The melancholy of the russian dictator
Lately, watching putin, I have concluded that he even with six of his clones (as experts say), look, if tolerantly, “not very good”.
I remember the morning of 24 February. I didn’t even realize that somewhere there, in TV, the self–confident dictator of the russians was sitting there telling me how he would clean up the country that had been sovereign and independent for thirty years! The country that with visa–free travel! And, as reality now shows, a country that is the feeder of 30 per cent of the global grain market!
No, I saw this much later. The first was the explosions and the demilitarization of military facilities. I hoped it would stop until the last, but it was not to be. The dictator of the russians, bathed in the blood of Chechens, Moldovans, Georgians, Syrians, and Yugoslavians, a bloodthirsty serial killer, was determined to cleanse my Ukraine!
In those distant days of 24 February, putin looked confident and determined. He was tempted with evil, sadistically tapping on the table, making sounds like a speech therapist, and addressing to some imaginary opponent about to die of fear. The slum leader, a hero from the back alley, told 40 million Ukrainians his ambitious plans for them, frightening them by tapping on the table with his fingers, small and thick from excessive moisture in his body, and focusing on the sound of his voice.
Then terrible events happened. It was genocide. The destruction of civilian infrastructure, Ukrainian villages and cities to the very foundations!
And a threatening publication on some .ru website, on 4 April, about how they would destroy Ukrainians. After reading this publication, I realized it was a belated but still unsuccessful attempt to create an ideology of extermination of Ukrainians because all this has become a brutal safari against Ukrainians in my imagination.
Why a safari? Because now, on the 136th day of the war, I am deeply convinced that we are dealing with a dictator who has lost his pleasure and whose manifestations correspond to an incurable mental disorder called melancholy. And we all know how terrible it is to have everything and enjoy nothing.
Even the blood, lots of blood, moaning and deaths of Ukrainians do not bring pleasure to the melancholic, the dictator of the russians.
The figure of our dictator in May is proof of this. He is sitting at the table again. Only this time in profile, he hides his feet in the table, holds on to them for 11 minutes of broadcasting and tries to threaten, but, unfortunately, it sounds tragicomic. Because his melancholy facial expressions and poor gestures indicate one thing – he is in great trouble, and that’s all. He has suffered numerous losses and unbelievable slow advances along the front line, where the army’s advance rate is determined by the number of russians killed. The tyrant allows himself to say clearly that the genocide has also turned in the opposite direction towards the russians. This genocide is even more distorted because of the mother of russian dreams of monetary compensation for his death. Think about it – for the death of her son. Now, when he uses the open vocabulary of the abuser because of his own melancholic devastation, he tells the people who survived the occupation and did not submit on the 24th of February that he has not even begun. The only response is that I’m afraid he finished everything long ago, but he can’t determine when and how.
Yes, one has already surrendered – he wrote six posthumous notes. They will treat him. But there is no cure for melancholy – it ends in death.
