Cluster Fuck Friday
Yeah.
Some Dayz Just B Like Dat.
If all this wasn't bad enough.
Jesus' office sayz he's on vacation.
Somewhere in Miami.
They haven't a clue.
Four Seasons.
The Ritz.
They ain't sayin.
They all Mums.
Not a word.
As the Toxic Slime Rat Fowler Is So Far The Fuck Up My Anal Cavity Constipation Would Be A Monumental Upgrade.
Yeah.
Lucky Fuckin Me.
As bad as all this looks I can fairly state that my self absorbed insanity doesn't even come close to what my Beautiful Brothers and Sisters in The Ukraine are experiencing.
God Bless You Ukraine Street Fighters.
I Love Ya All
я тебе кохаю, я тебе люблю
(Hope I Got That Right).
Da Swamp Prayin 24/7 365 of Da Wire For Ya All.
Thank Ya All So So Very Very Much For Your Gracious Presence Here In The Swamp.
Day In.
Day Out.
Ya All The Beautiful Best.
What has me stumped in this Eastern Block Avalanche of readers venturing into Da swamp, is that in a close second place to The Ukraine, Russia maintains an almost neck to neck in the visitors world wide who daily make their trek into Da Swamp.
My young Russian Friend here in the mountains tells me that in Russia Folks can actually be smoked for reading this insane diatribe.
God Bless ya All.
Yo.
Vladdy.
Knock It The Fuck Off With Your Oppression.
Take That Red KGB Boot Off Da Peeps Throats.
People Are Tired Of Your Bare Chested Russian Renegade Self Urinating On Their Daily Parade.
That said.
Seemingly You Are Da Baddest Mother On Da Planet.
Word In Da Street Is That Barry Obama Turns Your Borscht To Vomit.
One Thang For Sure.
Russian Girlz.
Ya All Some Damn Ass Beautiful Creatures.
I Know One Old man Fo Sure Put A Smile On Your Beautiful Face.
Ya All Want To Bring It To America.
Just look This Old Man Up.
Plenty Of High Octane Left In Dis Tank.
Can't We All Just Get Along?
My major beef as it were lies right here in the good Ol U.S.A.
Oh before I forget.
I have Switched Computers In The Last Hour.
Gay Faggot Hackin American Government White Boyz.
Hack Dis Computer Bitches.
Ya All Can't.
As well American Government Faggots.
I Fucked Your Wife.
Back to that common thread that runz through People around the globe.
Fuck You Government.
All Governments.
We The People.
Of The World.
Got Ya All Out Numbered.
Like Gracy Say.
Gotta Revolution.
It's Time.
Damn Ass Time.
World Fuckin Wide We Are Stomach Turning Sick and Tired of Ya All.
We More Than Willing To Take It To Da Street.
Die If Neccesary.
Cauze History Showz.
We Alwayz Come Out On Da Top.
Ya All Can't Keep Up.
The Fact Iz The Majority Of You Candy Ass Bitches Alwayz Come Over To The Peoples Side.
Ya All Just Ain't Got Da Ballz To Hang.
Bring It To Da Streetz Bitches.
5 Shotz Couldn't Drop Me.
I'm Bringin Drama.
Fuck You And Your MuthuFuckin Mammas.
Nigga.
I Hit em Up.
All you American Einsteins with bumper stickers screamin;
'I'm Ready For Hill'
Fuck You and All Yours.
Get The Fuck Outta My Country You Commie Faggots.
Ya All the same Peeps that threw eggs and tomatoes on my dress blues when I completed my first tour in S.E. Asia and disembarked a Pan Am Flight in San Fransisco International Airport.
Commie Bitches.
Get The Fuck Out Of My Country and Pleeze Take Wal Mart Da Fuck With You.
Yo.
"Prez" and all your Faggot Coke Smokin Goverment Ass Holes.
Fuck You and your Fat Ass Hoe Mammas.
Just To Let You Know World As I Type Away Here I Am Being Hacked By Faggot Government Ass Holes.
How Much Dis Shit Costing Me In Tax Dollars.
This Is Exactly Why America Is Loosing Not Only It's Grip In This Country, But As Well Around The World.
Yo.
NSA
Me and My 12 Niggas.
Fucked Your Wives.
Find Me bitches.
Yo.
Faggots.
Bring It To Da Street Bitches.
America.
Lets Light Dis Bitch Up.
Like in the first God father movie.
Clemenza sayz to Micheal;
"Every couple of years the families go to war.
Gotta let some blood run".
Waitin On You Faggot Government Ass Holes.
Honestly World.
If Ya All Could Witness What I Am Witnessing This Very Second As I Type Away.
Your Minds Would For Sure Experience Gray Matter Melt Down.
So Fuckin Cool.
Words screamin Across, Up and down The Screen.
Having to play catch em as the words evade the mouse and keyz.
That was an hour ago.
Can't touch this machine.
