck haircut and a funny mustache. The medium addressed the audience with the words - `Mr. Schicklgruber, please introduce yourself to our audience, who are you and how would you describe yourself?`

A. Schicklgruber - `Uhm... tough question. Let's see... I am the savior of the Aryan race, the Führer of the thousand-year-old German Reich and I would say the wet dream of every blond-haired and blue-eyed German woman over the age of 14. Without a doubt, I am the most important man who has ever been born or will be born. To be clear, I must mention something at the beginning. I may have missed something, sometimes I forget things, thanks to Bormann for managing to upload me to a hard drive in time and get me out of Berlin.`

The medium - `I trust you will not mind if we get straight to the point, do you know that you are considered the most evil man who has ever existed?

A. Schicklgruber - `I know, Houston Stuart Chamberlain told me once when we met here. That's just evil talk that the damned filthy Jews are talking about, I'm not evil and I don't hate people, but I think that there is an order among peoples, a hierarchy, let's say. The Aryans are at the top, naturally... and it is their destiny to lead and rule the world. Who else will rule, the French? The Russians?`

The medium - `You don't think that this is a simple psychological reverse projection where, from one's own physical shortcomings, through fantasy, theses about the existence of...`

A. Schicklgruber - `No, no, I have to interrupt you, the last time I heard such nonsense was from Lanz von Liebenfels. I see that you are not familiar with my ideas, some peoples simply have no other purpose than to serve the Aryan race. If they don't like the place that nature has intended for them, they can try to fight against the natural order and eventually they will die out. That's it.`

The medium - `I will try to direct the conversation to your personality. Besides, how do you fill your free time?`

A. Schicklgruber - `I don't have much free time left, in the break between building the fourth Reich here, in Antarctica and writing memoirs I sometimes relax with a glass of kefir or an amphetamine, I think you young people now call it Speed ​​or Crystal Meth. At least that's what Karl Haushofer told me. And he never lies to me. Since we introduced the Internet to Antarctica, from time to time I read something on these new sites, are they called blogs... anyway, there are interesting opinions there! But there is also nonsense, a typical example of degenerate short literature is the blog HOW BIZARRE, I am especially irritated by blog posts from a guy who is constantly ranting about something, mocking our Holy Reich and the family values ​​of the new Race. It must be some Zionist garbage...

The Medium - `We know that you are a man who often travels and meets new people. We also know that you are a great lover of animals, plant-based food and women. What would you say about a woman as a biological creature?`

A. Schicklgruber - `A woman is a mother. A woman is a wife. Outside of that, a woman does not exist. And for me there is only Eve, my unrequited love that Bormann unfortunately did not manage to transfer to a hard drive. But I do not lose hope, the Gestapo, Abwehr and Ahnenerbe are looking for dear Dr. Shiro Ishii, a talented Japanese geneticist as they say. I exist in the hope that he will succeed in cloning Eve.

The medium - `Do you still have hope for the resurrection of the Reich?

A. Schicklgruber - `It's not about hope, the Fourth Reich already exists, under our control is an entire continent that used to be called Antarctica and is now called New Germany. There, in underground bases, millions of fertile women are constantly being impregnated by a small but patriotically horny group of Aryans, and Albert Speer convinces me that by 2039 we will have enough young soldiers who will set out to conquer the world. Okay, we have small problems with pigmentation, somehow they immediately turn red if they go outside, in the sun, Doctor Mengele will come up with something, so I guess we didn't waste so many Jews and gypsies in experiments for nothing?!`

The medium - `Let's introduce an unexpected dimension into the conversation. Who is your favorite football team?`

A. Schicklgruber - `Are you kidding? Football is a pastime for the common people, it was probably invented by the Jews in order to distract the people from having children and raising mature and responsible Aryans. As a young man, when I lived in Liverpool with my brother before the first war, they took me to a match once, but it was not interesting...`

The Medium - `What do you think about the new wave of extreme right that is emerging across Europe as a result of the collision of indigenous cultures with migrations?

