— Written by Branko Veljković —
Under Herman’s wing, some have hidden.
Under Herman’s wing, many have vanished.
That is why Herman has two wings…
No one has ever escaped Herman’s wings.
It is not up to Herman… it is up to the people…
When the silence speaks, many will be struck mute. Their voices will not be heard. And who would even be able to hear them then, when everyone in that horde, while still alive, traded their hearing for silver coins and pushed away the only one who forgives and who sees all of a man’s interior behind a golden calf? The silence that follows will be heavy, that silence will be enormous, beyond the limits of senses and human thought. With pupils wide and breath turned to stone, from the dead mouths of soulless corpses, they will then see only themselves, how each time they were only avenging themselves when they were avenging someone or committing evil…
That silence will then be composed solely of final solitude and immeasurable fear. That silence will be eternal!
And when people choose Herman’s wing, they should remember what the only-begotten son said – “This I have told you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have trouble, but take heart, for I have overcome the world”!
Therefore, I pray for people while they are alive, when they are no longer alive, it will be too late!
That day he was tired. Perhaps he wished to sleep through that sunny day, but he had long since surrendered himself to the one who steals peaceful sleep, so he could no longer suddenly decide for himself when he would sleep and when he would not. Now he was what he had wished to be – a part of the assigned history of a people he had so zealously destroyed for decades – Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill, prime minister, sir, general, Englishman, Anglican, journalist, historian, painter, Nobel laureate…
I would say for him and all those like him before and after – “I have agreed to be all that it wants, behold I sell my soul to my devil…!”. In truth, Churchill was – a common merchant.
Had Churchill not so devotedly destroyed Great Britain, the USA would never have become a superpower. Had Churchill not been so good at it, they would have had to find some other Churchill from all those on offer. But, while he lasted, this one was excellent. Then, in the world of geography, for his “deed,” he was recognised, acknowledged, and rewarded. By the decision of US President John F. Kennedy, this Anglican was proclaimed the first honorary citizen of the USA by that Catholic in 1963. However, at that moment, Churchill was already breathing that strange air beneath the chosen Herman’s wing, and his son and grandson received the award on behalf of the sick man…
The one he served had fulfilled its part of the bargain – it made him the first public man of the public empire – Great Britain. Now it was Churchill’s turn, and his part of the contract.
One of all those who wish to exist in the pyramid while duly “skipping the primer” and finally getting their diploma said to him on one occasion, probably wishing for Churchill to notice that he exists – “What is all this for… war is accidental…”. However, Churchill felt sleepy that day. He looked listlessly at the question mark and all other question marks similar to him with the gaze of one who has long felt Herman’s breath on the nape of his neck. Then he cemented them all with what he said – “Well, yes,… but we prepare that accident for years…”.
He could have told him much more, but it was pointless. The Illiterate was part of that faceless legion which exists solely out of the need to “fill the space with something.” You recognise them, the deranged, by the fact that over time they truly come to believe they have become the roles assigned to them – self-proclaimed experts, kings, presidents, generals, mantle-bearers, managers and editors, chiefs, directors,… Of all the diplomas that Illiterate had scavenged in life, only the last one would be needed. Churchill knew that, which is why he sometimes satirized them so. That satire was actually the last trace of humanity in that Spencer, satirizing to jolt them awake,… In truth, he was never better at anything else. Spencer did not know how to love, but he knew how to satire.
On the other side of the ocean, on the other side of time, Josif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili Stalin gave the order for intelligence activities to cover the world. He wanted to create an impression of power, of the party’s omnipresence, and of something that everyone would eternally search for, but which had already been told to him. Ahead of the agreed great slaughter, reports began arriving about the impending war and war preparations. The intelligence world was abuzz. One morning, a high-ranking chief tasked with exterminating his own people and, in his free time, the “officer” for intelligence activities, walked into the office of comrade “red god.” The disturbed reporter stood quietly before the cobbler’s son, determined that they should call him Kobo from the time of Papismedov[1], from the revolution, and not “Soso” out of grace. He briefly informed him that the agent network from Japan was reporting that the Germans were coming. Stalin was silent. “What shall we do?” — the disturbed postman with scavenged little stars asked. “Nothing,” Stalin replied. The reporter-er, until the end of his reporting life, did not understand that calm. And it was “nothing” because “nothing” was on the agenda. According to the pre-arranged order of work, “nothing” followed until it was time for “something.” The moment the time for “something” came, the unimaginable was set in motion. The Red Army, under the red flag and the red pentagram, reached Berlin. And then the Cold War doctrine was activated for the next half-century or for infinity if time were measured by the beats of a human heart. Part of that doctrine is that famous nonsensical story about how the “Russians want to reach the warm seas” and how “the British won’t let them” and how they are preventing it through “us” and “ours” and all those other Balkan domestic “little Brits” of green-fly character and fickle nature. In that part, the only truth is that we are not short of politicians and officials of green-fly character, but the idea that this grouping of little Brits could prevent the Russians in some supposed aim to reach the Adriatic is as realistic as the possibility that the self-proclaimed[2] would not be on some national frequency for seven days. Had the Russians ever truly needed to physically reach the Adriatic, they would have been on the Adriatic. When it was time to reach Berlin – they reached it, Vienna – they reached it, Paris – they reached it… Simply, Russian strategic discipline does not reckon in thousands. They count in millions. Therefore, perhaps it is time to stop the blather about Russian aspirations for warm seas and the “forces” that prevent it. It did not happen, even if I didn´t know where, when, or why that joke was conceived. Such a strategy in real, actual global politics does not exist. The Russians have always been exactly where they wanted to be, comrades Zaitsev and Borscht[3] from invisible cellars, not the generals or politicians who were always just citizens present on work assignments.