Hack proof on this machine Government Faggots.
Like Star Wars.
Catch Me If You Can.
Faggot Hackin Gay Government White Boyz.
Anarchy.
It's Time.
I Love America.
I Detest This Candy Ass American Faggot Government And All You Faggot Government Employz.
All 22 Million Of Ya.
Ya All Gotta Go.
Gotta Revolution.
Ya All the same Peeps that threw eggs and tomatoes on my dress blues when I completed my first tour in S.E. Asia and disembarked a Pan Am Flight in San Fransisco International Airport.
Commie Bitches.
Get The Fuck Out Of My Country and Pleeze Take Wal Mart Da Fuck With You.
Yo.
"Prez" and all your Faggot Coke Smokin Goverment Ass Holes.
Fuck You and your Fat Ass Hoe Mammas.
Just To Let You Know World As I Type Away Here I Am Being Hacked By Faggot Government Ass Holes.
How Much Dis Shit Costing Me In Tax Dollars.
This Is Exactly Why America Is Loosing Not Only It's Grip In This Country, But As Well Around The World.
Yo.
NSA
Me and My 12 Niggas.
Fucked Your Wives.
Find Me bitches.
Yo.
Faggots.
Bring It To Da Street Bitches.
America.
Lets Light Dis Bitch Up.
Like in the first God father movie.
Clemenza sayz to Micheal;
"Every couple of years the families go to war.
Gotta let some blood run".
Waitin On You Faggot Government Ass Holes.
Honestly World.
If Ya All Could Witness What I Am Witnessing This Very Second As I Type Away.
Your Minds Would For Sure Experience Gray Matter Melt Down.
So Fuckin Cool.
Words screamin Across, Up and down The Screen.
Having to play catch em as the words evade the mouse and keyz.
That was an hour ago.
Can't touch this machine.
Hack proof on this machine Government Faggots.
Like Star Wars.
Catch Me If You Can.
Faggot Hackin Gay Government White Boyz.
Anarchy.
It's Time.
I Love America.
I Detest This Candy Ass American Faggot Government And All You Faggot Government Employz.
All 22 Million Of Ya.
Ya All Gotta Go.
Gotta Revolution.
Yeah.
For Sure.
Da Swamp Bigger Than General Motors.
Hit Em Up Hackin Faggot Government White Boyz.
Fuck You And Your MuthuFuckin Hoe Ass Mammas.
It's Been a fun and challenging day.
Yo.
'Prez'
Reggie Love.
Your 'Body Man'.
Hit You Up Wit Dat 8Ball For Da Day.
Face It.
Da Swamp Just Too Danm Slick For Ya All.
Ya All Can't Touch dis.
"Hey Ryyannn".
"Hey Sweet. What Up Girl"?
"Nothin. Lookin at you".
"Huhh. Howz your day going"?
"Better now that I see Ya Ryannn".
"Girl. My youngest Kid iz older than you. I think you must have lost your glasses Young Lady".
"Don't wear em Ryyann".
"Hmmm. Did you and V. have a nice time at StarBucks the other day"?
"Uh Huh. We talked all about you".
"Hmmm. Uhmm. Listen Young Lady. I'm an Old Man. Best we got here iz friendship".
"Nothin wrong with close friendship Ryyann".
"Girl. You bitten off a whole lot more than you can chew. Isn't there some young man out there that grabs your fancy"?
"What you afraid of Ryan"?
"Quite possibly your Mamma".
"Ryann. V. told me you are celibate now going on 8 years. Don't you think it is time to settle down"?
"Tehhh. No. I mean yeah. I mean Sweet. Look... Let's say that something does come together here. As nice as it would be. You probably will end up killing me. Heart attack. Seizure. Blackout. As well I'm not trying to take my cloths off in front of any women. Ever again. Never".
"Ryan. You So Cute".
"Look Sweet. Park that Sweet Thang over at the next computer. I have this blog to finish. Tell Ya what. After the last key stroke and edit, we'll go grab some coffee and talk about this. O.K."?
"Whatever Ryyannn. V. said said this wasn't going to be easy".
"Oh she did huh. Gonna have to talk to her".
"Ya know Ryan. My folks live up in Sedona. They have serious, serious stacks($). When I get married my new husband and I will receive 3 million dollars on our wedding day. You can buy your own computer then and write whenever you want. Ryan".
"Yeah. That and majority stock in Viagra".
"What ever it takes Handsome Man".
"Girl. Go sit your beautiful damn ass down the fuck over there at that computer and let me finish this fuckin blog".
"Whatever you say, Ryyyannn".
"Go sit sit your pretty ass down Girl. And stick that tongue back in your mouth. Danmmm. You in a public library Girl".
"Whatever Ryaannn".
Tehhh.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse.
"Hey Ryyyannn. I wouldn't get up off that chair for awhile if I was you".
"Shiiitttt. Go sit the fuck down".
