NATO, suspend your flight!

Point of view. Contrary to the doxa on the Russian-Ukrainian war, the writer Gilles Laporte publishes an open forum which puts the church back in the middle of the village. With the talent that we know him.

Gilles Laporte (DR)

By Gilles Laporte

Returning from Nancy at the wheel of my old thermal car, three days ago, along a Moselle indifferent to human convulsions, I saw two Ukrainian flags floating on the pediment of a rural town hall. No French flag… no European flag… even less a Lorraine flag! The same as those brandished in the so-called “free” Western world by postmen of good conscience: two Ukrainian flags! As if, from the depths of our countryside to the highest of the Eiffel Tower, from the Norwegian Storting to the Prussian Reichstag, the whole of Europe had become the suburbs of kyiv!
Affirmation of a crass ignorance of our history, of the negation of our roots, of the ignorance of the past – and the present – of this tumultuous country bordering the Dnieper, this yellow and blue exhibition reveals a deep hatred of the diplomacy of peace and of our future as peoples of Europe!
Because…
Who’s going down there?

From the East and the West

What so-called “heads of state” psychopaths are pushing the sleepwalkers that we are towards the nose of a cliff from which they will soon precipitate us en masse if we do not know how to find the keys to the trap they have woven for us?
At Sunset, in these places that some still present to us as the marvelous country of the “American dream”, between inaudible stammering, strange mental wanderings and a Hollywood fall from a bicycle, the Biden mummy imposes on the planet his vision of a cocacolized and burgerized world, provides weapons and green biblical monkey currency – In God we trust – to those he considers his natural subjects, docile vassals, forcing them to the original strategy of manipulative cowards: ” Take the tools, I take the controls! »
In the Levanton lands sown with communist seeds that the violent storms of the worst century of all time have transmuted into toxic Soviet plants, between the aptly misnamed Pacific and a legendary Ural, the former spy new Tsar Putin tries to reconquer the lost provinces of a Russian empire populated by Orthodox Christian moujiks and Muslim Tartars, like France obsessed after 1871 by the reconquest of Alsace-Lorraine engulfed by the ogre Bismarck whose hegemonic will Got mit uns still have good days.

A four penny actor

Between the two, at the nerve center of a Europe imagined by Victor Hugo, designed by Robert Schuman, massacred by Jean Monnet, plays a cheap actor, as bad a comic artist as Hitler was a bad painter who, chest molded in khaki, in defiance of all the international agreements painstakingly signed before his accession, finally found the role of his life on the stage of a theater of shadows watered with tears and blood, that of an incendiary adored by peers “self-proclaimed elites blind and uneducated, determined to outdo each other in the competition for the worst. Zelinski whom all the little “big ones” meet, whom every mobilized “parliament” applauds standing up, whom all the clerks incense for the sake of Germanopratine conformity until their thoughts dry up!

Around these evil nickel-plated Feet hums the court of suitors, hungry for universal recognition, sick with love of themselves to the point of forgetting themselves, endowed with reason, conquerors of a ridiculousness which, contrary to the assertion popular, can, will kill! Presidents of republics that have become bananas, mistress of a starry Union lost in the darkness of her ego, queens and kings of operettas, all monarchs with clay bases… listen, admire and prostrate themselves before them, each more eager than the other to wash them and then kiss their feet!

The Black Sea will be red

With all those and the play written with six hands by the best-selling authors of Massacres at school, of Gaffe… I take out my nuclear! and of The Black Sea will be red, the twenty-first century and its new war of religions finally holds its great “theater of operations” whose curtain will soon fall in front of a room full of irradiated corpses.
Poor peoples!
There is no doubt that, “At the edge of a great lake of blood / Under a great heap of dead” (Baudelaire), once back in the saddle on his Hollywood bicycle and stabilized vertically by its biblical stays, if the sleepwalkers we We are not waking up, the mummy American director will have succeeded in his annexation of the world and imposed on the rare survivors of the earth to drink gaseous cocaine and obesify themselves with predigested junk food!
Two flags on a town hall facade, somewhere in Lorraine…
NATO, suspend your flight… (Lamartine)
It’s time !

Note: The intertitles are from the IDJ editorial staff

NATO, suspend your flight!