And just like the Russian ones, all those other white-world establishment generals[4], to whom I have dedicated this text, know perfectly well where their place is in the “supply chain” and when they “get carried away”, someone from the world behind the mirror always appears to remind them – “War is too serious a matter to be left to generals!”.
Now, relocate all of that from the white world to this, our “bumf*ck nowhere”.
Remember Nikola Pašić[5] and his son Rade. Two soulless monsters. When the public found out that Rade Pašić[6] was repackaging sugar and again stealing from both the state and the people, a huge scandal erupted. Nikola stood in defense of his degenerate son – “So what, the child loves sweets!”. But that was not just irony, it was actually a demonstration of power – they can do it!.
How many of those who “can do” everything, even the indescribable, do we have today? Do you see them?
If we had a state, which we do not, there would be some service, some police that would put an end to all that. And we have public police, secret police, military police and communal, tax police, and Bajaga’s[7] cosmic one, organs and security services. No less land, but more police. No less land, but more crime. Out of all these police forces, it turns out that the only law respected in Serbia is – the law of Grandma Tsoka[8]!
And without Grandma Tsoke, the self-proclaimed parceled out all these beneficiaries the other day with just one single sentence. He said that “they” (and that “they” in his vocabulary exists only when it’s time to share responsibility with someone, otherwise it’s always just “he” or “I”) did not know for seven months that a resolution of the United Nations General Assembly on Srebrenica[9] was being prepared. So, comrades and ladies and gentlemen, leaders of principal bodies and satellites, with that sentence he has just disbanded you all. The Czech model. All of you, as many as there are, did not know that a resolution determining so much was being prepared in the supreme public evil of the world! So what didyou know?
Therefore, if you did not know that, then you really should all be disbanded. Because EVERYONE knew except you, it seems.
And in truth, the reality is far more terrifying than the axiom of your incompetence, comrade leaders of the principle bodies and satellites of security.
The self-proclaimed one, who believes he is absolutely everything, and everyone around him, including all those in official positions, not only knew but consciously and actively participated in all of it! They knew that the process of completely disempowering the Republika Srpska[10] was underway and that the process was guaranteed by NATO and SFOR[11] military force, and what is tragic, by your betrayal. By the same model, carried out through so many self-proclaimed ones like him, the disempowerment of the people in Kosovo was also carried out. It is true that all of you have for decades participated in this process, which was executed in a planned, systematic, and phased manner. Inevitably and without any real resistance from “our” side, because “our” side in those spheres actually does´t exist. “Our” side should be the self-proclaimed ones now without spoons for the slaughter, the premier pride marcher, the martinet, that Pašić’s little resistance child, the uninformed professors and mannequins, and all those assorted types similar to them whom we saw enough of in our lifetime. Therefore, “our” side does not exist, nor has it ever existed. The only side of ours this time without quotation marks, was all that unfortunate people who were sacrificed, destroyed and devastated so that this entire performance could last.
And for now, evidently, the degradation will stop at the format of some “community of Serbian municipalities” in BiH[12], just like some “community” of the same kind of municipalities in Kosovo. And next in line is Serbia and its municipalities. Serbs will become a people of present citizens scattered across various municipalities. The entire role of “our” politicians was never to stand in the way of this process of Serbia’s dissolution, but exclusively for them to maintain themselves as toll collectors. That is why we “have” all these “irremovable” political “elites” who last longer than all those states – interim phases for which they so zealously “fought”.
And as for you, comrade leaders of the principal bodies and satellites of security, your proverbial incompetence, which is evident and true, is now being highlighted as a screen for your ultimate betrayal[13], which is also now so clearly visible and certain! Not only did you know, but you yourselves prepared this entire scenario and now, you are executing it. The drama and melodrama, sessions of the National Security Council, emergency panels, endless media drivel, personnel scheming by, to righteous people, invisible criteria, secret reports and the deployment of theatrical-type troops are again just a masquerade to conceal the betrayal. And this time you are ready to sacrifice the people for the sake of your own black deeds, to push them as a physical sacrifice under the tracks of foreign tanks until the “Rafales[14]” from the disempowered republic[15] arrive to protect us. Will that save us? “Rafales,” “Expos,” and Louis Vuitton in a flying taxi. If they continue like this, and they would love to, by the time those “Rafales” arrive over the Belgrade pashaluk[16], they won’t even be able to turn around.
