Èãîðü Âûõîâàíåö, ñòèõè 20001-20500

Èãîðü Âûõîâàíåö, ñòèõè: 20001-20500



Ïóñòîòà — êðàñîòà!
Òû îäèí íåñïðîñòà,
Íå ñ÷èòàÿ êîòà, —
Îí ïðèìåð íå ñêîòà.
Ëèøü Òâîðèòü ëåïîòà:
ßñíîñòü, óì, ïðîñòîòà —
È äîðîãà ÷èñòà.
Òîëüêî ýòîìó — "äà!".
Ãíèòü â òîëïå — íèêîãäà!
×åëîâåê, â öåëîì, ñêîò.
Ðåäîê çäåñü íå óðîä —
Òîò êòî Èùåò. Íàéä¸ò —
Ñâåò Âíóòðè îáðåò¸ò.
Íå ïîéì¸ò åãî ñáðîä —
Ìàííû ñ íåáà îí æä¸ò:
Ëèøü ßðìî è Æèâîò —
×åðíü â Çàãîíû èä¸ò.
Æä¸ò — íàéä¸ò. Ðàçâîðîò:
Òüìà ñíàðóæè; Âíóòðü — ßâü íèçîéä¸ò.



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"Íàáîæíîñòü" è "ðàöèîíàëèçì"

Íåäîñòàòîê âåðû
Òàì, ãäå èäîë — "áîã".
Ëîãèêà âíå ñôåðû
Àòåèñòîâ. Ñòðîã
Âûáîð, ãäå áåç ìåðû
×àñòü, — óìó îñòðîã.
Òàì è òàì õèìåðû —
Óçîñòè èòîã.



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Êàìåííûå äæóíãëè

Íå æäè ÷óäåñ:
Êóäåñíèê — áåñ.
×åì äàëüøå â ëåñ —
Ñèëüíåå ïðåññ:
Âíîâü â ðàçóì âëåç —
Ãàââàõ èñ÷åç.
Âñ¸ ñíîâà — ÁÅÇ...



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The Bottom

Dedicated to Vladimir Shilov —
the quarrelsome sapper


You sink toward the bottom.
The bottom sinks below.
Hard to fully drown —
The path is all in shadow.

You rot upon the floor —
Revoltingness rules the price.
There’s a “second bottom” —
Hellish shit beneath.

Pierce through the floor —
You’ll hit the filth again.
Back and forth it goes —
These cursed realms of pain.

The bottom must explode —
Die with honor, strike!
Hellish worlds await…
The final move of the game.



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Bottom Strike

Sink, rot, tear through the floor —
Hell awaits, but fight, endure!
Explode the depths, die with flame,
No more games, no one to blame.



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Abyss Cry

Sink! Rot! Smash the floor!
Hell’s end — strike with roar!
Die with fire, rot no more!



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Bottom Break

Sink or burn — the abyss bites!
Rot dies hard, Hell ignites!



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Pain and Salt

Raise your pain upon a steadfast stand —
Only fools, who’ve drowned their minds, feel no sting.
Pain marks the presence of Evil’s hand;
If you are tired, at least you dared to bring.

Always strive to find the Hellish way.
The task is heavy — that’s why the ache.
Seek always the core, the essence, the ray.
Fight — it’s no waste, it’s the salt life makes.

The struggle of Good and Evil climbs so high,
Each warrior here weighs more than ever before.
Though traitors surround, the fight will not die.
Spiritual death — that’s forevermore.



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Pain and Salt

Raise your pain — let fools ignore!
Fight through Hell, it’s life’s true core.
Evil reigns, yet you endure —
Spirit lives; death’s grip unsure.



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Pain and Salt

Pain stands tall, fools drown in their sloth.
Fight through Hell — Spirit crushes Death’s cloth.



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Pain and Salt

Raise your pain, let fools rot in their drink.
Fight Hell’s grind — Spirit snaps Death’s link.



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Pain and Salt

Raise your pain on a pedestal strong,
Fools never feel it, they’ve been numb too long.
Pain marks the Evil that prowls in the night,
Tired? You tried — you’ve waged the fight.