A. Schicklgruber - `What can I tell you, tears of joy come to my eyes when I watch on television how young, clean-shaven men in large groups move through Hamburg, Toulouse, Moscow or Budapest and beat up members of the lower races. It is a sign that racial consciousness is slowly taking shape and that the day when the world will fall under our feet again is approaching!`

The medium - `But Germany is flooded with immigrants of lower racial origin, what are we doing about it?`

A. Schicklgruber - `Nothing, the Jewish-Zionist traitorous government that now sits in Berlin will be severely punished and sent to camps! Germany knows, my suffering mother, how it looks, back in 1919 the so-called Weimar government stabbed us in the back. Nothing new and nothing that our homeland cannot overcome.`

The medium - `How do you view the development of fascism in other countries?

A. Schicklgruber - `There is great potential in several countries, Hungary as our traditional ally seems to be on the right track, in Galicia the number of blue population was increasing, Liechtenstein is racially pure and recently I heard about the discovery of a new race that was characterized by going out on the terrace for some reason, I didn't understand what exactly it was about but I don't have any more detailed information anyway, if you know anything about it feel free to communicate... here in Neuschwabenland the internet is very slow, you know...`

The medium - `What do you have to say to the little Jews who will be grown-up and strong Jews in 2039?

A. Schicklgruber - `If one day some guys in uniforms designed by my favorite fashion designer Hugo Boss come and knock on your door, calmly go with them, and after you get off the train and after they put you in a room without windows - don't be afraid, it's just showers...`

The experiment was suddenly interrupted. The connection with the other dimension was lost for a time.

(Roger Mortis, 136)

Dream Teams

In one of the neighboring dimensions, a friendly football match is scheduled between an international selection of renowned individuals who have practiced Occult & Esoteric practices and a team composed of serial killers whom the investigative authorities have failed to bring to justice.

An uncertain and dramatic, but above all fair and correct match is expected.

The occultists are expected to play in a 4-1-1-2-2 formation with the following composition:

Goalkeeper - Eliphas Levi

Full Backs - Simon Magus, Guido von List

Central backs - Aleister Crowley, Paracelsus

Central creative - Count Saint-Germain

Central destructive - Alessandro Cagliostro

Wings - Nicola Flamel, Fulcanelli

Forward - John Dee, Edward Kelly

Reserves - Jack Parsons, Michael Scott, Wei Bo Young, Johann Georg Faust, Khalid ibn-Yazid, William Westcott, Israel Regardi.

Head Coach - Hermes Trismegistus

Assistant - Albertus Magnus

Physio - Conrad Dippel

Technical Director - Ahasverus

While the series winners, on the other hand, will take to the field with a somewhat more traditional formation, 4-4-2:

Goalkeeper - Zodiac

Full Backs - The Monster of Florence, The Lisbon Ripper

Central backs - The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run, The Biblical John

Midfield - Jack the Stripper, El Psicopata, The New Orleans Axeman, The Bombay Brewer

Attack - The Frankford Slasher, The Tylenol Maniac

Reserves - The Maid Slayer, The Texarkana Phantom, The Fukuyama Poisoner, The B-1 Butcher, The Ann Arbor Angel of Death, The Boston Strangler, The Alphabet Killer, Brabant Maniacs.

Coach - Jack the Ripper

Assistant - Smiley Face Killer

Physio - The Atlanta Ripper

Technical Director - Chop-Chop Charlie

The chief dispenser of justice will be Charlemagne, his assistants are Amenophis IV and Carl Gustav Jung, the fourth referee will be George Gordon, Lord Byron and the delegate of the match is Salvador Dali. The proceeds from the match will be intended for humanitarian purposes. Part of the proceeds will be forwarded to the Home for People Disillusioned by Belief in Supernatural Entities and part will go to the Organization for the Restoration of Empty Prison Cells.

(Roger Mortis 135)

Fire

I've always wanted to stare into a burning fire for a long time. The feeling that the burning of a fire awakens is undefined, but somehow beautiful, hypnotic, I would even say magical. I'm not talking about any kind of fire, conflagration, burning rubber or gasoline, that's bullshit.

But a fire lit from collected dry wood that crackles when burning, that completely satisfies the pyromaniac in me. I don't know if it's because of some instinct about fire that would have to be written in the genetic record, and therefore the feeling. Maybe all of this has nothing to do with the records in the spiral code and I'm just rambling, but what is it... anyway, fire cheered up thousands of generations of our ancestors and helped humans survive as a species.

I can imagine a paradise, a family of some kind - sitting in a cave in 24,768 BC, looking with radiant faces at the fire that provides them with warmth and light.

