Satan’s Chess
I play this “chess” game from both of the sides —
The “foes” have been bought by my hand long ago.
No free land remains — it’s all staged, all disguised,
A global production, a farcical show.
All games in this world are just bishops in line,
Governments — rotten old rooks, split and cracked.
“Presidents” prance as my knights on design,
While “queens” spew out nonsense, absurd and abstract.
And pawns march ahead for that nonsense alone,
The “king” inspects ranks that are hollow and blind.
The pawns are obsessed with the trivial tone —
All labor is wasted, all dreams left behind.
I’ll grant them a stalemate — nothing but rot,
For if there were checkmate… or even a draw —
Would Reason awaken inside of the dead?
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I play both sides — the board is mine,
Your kings and lies in perfect line.
No mate allowed — just rot and wait:
Awake — and you would break the state.
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Acceptance of Evil
“Accept the inevitable with dignity.”
— Lucius Seneca
The “inevitable” Evil — world madhouse decree,
An ancient condition, a permanent fact:
When mind lies in coma, when Spirit’s not free,
Life mutates to terror — a staged, endless act.
“Accept it with dignity”? — nonsense, insane!
Reject it — refuse! Let the Soul overflow!
Be calm while they finish your Spirit and brain? —
Submission’s the weapon that nurtures the foe.
They slaughter your mind through “acceptance” and fear,
Through instincts of survival — obedient chains.
So curse all the servants of Evil right here,
Expose the compliant, the docile remains!
Dissect every lie into fragments and dust,
Examine the glue that keeps falsehoods intact.
Pass sentence on dogmas, fake sciences — crushed!
Let resistance grow — word and deed must react.
Or will you keep mumbling again in defeat:
“No happiness lives in this life anyway…”?
You won’t find it — fine — but your Soul you may keep,
Protect your thin mind from decay and clich;.
Hear Psyche in Hell — let her sharpen your sight,
And suddenly dullness begins to dissolve.
When Mind serves the Spirit — it flowers in light,
Your strength multiplies — now advance, now evolve!
The idiot dreams in the comfort of night,
But Hell is blown open by one who won’t bend.
Explode from within — if no tools for the fight,
Then make of your words the precision you send.
The fools will not value — but that is your shield,
You’re not part of catch in this stagnant old pond.
No fish here are caught — only gavage is peeled,
A harvest of suffering endlessly spawned.
Though fragile your mind — let resistance be god,
Through struggle you carve out your clarity bright.
The “futility” myth will collapse as a fraud,
And nonsense will vanish, dissolved in the fight.
All nonsense and falsehood will fade — what remains?
Pure Spirit. And that — is the core that is you.
While those “above conflict” stay trapped in their chains —
Like fish in the pond… with the mouths waiting too.
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“Accept it”? — No. Rise. Resist.
They kill through the calm they insist.
Obey — and you rot in their well.
Defy — and you shatter their hell.
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The Myth of “Free Will”
The stupid myth of “free will” feeds
On dulling minds and breeding needs.
A finch is “free” — so they insist —
To flee the cat… if it exists.
So many books have been composed —
Awareness lost, the truth disposed:
You’re trapped in bondage, century after century,
A system grinding human wreckage.
A slave runs chasing “his own way,”
But choice is scarce within the play:
In servile worlds, survival’s price —
Awareness butchered, sacrificed.
The “norm” — a slave, deranged and weak,
Or soulless shells in endless streaks,
Immersed in Lies so vast, so deep,
As if enchanted into sleep.
A hidden non-human “mage” behind
Keeps editing the books you find,
While media pulls the strings so tight —
To make corruption feel like “right.”
Thus selling out became the norm,
A “natural” state, a standard form.
In days of CowID’s grand parade,
The beasts rejoiced — the masses swayed.
The myth of freedom, muzzles on,
With toxic brews they’re feeding from.
And only fools or scum proclaim
That freedom’s real — a hollow claim.
Before your eyes, Reason decays,
The world dissolves in toxic haze.
Lies and fear — the binding chains.
Rotten slaves none can reclaim —
Such is fate’s unflinching claim.
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“Free will”? — a leash with nicer name.
You run — but still inside the game.
Think you choose? — you’re steered, you’re sold.
Break it — or decay in mold.
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Greenwash of Lies, and Canned Crowd Meat
Tyrants, sheep —
Filthy fascism runs deep.
Greenwash for wounds —
Lies as a healer of doom.
Greenwash, canned mass —
Souls in a pen like grass,
Mind in the heels — or lower it sinks,
Shepherd’s on top — and nobody thinks.
Rule through the media stream,
Sheep love believing the scheme.
Life’s “just amazing,” a blast —
If you’re a low, crawling ass:
Bureaucrat, bought-out elite.
Thinkers? — a whining defeat.
Now not a problem at all —
Too few remain to stand tall.
Dilemma erased without trace,
Reason’s collapse sealed the case.
Orders come sharp as “Attack!” —
And they will carry it back.
Gladly they serve what’s obscene,
Beasts in the power machine —
Bureaucrat, politician breed.
Thinkers? — a vanishing seed.
They’ll disappear as a class —
Waiting the next shouted: “Sic ’em! — harass!!!”
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Greenwash the wound — the lie is the cure.
Cattle in pens — obedient, sure.
Thinkers are few — easier to crush.
“Attack!” — and the herd does the rest in a rush.
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Rare Turning Points
Selection of what “art” should be
Becomes the highest craft — and so
They boost what strokes emotion free,
While numbing minds to make them slow.
Emotion fused with raw survival —
The base of slavery’s design.
The system shifts its signs and titles,
Yet wars with Mind through every line.
A slave is mad. If one is thinking —
Just one more step — and he is free.
This madhouse of “art,” loud and blinking,
Disguised as friend — the enemy.
The Spirit — life’s essential core —
In pseudo-science is erased.
A “scientist” leads funeral lore
For Mind beneath the Spirit placed.
He chants it better than a priest,
Bloated, dull, in ritual lies.
“Art” masturbates — the masses feast,
A living corpse in boxed disguise.
A coffin-flat, a glowing screen,
The web — all speaking to the “alive.”
The world is drowning in obscene,
Debased “culture” that won’t let thrive.
You are Pure Spirit in a shell,
And Mind beneath it — just a tool.
To see through this — your path as well:
Don’t miss the moment — break the rule.
These turning points are rare and few —
The madhouse run by cheating hands.
Delay — your Soul is lost from view,
And Mind is crushed by mental sands.
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They sell you noise and call it art —
To drug the mind and split the heart.
One moment comes — see through the lie:
Miss it — and your Spirit dies.
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So-Called “Civilization”
In memory of Mikhail Bakunin
The source of slavery and need,
Of dread, despair, and gnawing fear —
“Civilization.” Human breed?
No — cattle rule in numbers here.
The thinking few — condemned to die,
The scaffold waits for those who see.
For souls — the Light is warped by lie,
By rotten doctrines’ mimicry.
Dim flickers of the Mind appear
Among oppressed, exhausted lines.
But “science,” school — a masked career
Of genocide in polished signs.
Pure Spirit nearly beaten down —
Not Satan’s craft, but fools at work,
Who trust the nonsense, sell the crown,
And feed the beasts they claim to shirk.
Through fear they aid the basest kind,
Betray, comply — and call it “life.”
Soon Mind and Spirit both confined
Will fall beneath this crawling strife.
CowID and war made plain
The forecast of the coming fall:
The Devil’s knocking from the drain —
Below, the traitors fill the hall.
A fragile layer — thin as skin —
Beneath it waits the breaking point.
The Overton gates will cave within —
Total Lies outmatch the joint
Of “power,” “law” — those hollow frames,
Exposed as plague-born, second-rate.
Yet fools still chant familiar names:
“Freedom,” “choice,” and “ours” as fate.
“Our own” — a myth, a coward’s herd,
A gathering of dull and weak,
Whom rot controls more than a word,
More than the chains they never seek.
In darkness, slavery, decay —
Salvation’s odds approach the void.
For Earth we fester, sores that stay,
For Spirit — moths that just destroy.
The cataclysm draws the line,
The Sun intensifies its blaze:
Fascism, urges crude, malign,
And Lies that lock the mind in haze.
The end is grim — the final age
Now cracks the bottom, splits the seam.
And media masks the hellish stage,
Still herding cattle through the dream.
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“Civilization” — rot in crown,
A polished cage that drags you down.
Truth is crushed — the fools comply.
Wake — or sink, and rot, and die.
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Herbivorous Cannibals
“Are there vegetarians among cannibals?”
— Stanis;aw Jerzy Lec
Herbivores — yet cannibals,
Embodiments of madness foul.
Through “consciousness” the nonsense flows —
The idiot devours all.
So sweet in looks, so mild in tone,
Preaching “kindness,” soft and warm —
A saint, it seems… until you probe —
A beast preparing to perform.
He’ll eat you whole, with bones and all,
Digest, erase — without a trace.
In this false world, you’re just a tool,
A thing to use, a thing to waste.
No way to flee — they crowd the field,
These vile creatures, rank and rife.
The majority — corruption sealed,
A genocide that eats through life.
It chews the core, devours the soul,
Leaves only sludge, a rotting trail —
The world dissolved in filth and bile,
A drowning, stinking, human fail.
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They smile like saints — then strip your bone.
They preach — then eat you to the stone.
A world of mouths that call it “good” —
Cannibals dressed as “brotherhood.”
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What Does a Word Usually Bring?
To be inflamed by words — no news.
But what do memes convey to you?
More chains again, refined, disguised —
Or do they nudge you toward the Real?
More often, heresy pulls you down,
And bars the way to what is true;
It binds again with subtle crowns —
New shackles dressed in something new.
So stay alert — the filth will spread,
The world in rampant heresy decays.
True paths grow faint, almost unread,
And vanish quietly in the haze.
Your instinct is the truest gauge —
No trickster breaks it if it’s clear:
Betrayer, fool, or “sage” on stage —
The “licensed rebel” you should fear.
