Red Son Superman stands on a quiet Adriatic cliff at dawn. The sea below Split is calm, ancient, indifferent to empires. His red cape hangs heavy—not with wind, but with history.
Pussy Riot approach, bright balaclavas against the pale stone, guitars slung like contraband truth.
Pussy Riot (Nadya): So even you leave Moscow.
Red Son Superman: I did not leave the people. I left the palace. There is a difference.
Pussy Riot (Masha): Kasparov said the same thing. Chess grandmaster, poisoned board. You can’t play fair when the king flips the table.
Red Son Superman: In the Soviet Union, I was raised to believe the state could be moral. That power could be clean. (pauses) Putin cured me of that illusion.
Pussy Riot (Olga): Croatia, then? Adriatic air instead of Novichok?
Red Son Superman: Empires rot inland. Coasts remember trade, movement, escape. Dalmatia has survived Rome, Venice, Vienna, Belgrade. It knows how to wait out tyrants.
Pussy Riot (Nadya): And you? The strongest man alive—afraid of poison?
Red Son Superman (softly): I am not afraid for myself. I am afraid of becoming a symbol they can murder and weaponize. Martyrs are useful to dictators.
Pussy Riot (Masha): So you choose exile over a state funeral.
Red Son Superman: I choose time. Time to speak without a handler. Time to let truth arrive without sirens.
Pussy Riot (Olga): From Croatia, what do you do?
Red Son Superman: The same thing Kasparov does. The same thing you do. I tell the truth loudly enough that silence becomes suspicious.
Pussy Riot (Nadya): (smiles) Welcome to the Balkans, Comrade Superman. Everyone here knows empires lie.
Red Son Superman looks out over the sea. For the first time, the red on his chest does not belong to a flag.
Red Son Superman: Then maybe… this is where a man raised by propaganda finally learns freedom.
The guitars strike a discordant chord. The sun rises. No anthem plays.
The Madness of Kings: Trump, Putin, and the Pathology of Power
By Nadya of Pussy Riot
If a monkey hoarded more bananas than it could eat, while most of the other monkeys starved, scientists would study that monkey to see what is wrong with it. When humans exhibit this same behavior, we put them on the cover of Forbes magazine. This quote exposes the sickness at the heart of modern power structures, where wealth, control, and narcissism are mistaken for strength and leadership. Nowhere is this pathology more evident than in the rule of Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin—two men whose personal insecurities and mental instabilities shape global events and destroy lives.
Psychologists define narcissistic personality disorder (NPD) as an inflated sense of self-importance, a deep need for admiration, and a lack of empathy. Both Trump and Putin exhibit these traits to an extreme. Trump, with his gold-plated towers and obsession with ratings, cannot function without constant praise. His fragile ego depends on rallies filled with chanting followers, social media adoration, and the illusion that he is a genius businessman—despite multiple bankruptcies and scams like Trump University. Like the hypothetical monkey hoarding bananas, Trump hoards wealth, attention, and power while millions of Americans suffer in poverty. His detachment from reality was most grotesquely revealed during the COVID-19 pandemic when he suggested injecting bleach as a cure—an act of deadly stupidity masked as leadership.
Putin, on the other hand, presents a more calculated and sinister form of narcissism. Unlike Trump’s buffoonish incompetence, Putin’s madness is that of a KGB operative who sees enemies everywhere, including in his own people. He hoards not just wealth but entire nations, treating Ukraine as a personal possession rather than a sovereign country. He poisons his critics, jails protesters, and clings to power with an iron grip. His megalomania leads him to rewrite history, positioning himself as the eternal tsar of Russia. While his citizens struggle under economic sanctions and repression, he sits on billions, his paranoia deepening with each passing year.
What is most terrifying about these two men is how their psychological disorders are not treated as illnesses but as strengths. Their wealth and power shield them from accountability. In any just society, they would be examined like the deranged monkey hoarding bananas, diagnosed with deep psychological instability, and prevented from harming others. Instead, they are worshiped by cult-like followers who mistake their sickness for greatness.