Seek always the path out of Hell’s cruel grip,
The task is immense — yet your soul won’t slip.
Focus on essence, the root, the core,
Fight — life’s salt, and never ignore.

Good and Evil clash to heights untold,
Every fighter here, mighty and bold.
Though traitors surround, the struggle sustains,
Spiritual death — eternal chains.



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Pain and Salt

Raise your pain, let fools stay blind,
Fight the Evil — leave weakness behind.
Life’s salt burns — the struggle is real,
Spiritual death? Only Spirit can heal.



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Pain and Salt

Pain speaks, fools drown in their sleep —
Fight Evil hard, or Spirit will weep.



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Pain and Salt

Raise your pain, let fools rot blind,
Strike Evil hard — or lose your mind!

Blood of Spirit, fire of fight,
Stand relentless, burn the night!

No traitor spared, no mercy shown,
Only the brave reclaim the throne!



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Camp Regime

“Work and rest” they call it? —
No! This is CAMP REGIME!
Since childhood, breathless, beaten —
Driven, crushed by evil’s scheme.

Total slavery all around —
Where will you ever flee?
Only madness can protect —
“Free” here just means you sleep.

Sleep tainted with delirium,
Forced from your earliest days.
It’s Darkness — the victory
Of all the soulless, Spirit erased.

You are a Spiritual Being,
But how many here remain?
Only fat fools are honored,
And your voice is small, in vain.

Scream, shout — you’re in Hell!
Fight — or be undone.
Content in the STENCH of ruin?
Die, but strike back at Evil’s throne!



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Camp Hell — Rise!

No “rest,” no mercy — only chains!
Fight, or rot beneath the stains!
Madness shields the Spirit’s flame,
Strike at Evil — burn its name!



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Chains or Fight!

Rot or rise — defy the lies!



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1. Prison Pulse
Slave since birth — burn the mirth!

2. Hell’s Regime
No rest, no mercy — fight or bleed!

3. Spirit’s Edge
Chains crack, truth strikes — rise or die!



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Closed Circle

Escaped the circle: the road
Vanishes, yet onward go
You must — far beyond the load —
To erase the cycle in the Soul.



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Elbow to the Gut

The elbow shows itself in crowds.
Solitude endures in the shrouds
Of simple shelter — guard of Ease,
No worse than theft, if Nature frees.

Without a Space for Soul to breathe,
Lice of false ideas seethe.
Seek swiftly gaps devoid of elbows,
Where claws of Darkness cannot delve.

Through throngs, the claws pierce the mind —
Leave the herd; no safety you’ll find.



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Claws in the Crowd

Elbows strike, the herd confines,
Dark claws sink deep in minds.
Break the throng — reclaim your space,
Escape the grip of lying disgrace.



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Elbowed Out

Dark claws dig — the herd devours,
Escape or drown in their lies’ powers.



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Elbow Strike

Claws in your mind — herd devours,
Break the crowd, reclaim your powers!



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Elbow Strike — Fury

Elbows jab, the herd suffocates,
Fools swarm, but the Spirit breaks their gates!
Claws of Darkness dig, they bite,
Flee the mob — reclaim your sight!



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Elbow Strike

Elbows pierce — the mind screams free,
Flee the herd, escape their spree!



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1.
Elbows sharp — the herd can't bind,
Break the swarm, leave fools behind!

2.
Crowd claws sink — resist, ignite!
Flee the throng, reclaim your sight!

3.
Fangs of darkness, minds ensnare,
Step away — breathe open air!



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1.
Elbows jab, the herd will bite —
Step aside, reclaim your fight!

2.
Claws of darkness pierce the mind,
Leave the throng — your truth to find!

3.
Crowd crushes, fools in sway,
Break away — seize light today!



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1.
Elbows strike, fools herd in throngs —
Step the hell out, crush their wrongs!

2.
Claws of dark, they tear your mind —
Ditch the pack, leave scum behind!

3.
Crowd grinds, stinks of blind decay —
Break the chains, carve your way!



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1.
Elbows fly — herd collapses.
Escape the claws. Mind snaps.

2.
Darkness claws, fools push, bite.
Step aside, claim your light!

3.
Crowd grinds, chaos reigns.
Break free, burn the chains!

4.
Fists and elbows — shove and strike!
Mind your soul, escape the psych!

5.
Pack snarls, claws pierce deep.
Run from rot — your mind to keep!



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Elbows strike! Run!