A friend said to me – “Well, how is it that no one from the Republika Srpska vetoed,…”. And the question is simple, it’s not rhetorical but political, and there is no answer. No one requested a session of the BiH Presidency, no one recalled the representative who must not speak on behalf of two but exclusively on behalf of all three consenting members. Why did the Russians have to raise that question instead of one of “ours,” and whom are the Russians now subtly lining up with that move?
That “our” silence says everything.
Because all the “important” ones have become “smart,” just like “him,” Serbia is rushing towards a pashaluk, because even such a pashaluk will have to have its president, state budgets, taxes, generals, and metropolitans,… And that’s it,… I just don’t know who will be – the people – in that division of power. Those of the people who do not emigrate from here, you will crush with your scheming and policies, with foreigners with work and residence permits, with slaughterhouses for living people in suburban settlements, with killers from toll booths and pedestrian crossings, with foreign companies receiving subsidies…
Self-proclaimed, you were told to read and learn, not to improvise. You created a problem for Makrončić and now for Nemčić, which is good, but it’s not good that they will now first take revenge on the people and only then on you. Their own will take away their adopted chickens and granny-girlfriends and the political family business, they will suffer “because someone is stealing their business,” just like your local sage in seconds, the aero-engineer, your pimply comrade from the PR world with untaxed income and mutual girlfriends of both genders. You are spreading panic and panic is a contagious disease, and you have absolutely no one around you who knows how to cure it.
Therefore, I remind you. When Daddy Knaus was visiting the engineer, you were driving that Škoda you publicly mention and your outdated archetype and political daddy, a registered UDBA[17] position for ratting out colleagues and setting up liquidations, even mass ones, was on an arranged vacation in the land of tulips. You were young but already with the record of a former minister and crowned with the “glory of a hero” for the defense of RTS and the massacre of the workers of this media house. Do you remember? Daddy Knaus said back then, in very polite Serbian, that Merkel would rule for another ten years or so, the “exit” of the Americans was agreed, the “arrival” of the Chinese, the connections for your international “tenure” were determined, the frameworks and your public tasks were established. That’s why it was important for you to also muzzle the “hooligan” in yourself and prepare for the “heroic” embracing of both Soroses, the Clinton & Clinton brethren, Blairs, Bidens, Schröders, and all the other “merciful[18]” killers of this and all other peoples. Not everyone in Serbia can do that, which is why they chose you. You hugged them so nicely, paid them, and whispered sweet nothings to each other, and yet among the people, the images of their congratulations to the people for Easter[19] 1999 are still “alive.” But that doesn’t bother you, you love it.
Daddy Knaus said a lot of things back then that you don’t know but would love to know, however, in any case, despite your agreement, young Knaus does not like now what you said publicly, how you said it, and how you marked him. You’ve again crawled a bit outside of the agreement. Now that you’ve publicly “mentioned” him like that, now everyone can do it. It was in vain that you blurted it out right at the beginning of your millionth interview and then buried it with some nonsense. Your people were happy because you were again “smart”, but Nemčić is angry, though he won’t tell you for another while. And you and yours are replaceable, but comrade Knaus, for now, really isn’t. You are compromising him and Herman and his brethren are also circling over his shack. Again, you didn’t understand. You are buying pre-election weeks for yourself, but you are losing eons for all of us, and now you want to sink them too. Do you understand that everyone sees all your fear and stupidity as a threat and a nuisance? Everyone knows it, including Herman. Do you read, or is it too many letters for you?
Now everyone has started running around, even those you disbanded with a single sentence, self-proclaimed one, to figure out what is happening. They are lost and they haven’t even started. They think that left, even if it’s green, is again “in,” so they are digging up buried jackboots and pentagrams. They haven’t understood anything either, but they weren’t made to understand anything but precisely the opposite. However informed they are, when they stray into a minefield they prevail because they don’t know where they´ve been. But the real fun only begins when, in the penultimate act, personal and work biographies, asset records, and accounts in all currencies, rigged imprisonments, and ordered executions start to fly…
And now, instead of political series due to your “because I am smart” policy, they want to deliver us a package. All in one. As Grandma Milica in front of Maxi would say – “That’s all lumped together, sonny,… it’s all the same brat,…”.