It is time to stop glorifying the madness of kings. True leadership is not measured by how much wealth one hoards, how many enemies one crushes, or how loudly one demands obedience. A just world would place human dignity over gold-plated thrones, and compassion over conquest. Until then, we remain trapped in the delusions of the madmen who rule us, watching as they drive the world toward disaster.
The Ashes of Power: Putin, Revolution, and Divine Judgement
The streets of Moscow were aflame. Protesters surged through Red Square, their chants reverberating against the walls of the Kremlin. What had begun as murmurs of dissent had grown into a tidal wave of revolution, sweeping away decades of fear and silence. The gilded halls of power that Vladimir Putin once commanded with an iron grip now lay in ruins, the echoes of his reign drowned out by the roar of an angry populace.
Putin’s fall had been inevitable, though he had refused to see it. Like Colonel Muammar Gaddafi of Libya, Putin had dismissed the growing unrest, labeling it the work of foreign agents and traitors. But the people’s fury could not be silenced. Years of corruption, repression, and economic disparity had ignited into a violent uprising.
The Violent Revolution
The revolution had begun in the provinces, where food shortages and economic collapse were felt most acutely. Farmers, workers, and soldiers defected, joining forces with urban intellectuals and tech-savvy youth. The internet, once tightly controlled by the state, became a weapon of the resistance. Encrypted messages coordinated strikes, and viral videos exposed the regime’s atrocities.
In Moscow, the tipping point came when military units turned against the Kremlin. Tanks rolled into the capital, not to defend Putin, but to support the people. The once-loyal FSB fractured, with some operatives joining the uprising while others fled the country. The oligarchs, sensing the winds of change, abandoned their patron, retreating to their yachts and foreign mansions.
Putin himself had retreated to a bunker, issuing defiant speeches over state media, calling for loyalists to crush the rebellion. But his words fell on deaf ears. The revolutionaries stormed the Kremlin, dragging him from his hiding place. His final moments mirrored Gaddafi’s—surrounded by a mob, stripped of his power, and consumed by the rage of those he had oppressed.
The Ashes of Judgment
After his death, Putin’s body was cremated, but his ashes were not interred with the reverence of a statesman. Instead, they were scattered into the wind, a symbolic act of erasure. His name, once etched into history books, was now spoken only in curses.
And then came the Second Coming.
The skies darkened, and the earth trembled. Christ descended in glory, a vision of divine justice and mercy. The graves of the righteous opened, and the faithful rose to eternal life. But for the wicked, there was no such reprieve.
Putin’s ashes, scattered and insignificant, were summoned before the Throne of Judgment. The sins of his reign were laid bare: the corruption, the oppression, the wars waged for power and greed. His soul, if it still existed, quaked before the gaze of the Almighty.
But there was no redemption. The ashes were consumed in a divine fire, a final act of purification. Unlike the righteous who were resurrected to eternal life, Putin’s remains were obliterated, never to rise again.
Comparing Tyrants: Putin and Gaddafi
Like Gaddafi, Putin had ruled through fear, maintaining his grip on power with propaganda, secret police, and brutal crackdowns. Both men had amassed immense personal wealth while their people suffered. Both had dismissed the warnings of dissent, believing themselves untouchable.
Yet their downfalls were strikingly similar. Gaddafi had been dragged through the streets of Sirte, his body desecrated by those he had oppressed. Putin’s end was no less ignominious, his legacy torn apart by the very people he had sought to control.
The revolutions that toppled them were born of desperation and rage, but they were also acts of hope—hope for a future free from tyranny.
A New Beginning?
As the flames of revolution burned across Russia, the people began the arduous task of rebuilding. The scars of Putin’s reign would not heal easily, and the specter of authoritarianism loomed large. But the revolution had proven one thing: no ruler, no matter how powerful, could escape the judgment of history—or of God.
In the end, Putin’s ashes served as a reminder of the fate that awaits all tyrants: to be swept away by the tides of justice, their power reduced to nothing.
