Serbia without anyone
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Loading... - Vanessa Davis
- 06 Apr 2022
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I would not tire you more than you need a hopeless Sunday that disappeared in the lukewarm astonishment of naive freedmen over the loss of what was not. This is just a futile walk through yesterday's recent past. I promised to search for my voice, the insignificance of which I understood too late. In order to be noted for what I wanted to say in the voting, I stood in a chaotic line with martyrs similar to myself, for a full two hours. My persistence was a stubborn experiment on the meaning of anything. I heard a question from a woman who could barely stand leaning on a cane, posed to anyone: people, what are we doing here anyway?
It was a matter of days, the password of the election campaign. A lucid dilemma about nonsense. My voice was lost when I folded the paper four times and inserted it through a narrow opening, for some reason under the fear that I took my destiny to myself for just one moment, and then gave it to unknown mutants. Because my voice went to the bonfire, which could not have burned if there were not hundreds of thousands so lost. All that was left was the ashes, I found out before midnight, listening to the fantastic victory speech of the arsonist. I learned that nothing can be solved by voting. My personal rebellion remains, perhaps as a borrowed personal idea of ​​Cervantes' best hero.
At the end of the day, I saw outbursts of joy that have no place, a frenetic celebration of a group of people pouring themselves some sparkling drinks, telling how they had made their dreams come true. They won three to four percent of the vote and will sit in parliament as delegates to their small ambitions. They will arrive there walking the red carpet, greeted by an honorary line of guards.
The burger in the Assembly tavern is aristocratic food in the politics of small goals. It is a feast during an uninterrupted break in sessions where they otherwise cannot get the floor.
I really shared the sufferings of Mišo Vacić, the presidential candidate who failed to reach 1 percent. Anyway, he is the other end of the stick, the same policy of turning right, as it was said at the end of the evening, although it is clear that Vacic exists to move the ethical breakdown of the top to the bottom and be an anchor in the mud.
The party of the winners was a ritual of a group of thieves, who have long been indifferent to whether they will be caught stealing civic will. While they were waiting for the chief, Simo Spasić, a resigned rapist, was shown threatening unsuitable journalists using gestures and grimaces of insane prisoners. He was wearing a T-shirt with insults to H1 television.
And then the winner said he was not satisfied. He insulted Dacic with his Aesopian language, who picked up parliamentary and capital voters with his distasteful Russophilia and the magic trick of the left-wing right. During that time, Ivica gave his vocal speech, sang Zajdi, zajdi clear sun… He was red with joy and with himself, knowing that VuÄić, despite his disgust, could not avoid him. Read More…