Pheww.
Speking of In da Street.
The Ukraine is on fire.
Friends once in arms turn in a lickety to bitter enemies.
Toting AK's for such long periods, killing what must be killed turns the meek into electric robotz on the prowl hunting down those that can not be trusted.
Betrayal comes in nano second frames as friends once, now might just enemies.
See, when the shit break loose in the streetz, no one is trusted.
A look, a glance, can turn violent in a quick lickety. The shit completely off the wire.
Nothing is making any sense. Brothers once. Enemies now.
For no apparent reason.
Just because.
V. Putin.
Trained. Honed and Gleaned in the psychological dance that separates nations looks on in admiration at his expert work.
Waiting.
Knowing.
Without a doubt on the World Domination Playing Field. Putin Riegns King.
While here at home in America, our College Professor, Cocaine smokin, Zipper Dipper President has less than a clue.
The People of The Ukraine have spoken.
The wheels long ago fallen of as this 21 gear PeterBuilt long ago has gone sideways heads for the nearest cliff.
Freedom is Never free.
doesn't matter one's Latitude or Longitude.
Shit In Da Street.
No Hope In Site.
For Sure nothing this Lame Ass government can do.
Blood will run for years stronger than the Niagara spilling at multiple over the cliff.
Lord have Mercy.
May God bless ya All.
I hope Ya All find the following article as interesting as I have.
Ryan. Out.
Kosyak was still bruised a deep purple under his dress shirt when he opened his sidewalk service more than a week later, on the last day of May. The interfaith vigils once drew hundreds, but attendance was fading as worried supporters fled. Thirty people stood at the edge of a busy bridge beneath an intermittent rain. The sermons were about Sodom: a biblical city so overrun with evil that God decided it couldn’t be saved. In Genesis 19, angels send away a man named Lot, Sodom’s last good soul. Then the Lord levels it from the skies. “God didn’t destroy Sodom until Lot left,” said a pastor named Pavel Zaystev, 46. “As long as we’re here, there’s still hope.”
But he worried privately that Donetsk was beyond redemption. “You don’t think even some miracle could change them,” he said of the rebels. “That’s why I think of Sodom: God destroyed them because he could not change them.”
Ukraine’s corrupt president, Viktor Yanukovych, a native of the Donetsk region and Russian ally, was ousted by a popular uprising in Kiev on Feb. 22. The conflict came to Russian-speaking Donetsk, where about half of the 1 million residents are ethnically Russian, soon afterward, initially with small demonstrations. Protesters worried that the new government would punish Russian-speakers — fears fueled by Kremlin propaganda. They believed that their language would be banned and that fascists from Kiev were coming to hurt them. At first, the so-called fascists they had in mind were members of the Right Sector, a fringe ultra-nationalist group that had played an outsized role on the front lines of the protests in Kiev, but soon the label included the new government and its supporters, who had largely ignored their concerns. Then the protesters were storming government buildings as Russia warned that it would intervene, if needed, to protect its “compatriots.” They called for a referendum on secession, like the one that saw Russia annex Crimea in March, and they took up arms. Polls showed that most Donetsk residents wanted to remain in Ukraine, but outspoken opponents of the separatists began fleeing the city amid abductions and death threats. Some who remained deleted their Facebook pages, wondering who among their friends might be tracking their loyalties. “Fear is like a virus,” one said.
But there was still hope for peace in Donetsk, the political nexus for eastern Ukraine’s separatists and an important economic hub, even as fighting flared elsewhere. Throughout the spring, some residents had looked ahead to two events that might swing things back toward normalcy: Ukraine holding fresh presidential elections and Russia recalling the troops massed along the border nearby. Both came to pass, but they did nothing to stop the conflict from surging ahead. Each side had already come to see the battle as one between irreconcilable ideas — with an enemy that had to be eradicated. The fabric that let two groups of people with their own histories coexist in post-Soviet Ukraine had been ripped away. “This city needs to be cleansed,” warned a Catholic priest at the unity vigil, and on another evening, inside an expanding, makeshift armory, a rebel in a flannel shirt said, “There is some dirt here now, and we have to clean it from our land.”
Till last fighter, till the victorious, glorious end
On the battlefield. Russian Orthodox!
Who if not us? When if not now?
Mom, I’m sorry. Nobody but us.
A recruit walked into Veren’s office. Overweight and nervous-looking in a button-down shirt, the young professional, 28, wasn’t built for war. But he wanted to help — he and Veren discussed whether he might do some managerial work, maybe go on neighborhood patrols. “Because I’m a conscious person,” he said when asked why he wanted to join. “And when bad things come to your house, a conscious person can’t ignore them.”
