Colonel Dragutin “Apis” Dimitrijević loved assassination to a fault. Yes, it was he who led the May Coup plotters in that most heinous of crimes: regicide. So went Alexander I of Serbia and – I don’t know why it had to be – Draga Obrenović, the Queen Consort. On his resume was an attempt at the life of Emperor Franz Josef I of Austria. As we shall see, he had a hand in killing that wise regent’s nephew, Archduke Ferdinand. We will never know how many he was involved in planning, only that he was obsessed. In terms of libidinal economy, plotting and carrying out assassinations served to exhaust intolerable drive energy which would otherwise threaten to make repressed complexes conscious.
But Apis could not do all this plotting by himself. No, he founded an organization which, at the core, had the purpose of maximizing the rate and efficiency with which its leaders could unwind themselves and transcend what they knew to be human – all this through unnatural means. Its periphery was a conglomeration of young rebels and nationalists, the most adept of whom were fed crumbs from the table of their superiors’ dark mysteries. Of course I speak of Unification or Death, which members of the Serbian parliament later referred to as The Black Hand.
As unbelievable as it sounds, let me tell you about Dimitrijević’s Crucifixion Rite for the Initiation of Dry Assassins, or at least the version of it I was told. It’s somewhat like those attributed to ibn Hassan by Wilson in Prometheus Rising. Why are they called dry? I wish I could forget!
The candidate is usually a South-Slavic young man of low status, sympathetic to pan-Slavism, Yugoslav nationalism or the general liberation of Slavs from Austro-Hungarian rule. Ideally, his relationship to his family and friends has deteriorated.
First he is offered a cigarette adulterated with opium and renowned Balkan hashish. A deep somnolence ensues and the candidate is taken to a hill which the officers call Golgotha. There he is fixed to a cross – by ropes of course – and the officers await his rousing. When the candidate awakens, they uproot the cross, lay it on the ground and untie him. As night falls, he is forced to drag his cross down a hill into a garden. None other than Dragutin Dimitrijević himself lies in wait, hiding in a bush and anticipating a rôle whose execution provides him with a pleasure that you and I cannot imagine. The colonel springs from the bush like the blossoms of April. He shouts “Hail Rabbi!” in lascivious ecstasy, kisses the candidate on the cheek and pours a goblet of very sweet wine down his throat. The wine is infused with opium as well and the candidate slumbers again. Then he is returned to some inconspicuous conditions and, upon arising, has no recollection of the rite.
What good is this for generating patsies? Well, all Dimitrijević had to do was imagine that delectable feeling he got playing his part as the betrayer, and the candidate, if he was successful in the ordeals, entered a state of suggestibility. In conjunction with other measures, Dimitrijević’s application of this device at crucial moments steered the candidate through his transformation.
Removed from society, the candidate divested from the cathexes foisted upon him thereby. The routines by which he formerly abided were replaced with a disorientating regimen of fasting, meditation, ritual sacrament taking, lectures, exercise and training. As the former modes of libidinal metabolism were dissolved, the candidate began to experience a pleasant buzzing feeling in his body (known in psychiatric orgonomy as charge). By virtue of the condition that the Skandalkonzert composers tried to inform us about, this natural feeling and marker of bodily health is largely unknown to people, especially to those low-status young men for whom these methods were designed. They asked their handlers, “what is this enigmatic sensation?” They were told it’s Prince Vlastimir’s spirit or the Archangel Michael or whatever. Thereafter the handlers’ task was to cultivate this feeling. It goes without saying that the candidate had to remain continent. The once pleasurable sensation compounded until it became overwhelming. The whole process was timed so that the final stage would correspond with some real-world event at which the target was to be present.
Lastly, the candidate had to be made to equate his infernal work with that tension’s resolution. The process had so far been concerned with creating conditions of disequilibrium between various tissues and surfaces in the candidate’s body. Meanwhile, a narrative of national division had been instilled: if the South Slavs are unified, all our problems will be resolved. Of course this is a metaphor for the orgastic discharge. The Slavs are the candidate’s disjunct body parts. The Austro-Hungarian Empire is the sum of repressive forces prohibiting the unification of the body and the restoration of its functional movement in the orgasm reflex. The impending assassination is the ultimate release from unbearable sexual tension, the destruction of what thwarts unification and the final ensuring of libido-economic equilibrium: a Slavic golden age.
As for Gavrilo Princip, I was told he also underwent the Crucifixion Rite. The trauma he accrued at the Skandalkonzert exacerbated the tension and only by this inordinate quantity he was able approach the royal motorcade. The rest is history.