It remains to be seen how “because I am smart[20]” will try to “spend” the other one, so to speak, brother Xi. Although, comrade Xi[21] is from a fundamentally different world when it comes to foreign factors, even if it is self-proclaimed “brethren,” family political businesses, and perspectives from “bumf*ck nowhere.” He has somewhat different tools and timeframes at his disposal. You will see,… Right off the bat, comrade Xi has put the Self-proclaimed on a slippery slope, to let him for him indefinitely. Chinese with little flags and appropriate caps, the newly appointed devourers of the people’s time lined up, the whole protocol, 3,000 policemen, and of course, the bewildered self-proclaimed. He is blinking and can’t believe what is happening to him in the pre-election month. First, the UN presiding chair sent him back to preschool and now brother Xi is sending him back to the nursery. By logic and the evident trend in the next demonstrative exercise of “who is who and who is where,” it is clear where the self-proclaimed one will end up.
The other day I watched as the self-proclaimed one, unprompted, praised our wine producers on Chinese television. A pure Oxford accent on the level of a screw salesman which he claims he sold in imaginary London shops and on the other side, a confused Chinese host. It would have been better if he spoke that Alan Ford Chinese from a few years ago, when he was still in the race to be a bigger polyglot than that racketeer with political ambitions who was reduced to one eye, I’m telling you for real,…
But it’s easy for the self-proclaimed one. He always only talks to himself. And when a man talks to himself like that, he is always right. The last time he consulted with himself like that, at the height of Trump’s victory, he paid a couple million of our money into the Clintons’ coffers. Whether he was tricked by the other one or the first one,… who´s to know.
So, on that side we have these leaders from the principal bodies and satellites who deal with these “major” themes and on the other side are those who would like to be leaders but in the meantime deal with “earthly” things, such as, for instance, combating the illegal drug trade.
One of those earthly satellite-fellows, by profession a policeman in pursuit of senior positions, from our city police, once wished to meet a poet of the hardline school. Due to his career “pursuit,” in which he was always in his “statesman” job, he suffered from megalomania, but in wandering between pillars, he unsuccessfully competed with an amoeba—my apologies to amoebas—so, he wished to meet the poet too. For career advancement, of course, not because of poetry or sharp wit. The poet, “because there is a part of him that must do something”, listened to the introductory speech of the “enrolling policeman”, “unburdened by intellect and meaning” and when it was his turn to say something, he said to the policeman – “I pay tribute to our police and its leadership cadre, despite the fact that Lucky Luciano[22] built three pyramids for them. It’s fortunate that Luciano isn’t in Serbia,…”. Now you should imagine the face of that policeman who understood this as praise,… Be imaginative, imagine something between being caught stealing a lollipop in a supermarket and that famous “do you know who I am” attitude, when on the orders of politics they mercilessly beat children on the streets of our cities. Something like that,…
I remembered now comrade Trifun, the careerist, the same satellite and the same uniform as the aforementioned city inspector of the desired jurisdiction… He too was in the race to adorn himself with undeserved little stars and functions, so he asked for a truck with “goods” to be “passed on” to him, so that he too could “discover” and “confiscate” something, in the name of the people, the state, our sacred police, and all our other satellites,… Okay, whatever. The mafia had made many others bluish, so why not one most honest Trifun from the border. The good word then reached Kotor [23]and the guys said, “ah, let’s send it to him.” Good old Trifa immediately informed good old Cvija from the world of scribbling, the people’s militia and the all-knowing press sharpened their senses, everyone is waiting for the truck with white gifts and the truck arrives,… There it is. Trifa masterfully acted out the operational work and instinct of an experienced militiaman, heroically attacked the truck doors, surrounded them from all sides, Cvija aimed his eyepiece, prepared a couple of specials and extra editions to elevate Trifa to laurels, and behind the doors – full boxes of little teddy bears and puppies, stuffed toys for children. Trifa’s veins and arteries got mixed up, his militiaman’s heart is about to give way, questions surge, anger wells up, tears start… Where is the smack, where are the confiscations, where is the glory and the promotions. The harsh men of Kotor had ruined a hard-earned militia career. Trifa slammed the doors and let the truck pass on. Immediately, tearful, angry, and disappointed, he informed the then, and behold the now, always chubby good old sir, always in the minister’s place even if just of the people’s militia. Phones rang, lines were activated. The engineer also heard about the incident but from laughter couldn’t commune with the Illiterate ones for a while, so he blissfully slept through part of the drama. The one in charge of peace in the house then called those mischievous men from Kotor. And only then did the real story break – “But brother, even when you buy flour it’s packaged, for God´s sake man, open the teddy bears and puppies, that’s what was inside,… We don’t send that in bulk so it spills on you when you open the doors. If the teddy bears weren’t needed, we would have loaded it differently,…”. They also said something else about a “little pocket money for ours across Europe,…” and something about the “clear-headedness” of the young militiaman Trifun, but that has nothing to do with the point of our story.
Anyway, for the next few years, good old Trifa, to appease his tormented, tender militiaman soul, would regularly receive stuffed teddy bears in tender colors as gifts on holidays and celebrations, until the men from Kotor were asked to stop. And they stopped.