With much of the whiskey, brought to the meeting as a gift, now gone, Veren described a more ambitious quality to the conflict at hand. “The Russian person should remain Russian in any nationality and any land,” he said. The rebels gathered with him in the room — some locals and others Russian — likewise spoke about their battle as if it were about more than Donetsk. One man called it a “historical conflict,” another “a conflict of mentalities.” A likeness of St. George the dragon-slayer graced the army’s flag because Russians throughout history had fought under his banner. Veren said he had started groups in nearby hotspots like Mariupol and Slavyansk — and also had his eye on Kiev, Serbia, Georgia.
But first he was building his franchise in Donetsk. Someone put the keys to an Audi on his desk. The car’s registration showed that it belonged to the company of Serhiy Taruta, the billionaire steel magnate and regional governor. Taruta had fled to Kiev recently because of death threats. Veren went down to the compound’s parking garage, empty except for a couple rows of commandeered vehicles, neatly parked. A man waiting there appeared to be working as valet.
Veren got into the Audi’s driver’s seat. “This is a good car. I’ll trade it for 20 AK-47s,” he said. It was just past sunset, and the compound was quiet as guards opened the gate so Veren could ease the car from the sealed-off rebel zone. Then he jammed the gas and sped through the city’s quiet streets.
Later, as Veren and his comrades settled into a long dinner in a way that felt suddenly normal for a Friday night — they were the big, boisterous group at the restaurant carrying on happily as fellow diners tried not to mind — Fyodor, the intense young Russian who had designed the Army’s flag, gave a lesson on history. Russians made their great advances, he said, in huge, sudden leaps. The pace seems slow; the momentum builds. Then comes the exhilarating wave. “We must only run,” Fyodor said, seeming not to care where this moment would take him. “The end — it is nothing. Run to progress. Run to more.”
For Sure These Peep's Ain't Playin.
For Sure.
Da Swamp Bigger Than General Motors.
Hit Em Up Hackin Faggot Government White Boyz.
Fuck You And Your MuthuFuckin Hoe Ass Mammas.
It's Been a fun and challenging day.
Yo.
'Prez'
Reggie Love.
Your 'Body Man'.
Hit You Up Wit Dat 8Ball For Da Day.
Face It.
Da Swamp Just Too Danm Slick For Ya All.
Ya All Can't Touch dis.
"Hey Ryyannn".
"Hey Sweet. What Up Girl"?
"Nothin. Lookin at you".
"Huhh. Howz your day going"?
"Better now that I see Ya Ryannn".
"Girl. My youngest Kid iz older than you. I think you must have lost your glasses Young Lady".
"Don't wear em Ryyann".
"Hmmm. Did you and V. have a nice time at StarBucks the other day"?
"Uh Huh. We talked all about you".
"Hmmm. Uhmm. Listen Young Lady. I'm an Old Man. Best we got here iz friendship".
"Nothin wrong with close friendship Ryyann".
"Girl. You bitten off a whole lot more than you can chew. Isn't there some young man out there that grabs your fancy"?
"What you afraid of Ryan"?
"Quite possibly your Mamma".
"Ryann. V. told me you are celibate now going on 8 years. Don't you think it is time to settle down"?
"Tehhh. No. I mean yeah. I mean Sweet. Look... Let's say that something does come together here. As nice as it would be. You probably will end up killing me. Heart attack. Seizure. Blackout. As well I'm not trying to take my cloths off in front of any women. Ever again. Never".
"Ryan. You So Cute".
"Look Sweet. Park that Sweet Thang over at the next computer. I have this blog to finish. Tell Ya what. After the last key stroke and edit, we'll go grab some coffee and talk about this. O.K."?
"Whatever Ryyannn. V. said said this wasn't going to be easy".
"Oh she did huh. Gonna have to talk to her".
"Ya know Ryan. My folks live up in Sedona. They have serious, serious stacks($). When I get married my new husband and I will receive 3 million dollars on our wedding day. You can buy your own computer then and write whenever you want. Ryan".
"Yeah. That and majority stock in Viagra".
"What ever it takes Handsome Man".
"Girl. Go sit your beautiful damn ass down the fuck over there at that computer and let me finish this fuckin blog".
"Whatever you say, Ryyyannn".
"Go sit sit your pretty ass down Girl. And stick that tongue back in your mouth. Danmmm. You in a public library Girl".
"Whatever Ryaannn".
Tehhh.
Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse.
"Hey Ryyyannn. I wouldn't get up off that chair for awhile if I was you".
"Shiiitttt. Go sit the fuck down".
Pheww.
Speking of In da Street.
The Ukraine is on fire.
Friends once in arms turn in a lickety to bitter enemies.
Toting AK's for such long periods, killing what must be killed turns the meek into electric robotz on the prowl hunting down those that can not be trusted.
Betrayal comes in nano second frames as friends once, now might just enemies.
See, when the shit break loose in the streetz, no one is trusted.
A look, a glance, can turn violent in a quick lickety. The shit completely off the wire.
Nothing is making any sense. Brothers once. Enemies now.
For no apparent reason.
Just because.