And others, in another time, preparing food for themselves, enjoying the smells that spread. How their modest clothes are dried by a storm. How meat and fish are preserved with the help of smoke and salt...How the fire in the middle of the dwelling motivates those gifted with storytelling to start telling stories about vampires, devils and ghosts. And even in recent times, a couple of generations ago, a paradise rejoices at a fire on which chestnuts or potatoes are roasted.

And as we know, one of the rare absolute truths in this part of the multiverse is that there is no better cooked potato than one that has been stewed in embers and ashes.

That brings me to my next obsession, which is the potato as a plant, a miserable and unimportant spherical brown creature that is yet another in a series of underrated species that once brought salvation and today bring joy to the gums, an unsung hero of an era that began its wonderful journey from the Andes and onward across the world.

But that's another story...another rant, another banter...

(Roger Mortis, 134)

The Unlikely Emperor

"Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,'' said a certain Baron Acton - and he was not wrong.

In the long and mournful history of power on a global scale, there are characters who seem to be outside the space-time continuum, offspring born from the womb of evil, beings who leave behind semi-myths and pseudo-legends, tormenting traces of suffering and hopelessness. One of them was the creature who acted as a prototype of a third-world dictator, Jean Bedel Bokassa, tyrant of the Central African Republic in the seventies of the suffering twentieth century.

The former French colony known by the exotic name of Ubangi-Chari, gained ``independence'' in 1960. Famous and famous for nothing, this country, as its name suggests, is located in the glamorous region known as Central Africa or colloquially called Sub-Saharan Africa, a term that acts as a death sentence and evokes dystopian visions. However, in a relatively short period of time, this country found itself on the front pages of the world media when its leader, who, following the stereotype of a dictator, came to power with a coup d'état on January 1, 1966. Jean Bedel Bokassa, a former officer of the French army, a participant in the Second World War and the First Indochina War, decorated with the Legion of Honor for his undoubted acts of courage in combat conditions - felt somehow unfulfilled, unfulfilled in his new "homeland". As commander-in-chief of the armed forces, he was responsible for building the new army of the new state, which was a logical position as the most famous soldier who found himself in Ubangi-Shari during the declaration of independence.

Subordinate to the supreme commander, President David Daco - the feeling of inadequacy tormented Jean's psychopathic soul, who soon decided that the best step would be a coup d'état. But for such a thing, prerequisites were needed, which, fortunately for Bokassa, appeared on the scene soon. Daco began to change course towards Moscow and Beijing with a slight inclination to copy some other pseudo-leftist regimes on the continent. Concerned about the possible exit of this neo-colony from the French orbit, the authorities in Paris contacted their ex-officer and probably still active intelligence officer Bokassa, and it was agreed that in the event of a coup d'état, official Paris would look favorably in order to suppress the communist influence of this vast but sparsely populated country.

And so on New Year's Eve in early 1966, Bokassa and his army followers carried out a coup d'état, overthrowing David Dako, with the usual radio message to the broad masses informing the citizens that they would have a new ruler who would love, protect and nurture them...Becoming caliph instead of the caliph, Bokassa began a broad and comprehensive program of corruption and nepotism, using all the tried and tested forms of transferring public budget funds into his own pockets, granting concessions to foreign companies, selling resources and appropriating international aid. Of course, all this was accompanied by the liquidations of opponents of the regime, a media monopoly and propaganda aimed at building a Cult of Personality. Declaring himself president for life in 1972, Bokassa showed himself to be a devotee of the brightest traditions of dictatorship.

How many women can one have sex with, how many luxurious meals can one eat, how much cocaine can one snort, how many dissidents can one kill by one's own hand? All of this gets boring over time, and one of the main characteristics of psychopaths is that they get bored quickly. What next?

And so, Bokassa decided to become Tsar! An Emperor no less!

Not figuratively, not metaphorically, but quite literally. For this purpose, the most luxurious cars, a golden throne, a crown studded with diamonds were purchased, genealogists were hired to "discover" and write the glorious history of the Bokassa "dynasty", the capital Bangui was hastily transformed into a Potemkin village, and cameramen were brought from France to cover the ceremony in detail with film documentation. The equivalent of today's $92 million was spent for this purpose, a maniacal sum in an environment where most of the inhabitants lived in shameful poverty. On December 4, 1976, the Central African Empire was proclaimed, and the coronation ceremony took place the following year. It was planned that the Pope would crown the newest world emperor, but the Vatican did not understand such a situation, leaving the backup option for a local bishop to place the crown on the head of Bokassa I.

