Rasul Yagudin RUSSIA No. 6

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Demit
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Rasul Yagudin RUSSIA No. 6

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(translator from Russian is unknown)


The single method to get rid of fear is to kill the dragon.
Madeline Simons

The price of the freedom
is the readiness
to come in the struggle –
in any time,
in any place
and with unlimited braveness.
Robert A. Heinlein.


1. Psychiatrists in Law.

In democratic Russia, they (the authorities) finally have something worth celebrating - a psychiatric concentration camp has been opened in one of the districts of the Republic of Bashkortostan. The highly respected Prime Minister Baidavletov himself has consecrated the phenomenon with his radiant presence. The concentration camp has been named a "health resort". Nice frigging name. Brings back memories of palm trees, beaches and bitches in a nearest cafe ... But this is none of that. There are locks, torture machines and tools. And here is a question: why did the country, boasting of its parody of democracy, need another huge psychiatric concentration camp, of which there are already countless numbers in Russia? That’s a rhetorical question. For a reason. Since they’ve opened one.

Damn bastards. They did open it. I didn't want to believe it until the last day. But the dragon is growing. It needs new territories and, of course, new victims. The concentration camp is ready. Now it needs to be filled (after all, it can't stand idle). It cannot be staffed with personal enemies and political opponents of the high-ranking figures alone. Where will they obtain new flesh to feed the dragon?

I’ll tell you where! In cities and villages, where else? Among us.

Moreover, psychiatric thought does not stand still. Now, for example, official psychiatric science considers the propensity to write poetry a symptom of a severe mental disorder. (Pushkin was a psycho, goddamn it. A total psycho.) Now, psychiatrists have diagnosed Sherlock Holmes. Paranoia, they say, and all because of the cocaine. (As for the bullet that flew through the window, so it is, they say, a hallucination. (Hm-yeah, a hallucination that shatter a window and pierced the head of a planted scarecrow, it happens, doesn't it?!!!) And psychiatrists were also given the pages of Hegel's “The Phenomenology of Spirit” to read. The result was (for god’s sake!!!) the following: having been honored to read Hegel, having managed not to recognize him and, as usual, without understanding shit, psychiatrists waved the magic wand, which is usual for difficult cases, and ta-da – gave him the commonly used diagnosis of schizophrenia, which they actually pop anywhere if something’s unclear. Or another pearl - the syndrome of a clean housewife. If a woman keeps the apartment in order, then her place is just there, in the recently opened "health resort". As it turns out, cleaning clothes is a sign of being schizoid. Normal people have to walk around in dirty ones. This way, soon mankind will have no poets, no philosophers, no literary heroes, or just clean people. Everyone will be packed into "health resorts". Everyone, whose spiritual world does not fit into the horizons of grave worms in white coats.

You ask: what about the law?
Well, let's read it. It's time we all learned the Mental Health Care Act by heart. First though, you’ll need to take a seat and some sedative.
To say that this document is interesting is to say nothing. This act is, simply put, indescribably entertaining. This way, behind every line you see the thoughts that were running around like cockroaches in the heads of the deputies of the then Supreme Soviet of the Russian Federation. The thoughts saying it would be nice to retain a system so convenient for getting rid of anyone without too much noise, be it opponents, a wife, competitors, a noisy neighbor, a girlfriend ... So, dear deputies gave birth to a law that makes your hair curl.
Don’t get me wrong, on the outside everything is highly cultured and decent, as it should be in a cemetery. It is said, for example, that a citizen can refuse the tender care of psychiatrists, and only a court can compel them. But just below it they say that persons under dispensary supervision can be subjected to an involuntary psychiatric examination without any trial, following the decision of the psychiatrists, the very ones who had previously decided to place the citizen under dispensary observation. So, in two steps: first, involuntary observation, and next, involuntary examination. To hell with the trial! Even if the case still goes through court, it makes the decision on involuntary examination in secret, according to a regular submission by a psychiatrist, without engaging in unnecessary conversations with the citizen. It is the murderers, thieves and rapists who have been given the right to defend themselves in court either on their own, or with a whole army of lawyers, but those who psychiatrists have laid eyes on are not given such a right - the judge signs the ruling without even looking at or talking to them.