Mind free — fight!

Break the herd!

Darkness, claws — flee!

Step aside! Live!

Shove, push, survive!

Escape the rot!

Claws pierce — resist!

Flee, fight, rise!

Crush the pack!

Bite, shove, endure!

Herd beware! Attack!

Claws out — stand!

Strike first, survive!

Push the swarm!

Break chains! Move!

Shadows bite — run!

Step sharp — win!

Claw the dark!

Rip the veil!

Fight, flee, repeat!

Herd cracks — advance!

Mind sharp — strike!

Shove back, rise!

Darkness bends — break!

Resist, resist, resist!

Run, clash, endure!

Claw-free mind!

Herd scatters — thrive!

Strike, survive, strike!

Punch the void!

Break the wall!

Step through fire!

Rip the shadows!

Herd falters — push!

Smash the cage!

Bite the leash!

Dark claws — flee!

Strike with soul!

Mind sharp, heart cold!

Tear the grip!

Crush the blind!

Escape the choke!

Step fast — strike hard!

Herd bends — break free!

Claws snap — rise!

Darkness flees — attack!

Hit, shove, vanish!

Tear the swarm!

Break the chains!

Shadows bite — fight!

Flee, strike, endure!

Push the pack!

Claws pierce — survive!

Herd scatters — rise!

Step sharp — fight back!

Rip the dark veil!

Strike first, strike hard!

Run through chaos!

Mind free — rise!



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Elbows strike — chaos wakes!

Claws pierce — mind fights!

Herd scatters — rise now!

Step sharp — soul free!

Darkness bites — resist!

Smash the leash — run!

Push, shove, survive!

Tear the void — strike!

Shadows flinch — crush!

Rip the pack!

Mind sharp — claws fly!

Herd bends — break free!

Strike hard, strike first!

Flee, clash, endure!

Step fast — fire within!

Claw the night!

Darkness falters — hit!

Tear the chains!

Push the swarm!

Shove, kick, vanish!

Mind free — rise!

Bite the leash — break!

Shadows flee — attack!

Crush the cage!

Rip the veil!

Herd cracks — advance!

Claws snap — survive!

Strike, vanish, strike!

Step through fire!

Tear the blind!

Darkness quakes — resist!

Push back, push hard!

Rip the swarm!

Flee, strike, endure!

Herd bends — fight!

Claws pierce — escape!

Strike with soul!

Mind sharp, heart cold!

Tear the grip!

Crush the blind!

Escape the choke!

Step fast — strike hard!

Shadows bend — break free!

Hit, shove, vanish!

Rip the chaos!

Push the pack!

Claws snap — rise!

Darkness bites — flee!

Strike first, strike hard!

Run through chaos!

Mind free — fight back!

Step aside — survive!

Claw the dark!

Tear the veil!

Herd falters — push!

Smash the chains!

Bite the leash!

Shadows crumble — attack!

Hit, vanish, hit!

Rip the swarm!

Push the blind!

Claws pierce — crush!

Darkness flees — strike!

Step fast — soul free!

Tear the void!

Mind sharp — survive!

Rip the cage!

Herd scatters — rise!

Strike, vanish, repeat!

Push back, crush!

Claws fly — resist!

Shadows quake — flee!

Hit hard, vanish!

Tear the blind!

Mind free — fight!

Step through chaos!

Push the swarm!

Claws snap — survive!

Strike with fury!

Darkness bends — attack!

Tear the leash!

Herd bends — break free!

Smash, shove, vanish!

Rip the veil!

Step fast — rise!

Bite the dark!

Shadows flee — crush!

Hit, push, survive!

Mind sharp — strike!

Tear the pack!

Darkness falters — run!

Push, shove, fight!

Claws pierce — rise!

Herd cracks — vanish!

Step aside — strike!

Rip the chaos!

Mind free — crush!

Strike first — attack!

Darkness breaks — flee!

Soul free — rise again!



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Strike the dark!

Rip the leash!

Shadows scream — crush!

Step fast — survive!

Mind sharp — claws snap!

Tear the herd!