Being the Emperor of the CAR, Bokassa increasingly began to lose touch with reality. The enormous costs resulting from the reign, increased taxes, and economic turmoil created fertile ground for an uprising. After the massacre of about 100 schoolchildren and students who did not have the money to pay for new mandatory school uniforms with Bokassa's image - official Paris decided that the scandal with the support of the ``emperor'' was getting out of control and that France's prestige in the world was seriously damaged. After several warnings that went unheeded, a contingent of French marines reinforced by a `death squad` from the intelligence agencies invaded the `Empire` on September 20, 1979 - and in less than 40 hours crushed the anemic resistance of the local security forces. The French special forces brought with them the old and the next day the new president David Dako, who had suddenly recovered from leftist tendencies...

What the marines found in the palace in Bangui was spectacular in its grislyness. Namely, in the deep-freezing refrigerators, packed in plastic - were human babies that Bokassa and his entourage used as a culinary specialty! The cannibal emperor was a great lover of human flesh, a true gourmet who had killed several children with his own hands...

Bokassa fled to the Ivory Coast on his private plane during that time and after a few years he returned to Paris in remorse where he bought himself a castle, Château Ardricourt near Paris! His escape was forgiven by the French authorities and the old asset even received a military pension! The shock of the cannibalistic outbursts began to fade, in the meantime the "emperor" was sentenced in absentia in the CAR to death and Bokassa's masters "persuaded" him to go and surrender to the new government in Bangui, with the guarantee that his extended family could stay and live in the castle in Paris. All said and done, Jean returned to Bangui where the `deal` between the new government and Paris came into effect, life-long house arrest instead of the death penalty, and so Jean Bedel Bokassa, the first and last emperor of the CAR, gradually sank into madness, explaining to some stray journalist that he was the incarnation of the 13th apostle of Jesus...

He died in 1996, forgotten by everyone. Made up tyrants had their counterpart in real life, an anthropophagic grotesque from the depths of the blackest continent.

Fantasy-Reality 0-1.

(Roger Mortis, 133)

Fragmented Beauty

Unquestioning obedience is expected of modern man in almost all domains of life, at least those that are of essential importance, no matter what aspect it is. The highest stage of that obedience is that which prevails in the armed forces where the pledge of a random officer's order is the soldier's life, or at best health.

This slavish, animalistic practice has been going on since armies existed, but unlike before when professionals, mercenaries and voluntary paramilitaries took on the burden of dying for the master - the era of the nation-state gave birth to a monster called `mobilization` where there is a gathering of the entire male population that is arbitrarily defined as capable of war, from case to case from 12 to over 70 years of age.

And so, dying became less discriminatory, millions could finally be sent to certain death.

Resistance to this monstrous practice has existed since its introduction, but has always been minimized by history and banished from the media. It briefly entered the Western public during the Vietnam War, the conflict in Indochina that was totally exploited by the media. And that resistance was called Fragging, a difficult word to translate, which if one tried, could be translated as ``Fragmenting it.'' The term comes from the explosion of a fragmentation hand grenade, a suitable weapon for killing officers because it leaves no traces and forensics is powerless in the attempt to locate the perpetrator.

As the Vietnam War progressed, it became clear that professionals and volunteers would not be enough to defeat the Viet Cong or even the Viet Minh, and therefore recruitment by lottery, popularly called ``Draft,'' entered the scene. Although incidents of killing and wounding officers had existed since the beginning of the war, they were rare and not paid much attention, but after the start of the Tet Offensive by the Vietnamese forces and the protracted war - the liquidations of American officers by American soldiers became commonplace.

It can be safely said that this was the most human side of the war. One can imagine a cadet at West Point Academy, carried away by warlike fervor and patriotic madness, issuing stupid orders or taking it out on the recruited soldiers. But fortunately, there were hand grenades that would suddenly greet such an officer, while sleeping, eating, during transportation... and there were also those most interesting situations when a hand grenade was thrown into the toilet where the officer was shitting, ending his life in his finest hour...