Or another thing - you can actually lock someone up first, and then go to court for a ruling on compulsory assessment, compulsory examination, compulsory treatment and other shit. The submission is filed within three days. And then the judge has the right to think it through for another five days. In total, the patient spends eight (EIGHT!!!) days in a psychiatric hospital for no reason (A psychiatrist only needs eight minutes to kill a person). And of course, the psychiatrist won’t forget to add the magic phrase "already in the hospital." This wonderful phrase has an incredible effect on Russian judges, the phenomenon not yet explained by science. Already in the hospital, therefore, crazy. No further questions!
After six months, everything repeats itself, but it's ridiculous to even talk about. The judges do not delve into the cases and civil rights of those staying in psychiatric hospitals. They simply sign the psychiatric reports over and over again every six months until the person dies. Every six months ... Every six ... Every six ...
Mind the number of the Beast!!!
But even if there was an honest judge with a sense of responsibility, they wouldn’t be able to free the person being killed in the madhouse. Because for that to happen, one has to change the medical report, and in order to change the medical report, one has to appoint a psychiatric examination. The ones to conduct this very psychiatric examination will be ... you guessed it ... the same psychiatrists who, as befits the brotherhood, are always on the side of their own kind. Guess at once what decision they will make. There you go.
Of course, some Association of Independent Psychiatrists exists somewhere, but where to find it, nobody knows. And... fuck the Association – there are also psychiatrists. But a psychiatrist always on side psychiatrists, like a cemetery’s worm always stays cemetery’s worm.
You’ll say, psychiatry as such professes humanity and so on, psychiatrists, you’ll say, will not submit an application to the court without good reason? Well, I don’t know about psychiatry as such, but the fact that psychiatrists are all fanatics is a fact recognized all over the world. As for the "compelling reasons", there is one more thing to consider - psychiatry as such has not yet defined the distinguishing line between normality and abnormality, and therefore, has not defined the line between compelling and non-compelling reasons. However, psychiatry as such has is a whole toilet bunch of schools and minor schools, directions and minor directions, opinions and minor opinions, and all of them, of course, interpret "good reasons" each in their own way. And another thing - in the "act" I have already mentioned, there is a clause on the independence of the psychiatrist. What this means is that any idiot in a white coat can say: “I for one consider the patient mentally ill and socially dangerous,” and this is enough to make the person disappear.
Good Lord! According to this "act" you can make a person who DIDN'T DO ANYTHING rot in the madhouse! Simply on the pretense of a bad mood or a whim of a handful of murderous doctors.
The deputies who adopted this "act" were subsequently shot from tanks. Not finished off. Which is a shame.
Demit
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Re: Rasul Yagudin RUSSIA No. 6

Сообщение Demit »

2. Requiem for a Chess Player

Doctor. Put him another enema.
Brave soldier Schweik. Don't feel sorry for me, brothers.
Our country keeps on enemas.

Nobody remembered his name. It was too normal - either Sasha, or Lesha, or Seryozha. But everyone knew that he was a Chess Player. (That's right, with a capital C and P). He was in the 3rd ward of the 22nd department of the Bashkortostan Republic’s Psychiatric Hospital, which is in Vladivostokskaya Street in Ufa-city. In this ward there’s nothing but beds, bars and walls, at the door there is a round-the-clock post of orderlies, and you can’t even leave the ward to use the shitter (By the way, patients are not supposed to take any daily walks, it’s not a prison, mind you). And everyone knew that an "important scientific experiment" was being carried out on Chess Player. Intoxicated by some terrible injections, he gazed into nowhere with his dull eyes, wrapping himself in a blue robe (A robe in a madhouse means a tougher regime than for those who wear jackets).
The whole department have played chess with him. And he, looking at the board with the same half-dead gaze, played amazing, sharp, deadly combinations. Sometimes he would say in a sluggish voice: "You are threatened with checkmate on your third (fourth, fifth ...) move," and he never made a mistake in his count.
Then the "important scientific experiment" failed, and his mutilated soul began to float away to a place from where there is no return. Once he was forced to roll up his simple belongings in a bundle and taken away somewhere under the escort of two orderlies at once. And again, for some reason, everyone knew that the Chess Player had been taken away to die.

He never lost a single game. He remained champion until the last day.