And there was one from that slightly more secret formation, that’s what they like to call themselves. This one was important. Very important. The most important benefacted postman of that time. He was sent to negotiate, but he also liked to reward himself. And the mafia especially loves these benefacted ones with official IDs who like to self-reward, because on the street that “little lesson” is paid for with your head, while in the agencies they believe it’s due to them by virtue of their formation position. Some strange people. And these men from Kotor do reward when it’s deserved, they do. They are not stingy, but they remember well. So this self-rewarding “super agent,” as the director nicknamed him, was tasked with personally communicating with the dark side of “state” business, and everything was fine until his proverbial frowning overlapped with Kotoran mathematics. Because it’s known, it can be short, but it can’t be missing. The self-rewarding firm-man realised that it was known, and behold… a mishap occurred. At one gathering with the dark ones from the sea, his bladder gave way, his sphincter betrayed him, his underwear got wet. The Kotoran, and there were two of them, is of course by profession a “sailor on white and only white ships” but is in his soul a street psychologist – a joker. He “read” the agency-guy, saw that the frowning one had mixed up his bodily fluids and so they duly finished that meeting. And here the cruel mafia was even crueler. At every subsequent contact, the agency-guy received a pack of Pampers diapers from the white sailors, you know, just to have on hand. And again, intervention came from “the top” to stop the Pampers diplomacy,… The agency-guy complains, says it will harm his career, someone might hear,…
Some, someone will hear…
Kotoran precise mathematics is actually infallible and inevitable. This will soon be understood by that hypertensive chubby one with verbal and mental aphasias who thought his “what are you worth for a few kilos” fooling around in this and our neighboring state was forgotten. It wasn’t. And there were even deaths because of that greedy chubby one with expired diplomatic credentials, not to mention the messing with that “Niko” and ordering the un-orderable. That simply cannot be forgotten. But let the chubby one stew in his fears, and those on the other side of the “law” with their honour and, as they said – their sense for justice and a settled account.
From that secret formation were also those two epic idiots, and believe me, there is nothing worse than a benefacted idiot. They devised a plan to sell poison in small vials, this time not as a figure of speech but literally, for their own account but in someone else’s name, to an interested foreign party, for the purpose of poisoning a still-living politician from the land of the Levant. And the deal was on. The cash landed, the mustachioed one with battery-operated devices and the dandy double dandy rejoiced, both career persecutors of everything human and proven psychopaths when, for per diems and official praise, they need to physically destroy young people based on fabricated political warrants. They rejoiced, took the money, and delivered water in ampoules. The dark-skinned comrade from the other side of the payroll, seen so often in these parts in recent years with all the local citizenships, did not rejoice, nor did his boss with tasks of undisputed importance for much more than Levantine scheming. Suddenly, the dark-skinned buyer of water in ampoules lost the sense of humor that had graced him since his youthful days and the establishment of first contacts with local colleagues of all colors. He informed “his” people and the other “his” people about the joke and the “business plan” of these two idiots from the Serbian secret police. Again, things moved, both visible and invisible. Serious retaliation was threatened, but how to liquidate two complete idiots who were still under the impression they had done a good job. Even the then “first” and “second” reacted – the ones the jesters had convinced that they were precisely the two of them the chiefs of Serbia’s secret police, I wrote to you about that. One, that little hunchback, the later fireman, a whole life with neither hose nor guts, a urinal-diver from the Belgrade center of state security, and the other a paranoid with megalomaniac ambitions who even persecuted unfortunate technicians for installing satellite dishes. One from vacation in Greece and the other from his workplace reluctantly called their two idiots and duly made it clear to them that the money must be returned immediately with the necessary apology. And now imagine. These two benefacted idiots from the empire of Amoebozoa with sticky fingers still do not understand that they are threatened with physical liquidation with an unmarked grave and an uncertain melting time, and they still have a problem returning the money. Somehow they barely managed. It was hushed up, of course. The mustachioed idiot, on account of his green-fly working characteristics, even later “advanced” deservedly, because by the logic of this time, we have moved from the time of idiots to the time of complete idiots.
So, there you have it, my good people, the “elite” that from key “positions” defends the people and the state.
As one “ladies and gentlemen” would say when asked for his opinion in dark times by dark agencies – “The state is never in as much danger as when you are defending it.”
And do you ask yourself how one becomes the Chief of the General Staff?
At an evening party, they call it ‘bela’, “Moses” the former Serb was also there. You probably remember him. That’s the laid-back one from the “Oklahoma” hug[24], who, by agreement and under full NATO monitoring, re-parks howitzers without live ammunition around Serbia for the needs of the daily-political trivialities of the self-proclaimed. That one.