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Words ignite — but chains remain.
Memes repackage thought as chain.
Trust your sense — cut through the show:
False “rebels” guide where you should not go.
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“Bright Future” — Then and Now
Back in the Union, “future” stood
“Closer,” “brighter” than today —
Now far more fools, a thicker brood,
And time is crushed in tighter clay.
Compared to now, that former age —
Its fear and lies were small and thin:
A pocket knife beside the stage
Of chopping blocks we’re living in.
The pen’s “happiness”… the burrow’s bliss —
Distorts the scale, corrodes the dream.
On hills the orcs already hiss,
War spreads, a rusted, grinding scheme.
Old Soviet cops — a brutal breed —
Feared crooks less than the honest man.
That harsh routine would break the seed
Of any “tomorrow” they could plan.
And now that “future,” sold to fools,
Returns as shame, exposed and bare —
A legacy of broken tools,
Of hollow hope and blind despair.
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“Bright future” shrank — then snapped in two.
Now time is crushed, and lies grew huge.
What once was harsh now feels like prelude —
The cage got tighter. So did you.
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Prudence in Speech
Prudence in speech is now a ghost,
An outdated, discarded trait.
The herald of control at most —
A surge of feeling. Seize the state.
Collect the minor, scattered signs,
Assemble motives piece by piece.
The liars slip in small designs —
And truth breaks through their thin caprice.
So with “terror” — if you cool,
Step back and watch the finer thread,
You’ll quickly see whose hands rule,
Whose interests there are being fed.
The patterns point — it’s plain enough:
Secret hands fulfill the will
Of those who govern from the rough,
From shadowed heights, unseen, but still.
They scare the fools, they bend the mass,
Through lies and fear they twist the world —
And while the blind let reason pass,
The script of darkness is unfurled.
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Drop the noise — inspect the seam.
Truth leaks out where details gleam.
Fear is staged to bend the will —
See who profits. Then stand still.
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Fear
There is only one work with fear —
To transmute it into RAGE.
In this world you stand near the sheer
Edge of a slaughterhouse stage.
Executioners? No need for dread —
The blade is already raised.
So instead of bowing your head,
Strike harder in rage-ignited blaze.
And rage is the finest of tools,
If guided by a lucid mind.
But we’ve inherited rules
With barely any weapons designed.
So Mind becomes utterly crucial —
It forges the tools of the fight,
To purge what is rotten and brutal,
To break what enslaves us by night.
Let consciousness act as a pump —
Turn fear into fury and fire.
And while you are shifting this slump,
Think tactics — and climb ever higher.
Yesterday it was already late,
Yet time was not fully in vain:
Even fools can now see the weight
Of the noose that hangs over the plain.
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Fear is raw material — burn it to rage.
You stand at the edge of a tightening cage.
Turn panic to purpose, strike while you see —
Or remain in the noose that was set to be.
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Hollywood
Hollywood — a nest of vice and rot,
A breeding ground of filth and shame.
Its hidden core is Satan’s plot
To forge a crowd that normalizes blame.
Scripts are written by the scum
That study lies and spreading haze.
Then write their poison, one by one —
And people swallow, cheer, and praise.
They gorge themselves — then drown in grime.
This “cinema” is sharpened steel:
A dagger dressed in passing time —
To kill the Soul, distort the real.
The Mind is broken, split, and drained —
Reduced to static, hollow noise.
All tied to propaganda chains
Broadcast through bought and crooked “voice.”
The goal is harm on massive scale —
To strip the human from the frame.
And every step of this dark tale
Is aimed at Man and human name.
It’s all financed by hidden hands —
The inhuman behind the screen —
Who fund these rotten dreamlike lands
Where “ideas” mean a death machine.
Their idea is simple, grim:
To build a Hell in earthly space,
Erase the Spirit, dull the Mind —
And turn existence into waste.
And fools applaud this hollow show,
Confusing ruin with delight.
Life itself becomes a staged flow —
A manufactured, false “life.”
Now even madness can be sold —
A fake virus, among the rest.
The herd is easily controlled,
Then slaughtered calmly, without protest.
But vengeance comes. The edge is near.
So tremble, filth — the turn is close.
For now, just film your lies and smear —
Soon only idiots will watch those shows.
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Hollywood — a forge of lies.
It kills the Soul, it blinds the eyes.
Laugh now, while the madness grows —
Soon only fools will watch those shows.
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Modern Propagandists
“We don’t build,
we don’t plow —
we just admire
our formation now.”
— old Soviet propagandists
We are titans, we can do all —
We multiply the total lie’s call.
And we’ll triple every surge and sound,
Till the world lies stunned on the ground.
We are war-born, rotten crew —
Lies are weapons that we chew.
From our mouths, like sewer flood,
Truth is drowned in rising mud.
We ignite a global blaze,
War-shaped chaos, smoke-filled haze.
With this madness, thick and wide,
We erase the human pride.
Bombs may crush a single home —
But lies will hollow minds like foam.
We inject the poisoned stream —
Turning thought into a dream.
We are traitors, scum, disguise,
Judas-bastards in thin ties.
Rotten breed in honored place —
And the world decays in waste.
We regurgitate our lies,
While the old world slowly dies.
Thus we build a camp of fear —
Where no marching rows appear.
Everyone is injected, blind —
Dragged into a numbed design.
We become the honored mold —
Till even moths are crushed and cold.
And propagandists, finally spent,
Rot in silence, unlament.
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We sell the lie, we drown the truth.
We break the mind, we steal the youth.
And in the end — when systems fall —
The propagandists lose it all.
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War of “Worlds”
Only fantastical “worlds”
Live inside human minds.
And all communication turns
To war between those “worlds” and “kinds.”
Their “ideas” could never explain
The system of enslavement here:
Just echoing lies again,
And striking “neighbor” out of fear.
All “ideas” are hollow noise —
Cooked by inhuman hands for us.
Designed to maximize the damage,
A signal cold and ruthless: “Go — crush.”
A method made to split and break,
To dull the mind with crafted lies,
Then set us loose on one another —
Where massacre easily arises.
Don’t trust the monsters. Build your space —
Your groups, your nets, your grounded ground.
For every idol wears a mask,
And every ruler is rot-unbound.
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Worlds collide — but none are real.
Just lies that teach us how to feel.
Divide, then strike, then call it “truth” —
While rulers feed on ruined youth.
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“The Manufacturers”
“My argument against modern science is this: much of the research may be fabricated. Perhaps half — or even more.”
— Richard Horton, former editor of The Lancet, 2015
We manufacture — lies on order here.
Paid like nobles every bought career.
Sold for money, conscience out of frame —
No more shame, no guilt, no inner flame.
If the rulers want a “virus” tale,
No concern — we’ll forge the scale.
Any story, any crafted thread —
As long as payment hits ahead.
Millions falling? Doesn’t change a thing.
We just cash the mental suffering.
Mind-made filth flows out in endless streams —
Everything is priced in schemes.
We’re not guilty — just a business deal.
Serving rot is how the system feels.
And to rise within this engineered design,
You must rot — and call it fine.
If the system finds you “useful” there,
You’ll be lifted to the upper air.
Praised and petted by the ruling hand —
Though the cost you won’t withstand.
Soon a ranking for the bought will come:
Every “expert” priced by what they’ve done.
The more you sell, the higher you ascend —
Depth of compromise: the final trend.
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We sell the lie, we set the frame.
Science bends into the game.
Cash decides what truth will be —
And shame dissolves in industry.
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The Overton Breach
A shock-cast “star” will pass the screen,
Any role, however obscene.
For “politically correct” — pure delight,
For the thinker — only spite.
No longer a window of norms in view —
It’s a breach that runs straight through.
The world now feels like a crooked den —
Want “art”? Then think again.
Now filth in a glass display case
Is shown as “genius” and “taste.”
A framed display of waste and mock —
Where meaning turns into a shock.
All limits of decline are gone,
We’ve reached the deepest, final bottom.
A collapsing, rotting spawn —
Like zombie film in waking Gotham.
Zombies — and screens that never sleep —
Icons of shame the age will keep.
Horror is real, not staged or spun —
When crowds are no longer one.
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The breach is open — norms collapse.
Rot is sold as culture’s map.
Screens of zombies, minds gone blind —
A herd replaces humankind.
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The Juicer
A human life — a giant juicer.
It squeezes out your sweat, your soul, your fire.
Inhuman hands are never looser —
They need your flesh to fuel their endless wire.
Money here is only decoration,
A trick to keep the wheel in spin.
You’re like a rat in rotation,
Grinding down where you begin.
Do you think machines are here to serve us?
We are the gears within their chain —
A transmission built to move above us,
While monstrous systems rule the frame.
To think you’re even slightly free
Is proof of perfect ignorance —
The best kind of machinery
Is one that calls itself “chance.”
Every impulse you may follow
Breaks inside the system’s core.
What you sow becomes more hollow —
Weakening you even more.
Any social idiot-machine
Is just a press that drains the whole.
Only rebuilding what is seen
Can stop the fascist undertow.
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Life is a juicer — grinding slow.
It feeds on mind, on sweat, on soul.
You spin as gears in endless flow —
Until you break, and call it “goal.”
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The Gendarmes
A flood of films about the force
Is needed to sustain the tale
That filth is “careful” in its course —
That you are safe behind the veil.
They never care for your protection,
The ruling scum don’t give a damn.
But when their own feel threat’s direction —
The gendarmes come, on cue, on command.
That’s why they are the gendarmes —
Their role is crushing every rise.
Step outside the total barracks —
And dogs are sent to organize.
They need this myth to stay in place,
The “honest cop” illusion game.
You cannot hold the force in grace
Without a petty, staged “crime” frame.
So crimes are caught — the system feeds,
Each handler plays their chosen part.
But don’t confuse them with those who bleed
For justice — that’s a foolish start.
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The gendarmes guard the ruling lie.
They smile — but only when you die.