He was brought to the psychiatric hospital drunk. They wrote down a false diagnosis. They gave him injections to make him really look like a patient. One time he got out of bed and tried to leave the notorious 3rd ward. The orderly was sitting in the doorway with his foot on the opposite jamb at the level of his face. “Let me go,” the patient asked. "Crawl under my leg," the orderly grinned. The patient got on all fours and began to try to crawl under the leg. The orderly laughed in a well-fed, sweaty voice.
All this was in the 22nd, the most democratic department, where the atmosphere is freer, and you can make a run for it.
Two even succeeded in it. One was called Rustem, the name of the second, again, was for no one to remember. They ran through the frosty city in slippers, standard issue underwear, choking on cold air, coughing and not stopping for a moment. They changed once they reached a house where one of them used to live. They were caught again as they were leaving it.
The first thing they were done to in the department was get beaten by the orderlies. They beat them skillfully, leaving no trace. Doctors, however, prescribed both a course of treatment with sulfazine, which does not have any medicinal properties, but causes unbearable torment to a person: in the daytime they are tormented by terrible pains, at night – by unbearable fever. One injection is good for three days. The minimum course, determined by God-knows-who, is three injections (9 days). They were prescribed fifteen injections each, condemning them to 45 days of continuous torture. Those who have had a toothache know that it is impossible to get used to the pain. The end of this story is lost in the dark, no one knows what happened next.

These three episodes took place in the faraway year 81. After that, one by one, several general secretaries kicked in. There was a Perestroika and a happy expectation of big changes.

At this point in our story, Azamat Saitov, a famous TV journalist, appears. He worked for the then-only republican TV channel and once came to Vladivostokskaya to the BRPH with a cameraman and a smart face. Despite all my hatred for those who work in the system of psychiatric services, I almost applauded, watching on TV, how elegantly the illiterate orderlies and nurses were bullshitting the most famous journalist in Bashkiria. “I see you have no bars on your windows,” said the journalist. “We haven’t had bars for a while now,” the fanatics smiled. "What about straitjackets?" - the journalist asked, just in case. "Oh please, God be with you, what straitjackets?". Azamat Saitov admired the clean sheets and other nonsense. And I was already expecting that the two teams, the psychiatric one and the television one, were about to fall into each other's arms and weep with happiness and emotion. Behind the scenes, I am sure, there was a friendly tea party with homemade jam and cookies in the warm company of good-natured smiling murderers. Back then I thought: "What a sucker you are, Azamat Saitov."
Now, it seems, Azamat Saitov is working for "TV-6 Ufa" or "NTV Channel 3". Wonderful. Now this sucker will be bullshitted to on some other network.

However, life went on, the country and the people changed before our eyes, and the country's journalistic corps started to have more serious staff. They studied the problem soundly and methodically and managed to unearth a lot of terrifying information. In addition, among those who managed to escape alive from the clutches of psychiatrists, there were also people who could write. The horrors perpetrated by the Inquisition of the 20th century became public, the earth caught fire under the feet of the murderous doctors, and they, as befits nocturnal reptiles, hid in the darkness.
But then, suddenly, everything went quiet. Then psychiatrists in their interviews to various newspapers began to hint that, in fact, any politician could be diagnosed at any time. Then they sent Valeria Novodvorskaya for a compulsory psychiatric examination. Then Arina Sharapova blurted out in the news show “Vremya” in front of a multi-million audience that psychiatric attention needed to be paid in relation to a politician she’d mentioned. Then the famous and incompetent lawyer Reznik, who had not won a single serious case, said that journalist Kislinskaya had to be examined (God, Kislinskaya, the beauty and pride of Russian journalism). Then Galina Starovoitova at a meeting of the State Duma, in the presence of journalists, declared that all the Duma deputies needed a psychiatric examination, with the exception of herself (Those who went through the madhouse torture chambers perceived Starovoitova’s murder as a divine punishment). Then Yuri Maslyukov hinted saying: "This Yavlinsky guy is such a fighter for the truth, which is even surprising." Then Gennady Zyuganov began to regularly repeat that President Yeltsin was a sick man, each time pronouncing this pearl with surprisingly ambiguous intonation. Then the host of the show "Odnako," a plump, bearded, goggle-eyed boy Mikhail Leontyev, who has a morbid tendency to the role of an infallible hero-lover, a clinical type worthy of the diagnosis of "mental retardation", called all foreign journalists crazy at once and began questioning from the TV screen, with a mocking grin, what kind of the treatment of the vice-president of Chechnya Vakha Arsanov in Georgia. Then he, M. Leontiev, declared Primakov mentally ill because of his poetry (writing poetry is a symptom, remember, dear reader?). Such episodes became more and more frequent, and then somehow it suddenly became obvious that the system of psychiatric terror calmly continued to carry out terror, to an extent no less than before.
Meanwhile, the Bashkir leader Murtaza Rakhimov attended a meeting of psychiatrists in Ufa, where, as usual, he gave a speech. In the above mentioned speech, the president managed to make a delightful suggestion, the essence of which boiled down to the fact that the psychiatric staff in the republic had to be expanded to an immense size. Due to the fact that their type is very much needed. Hmm-mm-yes-ah-ah, damn it, it is what it is, Murtaza Rakhimov really needs psychiatric help, because only a completely crazy president can make attempts to create a new repressive system after what the people have experienced in the recent past.