At that ‘bela’ evening, standardly smaller than that police amoeba but significantly larger than the already mentioned mustachioed one, he was passing by the engineer at the door. The engineer stopped him with a look and addressed him: “I am satisfied with how your career is developing, when the necessary changes on the political scene are made, at some point you will also be the Chief of the General Staff,…”. Armed with pure, unadulterated toadyism and that immortal career SMC[25] instinct for “wise” silence, the military person, already a brigadier at the time, assumed that famous stance – let me not speak so I don’t blurt out something. To be honest, the correct stance. They say his bearing was excellent that evening. And “Moses”[26], the former Serb, continued his movement towards nothing. When the future and already former general had passed, the director, from that same door, turned to the engineer and lucidly observed — “Dear brother, the way you told him this, he has reached the pinnacle”… It reminded me of Statler and Waldorf, I don’t know why myself. That was in 2009… The SNS[27] creation was created, the roles were distributed, the routes, route-bearers and money were determined, Serbia could “move forward” towards its end. “Moses” the former Serb duly waited to take his place as the Chief of the General Staff of the Serbian Army and head of the Serbian artillery motor pool. Sometime before that, he successfully, “on task,” finished the Judas-course[28] in Garmisch-Partenkirchen[29]… He was good, they say and write the NATO instructors, he excelled in teaching and specific group extracurricular activities, but also some individual ones… If you’ve ever wondered where the secret of the love between this NATO pupil and his NATO tutors lies, there it is…
Alright then, “Moses” the former Serb will defend his Kosovska Mitrovica to the last oak twig, because you already know – their epaulettes are someone’s dead sons! That’s how general’s epaulettes are built, on other people’s dead children and on a green-fly character. And don’t just remember this one general now. For as long as there have been armies and wars, all generals have always been the same. There isn’t a single foreign child they wouldn’t sacrifice for their flower shops, excise and non-excise routes, and epaulettes. All these generals love that Latin root, because ‘general’ means ‘the main one’, and they ‘love’ to be the main ones…
There was among them, back then, a younger one. Younger in rank, title, ambition, and thank God, in sickness. He too had his schools, it began with chess which was then a game and not life, and continued with that same Garmisch, Liberia, and bloody African trenches. When we were children, chess was played by good people, do you remember, my friend? And he too received space, and he, naively believing that truth could be stolen from God, or hidden, or somehow twisted into “I’m just doing my job”. All his wishes were fulfilled except one, and that one single thing was not a wish but a price, and now, I believe, even he knows it. He loved to come to gatherings in his expensive jeep, to park in a conspicuous spot, for people to know of his “career” and “successes”,… The engineer watched him for a long time, both when he was there and when he was on the other side of the world, I bear witness to this again in a way known to the initiated, and he thought about how and what to tell him, as he posed with that nonsense of a jeep before that tree and stone meaningful only to a rare few. Finally, the engineer told him – “Dear brother, rich people come here, not paupers, don’t come with the jeep anymore,…”. He remembered well what the engineer told him then. Henceforth, he would leave the jeep in some other parking lot, but that one, truly important wish of his life, he still has not fulfilled. For that, he would need to understand causality and to free himself, but he unfortunately still doesn´t know how…
And when it comes to these “officers in vestments”, the next time they robe themselves about spirituality, humility, and their “specialness”, remind them of their first colonel and his vision of the “Body of Christ on a German Maibach[30] chassis”.
Tell them that our King rode on a donkey and had a Crown of Thorns, not a Maibach and suitcases of foreign currency apanages.
Tell them that our King called evil evil and did not embrace the evil one.
I am grateful to the good and only God for making all of them so visible and so easily recognisable.
Dear readers, I believe that after all I have written for you, you understand what the sad picture of the “summits” of our “security” and the headliners of “our” politics looks like. And you, my brothers by uniform and blood, know that it was never the best or the bravest who “advanced”, always only those “theirs”, those green-fly characters. Well, let them… The justice I write about and believe in is not of this earth anyway.
States were not created to help peoples, but to rule over peoples. Never has any danger threatened peoples from the outside as much as that danger from within has threatened and been real. All those “state” parasites who drink our energy and resources, who steal lives and the future, are “ours”, “domestic”, and not some external, ambassadorial, or diplomatic ones. Every people is assigned its state, and every people has its “statesmen” who, everywhere in the world, do the same to their own people. That is why all these self-proclaimed ones and all their little generals, vestments-bearers and repuslsive types are just one vile sect of deranged, soul-sick satraps[31] who understand each other perfectly well. It’s clear,… They understand each other because they are from the same “school” and on the “same (mis)deed”.
But I will tell you that there existed another service[32]. It was not composed of complex-ridden idiots with sticky fingers of green-fly character and hunchbacked urinal-divers, limping deranged paranoids, unbreakable “heroes” of salon wars and little piglets with pre-drawn careers.
That was truly a service, and not because of that oft-shouted platitude – service, which from their mouths means absolutely nothing anyway, but because of real service. We came to serve our one and only God, our people, and each his own surname. And we served. We served Serbia, and that we served-up for them, we later realised.
I understood that when I handed the state flag to the father of a dead comrade, instead of his son. That day at the funeral, I watched the brass music which by that noon had routinely buried three fighters, a couple of absent generals in crumpled uniforms, and the sad people. A father who looked through me and a mother who asked me – “Son, why did you not save him…!”.
