Tito had the right idea
October 1991...A Yugoslav force begins its attack upon the beautiful Adriatic port city of Dubrovnik. The Croats seek to break away from Serb domination...
I'm in London...I meet some Croats...we discuss the possibility of transforming bulldozers in make-shift tanks, among other concepts. Dubrovnik needs relief...My host expresses much reticence, curiosity, and suspicion...inside my apartment, I find a worn copy of Samuel Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot'...I start to read, but find that I cannot finish it...maybe I imagine that the ending will offer me a false epiphany, pointing me in a new direction, and the mission will have to be self-aborted....maybe I don't finish reading Beckett's best known work because I'm just too tired.I leave London.
My flight should have taken me straight to Budapest...but something has happened, at the last minute I'm diverted to the capital of the Former Yugoslavia and now Serbia- Belgrade.
Belgrade once was a great city...the government of Slobodan Milosevic pays my hotel bill...it is overcast, in more ways than one...I wander among the ruins- The Ottoman Turks once ruled this area- their greatest leader, Suleiman the Magnificent, built a sprawling castle here. I climb over the crumbling ramparts...someone watches me from a distance...at dusk I come across some graffiti ...in largely written letters on the cement ground it reads..."Dead Kennedy's."
The people around me are tense. There are some food shortages. The faces are stretched with a mournful sadness- their county is disintegrating into chaos and war...the youth are in total revolt, every teenager sports the punk rocker look. Slobo fights the good fight...
Late at night...I carry a rudimentary 'peace plan'....approaching the Presidents villa...is this the place? Why is it so dark?
Sarajevo will be surrounded soon, and experience the 20th centuries longest siege-four years long. The Bosnian war is about to erupt and explode like a rocket over the future of Yugoslavia...the robbers will win.
My plane takes off, I make it to Budapest. Walking, walking....I find the gate unlocked. This is a special place. I slip in. Another door is open...up the sullen tower I go. Higher, into and up the winding staircase....it dead ends. The way is barred, a heavy chain covers a locked portal. I sleep in the tower that night, listening to unseen strangers drinking wine and conversing, as soft classical music coaxes me to sleep ...In the morning, I deposit my documents by the locked door, and exit the tower.
When I come back a few days later, the initial entrance way is locked. I take a train to the frontier, the border of the war zone- i'm in Trieste, and it is cold
Yugoslavia was dismembered by the western banksters...Slobo Milosevic eventually was murdered in the Hague ( both his parents were murdered- look it up- the details claim they committed suicide, but that's not true.
Slobo was bumped off because he knew too much about the CIA/Kosovo Muslim mafia heroin/sex slave smuggling network operating across the Balkans-he was going to spill the beans at his trial at the Hague).
I'm in London...I meet some Croats...we discuss the possibility of transforming bulldozers in make-shift tanks, among other concepts. Dubrovnik needs relief...My host expresses much reticence, curiosity, and suspicion...inside my apartment, I find a worn copy of Samuel Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot'...I start to read, but find that I cannot finish it...maybe I imagine that the ending will offer me a false epiphany, pointing me in a new direction, and the mission will have to be self-aborted....maybe I don't finish reading Beckett's best known work because I'm just too tired.I leave London.
My flight should have taken me straight to Budapest...but something has happened, at the last minute I'm diverted to the capital of the Former Yugoslavia and now Serbia- Belgrade.
Belgrade once was a great city...the government of Slobodan Milosevic pays my hotel bill...it is overcast, in more ways than one...I wander among the ruins- The Ottoman Turks once ruled this area- their greatest leader, Suleiman the Magnificent, built a sprawling castle here. I climb over the crumbling ramparts...someone watches me from a distance...at dusk I come across some graffiti ...in largely written letters on the cement ground it reads..."Dead Kennedy's."
The people around me are tense. There are some food shortages. The faces are stretched with a mournful sadness- their county is disintegrating into chaos and war...the youth are in total revolt, every teenager sports the punk rocker look. Slobo fights the good fight...
Late at night...I carry a rudimentary 'peace plan'....approaching the Presidents villa...is this the place? Why is it so dark?
Sarajevo will be surrounded soon, and experience the 20th centuries longest siege-four years long. The Bosnian war is about to erupt and explode like a rocket over the future of Yugoslavia...the robbers will win.
My plane takes off, I make it to Budapest. Walking, walking....I find the gate unlocked. This is a special place. I slip in. Another door is open...up the sullen tower I go. Higher, into and up the winding staircase....it dead ends. The way is barred, a heavy chain covers a locked portal. I sleep in the tower that night, listening to unseen strangers drinking wine and conversing, as soft classical music coaxes me to sleep ...In the morning, I deposit my documents by the locked door, and exit the tower.
When I come back a few days later, the initial entrance way is locked. I take a train to the frontier, the border of the war zone- i'm in Trieste, and it is cold
Yugoslavia was dismembered by the western banksters...Slobo Milosevic eventually was murdered in the Hague ( both his parents were murdered- look it up- the details claim they committed suicide, but that's not true.
Slobo was bumped off because he knew too much about the CIA/Kosovo Muslim mafia heroin/sex slave smuggling network operating across the Balkans-he was going to spill the beans at his trial at the Hague).
posted by Zero at 8:53 AM
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