And then one fine day I left the house and again went to collect material about what was happening there, in the fetid darkness near us.
Demit
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Re: Rasul Yagudin RUSSIA No. 6

Сообщение Demit »

3. The Shit Birds.

As soon as I took the first step, I was surprised to find volunteers around me. It turns out that I am not the only one who has been looking closely at psychiatric services for a long time with concern. And it was they, the strangers, who unearthed a major part of the texture.
The first fact is completely, totally and absolutely reliable, it is registered in the police documents, and one of the police officers even mentioned this fact in an interview, and it was even published in the newspaper.
The story goes that an elderly woman from Ufa left the house and never returned. Inconsolable relatives were knocked off their feet. The police started a search and submitted the "Person Missing" announcements to all local TV channels. At the same time, our valiant cops did not forget to call the madhouse and ask if such and such had signed in. A woman's voice on the receiving end, as expected, introduced herself and convincingly stated that she hadn't. And then it turned out that the missing person was imprisoned in the bowels of the aforementioned madhouse, where she was locked up, having been kidnapped right from the street. As for the woman's voice in the telephone receiver, it turned out that she had given herself a fictitious name and trivially lied to the dear police throughout the entire conversation. Just like that. No wonder. Bandits, murderers and kidnappers traditionally do not have the habit of introducing themselves by their real names. By the way, it was not possible to establish the identity of the telephone interlocutor. A conspiracy on the verge of fantasy.
We ourselves were also unable to find out anything else, despite our best efforts. The system kept its secrets, and all attempts to talk to those who knew the details did not lead to anything.
As for the second story, a former BRPH nurse accidentally blabbed it out. There lived five - four brothers and a sister. The brothers decided that the sister took up too much of the living space and handed her over to the psychiatric hospital, giving a bribe to the psychiatrist and prompting the desired text to be written on a piece of paper (going psychotic, they said, here and there). The girl was eighteen years old, and she was as good-looking as only eighteen-year-olds are. In the psychiatric hospitals, it is almost officially recognized that young and beautiful girls who have just signed in are the legal prey of the orderlies. She was raped on the very first day, so that she could immediately get used to it, and they continued to rape her every day until the day when the nurse quit.
Hoping to learn more about this story, I sent the former nurse her own son to talk to her. She shut off like an oyster and said, “I don’t know,” “I don’t remember,” perhaps simply fearing for the safety of her son, who, in her opinion, did not need such lethal information. And only one careless phrase escaped her lips: "Yes, this girl, probably, has long been driven crazy, now you can't prove it." After that, for some time, I rushed about with the idea of sending over to her a nice man with a couple of bottles of vodka in his trouser pockets. But that would mean playing dirty, and the dragon must be killed with clean hands.
Then we tried to find out the details through other sources. Again, nothing. Crickets and tumbleweeds.
Then I went to see a doctor I knew and asked him the only question: "How believable is this information?" The doctor said, as he cut it off: “Absolutely believable. Psychiatric hospitals have all the conditions for this: all sorts of cubicles, locker rooms, utility rooms, not to mention the bathrooms, which in nuthouses are usually locked with a key (you know, a triangular one, like the shrink’s from the show "Itogo"). And most importantly, there is a spirit of contempt for the patient in psychiatric hospitals. The scene itself, when the orderlies twist the girl's arms and drag her somewhere, is not unusual for a mental hospital, no one will pay any attention. Not to mention the fact that the girl can be sedated at first, and then finally she can be fucked like a sheep. By the way, talking about sheep. There is this subtle thing - the rape of a person who does not have a psychiatric diagnosis is rape, and the rape of a person who has already been diagnosed is not rape, but... well... mockery of animals. The only difference is that animals are being protected by Brigitte Bardot and many different organizations, but movie stars and organizations do not care deeply about the patients of madhouses. If the victim tries to complain, then her complaint will simply be approached, characterized as a manifestation of delirium, and painful procedures will be prescribed so as not to blather. The complaint will never leave the hospital walls. And if it does, then any authority will simply send it back. Nobody wants unnecessary problems."