Push through fire!

Darkness quakes — flee!

Hit, vanish, strike!

Rip the void!

Soul clenched — resist!

Break the cage!

Claws pierce — rise!

Herd bends — break free!

Step aside — push!

Smash the blind!

Darkness falters — run!

Strike first, strike hard!

Tear the chaos!

Bite the leash!

Shadows crumble — attack!

Push the pack!

Mind free — fight!

Rip the veil!

Step fast — crush!

Darkness bites — flee!

Claws snap — vanish!

Strike with fury!

Tear the swarm!

Herd cracks — rise!

Push, shove, survive!

Hit hard, vanish!

Rip the blind!

Mind sharp — strike!

Step through chaos!

Claws fly — crush!

Darkness bends — attack!

Tear the leash!

Push the herd!

Strike, vanish, strike!

Rip the void!

Shadows quake — flee!

Mind free — rise!

Hit, shove, vanish!

Tear the pack!

Step fast — strike!

Claws pierce — resist!

Darkness falters — crush!

Rip the veil!








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Ïëàõà ìèðà, èëè Áþðîêðàòèÿ, "íàðîä" è Ìûñëÿùèå

Ïîäêîâ¸ðíàÿ âîçíÿ,
"Ñâåðõó" — "íîâàÿ" ***íÿ:
Ãåíîöèä — ïîâåñòêà äíÿ.
Âñ¸ îïÿòü äëÿ "áëàãà" ïíÿ.
Ïåíü — íàðîä. Ñåêèðà æä¸ò
Òåõ, êîìó îáðûäë âåñü ñáðîä,
Õîòü ñåêèðà äíåñü êâàðòèðà —
Ïðîçÿáàíèå âíå ìèðà,
 êîåì íå ïðèäóðêó ñèðî.



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Ìîçã íå ïðîèçâîäèò ñîçíàíèå

"Áûëî áû òàê æå íåëåïî îòêàçàòü â ñîçíàíèè æèâîòíîìó, ïîòîìó ÷òî îíî íå èìååò ìîçãà,  êàê çàÿâèòü, ÷òî îíî íå ñïîñîáíî ïèòàòüñÿ, ïîòîìó ÷òî íå èìååò æåëóäêà".
Àíðè Áåðãñîí.

 
Ñîçíàíèå — âíå ìîçãà,
À ìîçã ëèøü ïðîâîäíèê.
"Ìåõàíèöèçì" — óãðîçà,
Íî ïèïë ê íåìó ïðèâûê.

Äóõîâíîñòü âíå ïîçíàíüÿ
×ðåç ëîãèêó — îíà
Ïîðÿäêîì âûøå. "Çíàíüÿ"
Ïîäîáíûå äî äíà

Ìèð îïóñòèëè. Ýòî
Èñêóññòâåííûé ïðîöåññ:
×åì áîëüøå â ëþäÿõ Áðåäà,
Òåì æ¸ñò÷å Òâàðåé ïðåññ.

Ïðîäóêò Òüìû — Ëæåíàóêà.
Çàäóìàéñÿ î òîì,
Èíà÷å ãëàâíûì áðþõî —
Òàê äåëàþò ñêîòîì.

Ñêîòîâ â ìèðêå íåìàëî —
 òîì òåñòîì ñòàë ãîâíèä.
Èòàê, íà÷íè ñíà÷àëà
Èññëåäîâàòü ñåé Ñòûä.

Ïîñòûäíîñòü îäîëåëà —
Ñïëîøü â "çíàíèÿõ" îíà:
Êîëü äóìàåøü: "Òû òåëî",
Òî ýòî ïðèçíàê Äíà.

Ïèòàíüå áåç æåëóäêà
Ïðèìåð, â êîòîðîì ìîçã —
Øàã ñëåäóþùèé. Æóòêî,
Êîãäà ÷ðåç ëîæü âðàçíîñ

Ïóñêàþòñÿ îñíîâû
Ëþáîãî áûòèÿ.
Êàê ñëåäñòâèå — îêîâû.
 íèõ ÷åëîâåê-ñâèíüÿ.