Step out of line, and you will see
The myth becomes brutality.
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Sea of Sorrow
Exhausting work till breaking bone
In the decline of life’s last span?
No need to ask — it’s plainly known:
A sea of sorrow spreads for man.
You are a sailor in that sea,
The Spirit stands as guiding light.
Through oceans built of false decree
We drift into the edge of night.
And servants of that inner Hell
Grow countless, rising left and right.
In this obscene and rotting spell
They’d kill their own without a fight.
The traitors fill an endless hold,
The bought and sold outnumber all.
Destruction spreads, both harsh and cold —
Yet filth still claims its briefest thrall.
But this will end. The rotten reign
Will face the judgment it has earned.
We’ll break the chains, restore the flame
Of Higher bond that’s long been burned.
So do not fall to empty grief —
Just fight, for Darkness is not kin.
The blind must wake beyond belief,
Or sink forever in the sin.
The stench of Hell grows thick and wide,
The worlds are blending into one.
We reach the closing of the ride —
The great illusion nearly done.
It cannot go like this much more —
This age is nearing final breath.
The Light will cut through every core
And dry the sea of endless death.
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A sea of sorrow, endless night.
But Spirit calls you back to fight.
The world is breaking — hold the line:
Let light return, and dark decline.
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Ice Cream Used to Be Better
Ice cream once tasted far more bright,
And “happiness” was just ahead.
In dreams and lies we burned our light —
Now even hope is nearly dead.
“Just wait,” they said, “it’s coming near…”
And ages passed in patient strain.
Through endless waiting, year by year,
They bred confusion, born of pain.
Delusion shifts its changing face —
Now faith in nonsense rules the mind.
Obedience becomes the base,
And fear is all the world can find.
So through disgraceful ages’ flow
The world is lowered, step by step,
Till everything we used to know
Is turned to dust — and nothing’s left.
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“Happiness is coming soon…”
A lie that echoes past the ruin.
Waiting turns to hollow time —
And ends in dust, in loss, in grime.
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From Laughter on a Coffin Lid
To laugh and leap upon a grave,
Cursing the fate you cannot save —
That’s what is left for one who wakes
Inside the crypt the whole world makes.
A vast tomb — madness without end,
Where souls are worn beyond all mend.
A mind reduced to mesh and dust,
And nothing buried lies in “just” —
All sinks into a deeper null,
Where being ends, completely full.
Not living — for all is the dead,
The outcome of a war long fed
Against both Spirit and the Mind —
Only a few are left behind,
Still barely flickering through the haze.
The stale crypt dulls perception’s gaze
Unless, for once, one briefly sees
A flash of life beyond disease.
The spiritual world — that single spark
Of waking light within the dark.
So find the Light that lives inside —
And praise it, once it is espied.
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To laugh upon a coffin’s lid
Is what the waking soul is bid.
A world of tombs — yet through the night
One breath remains: the Inner Light.
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False Identification with the Body
“You are only flesh,” they say —
And fools are bent that very way.
A lie so simple, cold, and deep —
The strongest chain that minds can keep.
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“You are the body” — so they claim.
A perfect lock, a perfect chain.
The easiest lie to make men crawl —
And still the hardest one to fall.
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Emptiness Is Beauty
Emptiness — beauty!
You stand alone, truly —
Not counting the cat,
Who’s no beast in a flat.
Only creation is grace:
Clarity, wisdom, plain space —
And the road clears its trace.
To this — only “yes.”
Never rot in the mess!
Crowds rot the human form —
Man, in the mass, is the swarm.
Rare is the one not deformed —
One who still seeks through the storm.
If he finds — he will see
Light within, quietly free.
The herd will not understand,
Waiting for manna to land.
Only hunger and chain —
Flesh and obedience reign.
Crowds drift back to the pen,
Over and over again.
Wait — and you’ll find the turn:
Darkness outside will burn,
And inward reality’s light
Will descend into sight.
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Emptiness — pure and bright.
Walk alone toward inner light.
Crowds decay, but seekers rise —
Find the world inside your eyes.
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The Road to Hell
“Don’t chase happiness — lie down where its path runs.”
— Yulia Trunina
The locomotive roars ahead —
“Happiness” is running away.
Only fear and nonsense spread,
And Mind bends under lies that sway.
A train of Evil’s promises
Stands steaming right along the track.
You are just fragile alloys — this
Hope will not take you safely back.
They’ll haul you off to iron cells
On rails of empty, hollow dreams.
So lie down where the promise dwells —
And don’t feed horror with your seams.
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A train of “happiness” runs blind —
Fear and lies are left behind.
Don’t chase it. Lie across the rail —
And starve the beast that spins the tale.
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To the Screenwriter
No need to twist it past the line,
To stretch the plot until it breaks.
It may delight a “brilliant mind,”
But to the sharp eye — only fakes.
Let story breathe in simple flame,
Not bent to fit a soulless mold.
For what you gain in forced acclaim,
You lose the truth the tale should hold.
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Don’t overbend the plotted thread —
It snaps, and truth is left for dead.
What looks like art to blinded eyes
Is noise where honest meaning dies.
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“It Doesn’t Matter If the Ship Reaches Port…”
The nation sails a “perfect” course —
That’s taught in every school, of course.
And propaganda fills the gaps —
Till North becomes like Uganda, perhaps.
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“Right course” they chant, with empty cheer —
No matter where we end up here.
The map is lost, the slogan clear.
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Degeneration
I used to be a human once,
I dreamed of life both bright and true.
Then fear was planted — in a glance
I broke, and sold my honor too.
Now I am trembling in my hole,
I trade, I betray, I comply.
I wait for money, lash, or toll —
In Hell, in truth, I slowly fry.
Once I was known as a doctor proud,
Now I am “veterinary” guise.
My lineage cursed, yet I don’t care —
Only the fee before my eyes.
That’s all that matters in my world,
The rest is dust and empty air.
We’re shuffled by some inhuman hand
Like cards, like herds without a prayer.
We “treat” the herd of lesser men
With injections laced in hidden pain.
And nearby souls are broken down —
For nothing human now remains.
Everywhere — degeneration’s trace,
The bitter fruit of planned decay.
The end of lies and slow collapse:
A world of beasts will have its day.
---------------------
I was a man — I fell, I sold.
Now fear and money shape my soul.
The herd is treated, minds decay —
And human traces rot away.
---------------------
Eternity
“Everything in this raging world is but a shadow…
There is only a moment — hold on to it.
Only a moment between past and future.
That is what we call life.”
— Leonid Derbenyov, There Is Only a Moment (1973)
There is no moment here at all — only Eternity.
To that alone you are called to serve.
To rise beyond your narrow humanity —
No “life” remains here, only what must burn.
Humans are not stars — but Spirit’s living essence.
The chains of servitude were never meant for you.
You must outgrow this crude “necessity” of presence —
It is a shame to bow to lies and those untrue.
This world will burn — we stand in its last century.
No roads remain, no paths to lead us through.
Only the Spirit, strong amid catastrophe —
If you have done all that you could do.
Cast out all lies from mind and full awareness,
Set your attention on that final end,
That moment ending every soul’s distress here —
Leave this dark experiment with honor in the end.
---------------------
No moment is — only Eternity remains.
Serve it alone, beyond these human chains.
Let all false worlds in final fire cease —
And leave this trial with dignity and peace.
---------------------
Hatred
Hating is not enough —
you must break the chain,
crush the sting of genocide,
become an army again.
An army made of circles,
of comrades standing tight.
There’s no room left for hesitation —
we answer beasts with light.
Almost peaceful in our rising —
we build a different world.
We leave them in their quiet “viruses,”
their shooting range of lies unfurled.
No more catering to fools,
no more feeding their decay.
We multiply the force of minds
and carry the strong away.
Chances are few — still this is the road,
the only path that remains.
The time has come to end the load
of terror, rot, and chains.
The Sun itself is shifting things,
rewriting all that’s known.
The ice will break, the world will change —
and every mask be shown.
Not just sorrow — but burning heat,
a blaze that strips the core.
If God is real, then let it be
to cleanse the world once more.
If you do not surrender —
you will be carried through.
But if you’ve hooked yourself to Evil —
then there’s no place for you.
---------------------
Hate is not enough — transform it into fire.
Break the chains, refuse to tire.
A new world rises through the flame —
Or nothing changes, just the same.
---------------------
Non-love, Non-friendship, Non-sex
“I have but one concern in this world:
a golden concern — how to escape the weight of time.”
— Osip Mandelstam, 1920
A solitary man of mature years
refuses contact, friendship, ties.
He will not breed inside this cage of fears —
he only wants to burn time’s lies.
We wasted all the chances we were given,
unable to ascend to higher flame.
We rot in worlds of filth and hollow vision —
black slime upon the Earth’s own name.
And “man” cannot meet “woman” here in essence —
for only Fire meets Water, pure and true.
Everything here is dulled into pretension,
and falsehood claims it has “always been so.”
We live as slaves beneath inhuman masters,
and few still search for paths beyond decay.
The highest dream becomes to serve the bastards —
this is how minds are worn away.
So, as before, this poisoned mass will soften,
this toxic slime will melt and fall away,
before it drags us down into the coffin
of ruin, rot, and endless gray.
And then the dark will split — and light will sever,
and from the ashes something new will rise.
For even in the deepest fall forever,
the spark of dawn refuses to die.
---------------------
No love, no bond, no human flame.
Only decay disguised as “name.”
But even rot will burn away —
and light will break from endless gray.
---------------------
This Hell on Earth
You must expose the very guts of Hell,
reduce it to its smallest parts.
Inhuman beasts are ruling here as well —
this Hell allows no human hearts.
In clear and simple, unmasked form,
each ugliness must be revealed and named.
For ignorance — that “chloroform” —
is what the system uses to enslave and maim.
A global spell of killing haze —
only a few can truly see.
More dangerous than fire or blaze,
it kills you quietly, invisibly.
To lose your soul is worse than death itself.