I have something to add here: there is one more thing - a person who has been shoved with a psychiatric diagnosis does not participate in the elections, which means that not only Brigitte Bardot doesn’t care about them but also the various Primakov-Zyuganov-Luzhkov-Kirienko-Zhirinovsky-Putin and all others who, in general, are interested in votes, and not in human rights.
Turning on the TV, I now perceive the announcements of people missing in a completely different way. "Missing... left home... did not return... if you have any information... please respond for God's sake..." Most often, it’s girls who disappear and most often, beautiful young ones. Orderlies love fresh meat.
By the way, all legends say that the most beautifuls of the beautifuls are always sacrificed to the dragon. Unhappy is the country where girls are forced to fear their own beauty.
And trying to look for them in psychiatric hospitals is useless - no one is allowed inside, and in response to questions, they introduce themselves with fictitious names and lie. They lie to anyone: cops, prosecutors, lawyers, journalists, relatives ... And there is absolutely no legal way to release the "missing" from the nuthouse. But they are all there. They will perish there if we do not go inside with guns in our hands and walk along the rows of beds, looking everyone in the face (Just don't ignore the attics, basements, coffins and, in general, all the places where you can hide a dead or unconscious body.)

The third story is so dirty that when I learned the first facts, I found that my hands were shaking shallowly from a feeling of impotent anger, and I realized that I would not have sleep and peace until this scum will be punished.
We were furiously digging up this heap of abomination, forgetting about everything and abandoning all our personal affairs, we were rushing around the huge roaring city, collecting information bit by bit, grabbing hold of everyone who knew at least something with a death grip, we were hammering and hammering the wall of meanness and silence behind which, as if under a rotten film of swamp water, there was some movement and some kind of life. We met each other in different places to exchange information, and my friends' eyes were shining with amazing, divine fire. We were happy as never before: we entered to the battle with the dragon, and all fears and doubts disappeared from our souls, only the rage of battle and the delight of self-sacrifice remained. Countless ranks of innocent souls, murdered and tortured in psychiatric dungeons, rose from their unmarked graves and now called for retribution. They looked at us with burning eyes and, trying to scream, silently opened their mouths in the void.
This time we managed to find out everything. Absolutely everything.
There was this famous opera singer Rinat Baimov, who later became a famous politician and businessman. And there was a girl who slept with him, and with whom he seemed to be in love. Everything was going like a movie until the time came for the first ever presidential election in Bashkortostan. Rinat Baimov was the leader of the Union of Bashkir Youths and decided to run for the office. The fact that he had an undeniable chance of success was clear even to his competitors. After some consideration, he was seized and thrown into jail. They threw him into a common cell in the hope that maybe he would be humiliated and homo-sexually raped there. (Only it turned out the other way around - Rinat Baimov quickly gained authority among the thieves, and further on he did not lose his connection with the criminal world, and to this day he has created a formidable semi-criminal commercial empire, which is second to none in Bashkortostan. He did not become the President of Bashkortostan, but if I were asked, who has more real power, Murtaza Rakhimov or Rinat Baimov, I would seriously have to give it some thought).
However, the main character in this story is not Rinat Baimov at all, but his girlfriend. When Baimov ended up in prison, she was taken to a psychiatric hospital, the one in Novo-Aleksandrovka, away from the public’s eyes. There they quickly gave her injections and, bringing her to a semi-conscious state, made her sign some petty pieces of paper. Probably, it was a written voluntary consent to the stay and treatment in a psychiatric hospital. And after that, they took her case seriously - even now, dense nodules in her buttocks still remain in the places where the needles were stuck (She, however, was not raped – none would risk... hmm-mm-mm... laying… hands on… Rinat Baimov's girlfriend).
Meanwhile, the public raised their voice in Rinat Baimov’s defense, rallies and protest demonstrations began, and harsh statements appeared in the press. Baimov was released on an average, at the time, bail of 5 million rubles. The scandal subsided, and no one else, including Rinat Baimov, remembered the girl who was methodically being killed in the mental hospital.
How it happened, that the dragon suddenly released her from its mouth, remains a mystery to this day. This is one of those cases where all that remains to do is go to the mosque, kneel down and say a prayer.
When the girl was celebrating her release with friends, the whole company suddenly had a desire to do a godly act. They bought food, beer and cigarettes and, having plunged into their cars, set off for Novo-Aleksandrovka. The girl then told me: “It looked like an agitprop poster about Buchenwald and Auschwitz prisoners. Pale hands reaching through the bars... It is impossible to describe it, you have to see it. " Then she asked, "Just promise not to mention my name to psychi." “I promise”, I said, and got myself surprised at how forceful this sounded.
I promise, sweet girl. I am not Rinat Baimov. I won't give you up.

