This is an exciting text born after the events on the night of 30.11.2013. So we translated it and put a video parallel to it at the bottom….enjoy!

Source: http://durdom.in.ua/uk/main/article/article_id/19419.phtml

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Against you, Ukraine

Knock you off your feet. Knock your teeth out. Break your bones. Drag you by the hair. Smash your head in with a swing of the leg. Bitchy, vile, sly, in your back, at the most vulnerable time for you – early morning, when you’re maximally exhausted and not focused. When you do not expect an attack, because you are calm and peaceful, and you, naively, expect the same peace from me.

I will not come to you with peace. I shall come with war, my war. I am ready, and you are – not, I’m armed, and you are – not, I’m trained, and you are – not, I am protected by law and armor, and you are – not, the element of surprise is mine, and for you – not, I know you are already doomed, and you – know not. You have hope, but I have handcuffs, you have a cup of tea – but I have a serial number on my helmet, you have inspiration – but I have a baton, you have a desire for change – but I have a bestial cruelty, you have your people – but I have my orders.

Spit at me – I will hurl you. Push me – I’ll put your nose to the ground. Hit me – I’ll break your rib. Throw a stone at me – I’ll chase you down and beat you to a pulp. Don’t forget, this is my war, it’s a massacre, and by my jackals rules, and you are meat in it, which I will tear with hands and teeth until I destroy you.

And no matter who represents you – teenager, adult, old, man, woman, or pregnant woman. I do not pay any attention to that at all, I’m focused and I’m stubborn. I am angry and I am strong. I am equipped and I’m persistent. I do not care about the sound your virtuous head makes when it comes in contact with batons, I will pass by any fallen man, crushing his chest.

I don’t hear the screams of pain and fear, I don’t see people running and falling in panic, my desire – is  to only beat, beat and beat. I love only one thing – the whoosh of batons. And, do you know, what’s the most important thing? While power is behind me – I care for nothing. And you spit on everything. On the ground, on yourself, the visor of my helmet, everyone who runs or is lying next to you, spit, I’ll let you spit. Fresh blood.

You loved fairy tails in childhood? Of course, we all loved them, even I, probably. So, the fairy tales are over, and I bring you nightmares, first in my impassive, and later, rage-skewed face. You remember my furious, animal grin for all of life, because it is I who come to you with their sudden, vile, inhumane war. I brought you the horror and pain, I slipped into you through sirens and the banging of metal shields, I took your calm and nonchalance and, forced to admit it, I really enjoyed it.

My eyes are cold and unfeeling. They do not reflected even a drop of pity for you. I do not mind anyone, indifference reigns in me while I work: we “clean”, push, attack, fly at you, strike countless blows on your defenseless, fragile body, arms, thrown up in a pathetic attempt to defend yourself. I shall not be softened by your mourning, your moans, your cries or the bright – red rivulets of your pain, running down your frightened beautiful face. I’m a beast, for me compassion is unknown, even if my beast is hidden under the guise of a human face.

Around me is neither morality nor humanity;  principles of logic and culture bounce off me like rubber bullets on body armor, next to my fists instantly shifts the equilibrium point, on my shoes shatter lips, foreheads and hope.

I must go. I am called again. I have a new order. I don’t have time to wash the blood from my baton after my last job, but it’s not scary, then I’ll wash it in new red bursts and those, that have already dried a little. I’m going to stomp, beat, break, tear, smash, rock and hate. I go again to war, to my own native, ruthless, ecstatic-in-my-own-cruelty war. Against thee my native, unloved country.

Against you, Ukraine.