V. Putin.
Trained. Honed and Gleaned in the psychological dance that separates nations looks on in admiration at his expert work.
Waiting.
Knowing.
Without a doubt on the World Domination Playing Field. Putin Riegns King.
While here at home in America, our College Professor, Cocaine smokin, Zipper Dipper President has less than a clue.
The People of The Ukraine have spoken.
The wheels long ago fallen of as this 21 gear PeterBuilt long ago has gone sideways heads for the nearest cliff.
Freedom is Never free.
doesn't matter one's Latitude or Longitude.
Shit In Da Street.
No Hope In Site.
For Sure nothing this Lame Ass government can do.
Blood will run for years stronger than the Niagara spilling at multiple over the cliff.
Lord have Mercy.
May God bless ya All.
I hope Ya All find the following article as interesting as I have.
Ryan. Out.
On The Edge Of Civil War In Ukraine
In the eastern city of Donetsk, friends and neighbors have
transformed into enemies, and people on both sides of the conflict worry
that there’s no way out from a slide to civil war.
posted on June 11, 2014, at 8:38 p.m.
Ukrainian police try to stop a pro-Russian protester from attacking a pro-Ukrainian rally in Donetsk. Baz Ratner / Reuters
DONETSK, Ukraine — Wearing a black shirt and
white clerical collar, the pastor walked into the occupied government
building that serves as rebel headquarters in this eastern Ukrainian
city. Serhiy Kosyak had come to plead for leniency: Rebels threatened to
kill anyone who visited the small prayer vigils he held for Ukrainian
unity, the city’s last open resistance to the separatist republic rebels
had declared. As he waited for an audience, he saw an old friend among
the gunmen milling around. Kosyak asked how he was doing. The man’s eyes
stared back at him with hate.
There’s a moment on the slide to civil war where friends and
neighbors become hard to recognize. The man screamed that Kosyak was a
traitor and spy, an outburst sure to doom him amid the fevered
atmosphere in the building, where suspicions ran high. Kosyak, 38, had
seen the same anger in the passersby who sometimes accosted his
pro-Ukraine prayer tent. And he saw it now in the rebels who tied him to
a chair in the building and beat him as he prayed. He thought there was
evil in it — real evil, because he believed in such things. He thought
Satan grabbed hold of people with the ideas pouring into Donetsk on the
Russian airwaves: that Russian-speakers there were in danger and needed
to rise against Ukraine’s government. When the beatings finally stopped,
and he was cleared for release, he stayed in his chair for a minute to
bless his assailants: God, enter their lives and open their eyes.Kosyak was still bruised a deep purple under his dress shirt when he opened his sidewalk service more than a week later, on the last day of May. The interfaith vigils once drew hundreds, but attendance was fading as worried supporters fled. Thirty people stood at the edge of a busy bridge beneath an intermittent rain. The sermons were about Sodom: a biblical city so overrun with evil that God decided it couldn’t be saved. In Genesis 19, angels send away a man named Lot, Sodom’s last good soul. Then the Lord levels it from the skies. “God didn’t destroy Sodom until Lot left,” said a pastor named Pavel Zaystev, 46. “As long as we’re here, there’s still hope.”
But he worried privately that Donetsk was beyond redemption. “You don’t think even some miracle could change them,” he said of the rebels. “That’s why I think of Sodom: God destroyed them because he could not change them.”
Ukraine’s corrupt president, Viktor Yanukovych, a native of the Donetsk region and Russian ally, was ousted by a popular uprising in Kiev on Feb. 22. The conflict came to Russian-speaking Donetsk, where about half of the 1 million residents are ethnically Russian, soon afterward, initially with small demonstrations. Protesters worried that the new government would punish Russian-speakers — fears fueled by Kremlin propaganda. They believed that their language would be banned and that fascists from Kiev were coming to hurt them. At first, the so-called fascists they had in mind were members of the Right Sector, a fringe ultra-nationalist group that had played an outsized role on the front lines of the protests in Kiev, but soon the label included the new government and its supporters, who had largely ignored their concerns. Then the protesters were storming government buildings as Russia warned that it would intervene, if needed, to protect its “compatriots.” They called for a referendum on secession, like the one that saw Russia annex Crimea in March, and they took up arms. Polls showed that most Donetsk residents wanted to remain in Ukraine, but outspoken opponents of the separatists began fleeing the city amid abductions and death threats. Some who remained deleted their Facebook pages, wondering who among their friends might be tracking their loyalties. “Fear is like a virus,” one said.
But there was still hope for peace in Donetsk, the political nexus for eastern Ukraine’s separatists and an important economic hub, even as fighting flared elsewhere. Throughout the spring, some residents had looked ahead to two events that might swing things back toward normalcy: Ukraine holding fresh presidential elections and Russia recalling the troops massed along the border nearby. Both came to pass, but they did nothing to stop the conflict from surging ahead. Each side had already come to see the battle as one between irreconcilable ideas — with an enemy that had to be eradicated. The fabric that let two groups of people with their own histories coexist in post-Soviet Ukraine had been ripped away. “This city needs to be cleansed,” warned a Catholic priest at the unity vigil, and on another evening, inside an expanding, makeshift armory, a rebel in a flannel shirt said, “There is some dirt here now, and we have to clean it from our land.”