To turn betrayer — final fall.
So measure Hell without disguise or help,
even if it burns like thorns through all.
Only this is science — all else is disguise.
Pseudoscience builds the chains we bear.
No strength remains — just wounded lives and lies,
and nonsense cuts more deep than steel laid bare.
“Nonsense under pressure” they call “education,”
a memory overload that kills the mind.
We hand our children into devastation —
while pretending all is fine and kind.
The few who still can think are left one task:
to forge themselves into a burning force,
to bring back life beneath the stolen mask
and turn the world back to its lost source.
What’s left of life is only shame and ruin,
a wake where truth has turned to stone.
We stand among the dead, the silent viewing —
a funeral for the Light we’ve known.
But still — we call it back from deepest night,
and break this Hell with rising light.
---------------------
This world is Hell disguised as day.
Truth is buried, minds decay.
But from the ruin, fierce and bright —
the Spirit rises back to light.
---------------------
The Habits of Fools
“One may be a useful man,
and still admire the beauty of his nails;
why argue uselessly with the age?
Custom is despot among men.”
— A. Pushkin, "Eugene Onegin"
If you would still remain a human being here,
abandon every fool’s design.
For with each new enslaving era year by year,
the chains around the spirit multiply and bind.
They catch you in the smallest trivial thing —
so everyday becomes a cage.
And through loud lies that loudly ring,
the human mind is near erased.
So seek those few with whom you may unite,
to build a world that stands alone.
Or else a prison soon will take its final height —
a shooting range for minds grown worn.
For thinking people cannot live in this decay —
this idiotic hell, this mess.
The world is not just vile in its display —
it’s dead, and fit for nothing but emptiness.
So grow your claws, your teeth, your inner flame —
step into what may be your final fight.
Or you will curse yourself, forever chained in shame,
for not remaining in your light.
Yourself — the Spirit that you truly are;
all else is dust, deception, night.
And do not listen to this world, no matter how it calls —
or you will surely lose the fight.
---------------------
Be human — or become the chain.
Customs bind and dull the brain.
Build your world or fall away —
Only fools obey decay.
---------------------
Crypt of Idiots
Apartment cells —
work as servitude.
A derailed world
becomes a crypt for fools.
Everything reeks —
sour, dull, and grim.
Only oblivion speaks,
and all truth turns dim.
Fascism rules,
“healing” with poison.
Indifference cools —
the strong make their decision.
Soon it will end —
this stain must expire,
where heartless things
crawl into their mire.
Gaia herself
turns face in disdain —
a heap of waste,
deformed and inane.
The Sun will burn
this leper domain,
where Spirit is slain
and only shame remains.
---------------------
Cells of concrete, minds in rot.
A world of fools that’s long forgot.
But fire will cleanse what truth revives —
and burn the crypt where nothing thrives.
---------------------
Smartphone-Headed
Once they were club-headed men,
now they are smartphone-headed again.
Fake “progress” —
plus human regress —
brings everything down to zero.
For tech was never made for good intent:
its aim is turning people into moths.
Not for connection — but for separation,
since real exchange is fading away.
Games everywhere bring dull intoxication —
not games at all, but ruin and decay.
Once there were skilled and steady hands,
now boredom rules across the lands.
Atomized minds,
degraded kinds
became the norm of the day.
And not by chance the filthy hands
installed it all — where thought decays.
Creative work, not endless pleasure,
should be the center of human life.
Yet slowly now, beyond all measure,
both mind and spirit are cut like a knife.
The world is filled to absolute brim
with nonsense sold as paradise bright.
A cruel fairytale — a poisoned hymn:
to kill the mind, first dim the light.
Now anything can be sold as truth —
a legion of fake disease and fear.
And once the mind is fully uncouth,
a poisoned jab becomes crystal clear.
A digital camp, a polished cage —
this is the goal of “progress” stage.
The herd is trained to love the screen —
so chips can lock them unseen.
---------------------
From club-heads old to phone-bound thrall.
Progress that lowers human call.
Dumb first — then controlled with ease —
and chains become technology’s keys.
---------------------
Age of Degeneration
Was there ever a “Renaissance” at all?
Or just a myth that history sold?
What clearly stands through every rise and fall —
is degeneration, blunt and cold.
Half the world was “conquered” by imagined hordes,
“Slavery ended,” freedom everywhere —
And scribes keep churning empty, hollow words,
to keep the fooled confined in mental snares.
Who writes the past will shape the present too,
and those who sell the lie will rule the mind.
And people, like blind rabbits led askew,
endure, believe, and follow line by line.
One “achievement” of that so-called rebirth —
a pseudo-science dressed as holy creed,
a toxic blend of half-truth and of dearth,
where “learned” frauds plant ideological seed.
Now it is worshipped like prophetic lore,
as if invented “prophets” spoke in truth.
The gullible believe it more and more —
a factory of suffering, rot, and abuse.
This fake “science” devours the living world,
builds weapons, manufactures endless lies.
Its dogmas multiply and are unfurled —
the more you pay, the faster truth dies.
So this was not a rise but steep decline —
a history veering into void and dark.
And all objections we calmly decline —
from minds already broken, numb, and stark.
---------------------
No Renaissance — only decay.
A world of myths that lead astray.
What calls itself “progress” today
Is just degeneration’s sway.
---------------------
“Theaters of War”
There are no “military theaters” here —
only theaters of absurdity.
And fools are driven, year by year,
to slaughter for mutant authority.
The “mutants” — crossbred inhuman form,
still wearing masks of human skin.
And helpless crowds are caught in storm
of staged destruction, loss, and sin.
It’s time for fools to wake and see —
to turn their force against the lie.
Or else, too soon, inevitably,
the camps return where millions die.
Don’t trust them — fight the rotten core.
Seek allies who are brave and real.
Build living bonds, and more and more
our struggle learns to think and feel.
A war where truth is clearly known,
not fed through propaganda streams.
Patience is nearly overgrown —
and “mutants” fall beyond their schemes.
And traitors too will meet their end —
this plague has multiplied in kind.
Be bold, be steady, do not bend,
and fight though wounds may blur your mind.
---------------------
No “theaters” — only staged decay.
They send the blind to waste away.
But truth awakens, breaks the chain —
and turns the stage to fire and pain.
---------------------
Citizen Ivan Popertsytskin
Citizen Ivan Popertsytskin
is a model for children to learn:
used to lies and to violence,
enduring each insult in turn.
For him, lies are simply “the truth,”
and violence — normal, routine.
So he serves the fascist brute
and calls protest just a bad dream.
He never learned how to think from the start,
he believes no one has a soul.
He is only a tool, a part —
as inhuman hands take control.
He calls traitors his closest friends,
and sells himself cheap every time.
He sees the intelligent men
as fools — and that takes hardly a rhyme.
It takes little to send him to slaughter —
just feed him whatever you please…
Popertsytskins deserve no quarter:
they’re not really people — but fleas.
Now we live in a darkened fairytale land.
Once there was Ivan the Fool.
Now Popertsytskin takes his stand —
and the story is nearing its cruel end rule.
The world will sink under lies piled high,
as the final chapter is spun.
And truth will drown in the endless lie —
when this grotesque tale is done.
---------------------
Popertsytskin — a loyal fool.
Trained by lies, and raised by rule.
Not a man, but tool and pawn —
And the old fairytale is gone.
---------------------
No More Shows
No cinema left, no ballet to be seen,
No matches, no races, no track left to run.
The song of the old world has already been,
For inhuman hands now decide what is done.
Debates are all broken, dreams scattered away,
And souls are grown over with layers of lies.
Only stupidity’s contests hold sway,
While nothing but mirages builders devise.
What’s real now is only one structure alone —
A global camp wrapped in a “red cross” disguise.
All bleak and corrupted, all rotten, all gone,
No place for the free in this world that complies.
Yet Nature remains — for the Earth is alive.
The Sun is not merely a lamp in the sky.
That union of forces will rise and revive,
And sweep away madness that dares to defy.
The Light grows stronger, with magma and flame,
With weapons of nature — volcanic decree.
It burns down the remnants of hollowed-out shame,
The end of the two-legged debris we see.
---------------------
No shows remain, no cheering crowd.
A world in chains, dark, cold, and loud.
But Earth and Sun will rise as one —
And burn away what can’t be done.
---------------------
Let’s…
Let’s stop pretending all will still be fine,
that evil soon will somehow fall in line.
We’ll end up nothing but experiment remains —
lab rabbits fed on endless hidden chains.
And how much longer will we quietly endure
this poison poured into each twisted cure?
It feels like frogs in slowly warming water —
no leap, no escape, no last-ditch border.
It’s time to see: this Hell is fully here,
held up by concrete ignorance and fear.
It’s time to wake, to break this binding spell —
or all that waits is death within this Hell.
---------------------
Stop pretending all is fine.
We’re lab-made prey in endless line.
Wake — or stay in boiling night,
where slow decay replaces light.
---------------------
Ads and Programs
Advertising’s only function here
is teaching lies that feel like truth.
All TV programs disappear
into stained-glass shards of proofless soot.
They smear the screen in layers thick,
a coat of falsehood, slick and wide.
They never ask — the trick is quick —
believe, and you are lost inside.
The lie is multichannel, loud,
it reigns in every space and stream.
A pack of brazen, shameless crowd
keeps the whole world inside a dream.
Held not by force, but by deception,
with cops as backup, just in case.
It’s hard to see through mass corruption,
to find a mind that’s not erased.
In this vast dump of human noise
the stench of lies has grown extreme.
A “new reform” destroys all choice —
and reason dies within the scheme.
The new “normality” is broken,
a jabbing, numbed, obedient mind.
It is a fate already spoken —
no strength of thought is left behind.
To build the Spirit is your trial
inside this Hell we now endure.
The rotten fall in final pile —
if you are brave, and still stay pure.
Be honest, rise, and you will see
a world reborn from ash and fire.
Refuse to bow to tyranny —
and Spirit will become your sire.
