καταστρέφω
Katastrepho
I destroy. I am a being who makes catastrophe!
These unthinkably heavy crates filled with killing mechanisms are intended to harm hundreds, to maim human beings with intention and full malice of forethought. We bring them, we aim them and we fire them in order to destroy, to throw your flesh apart and scatter you to the earth.
We do it, yes, of course… Believing God will bless these tragic necessities of human cruelty. We do it believing that one good punch will set them straight… We do it because we are present and able to stop the enemy who invades.
The man sits writing in his spiral notebook by the window at the coffee shop smoking cigarettes. Each word is a gunshot. He writes all day long. His thoughts become actions.
I create, I destroy.
Because they target shopping malls and we've seen the children dead. Because more and more comes to light as humanitarian corridors, so-called, are opened and the Russian military fills buses with hundreds of civilians, allowing them to make their way to freedom in Slovakia and Poland. That is, until the trap is set fully.
Having built sufficient trust, hundreds more are piled into buses to escape the carnage; the elderly, the disabled carried in for the difficult trip from bomb shelter to who knows where. They are all suddenly informed they are arrested. They are now hostages.
The man drinks his coffee and let's his stomach burn and burn. The pages of the notebook will not turn fast enough. He must write in his own blood somehow. No one will ever read this – don't ever think that… Propaganda from within. He will not cease… He hears himself talking out loud to himself "nope, never going to happen…" If I breathe I will be writing something… Someplace, somewhere…
I will write for the disabled person urinating freely out there somewhere in there God damned bus. He is not the only one.
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