The Army and Marines even started keeping detailed statistics in 1969, almost five years after the start of the war, and the data as of 1972 show about 1200 cases of Fragging, with over 100 officers sent to hell and over a thousand others unfortunately surviving, although they were wounded. It is not known how many cases there were until 1969 and 1973 or after the `Vietnamization` of the conflict until the last Huey was abandoned from the roof of the American embassy in Saigon in 1975...The military courts and police had a serious problem finding and punishing the `culprits` because it was never possible to say for sure whether the explosion was an enemy action, an accident or a deliberate act. Still, it was a heavy blow around the corner. Therefore, only 74 convictions were recorded, which varied from suspended sentences to long prison terms.

This phenomenon also spread to the Australian contingent and other `coalition` forces, although on a proportionally smaller scale. The already low combat morale has reached a new low...If resistance to maniacal criminals with epaulettes on their shoulders, ready to send thousands of young people to their deaths without batting an eye, can be perceived as beauty, then throwing a hand grenade into a tent or canteen where officers and non-commissioned officers are hanging out is something magnificent.

(Roger Mortis, 132)

Strangely Brown

Another piece of news from the fascinating country of India caught my attention, this time it is not about an individual bizarreness but about a massive, huge one, so big that it is on the verge of probability in this, 2025. I do not know if the term `defecation` is suitable for use, it seems somehow sterile and does not capture the situation that prevails in India. Therefore, here is the traditional term `shit` that brings us quite precise information.

India, a country that is a nuclear power, a place where there is a space program and where aircraft carriers sail - is faced with a shameful and anachronistic problem that threatens to destroy the reputation of this ex-dominion in the world. If there is anything that indicates the drastic differences between the image that a nation, state or culture wants to promote and the reality, then it is the following...The inhabitants of the hungry country of India shit. Just like everyone else in the world shits. But somewhere this physiological need has been limited for decades and even centuries to the privacy of the toilet, the latrine, the urinal, the ``toilet''. The strong smell, the uncovered genitals and the hygienic condition require complete isolation of the place intended for shitting in relation to the rest of the dwelling.

Except in India. There they shit and urinate everywhere. On the street, at a bus or train stop, at a stadium, in broad daylight, people shit. Aside from urinate, which is not a health risk, shitting and the exposure of the population to feces that are blown everywhere and contaminate food and water - have been and still are the cause of epidemics, retro-diseases such as cholera, dysentery, diarrhea, typhus and colonization of the intestines by various intestinal parasites.

As the newspaper ``Times of India'' estimates, at least 700 million inhabitants defecate in the open every day in this country. My brain was caught off guard by this news and that's why I can't visualize that image where hundreds of millions of people empty their bowels every day on streets and alleys, in front of temples and shops, in forests and deserts, on meadows and sidewalks...Whether because of the health implications or because of international reputation - the government in India, in cooperation with the UN and its program ``Unicef'', decided to declare war on this habit! In the distant year 2014, a fierce campaign was launched to eradicate public defecation through various media projects that should raise awareness among the youngest population regarding hygiene habits. The mature and elderly population gave up, they are unlikely to give up the famous cultural feature colored in brown anyway.

A series of cartoons has come to light, which, together with a series of comics, posters, billboards and a special video game called `Toilet Trek` (!?) or `Toilet Tracks`, will have to pull India out of the deep shit, this time in a literal sense. The cartoons had their own protagonist named `Mr. Lou`, which means Mr. Poo, and their own antagonist, the disgusting villain `Mr. Pooh` (Mr. Poop). Mr. Poop, in keeping with the theme, was presented in the form of a human-sized piece of feces that moved around and created problems that Mr. Poo then had to solve as a hero (!?)

Although all this seems like a forgotten and uncensored Monty Python sketch, it is still a real situation where public money is spent on the creation of a cartoon character/stylized poop named Mr. Pooh. Whether and to what extent this program will attract young people and succeed in imprinting the role of the toilet, wiping one's behind and washing one's hands in their still unformed consciousness - only the future will tell. Judging by the results of the piles of... hmmm... UN projects from the past, there is not much room for optimism. And maybe this time there will be changes and in the future the 700 million public shitters will gradually turn to private shitting?

Until then, the stereotype of Rajiv, a dried-up Hindustani who, if he is `pushed`, will simply take off his lower clothes, kneel down and shit...on the street.