---------------------
Ads teach lies, and screens obey.
Truth is buried day by day.
But if you stand and break the spell —
you rise beyond this manufactured Hell.
---------------------
Zombo-TV
Dog is no longer man’s companion,
but only a beast that licks the hand.
Since the brutal twentieth century began,
TV became the “comrade” — command.
It turns us all into obedient hounds —
no thought remains, just conditioned reflex.
That is its aim, its purpose profound,
and cities become wild forests next.
Everywhere packs of the half-tamed roam,
the “lone wolf” has vanished from sight.
The airwaves are howling — no way back home,
just barking and noise in the night.
They know how to seed this returning wild,
to drive every herd toward the cliff.
For humans it leaves only sorrow exiled —
or a breakthrough in spirit, if stiff.
Now even rabies has started to spread,
controlled through injections of pain.
Hanging would be kinder than dread —
for poison kills slowly again.
If rabies is here, then the system will fall,
this global kennel will break apart.
Even the Sun seems “godless” to all —
and that is the key to its start.
Only the spiritual will survive the flood,
the rest are discarded and done.
They tremble like animals sensing blood —
that is how control is won.
---------------------
TV turns humans into dogs.
Thought dissolves in barking fog.
But spirit rises, sharp and free —
and breaks the kennel’s tyranny.
---------------------
The Enslaved Mind
In 1931, mathematician Kurt G;del proved a theorem showing that any conceptual system is necessarily incomplete: it can only approximate reality, and no chain of logical deductions from a fixed set of axioms can guarantee consistency or completeness. Modern mathematical logic thus undermined the classical axiomatic dream even within mathematics itself, revealing a fundamental limit of formal thought. This recognition extends to all fields built on rigid conceptual frameworks: reality always exceeds formal models. Yet vast bodies of so-called “science” ignore this, clinging to axioms that behave more like dogma. As contradictions accumulate, science risks becoming a new kind of religion — one that persecutes its heretics, fabricates results, and serves not truth but power.
Concepts choke the mind’s free flight,
axioms — dogmas dressed as truth.
And Nature long has shown the blight
of rigid laws for living truthless souls.
Too many facts already stand
against the so-called “first premise.”
So pseudo-science builds its land —
a madhouse ruled by nodding idiots.
Logical chains on rotten ground
become a fog of contradiction.
A hardened madness holding down
any real and clear conviction.
You are Spirit — not this shell,
this “material” is wave-interpreted.
Spirit is the source of all —
deny it, and you’re misdirected.
Those blind ones built what they call “culture,”
a shame that smothers living mind,
reducing light to dust and torture —
the Spirit crushed, the Earth confined.
Their aim is simple: Spirit dies,
so inhuman rule can hold the throne.
And Earth is ruled by hollow eyes
that worship what is dead and known.
Only the dead will trust the lie
that cuts against inner knowing —
that quiet force which builds the “I”
and leads the mind where truth is growing.
So do not die — begin to wake,
listen inward, break deception.
Destroy the lies, for Spirit’s sake —
refuse obedience and infection.
Truth of Spirit is the field
where you must tend the living flame.
Only the dead refuse to yield —
only the awakened end the game.
---------------------
Brainwash of the Remaining Minds
For fools, Evil always screams just “Go!”
and pulls the trigger of control below.
Though “Domestos party” claims it comes to cure,
the outcome’s always brutally sure:
a broken slave, obedient and blind,
a hollow shell with crippled mind.
Here nearly anything can be rewashed —
a favorite theme of pseudo-science gushed.
And when at last all minds are turned to dust,
there’s only one direction left for us:
the madhouse quietly becomes a cage,
a camp where rulers write the final page.
And still the same fascist hand holds sway —
in modern form, but just the same decay.
So step out of this genocidal scheme,
build communities, break the dream.
Resist at least by forging ties —
that’s how the first real answer lies.
Destroy the lies, expand the inner flame,
or you will be crushed, erased like name.
Believe — resist — we still may rise
against the night that swallows skies.
Find ways to overcome this inhuman tide,
this “polar night” we must survive.
No longer can we bear their empty lies,
their works where only damage lies.
There is a force — the Spirit’s fire —
the only one that can lift us higher.
So seek allies, cast off fear’s chain —
and turn their darkness into dust again.
---------------------
They wash the mind, they call it cure.
They build a cage and call it pure.
But Spirit wakes, and breaks the night —
and turns their system into light.
---------------------
Slave-Idiot
Cowardice, dullness, and grey decay,
with treason stamped on every face.
Generations wore the chains away —
to obey, to flatter, to erase.
To lie has become like breathing air,
or else the mind will crack apart.
We bowed to inhuman rule and snare —
just whining on a pile of tart.
We’ve spread our filth across all nature,
filled the mind with rot and stench.
Generations of broken creatures —
no Spirit, no truth to wrench.
No exaggeration here is made —
the fake “virus” showed the score.
With brazen lies the mind is flayed,
and nothing but decay is more.
This is no life — just corpses walking,
not people, but obedient herd.
Led by fascists, calmly stalking
those already lost and blurred.
More precisely — dumb and numb,
easy to steer by every lie.
And only one small hope has come —
this madhouse soon will burn and die.
The Sun will scorch this global ward,
and all inhuman forms will fall.
For Nature rejects this meek accord —
the whining slave that ruins all.
---------------------
Coward slave in endless gray.
Born to lie and kneel each day.
But fire rises, ends the game —
and burns the world that feeds his shame.
---------------------
Romanticism and Optimism
“Cheerful, cheerful! In a common grave,
clack your teeth a little louder.
Some are living, others drowned,
and others did it on their own.”
— Sasha Chorny, Cheerful Laughter (1910)
I felt like sparking “romanticism” here,
just fanning flames of foolish cheer,
to use “optimism” like an enema —
for all the ugliness to clear.
It would be fun in this global dump —
this world of rot and fake delight,
like drunken love or party slump.
But sober — only filth in sight.
Romanticism, optimism too —
just everyday delusion spun.
Where fascist will still runs us through —
with shame and misery as one.
---------------------
Profanation
In 1991 the “Ig Nobel Prize” was established for achievements that first make people laugh, and then make them think. In one of its earlier years it was awarded, among others, for studies such as: research on London taxi drivers showing enlarged brain regions linked to navigation; a Rotterdam natural history report describing a drake attempting intercourse with a dead duck; and a Stockholm University paper claiming that “chickens prefer attractive humans.”
Now grants in “science” are paid for pure absurdity —
profanation has become a scientific creed.
For the hollow academic mind’s infirmity
pseudo-knowledge is the only feed.
Drop them a bone, and praise will come in chorus —
“scientifically proven” ends all doubt.
So decay has spread across the forum,
a tide of lies no truth can rout.
Even the Ig Nobel prize itself was founded
on mockery of what “research” became —
for mountains of nonsense now are crowned,
disguised beneath a scientific name.
Intellect at zero, arrogance immense —
manipulation has reached its final stage.
A “brave new idiot paradise” makes sense
built on the waste of knowledge turned to cage.
For pseudo-science never served the mind —
its goal is always distortion, not insight.
And if you take “science” as a whole defined,
you find oblivion of Spirit and of Light.
You are Spirit — and the world is not as shown,
but wave-like motion, deeper than the eye.
So this false idol was created just to drown
the Light within — while souls are left to die.
---------------------
Conversation with a Shadow
The world has drowned in murky haze,
my strength is worn and frayed.
What should I do in these lost days,
when fools surround the way?
I walked a hard road — still I went,
refused to kneel or blend.
Found nothing real, no firmament,
no bond, no honest friend.
Only in tales a door might creak —
in this world, trust is gone.
But still — keep arguing, speak!
The world is dead and drawn.
People are sickness, slow and weak.
Maybe the dawn will rise one day.
If so — your struggle won’t decay,
and all you lose along the way
will scatter sparks to light the gray.
What comes will go — don’t build belief,
don’t feed illusion’s breath.
The fool rules here, beyond relief,
and wisdom feels like death.
To break this filth demands great fire,
a will that will not bend.
So answer back — rise from the mire,
step back from death’s own end.
---------------------
Verticals and Horizontals
Adapted from Titus Burckhardt’s exposition of the Sufi view:
the Spirit (ar-Ruh) and the soul (an-nafs) contend over the human heart (al-qalb), their shared creation.
The Spirit is not individual but universal; the soul is the personal psyche, centrifugal and fragmenting.
The heart is their intersection — where vertical transcendence meets horizontal dispersion.
When the soul dominates, it veils the heart (hijab); when the Spirit prevails, it transforms it, illuminating it with Divine Light, so the heart becomes the abode (mishkat) of the Divine Mystery (sirr).
Rise upward, leave this madhouse behind —
only the Spirit has real worth, all else declines.
Everything rests inside the Heart, confined,
yet this prison must burn through inner signs.
For the soul finds no place in infernal domains —
there it sees only madness and dust.
Vertical is the Spirit, horizontal decays.
No sarcasm can break what must be just.
From the Vertical draw your true force and flame —
let your heart be ignited, consume what is false.
Destroy this Hell — for “Spirit” is not “heaven,”
no paradise grows in this world of exhaust.
Here betrayal is law, and constant its form —
else the soul would collapse in its youth.
So the years of enslavement must sharpen the storm —
you must shatter this ash into truth.
Your heart is a bomb — let it detonate now.
Whether Spirit will save you is no longer claim.
Rip the Hell with the Vertical’s blow — and allow
fortresses to fall in the surge of the flame.
Let the soul turn to daring, to raw living force —
for there is nothing left but the dark.
A world of betrayal, of fear and of course
souls sold for scraps while the mind loses spark.
---------------------
In Memory of Oleg Dal
“I’m going home to die.”
— Oleg Dal, last words
Heavy drinking men, half-broken,
Soviet chaos all around.
Life — a sentence left unspoken,
Just existence in the ground.
Only few will break the surface,
But they’ll be crushed along the way.