Òàê âûëåé âñå ïîìîè
Òåîðèé íå-ëþäåé.
Çàãîí óáëþäêè ñòðîÿò
Âñåìèðíûé. Îäîëåé

 ñåáå ñòðàõ — âîíü ïîìîåâ.
Îñíîâà æèçíè Äóõ.
Ïîä Äóõîì óì â ïîêîå —
Òû âíå áåçóìíûõ ñëóã.

Áåçóìíûé ðàá-ìàøèíà —
Ìåõàíèöèçìà ïëîä.
Òâàðüþ íóæíà ñêîòèíà —
×ðåç ×óøü òâîé óì â ðàñõîä

Ïóñêàåòñÿ. Äóõîâíîñòü
Ãíîáèòñÿ ÷åðåç Ñòðàõ.
Ïðîçðåíüÿ áåçóñëîâíîñòü —
Ïóòü Äóõà ÷åðåç Ïðàõ.

Ïðàõ — ìîçã, æåëóäîê, òåëî.
Âíå íèõ Ïðîñòîð è Ñâåò.
Íà÷íè áîëüøîå äåëî —
Îòðèíü ëþáîé Çëà Áðåä.

Ñâåò ê Ñâåòó: Ïóòü ê Èñòîêó —
Âíå ëîãèêè è òåë,
Ëæå-çíàíèé, "ñìûñëîâ", ïðîêó.
Èäè ñêâîçü Òüìó — áóäü ñìåë.
 




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Øèð Áåçáåäíûé

"Åñëè òû áåñõðåáåòíûé — íå ëåçü èç êîæè".
Ñòàíèñëàâ Åæè Ëåö.


Èç êîæè ëåçåò áåñõðåáåòíûé —
Èäåè ìàíÿò â Øèð Áåçáåäíûé.
×åðíü îáîäðÿåò ìàðø ïîáåäíûé.
Òàê ïîãèáàåò ìèð óùåðáíûé.




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Ìîëîòîê

"Åñëè åäèíñòâåííûé èíñòðóìåíò, êîòîðûé âû èìååòå — ìîëîòîê, òî çàìàí÷èâî ðàññìàòðèâàòü âñ¸ êàê
ãâîçäè".
Àáðàõàì Ìàñëîó.


Ñòðîé ôàøèñòñêèé — ìîëîòîê.
Òû ïîñàæåí íà øåñòîê.
Äëÿ òèðàíà òû ëèøü ãâîçäü.
Ïèêíåøü — áóõ. Âñå ãâîçäè âðîçü,
Ïðîáèâàþò æåðäü íàñêâîçü
×åðåäîþ ïîêîëåíèé.
Ðóõíåò æåðäü îò ñîòðÿñåíèé.
Ñòðîé ôàøèñòñêèé áåç ñîìíåíèé,
×óæä ìàëåéøèõ ïîñëàáëåíèé,
Òàê ÷òî íûíå — âåê ïîñëåäíèé.



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Òåìû äëÿ ïèñàíèíû

×óäåñíàÿ ïðèðîäà!
Êàê-áóäòî íåò óðîäîâ
È â ïðîøëîì âñå íåâçãîäû —
Äíåñü çîëîòûå ãîäû.

Òî ãîäû ýãîèçìà,
Ïðåääâåðüÿ êðåòèíèçìà —
Ïèòàíèÿ ôàøèçìà
Èëè èíîãî "èçìà".

Ïðèðîäà èëü óðîäû —
×òî òåìà? Èëü ïîãîäû
Íþàíñû îïèñàòü —
Ìàðàçìîì Ïóï ñïàñàòü?

Æèâîò è Ïóï ãëàâíåå,
Êîãäà ôàøèçì íàãëåå
Ñòàíîâèòñÿ âåçäå,
Äåðæà âåñü ìèð â óçäå.

À ëó÷øå â "ïàòðèîòû"
Ïîäàòüñÿ — è óðîäû,
Ïîêîðíûå "íàðîäû",
Çîâóò "ïåâöîì ñâîáîäû"!

Ïîâûñÿòñÿ äîõîäû —
 ïî÷¸òå ñóìàñáðîäû.
Íà÷àëî — èç "ïðèðîäû",
Ñ ôàëüøèâîé ïåðâîé íîòû.

