The nations whose step once shook the earth, who endeavored revolutions of great magnitude, populated new continents, conceived and inspired faiths and religions, now drowsily stare with groggy eyes at their shepherds, who brought them into the sties of the new global order, drip dross from a table of America into their manger, pour the Circe’s potion of IMF, titillate them by a distant sight of the synthetic heifer of the American dream. The nation that dares to moan and pull the chain is flogged by electronic scourges of CNN, its skin pierced by sharp edge of Tomahawks, its mouth gagged by the ‘Holocaust victims’ stopper.

The Russian people languidly breathe, they forget the language of Pushkin and general Zhukov, try to speak Kazakh, learn the great history of tiny Estonia. Latin America does not recollect Bolivar, Sandino and Che Guevara; they twist their swarthy asses on the carnival, push drugs and provide a cheap labor force on the building sites of California. The Serbs have said goodbye to their dream of greatness, have sold Karajitch and Miloshevitch, they greedily suck the rotten boob of Albright. Only in a sole point of the sky, a beam from Space burned through the dead shell that seals the mankind. This plasma beam, as God’s finger, points to the people of Palestine.