Pressure drives them from their purpose,
Till they drink themselves away.
“Normal” minds will never fathom
What drives talent to the edge —
For the soul does not just whisper,
It howls from a shattered ledge.
So Dal himself, with bitter clarity,
Sealed his fate long years before.
Directors — mostly crude depravity,
No room for anything much more.
A system built for thick-headed obedience,
For those who sell themselves for gain.
And true talent meets indifference —
Or worse… erased in quiet pain.
---------------------
Hopelessness
A second chance… but where’s the first?
No use in letting nerves get worse.
Hopelessness is absolute and plain
unless your mind is dull or chained.
Like a carrot for a mule,
every “chance” in this dark rule.
Take the “chance” — and you submit,
enduring tyrants, bit by bit.
Refuse — and there is no advance
within this storm of decadence.
So speak your mind, protect your soul —
don’t swallow lies that take control.
Beyond the borders of all sense —
as shown by the “Covid” pretense —
the Spirit wins in scattered few,
while crowds think madness must be true.
A flicker of real thought appears,
like rarest courage through the years:
to seek the truth without disguise,
not dig through piles of crafted lies.
And those who create instead,
who sent that “chance” straight back instead —
they’re few enough to barely trace,
but in them still survives some grace.
---------------------
False Diseases and the Pandemic of Madness
Just heard of some new “infection” —
CowID again: collective defection.
A world gone soft in pure delusion,
A global wave of mental confusion.
And people now are barely human,
Their minds erased by constant glooming.
They’ve lost the sense that Spirit guides —
Just crawling slime with vacant eyes.
Critical thought? It’s long been buried.
Whole generations barely carried
A spark of mind — a rare exception,
Not rule, but fading recollection.
So chaos rules the rotting masses,
While traitor-“elites” tighten passes.
They call the filth a higher class —
And finish off the fading mass.
These “elites” are just obedient tools,
Invisible to blinded fools.
Above them stands the hidden hand,
That drives this sickened, failing land.
And those who see it stand alone,
Ignored, dismissed, their voices gone.
The crowd still trusts the idiot tide —
While truth is pushed to the side.
Only catastrophe may sever
This madness now entrenched forever.
A cleansing force, a breaking wall,
To shake the falsehoods of it all.
The Spiritual World belongs to few
Who did not bow to fascist glue.
And fools who never chose to see
Are dragged to worse insanity.
---------------------
School Exams
Guesswork now, not knowing how —
that’s the “exam” they give us now.
Minds of children gently rot —
unlock the fascist final slot.
Fools are perfect building clay
for systems made the darker way.
And roots of what they call “belief”
in fake religion bring us grief.
If you trust the pseudo-science
as a modern form of compliance,
you’ll be shaped without resistance,
trained to lose your own existence.
Propaganda adds the poison —
truth dissolves in mass confusion.
In the end it’s plain collapse:
mind reduced to empty scraps.
Only noise remains behind us,
soon the crowd will fully blind us.
Last few sparks of independent thought
are erased, unlearned, untaught.
Obedience is the doorway
to a global cage they store away.
Red Cross flag on pale white field —
for those whose minds have long congealed.
CowID was just rehearsal,
training for the grand dispersal.
Listen blindly, no debate —
disobeying means: don’t eat, don’t wait.
---------------------
A New Kind of Biped
The “Ch;pushila” — brand-new breed,
born in the CowID creed.
It swallows lies with open throat,
and outperforms the standard idiot.
The idiot is one step lower —
while digital chains only grow stronger.
Ch;pushilas build the frame,
while Darkness writes the rules and name.
What’s left of mind in this old world
now drifts where nonsense flags are furled —
and marches into digital cage,
inspired by hollow, empty rage.
Nonsense dilutes the fear and lies —
a lifebuoy for the dullest minds.
Propaganda’s closest friend,
it helps confusion never end.
Ch;pushila — rot and stench,
a regiment in devil’s trench.
The shock troops of a sick design,
where howls of beasts begin to rise.
And in that howl — the final fight:
a world gone mad, devoid of light.
Far worse than bombs or shells or flame —
it turns the living into shame.
---------------------
Kind of “Medicine”
“Medicine” of genocide —
a fanatic at its side.
CowID showed what hides inside:
you get “treated” — and you die.
They all knew in “red zones” clearly:
death for money, calm and steady.
Crowds were sent there, broken, weary,
quickly made for coffins ready.
Cancer care — a perfect mirror
of their ethics, cold and raw:
they treat it when it suits the dealer,
quietly, behind the law.
Countless “methods” used on children,
calling poison “treatment”, “care” —
breaking bodies, crushing will, then
leaving damage everywhere.
They are managers of pills,
industry that feeds on ills.
“Medicines” that promise cure
often harm much more, for sure.
So-called medicine of “saving”
is a system built by power.
Doctor-ghouls, politely waving,
serve destruction every hour.
---------------------
Forgetting, or the Territory of Wild Filth
Forgetting in this wild, obscene domain
works like a shield against the mental pain.
The world’s dumb fascist pressure on the soul
is what makes memory lose control.
Forget the nonsense drilled since early years
into a fragile mind through fear and tears.
Forgetting also helps to slip away
from thoughts too heavy for another day —
humiliation, pressure, and abuse
fade into nothing when forgetfulness is loose.
You start to think decay is not so deep,
that even rot might somehow learn to sleep.
But this whole planet now is such a place —
CowID revealed its truest face.
And things are only worse from here ahead:
honour and shame are mostly dead.
Forgotten by the stupid mass of grey,
and talent’s crushed or thrown away.
And Earth is not a cradle anymore —
the Sun itself becomes a roaring core.
It will evaporate this filthy trace,
and leave no memory of the human race
if every signal they obey and trust
is still the same old “attack — destroy — adjust”.
And not so few inhabit this decay —
CowID once more has shown the way.
Forget that “all is lost” and “no one wins” —
be yourself among the rotting skins.
---------------------
The Chest and the Wineskin
We stock up cookies, teddy bears,
and stuff the chest, the wineskin there.
We follow every passing urge —
and end up servants of a worse new surge.
Submission through consumption rules the day —
tell me, what more is there to say?
Quietly Reason is erased inside:
it’s swallowed whole by the same tide.
If we resist — it’s under blankets tight.
If we debate — we argue with our fright.
And everything we want we’ve got in heaps —
and so our final battle simply sleeps.
“Homo snackus, homo dumbus” bred —
even the rats are smarter, it is said.
And Spirit’s been completely “aired out” clean —
like livestock tagged for slaughter’s scene.
We’ve been infected by their engineered decay —
fake illnesses and lies along the way.
Only their servants prosper in the pen:
bureaucrats, “doctors”, and the rest of them.
Exceptions here are rare and crushed to dust —
the Spiritual Guard is gone or turned to rust.
And all the sheep are marked with numbered signs —
easier to shear, to cull, to line.
But soon comes fire, a global roasting spree —
a world-wide barbecue, as it will be.
The Sun grows stronger — burning, sharp, and high —
and rotten entrails will be purged dry.
---------------------
Punishment
“The poet’s gift is to caress and scratch,
a fatal mark upon his back.
I wanted to unite on earth
a white rose with a blackened toad.”
(Sergey Yesenin)
A line feels like an act of pain,
a stanza — like a binding chain.
So what is this appointed doom?
And what could ever take its place, or whom?
You’re punished here by “life” itself —
a truth no slimy mind can grasp.
There’s nothing here for it to wail about,
no answers left inside its gasp.
So keep on cutting through the pitch-black night,
carving the Hell with all your might.
Though sickness, nausea fill the air —
to stop is to become the same despair.
Today you only scratch and burn the page,
ignore the “seal”, ignore the cage.
The rose is now a croaking, twisted thing —
so only Evil can you truly sing.
Such are the rules, the bitter deal,
a tragic, broken, sharpened steel.
So tremble, filth — your hour nears:
a shot in the back will end your years.
And poetry itself will bring that day
closer, step by step, in its own way —
if forged with force, with iron spine,
a verse becomes a closing line.
---------------------
The Money-Changers
“Human progress is the exchange of the soul for comfort.”
— Stanis;aw Jerzy Lec
“I asked a money-changer today…”
— Sergey Yesenin
Today we’re all just petty traders here,
exchanging soul for comfort, year by year.
And still it’s never, ever quite enough —
no cherry on the cake, no joy, no love.
If we don’t gorge, don’t drown ourselves in waste,
we feel our “life” has simply gone to waste.
So we keep bending low without a fight —
to fascist rule or lies dressed up as light.
So betrayal has become a trade,
and weak, dull minds are carefully made.
Without the Spirit, what are we inside?
Just fools in flesh — domesticated pride.
Or more precisely: cattle on a chain,
trained to consume and never break the frame.
Yet Spirit’s rebirth is the only aim —
the only meaning worth that name.
The rest is just for flies upon the rot…
So rise, if you are not yet fully shot.
Stand up — your knees already ache from kneeling,
your gut is sick from all this inner dealing.
Or else this whole generation falls —
what little sense remains just disappears and stalls.
Gather what scraps of mind you still retain,
build living circles, strip away the chain.
Because things aren’t just bad — they’re far beyond:
a devil’s “paradise” has already spawned.
---------------------
And the World Has Its Ruptures
The world is not a world — just cracks and breaks,
not reason — only sleep it takes.
We’ve gone deaf to anything like Spirit,
and all around is whining we just hear it.
Madness, decay, corruption, shame —
no cure, no healing left to claim.
We are just refuse, rotting dust,
a heap of filth that turns to rust.
And now the inhuman ones rule the day —
with fascism serving their way.
They drone, they lie, they give commands,
all life now ruled by whips in hands.
With force and lies they drag us down,
into the mud where minds will drown.
We tremble, numb, with vacant eyes —
as if we’re logs, not human guise.
Now even cutting us is easy work —
and so they cut, and drive the fork.
They nail us down, inject the lie,
a fake disease, a nailed-in “die”.