Pastor Serhiy Kosyak. Photograph by Evgeniy Maloletka for BuzzFeed
On the afternoon before the vigil, a rebel
commander from Russia sat before a bottle of bourbon at a faded desk and
outlined his mission, which he said served God.
He was in a bright office at the end of an unlit hall, inside a compound that used to house the Ukrainian security service. He had a welcoming smile and tattoos that ran down his arms and peeked out from his crew neck. He was a leader in a group called the Russian Orthodox Army, and he went by the nickname Veren, or “the faithful.”
“First of all it’s purification of the land — purification from fascists,” Veren said. He described an awakening of Russian identity centered on Donetsk, where it was under threat, and he seemed to be an incarnation of the ideology the pastor had seen on the Russian airwaves, personally spreading it by hand.
Just a few weeks earlier, he had been overseeing what seemed like a small outlaw empire from the fifth floor of the rebel headquarters, the former government building, where masked men roamed the halls and speakers blared Soviet anthems from behind sprawling barricades. As separatist politicians scurried about overhead one day, Veren said he concerned himself with “special operations” — kidnappings and interrogations. Armed men kept handing him keys to cars they’d taken from their enemies. He has since been expanding his power, trading his spot in the crowded building for the more exclusive digs of the security compound, where men with assault rifles blocked the approaches and access was controlled with an intensity that felt paranoid. The Russian Orthodox Army’s seal of a Christendom-evoking sword and shield was stenciled onto each concrete block of one outer wall. On the wall across the street, another set of rebels, the highly professional Vostok battalion, had done the same, marking turf of their own.
In the new office, a Russian flag with the army’s logo hung from a bookshelf, and portraits of a fierce-looking Jesus were taped to the walls. Stickers and insignia patches sat on the desk. The first edition of the army’s newsletter had just arrived, and beneath its banner were recruitment phone numbers. It also had a website. Veren saw untapped potential in the Donetsk region’s 5 million people — and maybe across the Russian-speaking world. “People support us, but they’re afraid to take the first step,” he said. “I’m interested in any kind of promotion that gets the flow of people going.”
They had even released a promotional rap video featuring gunmen
packed into the same office. It got 200,000 YouTube views in less than a
week. Veren bounced his head and lip-synched the lyrics as he twisted a
computer monitor around:He was in a bright office at the end of an unlit hall, inside a compound that used to house the Ukrainian security service. He had a welcoming smile and tattoos that ran down his arms and peeked out from his crew neck. He was a leader in a group called the Russian Orthodox Army, and he went by the nickname Veren, or “the faithful.”
“First of all it’s purification of the land — purification from fascists,” Veren said. He described an awakening of Russian identity centered on Donetsk, where it was under threat, and he seemed to be an incarnation of the ideology the pastor had seen on the Russian airwaves, personally spreading it by hand.
Just a few weeks earlier, he had been overseeing what seemed like a small outlaw empire from the fifth floor of the rebel headquarters, the former government building, where masked men roamed the halls and speakers blared Soviet anthems from behind sprawling barricades. As separatist politicians scurried about overhead one day, Veren said he concerned himself with “special operations” — kidnappings and interrogations. Armed men kept handing him keys to cars they’d taken from their enemies. He has since been expanding his power, trading his spot in the crowded building for the more exclusive digs of the security compound, where men with assault rifles blocked the approaches and access was controlled with an intensity that felt paranoid. The Russian Orthodox Army’s seal of a Christendom-evoking sword and shield was stenciled onto each concrete block of one outer wall. On the wall across the street, another set of rebels, the highly professional Vostok battalion, had done the same, marking turf of their own.
In the new office, a Russian flag with the army’s logo hung from a bookshelf, and portraits of a fierce-looking Jesus were taped to the walls. Stickers and insignia patches sat on the desk. The first edition of the army’s newsletter had just arrived, and beneath its banner were recruitment phone numbers. It also had a website. Veren saw untapped potential in the Donetsk region’s 5 million people — and maybe across the Russian-speaking world. “People support us, but they’re afraid to take the first step,” he said. “I’m interested in any kind of promotion that gets the flow of people going.”
Till last fighter, till the victorious, glorious end
On the battlefield. Russian Orthodox!
Who if not us? When if not now?
Mom, I’m sorry. Nobody but us.
