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   There are those who accept the prison of work in exchange for a miserable paycheck with resignation. There are those who nurture a great passion for work and, always in exchange for a wage, are willing to sacrifice every moment of their life to it. So, in exchange for a higher salary and some privilege, Vladimir Nechai-nuclear physicist-along with some notable colleagues had made his living since 1958 by burying himself in the federal atomic study center, otherwise known as Celjabinski-70, in the Urals, with the task of dedicating himself to the study of increasingly powerful weapons in absolute seclusion. He was shut up in one of the many "closed cities", identified only by a monogram, in the service of the most secret atomic arsenal. But due to the collapse of the Soviet empire, and particularly the consequent economic crisis, even the minds of the most servile workers lost their patience, being no longer paid for their existence sacrificed to the state.

   So Vladimir Nechai, who became the director of the nuclear center in 1988, couldn't take the stress any more. Feeling powerless and enraged at not being paid the trifle of a thousand dollars in more than five months, he blew his brains out. The bunker-city didn't offer him any options for changing his activities: "do the science or die", and instead of leaving to sell his brain to western powers like some of his colleagues, he exploded his into the air.

   I say, it's better this way. At least he can no longer contribute to the healthy functioning of the industry of slow death that is work. What's more, the nitwit was a patriotic designer of murderous devices, just as contemptible as the state official who orders them, the banker who financed them and the military personnel who launch them.

   The Russian economic crisis, along with other things, strikes the slaves of society. Miners, teachers, doctors, soldiers in turmoil, rumbling, who threaten "revolt" against the government of "thieves and incompetents", convinced that a regime even more militarized than it already is could restore the smooth functioning of the daily prison.

   There are even those who grind their teeth like the cosmonauts, defenseless, powerless, in the MIR space station with the toilet overflowing with organic refuse because the Moscow authorities, due to the insurmountable deficit, cancelled voyages of the shuttle that would transfer the load of space shit.

   And it seems to me that shit is what really unites this whole miserable spectacle. That of the daily demands of work, that spattered out of the head of the suicidal nuclear physicist and that in which the filthy cosmonauts were on the verge of drowning.


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