And then one evening my neighbors came over and said that psychiatrists had been wandering around the building and asking about me. About if I had demonstrated, they said, any unusual behavior. No, not like this. The question was formulated somewhat differently. Something like: “And this guy, you know, who, well, the one who, wears, you get me, white trousers, like all the time, he is weird, RWHA-III-GHT?!!! Some of the tenants managed to remember that six years ago, when I was just elected head of the building, I proposed to install a metal door with a combination lock and an intercom at the entrance. The fact which aroused extreme interest in the questioners and was scrupulously written down by them on pieces of paper.
I was not particularly surprised. I was expecting something like this. True, doors with combination locks are now the official policy of the city authorities. So maybe our city fathers too need... to be... examined? And to be replaced with psychiatrists in the name of the bright ideals of the new "new order"? Heil, my psychiatrist! Sieg heil!
Demit
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Re: Rasul Yagudin RUSSIA No. 6

Сообщение Demit »

4. Strangers.

I am now tormented by a question once asked by Arkady Raikin: why does a Soviet person need an elephant? Huh? Why does a person need a psychiatrist? They have never been of any use to anyone, except for an extremely narrow circle of radiant faces of different times and formations. All their pretentious attempts at preventive work have never been successful. According to statistics, they never managed to identify in advance a potential maniac, and the maniac inevitably appeared on the day named by the computer. When the maniac began to act, psychiatrists, once again according to statistics, were never able to provide at least some significant assistance to the investigation in the search, or, at least, in the creation of the alleged portrait. I’m not even talking about the soldiers shooting their fellow soldiers with a machine gun. Before doing that, they were all recognized by psychiatrists as healthy and fit for combat.
And they never once cured anyone from a real illness. And good indicators are achieved in the following way: they take a healthy person, and everyone around them (including themselves) is convinced the person is crazy. Then they are passed him (or her) through all the circles of hell, and if he (or her) haven’t really gone crazy and reclined, it is announced that he (or her) have been cured.
And I also have this question: what about the health of the psychiatrists themselves? Is it possible to call a person normal after they pass an electric discharge through another person’s brain? Or if they prescribe them a sulfur injection? Or an ice bath? Or if they insert a needle into a person's brain through the gap along the eyeball? (It was in this way that psychiatrists finally succeeded in pacifying the great American actress Frances Farmer, who had gone through all the previous tortures unbroken). Is it normal for one person to brutally abuse another person? I'm sure it's not normal for a human. But they are not humans. They are mutants. Outwardly similar to us, they are more alien to man than the most nightmarish offspring of the darkest depths of space. The blood and flesh of a human – for this they came to us. They, like werewolves, lurk in the dark, ready to start the Great Hunt at any moment.
But this is not the first time a dragon appears on Earth, threatening the existence of mankind. And this is not the first time when we, humans, must kill a dragon. After all, it's not they who are the humanity. Humanity is you and me. It was we who defeated slave owners and inquisitors, dictators and monarchs, fuhrers and general secretaries. And psychiatrists are, in fact, nothing more than an ordinary gang. A gang that trades in contract killings and kidnappings. And you need to fight them like a gang.
They are almost invulnerable for now. Nobody has ever controlled and does not control them, nobody has ever investigated and does not investigate them, except for themselves. It is useless to complain about them, since all complaints are always sent to them, and they immediately start a case against the applicant. It is useless to sue them, because the judges do not understand anything about the problem and are forced to trust what they tell them, and then they start a little case against the suing person. And of course, it is useless to appeal to the black souls, they just laugh and, again, start a little case against the one who called to them. They are almost invulnerable. Almost.
But their bodies are nevertheless not made of armor, but of the same flesh, and if you give a sulfur injection to the psychiatrists themselves, they will experience the same pain. And if you hit a psychiatrist on the nose, his nose will bleed the same. And if you hit a psychiatrist with a crowbar, he will never be able to start a case against you. That's it, as simple as that. War is war, a crowbar in Russia is like any other crowbar around the world.
And their madhouses are not at all impregnable, these gates can be crushed with a battering ram, these doors can be kicked out, iron levers can be used against these bars...
And I still hope to see how psychiatric hospitals will be taken by storm, as the Bastille was once taken by storm.
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