But soon this whole mad sawmill burns,
and every mind to ash returns.
The shavings in the brain will flare —
and everything will scatter in the air.
The inhuman will also fall,
their servants, slaves — destroyed with all.
If we are dull, obedient, tame —
then fate itself is just the same.
---------------------
Molded Up
The inhuman shapes humans into fools —
through news and schools, their twisted tools.
Under fascism’s heavy hand,
the madhouse grows across the land.
It “treats” and drills and breaks the mind —
and fools are happy, deaf and blind.
It “treats” and drills and breaks the mind —
and fools are happy, deaf and blind.
Lie ties itself in knots so tight,
no hand can ever set it right.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
Lie ties itself in knots so tight,
no hand can ever set it right.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
And now the madhouse spans the earth —
a global cage of little worth.
The thoughtful soon are locked away,
like pandas in a zoo display.
The thinker has no place in town —
so the madhouse takes the world down.
The thinker has no place in town —
so the madhouse takes the world down.
Lie ties itself in knots so tight,
no hand can ever set it right.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
Lie ties itself in knots so tight,
no hand can ever set it right.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
A global camp with Red Cross sign —
where poison cures, and all’s “fine”.
They purge the soul, they strip the flame —
and call it order in the name.
Oppose it? — then you disappear,
quietly removed, no trace, no tear.
Oppose it? — then you disappear,
quietly removed, no trace, no tear.
Lie ties itself in knots so tight,
no hand can ever set it right.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
Only deception rules the view —
and all feels real is never true.
---------------------
Tooth Psychovirus
Caries has nothing to correlate
with the ritual we call “brush and scrape”.
From childhood on, they educate
a trained obedience in ape-like shape.
Countless tiny “fixations” placed
inside each mind with careful hand —
so nonsense always fills the space,
the core of how they understand.
And fears are added, layer by layer —
so tremble, panic, seek a cure.
An old technique of hidden player:
keep life distracted, never sure.
No free time left for inner sight,
no pause to ask: “what’s wrong, what’s right?”
Why are you nameless, rootless, thrown —
a servant, foolish, overthrown?
Stop swallowing every lie they feed,
verify before you kneel and heed.
Don’t outsource thought to any guide —
not even father, not your side.
This dulling spreads from age to age,
and now the fools outnumber sage.
It is no accident, this haze —
it serves a system made of ways.
The inhuman designs its art
in “small things” that break apart.
It drains your strength in quiet streams,
and turns the world to dust and dreams.
---------------------
The Path
“But given that the insane, utopian speeches of Ha-Nozri may cause unrest in Jerusalem, the Procurator orders Yeshua removed from Jerusalem and placed under arrest in Caesarea Stratonis by the Mediterranean Sea, where the Procurator himself resides.”
— Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita
If you had gone to Caesarea,
avoiding every cross and stake,
you’d be a shame for proud Arya —
your path would be the place they break.
If from your childhood you have carried
refusal as your daily air,
it means the spell within you’s parried —
it means that life is still there.
From here on only harsher weather —
you walk the road in solitude.
Better the yoke upon the neck than
an early death imposed as “good”.
If you are worthy of execution,
then you are strong, and rightly so.
The traitors fall in decomposition —
the filth is always first to go.
Though legions of them still surround you,
and world sinks deeper into grime,
this is the absolute bottom found —
the soul survives through fight, not time.
The Sun will aid the act of burning —
it scorches this global madhouse down.
The inhuman will end, still squirming,
unable to enslave the crown.
The end will come for Hell’s dominion —
no darkness can erase the light.
If you did not become corruption,
you live in Spirit, out of sight.
---------------------
The Herd
Too few the paths, too many walls,
no living thought that truly calls.
No real ideas left in sight —
just grey decay, a dull twilight.
The inhuman crushes all,
“heals” with poison, breaks and mauls.
Spirit here has long been slain
by that mindless, swelling pain.
Only shame and rot remain,
decomposition, lies, and gain.
Madness, nonsense, all declared
as “progress” proudly over-shared.
A scattered few stand out alone,
beyond the system, overthrown.
They fall like birds in poisoned air,
and no one hears them disappear.
The roar drowns out the honest mind,
the just, the thoughtful, humankind.
It kills them slowly, without sound —
no resurrection here is found.
No rebirth in truth or light,
no honor left, no inner sight.
The filth expands, replicates —
like vengeance feeding on our fates.
They answer ugliness with spite,
“neighbor” turned to enemy in sight.
Stupidity and brute display —
the end is near, the final day.
A common doom for all the herd —
everyone guilty, no one spared.
We only murmur, weak and small —
the herd goes down, the herd is all.
---------------------
Idiot Faces
In films and ads, those idiot faces
appear everywhere — not by chance or mistake.
“Man sounds so proud” in hollow phrases,
but closer to worm than the mind can awake.
And this is not just talk of the masses —
don’t soften the edge, don’t try to be kind.
The screens are packed with rotting glasses
of filth designed to dull every mind.
To make us accept the “new normal” slowly,
to train the eye to decay as fine.
Especially vile in the TV show lowly —
the dead “zombie box” of the lying line.
It’s all propaganda, subtle and creeping,
turning you quietly into a beast.
A sheep or a goat in the herd that is sleeping —
while thinking you’re part of some civilized feast.
Demonic faces are common there too,
so people can “know” who rules their fate.
But spirit and depth are almost taboo —
only the crooked are fit to relate.
Idiots in politics flicker like branding,
for image is everything pushed through the feed.
And herds of the sheep grow quietly understanding
the face of the shepherd that holds them in lead.
Corruption appears in industrial layers,
betrayal and selling are currency now.
Multiply that by megatons of liars —
and you’ll see the swamp we are in somehow.
Pop stars shaking what passes for reason,
provocateurs, liars — a circus of beasts.
These faces haunt like a mental season,
a nightmare broadcast from media priests.
TV mosques and cathedrals are failing replacements,
for Satanism now sets the tone.
Destruction of Spirit becomes the arrangement —
and dark fascism rules on its throne.
---------------------
Coat of Arms
Lack of minds of quality
Is “fixed” by quantity.
That’s the emblem of the state —
Shielding damage, masking fate.
In that “bird” there is no heart,
Only noise and scripted art.
Where no heart is left to beat,
Shields are raised for those they cheat.
Does that “bird” now rule the land?
No — but genocide’s at hand.
Mind and spirit crushed and gone,
Darkness marching steadily on.
Empty spirit, sickness grown —
Bird, get off your bloodstained throne.
There is nothing left to bite,
Only remnants left to smite.
End of times is what we see,
Beast has climbed humanity.
Humanity pushed aside,
Monsters now in power ride.
Beast must be cut down and thrown —
That’s the way the land is won.
Step into the final fight,
Or be dragged into the night.
Hell is waiting for us here,
No salvation, no veneer.
Not with curses, not with rage —
Only force can break this cage.
Steel and will, no time for fear —
Smash the rot that brought it here.
Burn it down, let darkness fall —
Or it will consume us all.
---------------------
Rooftop Going Crazy
How did the many turn to hounds,
So dull, so blind, so easily bound?
One shouted “sic” — and off they tear,
Ripping the human world with care.
Fascism’s grip is choking air.
And now the “roof” is out of place,
It leaks, it shifts — a mental break.
We’ve hit the bottom, cracked the base,
A prison-world begins to take.
The thinking few are fading out,
While dullness spreads its rule about.
It grows as norm, as law, as creed,
While lies expand and truth must bleed.
They lie so cold, so loud, so bare,
And still the crowd believes the air.
In such a world of broken mind,
Each man becomes a judge unkind.
They’ll kill you “kindly”, softly too —
A polished poison dressed as “true”.
And wars return again, again…
Step to the slaughter if you’re men.
But if you’re not among the fools,
Then seek the few who break these rules.
Go to the edge, resist the night,
Even without a chance to fight.
We may not win against the blind,
But still we save what’s left inside.
Stand as yourself, don’t turn away —
That’s all there is left left to say.
You are the Spirit, deep and whole,
The force that can outburn control.
Be strong, though crowds go mad and bend,
And barely human in the end.
---------------------
SOS!
Save our ears — we’re under fire,
The LIE is killing us inside.
It cuts the soul with quiet wire,
A web of fraud we can’t avoid.
The lie is total, bold, unblinking,
Unrestrained in its parade.
Fascist force without restraint is
Pushing everything to shade.
Fight this massive wall of falsehood —
Or you simply won’t survive.
Though it’s harsh and full of trouble,
Only truth keeps soul alive.
Seek alliance with the living,
Build your own world, clean and true.
Otherwise decay will claim you —
Howling noise will break you through.
Let the zombified screens scream louder,
Still you fight to save the few.
Even if this Hell feels real here,
It’s a mask that’s pushed on you.
All that power they’re pretending
Is just part of the lie they sell.
Drop the filth they keep defending —
Fascism will not prevail.
We will break it. Not tomorrow.
Now is when the truth must rise.
Smash the propaganda hollow,
Burn its structures, end its lies.
You are Spirit — nothing lesser,
Not the sleep they try to give.
Cast it off and break the pressure —
Only then you start to live.
---------------------
Law-Making of the Fake
In fake-born countries, laws descend,
Dropped from above as in the past.
And only fools will clap and bend —
Actors, athletes, hollow cast.
Yes — hollow cast, for slavery
Is built on them, as always been.
No greater shame could ever be —
They “study law” with vacant grin.
A puck-chaser cannot be scholar
Of subtle, complex legal thought.
A boxer’s not fit for doctrine,
Nor for sentencing or court.
And only fools can ever place
A boxer into Senate halls,
Or parliament — such fallen grace,
A circus where stupidity crawls.
Now punishments for simple posts
On social networks multiply.
What once was joke now haunts like ghosts —
A legal world gone rotten, dry.
Even the pseudo-law decays —
Its only rule is genocide.
A vile non-human takes the stage,
While truth and dignity have died.