(Roger Mortis, 131)

Antarctica Mon Amour

Ralph McBunter raised the collar of his thick jacket in an attempt to protect himself from the wind. The chances of lighting a cigarette in such a wind were equal to San Marino's chances of qualifying for the World Cup in football. That annoyed his comrade Ralph much more than the fast, icy wind that froze the whites of his eyes...And time passed slowly, in anticipation of his friend Fumiko Rantashima who was supposed to reach the once abandoned research station ``Wilkes`` on the southeast coast of Antarctica on foot. The girl set off after a brief radio communication when she announced that she would arrive in six hours at most because the new settlement was not too far from the original location where they had landed, the aforementioned ``Wilkes`` station.

However, with a delay of about an hour, a dark object began to be seen approaching through the endless whiteness. It was Fumiko. The next day, comrade Rantashima and comrade McBunter were sitting comfortably on a couch brought by the US Navy back in the fifties. The brandy and nicotine served to loosen the frozen brains, vocal cords and lips. Let the conversation begin. The conversation slowly but surely turned of its own accord to the problems and dilemmas of people who identify themselves as anarchists, of whose identification the two characters described were also a part.

Ralph began in his typical phlegmatic style - ``It's too much...there are unnecessary divisions between the already not too many anarchists in the world and those who consider themselves to be such. Although they live and work under the system they supposedly hate, they still remain slaves and servants of such a system all their lives.`

`Be a little clearer,` whispered Fumiko. `Well...so, we have two main currents - anarchists and anarchists-after-lunch-before-nap-I-want-to-be-interesting-I'll-catch-a-drink and the like, people who have never outgrown their adolescence...and the choice is simple - you're either for or against the system.' `Don't you think that's a bit too simplistic a view of the situation?', asked Miss Rantashima.

``Not at all,'' McBunter replied and continued ``I know how those thoughts go. If you peek into the head of a self-proclaimed anarchist, you will hear the following thoughts - Oh look now, we're going to do it, just to finish college, just to get a job, just to get married, just to raise the children, just to earn money for an apartment or a house, just to retire... or in translation - I will remain a slave to the system, I will not leave my comfort zone, I will do absolutely nothing in terms of my freedom or the freedom of my community to which I belong by choice... and rationalizations like - but anyway, doesn't the consciousness in heaven need to increase so that Anarchy comes... there is time, in about 114 centuries, we are only Prophets and serve as leaven for the new consciousness. Until then I'll listen to punk, read a bit of Kropotkin and wear a weird haircut...I won't exist in 114 centuries anyway.`

`Ugh, I hate you, Ralph, my friend,` Fumiko said with a smile, `I know you're probably right but I'm still having trouble adjusting to that reality.`` I hate you too, my love,` McBunter smiled and continued, leaving his newfound friend with his mouth agape...`As the Americans say, you either sell your ass to the system...or you don`t. Nevermind the anarcho this or anarcho that...And on a local and global level there is no difference. Where do you think all these divisions of anarcho-this, anarcho-that come from, do you think it comes from some practical people? All this is from theoreticians and overly educated people who have nothing in common with the `classes` in whose name they supposedly speak, and have only seen a factory in a picture.` Fumiko's eyes flashed with an unpleasant scene related to the premature death of her father, who had proudly worked all his life for one of the numerous branches of the branches of the powerful Zaibatsu corporate clans.

She tried to push the scene out of her mind...But Ralph had already got into a rhythm - `With today's level of technical development and the opportunities that are within reach of almost everyone, in at least half the world it is much easier to be outside the system than it used to be. But it requires a temporary deprivation of some of the modest comforts and, above all, a clarification with yourself, who and what you are... and how sincere your intentions are. People forget that they even fantasize about what Anarchy should look like in the 114th century... sometime after the fall of the system - that every day they `feed` that same system they supposedly hate. There are people who probably haven't heard of anarchism as a political theory but who are anarchists nonetheless. Such an example exists among the paradise of Bougainville, an island northeast of Australia where Anarchy has succeeded in practice.

More can be learned about Anarchy from these simple people than from the entire oeuvre of Kropotkin, for example. Although they are uneducated, everyday life and everyday needs have developed in them many abilities and qualities from which much can be practically learned.` Comrade Rantashima sighed, drank her brandy and decided not to interrupt Comrade Ralph, who apparently liked her even beyond ideological collegiality.