I did not save him, mum. I am living with it, and that day will come, when with it I will leave.
That agency was made of boys who put on the uniform because they trusted you, you satanic brood. They trusted you that you were the ones to follow, that you knew what was worth dying for, and that you knew who the enemy was. We were wrong. We were terribly wrong. You had always been that enemy! The dying was meant for us, and the flower shops, the frowning, the paid eulogies, the oak twigs and the silver coins stolen from everything living and dead, for you. And I write this for you, since you do not fear God, so you know that we now know, that we see both you and that crimson scion you are fattening for a new generation of “managers”.
That part of the “service” no longer exists. They renounced it when their agreed-upon “peace” arrived. From their point of view, none of us were supposed to survive anyway.
That part of the “service” is now built of stone memories, burial places and tombstones, and it is cast from the tears of mothers who, even today, only remain silent.
Those two parts of the service never truly understood each other. How could they? We sang “O my Lord, most merciful and holy,…” and you were still wailing “Hey, Slavs[33],…”, we went to prayer houses and you went to temples.
I hear you’ve since learned our anthem for party rallies and house celebrations,…
Well, alright if you have. We will remind you of the words of that anthem soon,… If we, the living, do not manage, our dead will remind you. In silence, like their mothers who have turned pale, they are waiting for you!
More than 50 fighters from our unit died and dozens were wounded in the wars that the hordes organised and agreed upon. Tens of thousands perished in all other units. And back then, in those wars, they were sending someone else’s, foreign sons, and those sons were us back then. We were young, proud and behind our backs they called us “cannon fodder”, they laughed at us and marveled to themselves how easy it is to turn good people into cannon fodder. And if some other people with different surnames in other states are reading this, know this – it is the same where you are! All of THEM are the same and serve the SAME one and we are the ones who are supposed to kill each other because of all those differences!
Now those 50 someone’s sons are dead, and you are still alive. Many of them did not live to see their own children born, while you did bear yours, and now you want to make them the next generation of systemic poisoners, to have them now recruit some other foreign sons and send them into some new, agreed-upon massacres…
It won´t happen this time!
They are dead because of you, you are alive, and I am watching you !
[1] David Papismedov – was a wealthy jewish merchant for whom Stalin’s mother, Ekaterina, worked. Stalin was Papismedov´s first protégé and Papisdemov his first “mentor.” He “recognised” him and guided him. At that time, as a child, they called Stalin Soso, and later, during his schooling, he asked his comrades to call him Koba. That is what they called him during the revolution as well. The nickname Stalin – from the German word “Stahl” (steel) – he acquired during his discreet schooling in Vienna. Later, only that nickname remained.
[2] Self-proclaimed– refers to the politician Aleksandar Vučić, who usurps the role of President of Serbia contrary to the Constitution, breaking it and acting against the will of the peopleB
[3] Borscht– A traditional sour soup common in Eastern Europe and Northern Asia. (Source: Wikipedia)
[4] “white-world establishment generals” – Serbian “belosvetksi generali” The term “belosvetski” (and its noun form “belosvetac”) originates from the 19th century and refers to the cosmopolitan, often Western-European educated elite in the Serbian and South Slavic lands under the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian empires.
The “white world” was a metaphor for the enlightened, civilised, and progressive West, as opposed to the “dark” or “backward” Orient/Ottoman Empire. A “belosvetac” was someone who had adopted the manners, fashion, and ideologies of Western Europe, often looking down on their own native, traditional culture as provincial. Commonly used as “White-world Liar!” (serbian “Belosvetski Lažov!”)
[5] Nikola Pašić – was a Serbian and Yugoslav politician and diplomat. During his political career, which spanned almost five decades, he served five times as Prime Minister of Serbiaand three times as Prime Minister of Yugoslavia, leading 22 governments in total. (Source: Wikipedia)
Nikola and his son Rada, progenitors of organised crime, high-level corruption, and later additionally Rada´s smuggling and distribution of heroin and other drugs.
[6] Rada Pašić – son of Nikola Pašić
[7] Momčilo Bajagić “Bajaga” – serbian rock singer, with the former Yugoslav rock band “Bajaga i Instruktori” he had a song called “cosmic police” (serbian “kosmička policija”)
[8] Grandma Tsoka – serbian “Baba Coka”, Stojanka Stojanović in 2018, she went out one day and killed a criminal (investor) who was blackmailing and extorting her family regarding a construction project infront of her house, something the authorities refused to react to and protect them from, because the murdered man had political connections to the corrupt regime. Media has reported extensively.
[9] United Nations General Assembly Resolution 78/282 is a resolution adopted by the 78th session of the UN General Assembly on May 23, 2024, designating July 11 as the International Day of Reflection and Commemoration of the 1995 war crime in Srebrenica. The resolution, sponsored by Germany and Rwanda, and co-sponsored by more than 30 other countries, passed with 84 countries voting in favor, 68 abstaining, and 19 voting against.