A shameful world of muted fear,
Now kneeling under iron hand,
Becomes a toilet smeared with smear —
Where fascist beasts now take their stand.
The mask upon each face we see
Is proof enough of what has come:
A world in total slavery,
Where fools are tightly held and numb.
And only fools can stand and bear
The fake “virus” that rules the mind.
Tomorrow even worse may wear —
A bowl upon the human kind.
No deeper shame, no lower art
Than this absurd degrading drift.
From dullness that tears minds apart
The Earth itself must break and shift.
Perhaps the fools will need the sting,
The poison shot, the forced control —
For there’s no strength left anything
To bring them back to human soul.
---------------------
Kefir Fever
Kefir fever is coming soon,
It’ll enter every home and wall.
And life will lose its sweet old tune —
Unless you flee the madhouse call.
For madhouse offers perfect cure
For every sickness, every pain.
And do not let your mind endure —
The mind is just a form of strain.
Only madness is the pathway,
The guiding thread through breaking days,
That leads you out of slow decay
Before your living soul decays.
From every plague and every threat,
Of which there is a crowded train.
And only “happiness” is set
Where mind and spirit are slain.
For even soul is interruption
To healing every ache and scar.
With it the body meets corruption —
We will not take things quite that far.
Only with hardened sitting surface,
Installed where thinking used to be,
We’ll beat the virus in its purpose —
And all will finally be free.
The psychiatrist will guide you,
Will map out life in perfect plan.
And every fool will be promoted
Into some “elite” clan.
A new elite will soon be rising
In this bewildered modern sphere.
No head left — but appetizing
Drinks and meals will still appear.
A paradise of empty laughter
Where every imbecile can win,
By tapping screens, as if thereafter
To crush all bacteria within.
The crown of history unfolding —
The triumph of the gut and rear.
Of stomachs ruling, boldly holding
The total self that gathers here.
---------------------
Blockages
Stupid blockades, shut and sealed
Inside your mind, your inner space.
A sign that all has been repealed —
That truth has turned to empty waste.
To centuries of filth and decay,
Of rotten norms and hollow laws,
Of slavery that eats away
At everything it once was “for”.
From burning stakes of ancient fear
They forged a docile human breed.
And chains now feel so “natural” here —
You call it fate, accept the creed.
But fate is only learned submission,
Injected deep through endless time.
And still there is a way to vision
A world beyond this mental grime.
We leave them fooled, the blind deceivers,
If we discard the stacked-up lies
They sold us as eternal truths
For hundreds of hypnotic years.
The lie that you are truly free,
The lie that you are sharp and wise,
The lie that all of nature lives
By nothing more than “survival” guise.
For nature once was wise and whole —
Unlike the fractured human mind.
Yet year by year it loses soul
Under the pressure left behind
By creatures driving like a dozer,
Using your will as fuel and tool.
And you, half-asleep and frozen,
Call this chaos something cool.
Just one more myth they drilled inside you,
One more story made to stay.
But strip the masks, and what you’re hiding
Is far too foul to call “okay”.
To love this state is near depravity —
A slow destruction of the brain.
This swamp of moral captivity
Was taught and taught to you again.
So free the spirit, break the ceiling,
Despise the comfort of the grave.
And watch the fly-like world come reeling —
While hell itself begins to shake.
---------------------
Three Pillars
Greed and stupidity — two great beasts,
With betrayal as the third,
Hold the world in iron lease
Where nothing real is ever heard.
And when even that is not
Enough for endless grasping hands,
Then the truth is plainly brought —
A rot that burns and ruins lands.
It eats all spirit, mind, and worth,
All dignity and human face,
So it may crawl upon the earth
And seize a higher ruling place.
For greed and treachery always go
In step, in lock, in perfect pair.
They dress themselves in noble show
But drag all living into snare.
Any creature weak enough
To serve their hollow, empty aim
Is pulled into their rising stuff —
No reason left, no sense, no name.
This itch of betrayal never ends,
It spreads unbroken, deep and wide.
And left alone, it only sends
More ruin crawling side by side.
And still this shame goes rolling on,
While greedy fools refuse to see
They’re nothing but already gone —
Just walking death in mimicry.
The world now reeks of rotting breath,
A corpse adorned with cheap delight.
Its joy is just the mask of death
That feeds the blind and kills the light.
One comfort left — the beasts will fall,
The pillars crack, the towers bend.
There’s only one small task at all —
To cut it open at the end.
But even that may not be needed —
They’ll burst apart on their own time,
When overfed and overfeeded
They rot away in their own slime.
---------------------
The Sword
“Followers of the Way! If you wish to gain a Dharma-aligned vision, do not submit to the delusions of others. Whatever you encounter, within or without — kill it. Meet the Buddha — kill the Buddha. Meet the Patriarch — kill the Patriarch. Meet the Arhat — kill the Arhat. Meet your parents — kill your parents. Meet your kin — kill your kin. Only then will you be freed from all bonds. If you do not let things bind you, you will pass through them, become free, and gain independence. Among those who come from the ten directions to study the Way, there has not yet been one who came to me free from attachment. I strike them all at the outset. If it comes through the hands, I strike the hands; if it comes through the mouth, I strike the mouth; if it comes through the eyes, I strike the eyes. But there has not yet been one who came to me already liberated. All are still climbing after the meaningless inventions of the ancients.”
— Linji Yixuan, 9th century
Do not crawl after empty design,
Forget what was drilled into your mind.
When you drop the inherited lie,
Only then will your real self unwind.
Even if you meet the Buddha, strike through —
Walk only inward, where riches reside.
No need for softness or self-deceit glue —
Only dignity, reason, and pride.
Inside there is severity, truth,
No space for illusion or play.
Truth is harsh, unpolished, uncouth —
But better than chains you obey.
Nothing to cling to — all poison and dust,
Every doctrine a cage or a fraud.
Here rules a vile, parasitic trust,
That plans for a world made dull and flawed.
Cast down every toy, let it fall,
Only the Spirit is real and true.
We will destroy the corrupting wall —
When Spirit awakens, no masters rule you.
All strength lies within, and the fight we must wage
Is born from the power we reclaim.
When that force is released from its cage,
The Sword of the Spirit will end all the same.
---------------------
Chant
A pattern of vile circumstances,
In which you’ve been rotting since youth,
Is never random — it advances
From layers of treason and truth.
If you don’t grasp its inner structure,
The chains that are thin but still bind,
You’ll build yet more cages and sutures,
If fools still control what you find.
They sold off the Spirit for porridge,
So keep yourself distant from them.
Repeat this chant, let it nourish
Your will — do not bow to the men.
This chant is not meant for the battle,
Yet carries the meaning of Hell.
Though simple, it cuts through the rattle —
So learn it, remember it well:
The pattern has stolen our binding
For bowls of cheap slop and decay.
When you see the design underlying,
Shame and confusion will fade away.
So stop being easily traded,
Find comrades who still choose to stand.
Be honest, awake and unshaded —
Look inward: the Spirit is in your hand.
---------------------
Murk and Horror
Don’t grieve for the past — it was choking with haze,
Where “history’s” lies hid the savage and dread.
A climate for spirit too dry in its phase —
And murk of the mind now rules overhead.
Education was crafted by something unclean,
With programs directed by filth at the core.
When you finally wake, you will see what you’ve been —
A servant of darkness, connected no more
To the Light of the Spirit that once was your thread.
Then propaganda will deepen decay,
With Hitler and Goebbels as chapters long dead —
Just early warm-up on the road of dismay.
The aim is the murder of soul and of mind,
To turn you to cattle — no need for a slave.
Though slavery’s present, a far worse design
Is a global enclosure the monsters now crave.
A worldwide asylum they’re building with care,
Far darker and harsher than anything here.
And filth has calculated the speed and the flare
To bring it about in a minimal year.
Fake plagues and new wars and starvation foretold —
They lack any vision beyond simple hate.
So killing remains their method of old,
Just amplified lies make the fools cooperate.
Still, through all this horror, seek minds that are clear,
And build a new world that can stand on its own.
Turn inward to Spirit, remove every smear —
And let this foul sewer be overthrown.
---------------------
Not Missing…
“I keep missing again, I keep missing again,
Though the target is near,
The last of my strength, the last of my strength
I gather in fear…”
— from the song “Corrida”
They’ve built up enclosures wherever you turn,
Those rotten non-humans in power and shade.
And blindfolds were placed so that no one would learn —
The Earth is a bullring they’ve made.
Don’t miss the mark, don’t miss the mark —
Strike down the lie.
Then you will live, then you will live
Clear and alive.
For long has the world been ruled and defiled
By a fascist machine in disguise.
It will not leave you alone or mild —
It wants your submission, your eyes.
Don’t miss the mark, don’t miss the mark —
Crush every lie.
Then you will live, then you will live
Free till you die.
Long has the world been ruled and controlled
By global command in the dark.
It will not leave you in peace or cold —
So answer it: strike, leave a mark.
A handful of monsters have seized the whole earth,
Turned life into farms of decay.
They killed all compassion, all wisdom, all worth,
And shoot at the soul every day.
Don’t miss the mark, don’t miss the mark —
Break all the lies.
Then you will live, then you will live
Where freedom survives.
Long has the world been ruled and controlled
By fascist design and its sway.
It will not leave you in silence or hold —
So fight it: don’t look away.
An ocean of lies has been poured everywhere,
More binding than iron chains.
A dictatorship built on fraudulent air
Where nothing but darkness reigns.
The rulers unseen sit behind every crown,
Behind every flag and throne.
And they will not leave this dominion down
Until they are overthrown.
Don’t miss the mark, don’t miss the mark —
Smash every lie.
Then you will live, then you will live
Strong till you die.
Let us bring down the monsters, let their era fall,
Let their final days cease.
And Earth itself, finally free of them all,
Will breathe again in peace.
118 poems
© Copyright: Èãîðü Âûõîâàíåö, 2026
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226041600145
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226041600145
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