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It is not possible to list all the odes sung in honor of Vučić in such a small space. Perhaps a man is truly worthy of eternal glory, only those unfortunate ones who are convinced that they are fine in the shadow of his strange arrogance know this. Every great leader has his servants, enthusiastic fanatics and subservient ticks, writers of a terrible story, painters to mend a brilliant face, guardians of his incomparable nobility.
But the way of life we are talking about is not a leader and it is not great. He is his own hero who discovers imaginary exploits, he fears nothing but his cowardice. It is not easy to tirelessly watch him and talk about any topic several times a day.
So what is it about? How did he manage to gather around him a world scraped from the bottom, and with them become a fisher of human souls, master of their weak minds, with the denial of all ethics that empower people?
Of course, a complete answer to this dilemma is difficult, and only the post festum is possible, based on a precise and delicate political autopsy of the rotten pandemonium and its symbol.
But until then, the collapse of civilization here would be worth surviving. Right now, the clique in power is maintained by distributing death, and life is the biggest secret in Serbia. Measures in the midst of a catastrophe are an increasingly flexible response to disease due to the special needs of the criminal turbo elite. Turbo folk is his only cultural pattern, nobody comes out of it completely. Entire colonies of subjects were raised there. Voters and fans, fanatics, thugs and paramilitaries of tens of thousands of drones are in that environment of confusion and disgust. Are we, then, those who do not belong to his tor, subjects, if our lives are ruled by his subjects?
As embarrassing as it is to admit, it seems like we are. We agree to be like this. It can be seen that the ruler does not control himself, although this mental distraction may just be an illusion. Their expressions are the product of a painful and unpleasant process within the body at the peak of reverse Serbian evolution. Trying to tell how it is time to go, to fall anyway, to be overthrown, the guardians of the plaster god declare a blow to the constitutional order and life of the dictator. Here there is no constitutional order, it is about overthrowing the one who overthrew order and ridiculed all laws.
Do the members of the lover colony see this, while protecting their master from himself, hoping at least a little mercy for them? It is difficult to penetrate their subtle feelings and the darkness from which they were drawn. Perhaps the nothing is easily covered with miraculous forms of flattery. Like the discovery that the Führer never goes to the bathroom: “I admire you mentally and physically, here I go to the urinal three times and you never, let alone a bigger thing!” Or part of the pop mythology about the son of God: “God himself sent Vučić, to fight like a lion for Kosovo, to protect the Serbs and Serbia!” Or: “If Karađorđe were here, he would admit to Vučić that he was the leader. ”The former lower-ranking hooligan experienced that his subordinates compared him to St. Sava and King Lazarus. He never warned sycophants that such parallels were petty and that they should be at least a little tempered in humility and praise of the madness.
Love is blind and as such insincere, it arises from the circumstance that lovers gave up long ago, and publicly like to get at least something. They still don’t care what kind of cartwheel awaits them when a rotten tree falls, and that moment is drawing near. So when his god stands before the great chamber of the honorable court, contrite, crying, scared and nothing, to finally see what he is made of.
You’re welcome, of course.
Right now, Vučić has everything in front of him that can defend him: the army, the police, detachments of fanatical thugs, Simo Spasić, the parliamentary horde, the government, the crisis headquarters. Media that he personally edits, from which he only comes out to go where he never leaves. But that is not enough.
That is why you need shady creatures, conspirators and liars, greedy swindlers, on dead guard of the last defense against any truth.
In the bottom line, which is inevitable, he cannot defend such a person, nor can any illusion preserve his illusion of unlimited power: not the army with lowly generals, not the police, not the black detachments, not the Milet legionaries. Not sycophants, flame-eaters, spiders, or any carefully selected court service from the worst.
So what are you still waiting for? Isn’t it time to run away, turn your coats upside down, hide, and wait for the new boss to set the cauldron on fire?
Yes, it is time. Each of them has a fairy tale in which the main character is found. So they, humbly serving and celebrating every folly, knew exactly that they were dealing with the wicked. But the slaves suffered and waited to see the end. In fact, they demolished it, they ate it from the inside, the slimy trail behind them is not theirs.
That is the price of humility. You always become someone else, a man’s play dough, or something even softer and more unpleasant, which transforms into anything. One that convincingly denies the reasons for its existence. In the end, however, you are still what you really are, so zero, nothing. Like the one who served.
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