[10] Republika Srpskaalso referred to as the Republic of Srpskaor the Serb Republic, is one of the three political divisions of Bosnia and Herzegovina, the others being the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovinaand the Brčko District. (source Wikipedia)
[11] The Stabilisation Force (SFOR) was a NATO-led peackeeping force deployed to Bosnia and Herzegovina after the Bosnian War. Although SFOR was led by NATO, several non-NATO countries contributed troops. It was replaced by EUFOR Althea in December 2004. (Source: Wikipedia)
[12] BiH – Bosnia and Herzegovina – often referred to as Bosnia-Herzegovina or short as Bosnia, is a country in Southeast Europe. (Source: Wikipedia)
[13] betrayal – High treason – for the Serbian context of “high treason” reference is given to further texts with deeper insight and chronological understanding of the historical betrayals published in the column section of this website brankoveljkovic.com
1. A Serbian fairy weaves for you, A wreath of immortal glory, Over your grave, Vojo, The comitadji bands weep (16/10/2025)
2. A Political Periphrasis Directed by a Couple of Churchmen (01/08/2025)
3. Jerusalem … how else but Heavenly, this patriarch, how else but a traitor! (29/07/2025)
4. “Petar Radulović, a good man, a cavalry captain, a man who understood” (29/05/2024)
5. Kurti vs. Kurti (07/12/2022)
[14] Rafales – Serbia has a contract with France to buy 12 Rafale fighter jets. Expected delivery somewhere between 2028 and 2029.
[15] “disempowered republic” – refering to France. See footnote 14.
[16] Pashaluk or Pashalik (Turkish paşalık) is the abstract word derived from pasha, denoting the quality, office or jurisdiction of a pasha or the territory administered by him. In European sources, the word “pashalic” generally referred to the eyalets (source: Wikipedia)
[17] The State Security Service, also known by its original name as the Directorate for State Security, was the national secret police intelligence and security agency of Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFR Yugoslavia). It was at all times best known by the acronym UDBA, which is derived from the organization’s original name in the Serbo-Croatian “Uprava državne bezbednosti” (“Directorate for State Security”). (Source: Wikipedia)
[18] “Merciful Angel” – was how the 1999 NATO bombing of Yugoslavia was infamously called. The official NATO operation code name was Operation Allied Forcewhereas the United States called it Operation Noble Anvil
[19] Easter 1999 – It was exactly on Eastern when the NATO bombing of Yugoslavia started.
[20] “Because I am smart”– This can be interpreted in reference to a once given interview by the, in the texts published on this website mentioned “self-proclaimed”, president of Serbia, Aleksandar Vučić during the US presidential elections run-up between D. Trump and Hillary Clinton in 2016. Once asked why he had financed the Clinton campaign. He answered: “Because I am smart!” Trump won.
[21] Xi Jinping – Chinese politician who has been the general secretary of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and chairman of the Military Commission (CMS) and thus the paramount leader of Chine, since 2012.
[22] Charles “Lucky” Luciano – Salvatore Lucania was an Italian gangster who operated mainly in the United States. (Source: Wikipedia)
[23] Kotor – is a town in the Coastal region of Montenegro. It is located in a secluded part of the Bay of Kotor.
[24] “Oklahoma” hug – A metaphor for the relations that the Serbian Army has with the Ohio National Guard.
[25] SMC instict – Standard Military Colours – translated from SMB (standardne militarne/vojne boje) of the Yugoslav People’s Army – The Social Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (JNA – Jugoslovenska Nacionalna Armija)
[26] “Moses” – Serbian “Mojsije” – Milan Mojsilović is the Chief of General Staff of the Serbian Armed Forces, having been appointed on 14 September 2018. (Source: Wikipedia)
[27] SNS – The Serbian Progressive Party (Srpska Napredna Stranka), the ruling political party led by the self-proclaimed (see footnote 2)
[28] “Judas course” – The George C. Marshall European Center for Security Studies is a bi-national United States Department of Defense and Federal Ministy of Defence (Germany)
[29] Garmisch-Partenkirchen – town in the Bavarian Alps, Germany.
[30] Maibach– Refers to the luxury cardriven by the Serbian patriarch Porfirije, symbolising clerical opulence.
[31] satraps – a provincial governor in the ancient Persian empire and crucially a subordinate ruler, often a despotic one
[32] “service” – the serbian term “služba” (“The Agency”) refers not just to the act of serving (from the serbian word “služiti” – to serve) but very specifically and explicitly to the (intelligence) agencies as a whole.
[33] “Hey, Slavs…” is a patriotic song dedicated to the Slavs and widely considered to be the Pan-Slavic anthem. It was adapted and adopted as the national anthem of various Slavic-speaking nations, movements and organizations during the late 19th and 20th century. (Source: Wikipedia)