Like many of the Russian nationals operating
in Donetsk, Veren was something of an enigma: The dark tasks he said he
employed didn’t match his amiable demeanor. He had no military
experience, he said; he’d once owned a fast food chain, where he picked
up his knack for marketing. He was a 34-year-old from Sochi, but his
wife was from Donetsk. Rumors of covert Russian soldiers and spies — and
financial and military aid — had swirled around the conflict, but Veren
said he had no contact with the Russian government. He said he got his
start in the separatist movement by attending the protests that erupted
in March.
If he was a demon to the pastors at the prayer vigil, he was also a
protector of local separatists, who believed they were largely on their
own against the Ukrainian army and what they saw as its fascist allies.
They worried that if enough civilians left the city, the government
might bomb it.A recruit walked into Veren’s office. Overweight and nervous-looking in a button-down shirt, the young professional, 28, wasn’t built for war. But he wanted to help — he and Veren discussed whether he might do some managerial work, maybe go on neighborhood patrols. “Because I’m a conscious person,” he said when asked why he wanted to join. “And when bad things come to your house, a conscious person can’t ignore them.”
With much of the whiskey, brought to the meeting as a gift, now gone, Veren described a more ambitious quality to the conflict at hand. “The Russian person should remain Russian in any nationality and any land,” he said. The rebels gathered with him in the room — some locals and others Russian — likewise spoke about their battle as if it were about more than Donetsk. One man called it a “historical conflict,” another “a conflict of mentalities.” A likeness of St. George the dragon-slayer graced the army’s flag because Russians throughout history had fought under his banner. Veren said he had started groups in nearby hotspots like Mariupol and Slavyansk — and also had his eye on Kiev, Serbia, Georgia.
But first he was building his franchise in Donetsk. Someone put the keys to an Audi on his desk. The car’s registration showed that it belonged to the company of Serhiy Taruta, the billionaire steel magnate and regional governor. Taruta had fled to Kiev recently because of death threats. Veren went down to the compound’s parking garage, empty except for a couple rows of commandeered vehicles, neatly parked. A man waiting there appeared to be working as valet.
Veren got into the Audi’s driver’s seat. “This is a good car. I’ll trade it for 20 AK-47s,” he said. It was just past sunset, and the compound was quiet as guards opened the gate so Veren could ease the car from the sealed-off rebel zone. Then he jammed the gas and sped through the city’s quiet streets.
Later, as Veren and his comrades settled into a long dinner in a way that felt suddenly normal for a Friday night — they were the big, boisterous group at the restaurant carrying on happily as fellow diners tried not to mind — Fyodor, the intense young Russian who had designed the Army’s flag, gave a lesson on history. Russians made their great advances, he said, in huge, sudden leaps. The pace seems slow; the momentum builds. Then comes the exhilarating wave. “We must only run,” Fyodor said, seeming not to care where this moment would take him. “The end — it is nothing. Run to progress. Run to more.”
Rebel commander Veren. Photograph by Evgeniy Maloletka for BuzzFeed
With darkness falling on a recent Sunday, a
rebel in his fifties named Oleg wheeled a compact sedan through the
city, his big frame packed into the driver’s seat. A veteran of the
feared Berkut riot police, he still carried a natural authority, with
his shaved head and intense blue eyes. He was headed to the airport,
where a battle on May 26 had shocked the city with its violence. A
mechanic who lived nearby would later remember seeing dead civilians
along the roadside as he sped home to get his dog; a soldier at the
airport recalled getting orders to hold fire as rebels massed outside,
then watching in awe when fighter jets arrived. The bloodshed, with at
least 50 rebels killed, showed that war was closing on Donetsk, and some
rebels embraced it. Others, like Oleg, seemed deeply shaken. Asked if
he’d been at the airport that day, he paused, looked down, and said,
“Yes.”
Donetsk — a relatively affluent city with riverside parks and a sparkling soccer stadium — seemed to proceed with normal life as Oleg drove past glass-walled office buildings. “It looks like there is no war. Everything is quiet — peaceful,” he said. “And we will see how that will change now.”
He pulled up to the last rebel checkpoint before the road to the airport became a no-man’s-land. Shirtless men in dusty jeans worked feverishly in the fading sunlight, digging and stacking sandbags, with an eye to the approaching night. Then the sedan passed into the silence of the edge of war; the Ukrainian army was hidden in the distance somewhere. Oleg stopped the car in front of a flatbed truck. Bullet holes pocked the windshield; shoes and clothing scraps were scattered around. The back was caked in blood. Some 30 rebels had died there, Oleg said, when the truck was ambushed en route to the airport by a Ukrainian RPG team. The only sound on the deserted highway came from a billboard flapping in the wind overhead. “This cannot go without punishment,” Oleg said.
A silver van pulled up suddenly, and a man in a black cap pointed a submachine gun from the driver’s side window. “Who are you?” he shouted. A young couple, holding hands, approached on the sidewalk about 100 yards away, taking slow and deliberate steps toward an apartment building set back in the trees. Bursts of gunfire echoed nearby. Then the sedan was back onto Donetsk’s busy streets. “And now there is no war. So it’s a feature of civil war,” Oleg said, meaning that sometimes people don’t recognize it until it’s right upon them. “Most people still don’t understand that this is war. But when there will be more victims and more death, they will stand up.”