`Sincerity of intentions and willingness to be outside the system or at least to eliminate as much as possible the role of the system in the life of the individual. Or the group. Personal example is the most convincing. Dry propaganda and persuasion do not bear fruit, at least not in the last 200 years. The people are not convinced that way. When the people see that people live well that way (off the grid) they may reconsider. At least a part of them. `In short, those who declare themselves anarchists want to fuck without getting in, to receive every day from the system and remain - innocent...`

Fumiko could not keep quiet - `Ralph, it seems you have not read much history`. `Not too much, I admit` Ralph answered and continued - `There are no such examples from history. The alleged infiltration of the system as a way to change it is just a cover for hypocrisy and fear. It is the same as if someone is ready to circumcise themselves or have someone's clitoris cut off in order to become a Muslim and change Islam from the inside. And they say they are - atheists. Complete logical nonsense. It is expected as expected and leaving a backup option...to be ready when it is necessary to pay a loan installment or go on vacation somewhere.`

`The system is corrupt, irrational and inhuman to the extreme. Everyone who is part of it is partially or totally corrupt, irrational and inhuman. You are either for it or against it.` ``Maybe all this is just the result of a misunderstanding,'' Fumiko began. ``Because anarchism and Anarchy are not synonyms, something that even anarchists themselves do not understand. The former is a theoretical doctrine and political ideology that speaks of a society without a state, without power, without imposed authority. Anarchy is a state of statelessness, powerlessness and the absence of vertical authorities. The saddest thing is that it does not require who knows what resources. Just honesty and perseverance.` ``Exactly, my dear, honesty,`` Ralph intervened. ``Why would someone who would work in the system, who would use at least the scraps he gets, all the small comforts and advantages that ``infiltration'' would provide him, give up all that... in the name of some moral principle?

Especially if he comes from a poor background and his scraps seem like the Rocks of Gibraltar...or if he has started a family...even if it is the end, or if he has taken out loans...he will become a penitent, you know, like those ex-smokers or ex-meat eaters or ex-members of another tribe who are the most vocal in the persecution of yesterday's 'colleagues'. `This is probably where idealism should come into play,' Fumiko smiled and added with mild irony...`and maybe Santa Claus and the Christmas Bunny...``It should, but idealism is a great luxury,' Ralph interjected - `idealism makes you ignore biological nature, say goodbye to evolutionarily built-in mechanisms. That is why it is so rare and represents the highest level of existence that a Homo sapiens sapiens can reach by putting drives, instincts, fears under complete control, to stop being a slave to biology. Although it is very likely that he will suffer on that path. Despite everything.

Miss Rantashima took advantage of Ralph's silence and began - "Nobody wants freedom. Not really. Because it implies full responsibility for their actions, their attitudes, their life and their surroundings. There is no one to `export` that responsibility to. And people would give a kidney, a testicle or half a uterus to be able to export as much responsibility for their actions as possible to an external factor that will carry their cross, or at least serve as a support, crutches that Jesus did not have when he climbed to Golgotha." And she continued - ``Orwell grumbled something that freedom is the ability to say that two and two make four, that everything else follows naturally. If we reflect this on time, and since I am not trying to sell originality - I will say that life consists of time. There is no other measure of `unit of life` that is as comprehensive as time.

In that case, freedom could be measured by calculating how many of the 24 hours a day are available to us in the way we ourselves think we should spend them, how much of the time in life is "ours" and we can give it to ourselves and to those who mean something to us. For a few moments Ralph and Fumiko were silent, occasionally glancing at each other. Ralph, having a little more alcohol in him, continued - ``The calculation was devastating. That was the beginning of the road that brought us to Antarctica. Because there are no states here, no priests and abbots, no bureaucrats. `There is nothing else,' examples Fumiko... ``except our desire for Anarchy. And that of our like-minded people, who are not few. Wilkes Station is already full and expanding every month. We are now building a new settlement, as you know. You should come and visit us soon.

`Of course,' said Ralph. `I must tell you that I will not come only for the settlement, but more for you.' `Maybe so,' Fumiko replied, `why not.' `You know what, Ralph, I don't think I would like you so much if we lived in Dumfries or Osaka, but here in Antarctica...'Under the sun of the polar day, Ralph and Fumiko's simultaneous laughter hinted at a spark of emotional development.

(Roger Mortis, 130)