Donetsk — a relatively affluent city with riverside parks and a sparkling soccer stadium — seemed to proceed with normal life as Oleg drove past glass-walled office buildings. “It looks like there is no war. Everything is quiet — peaceful,” he said. “And we will see how that will change now.”
He pulled up to the last rebel checkpoint before the road to the airport became a no-man’s-land. Shirtless men in dusty jeans worked feverishly in the fading sunlight, digging and stacking sandbags, with an eye to the approaching night. Then the sedan passed into the silence of the edge of war; the Ukrainian army was hidden in the distance somewhere. Oleg stopped the car in front of a flatbed truck. Bullet holes pocked the windshield; shoes and clothing scraps were scattered around. The back was caked in blood. Some 30 rebels had died there, Oleg said, when the truck was ambushed en route to the airport by a Ukrainian RPG team. The only sound on the deserted highway came from a billboard flapping in the wind overhead. “This cannot go without punishment,” Oleg said.
A silver van pulled up suddenly, and a man in a black cap pointed a submachine gun from the driver’s side window. “Who are you?” he shouted. A young couple, holding hands, approached on the sidewalk about 100 yards away, taking slow and deliberate steps toward an apartment building set back in the trees. Bursts of gunfire echoed nearby. Then the sedan was back onto Donetsk’s busy streets. “And now there is no war. So it’s a feature of civil war,” Oleg said, meaning that sometimes people don’t recognize it until it’s right upon them. “Most people still don’t understand that this is war. But when there will be more victims and more death, they will stand up.”
Berkut rebel commander Yuriy Sivokonenko. Photograph by Evgeniy Maloletka for BuzzFeed
“You have to respond somehow to the killing,”
said another man late that night. He called himself a scientist, and his
name was Mikhail. To make a tally of the dead around the truck just
after the attack, he had counted their heads, since the bodies were in
pieces. Then he crept in his sandals through the woods, armed only with a
folding knife. When he came upon a Ukrainian soldier, he said, he
killed him with the 6-inch blade. Mikhail, 56, had served in
Afghanistan, but it was different this time, killing his fellow
Ukrainian. “Before it was an order,” he said. “Now it’s voluntary.”
He was sitting with friends inside a rebel-held building in the heart of the city, in a room where a small arsenal of guns leant against the walls. Half were old carabiners, half modern AK-74s — rebels were accumulating more weapons as they crawled deeper into the conflict. Mikhail put his folding knife on the table, and then produced the rifle of the soldier he said he had killed, with red stains along the shoulder strap. “It was covered in blood,” Mikhail said. “I washed it, and now it belongs to me.”
The Kiev government was stepping up what it had termed its “anti-terrorist operation,” and the men felt it pressing closer. They thought of it as retribution — “a punishment operation” — rained down from tanks and airplanes. The rebels in the room, all former Berkut, had created a battalion, hoping to act as police, but instead they were being drawn into the war. Their burly commander, a 57-year-old martial arts instructor named Yuriy Sivokonenko, worried for his family, and had tried to ensure that his two sons wouldn’t take up arms. His wife of 32 years, meanwhile, was breaking down, spending her days, he said, “crying and praying.”
Sivokonenko said he hoped for compromise as he served homemade cognac
and jam that supporters had donated. But the possibility seemed to be
shrinking; the conflict had reopened past wounds and the present had
become polarized. He took a book from the armoire where he kept the
cognac, describing it as a key to the truths he was fighting to defend —
he had always held them, but now they felt threatened by those of his
neighbors. It was a beautiful hardcover with grand illustrations,
detailing a glorious history of the ethnic Russian people dating back to
the 14th century. Shown the book the next morning, a local historian
who supports the government would dismiss it as “fairy tales and myths.”He was sitting with friends inside a rebel-held building in the heart of the city, in a room where a small arsenal of guns leant against the walls. Half were old carabiners, half modern AK-74s — rebels were accumulating more weapons as they crawled deeper into the conflict. Mikhail put his folding knife on the table, and then produced the rifle of the soldier he said he had killed, with red stains along the shoulder strap. “It was covered in blood,” Mikhail said. “I washed it, and now it belongs to me.”
The Kiev government was stepping up what it had termed its “anti-terrorist operation,” and the men felt it pressing closer. They thought of it as retribution — “a punishment operation” — rained down from tanks and airplanes. The rebels in the room, all former Berkut, had created a battalion, hoping to act as police, but instead they were being drawn into the war. Their burly commander, a 57-year-old martial arts instructor named Yuriy Sivokonenko, worried for his family, and had tried to ensure that his two sons wouldn’t take up arms. His wife of 32 years, meanwhile, was breaking down, spending her days, he said, “crying and praying.”
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