Êîãäà ôàøèçì âñåìèðíûé,
Ëèøü ïîëóäóðîê ñìèðíûé,
×óðàÿñü æ¸ñòêèõ òåì,
Âî ìíîãîñëîâüè íåì.

Ôàøèçì åñòü ñìåðòü ïðèðîäû
Ëþäñêîé. Äðóãîé ïîðîäû
Îí çàíÿò âûâåäåíüåì —
Çåìëè óíè÷òîæåíüåì. 

Óæå! ïî¸øü ÍÈ×ÒÎ:
Ïðèðîäà — â ðåøåòî!




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Ðåëèãèÿ

×óøü ñîáà÷üÿ — íå èíà÷å.
Îãëóïëåíèå òåì ïà÷å,
×åì ñèëüíåå ñòðàõ: óäà÷à,
Êîëü "ñïàñåíüå" ñâåðõçàäà÷à —
Öåðêîâü êðåïíåò, Äóõ èíà÷à.
Äóðåíü íà êîëåíÿõ, ïëà÷à,
Äóøó ãóáèò — Ìðàêó ñäà÷à:
Ïðîñòóïàåò ñàòàíèçì —
Íå ïîéì¸ò Çëî êðåòèíèçì.




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Ïîòåõà ðàáîâëàäåëüöåâ

"Ìîÿ óëûáêà — ÷àñòü óñïåõà".
È ïðîäîëæàåòñÿ ïîòåõà:
Ðàáû íå ïðîñòî òàê — æëîáû,
Òèïà õîçÿåâà ñóäüáû.

Íî òîëüêî âêðàëàñü çàêàâûêà:
Çåìëÿ — òþðüìà. Êîëü ÷åðíü ïðèâûêëà
Ñ÷èòàòü ñâîáîäîþ Ó¸áñòâî,
Òî ëèøü ìèðàæ "óñïåõè" æëîáñòâà.




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Ïàðîäèÿ íà çàïàäíîå êèíî

Ïðîïàãàíäà ãîìîñåêè —
 òîì îãðîìíûå óñïåõè:
Êàæäûé ôèëüì è ñåðèàë —
 ãîìîñåêå ìèð ïðîïàë.

Ðàíüøå ïàðòèè íå ñíèëîñü
Ñòîëüêî äðàéâà: åé íà ìèëîñòü
Íå ñäàâàëèñü ïðîñòî òàê.
Ìèð — Ñîäîì, Ãíèëîé Áàðäàê.



---------------------



Ó÷èòüñÿ íèêîãäà íå ïîçäíî —
Êàðòèíà ìèðà ïîä óãðîçîé:
Êîëü íå óñâîèøü ×óøü Ìîìåíòà,
Òîãäà â õâîñòå ýêñïåðèìåíòà.

Ýêñïåðèìåíò èä¸ò âåêàìè —
Êàê ñäåëàòü âñåõ íàñ äóðàêàìè
×ðåç ëîæü è ñòðàõ. Îíè òîòàëüíû
 ìèðêå áåçóìíîì, èíôåðíàëüíîì.




---------------------



Ñìåõ ïðîäëåâàåò æèçíü. Ñàðêàçì
Îòîäâèãàåò Çëîé Ìàðàçì,
 êîòîðîì ìèð, óáîã è ñèð,
Ïîäñåë íà ×óøü, Áåñïëàòíûé Ñûð.



---------------------



Îò ñìåõà ïðûãàòü íà ãðîáó,
Êëÿíÿ ïðîêëÿòóþ ñóäüáó, —
Îáû÷íî ýòî îñòà¸òñÿ
Òîìó, êòî â Ñêëåïå âäðóã î÷í¸òñÿ.
Îãðîìíûé Ñêëåï — áåçóìíûé ìèð.
Äóøà èçíîøåíà äî äûð,
Óìèøêî êóöûé — â ðåøåòî.
Íè÷òî ïîãðåáåíî â ÍÈ×ÒÎ.
Íå çàæèâî, âåäü ñïëîøü ìåðòâÿê
Èòîãîì âåêîâûõ àòàê
Íà Äóõ è Óì — ëèøü åäèíèöû
×ÓÒÜ æèâû. Çàòõëûé Ñêëåï íå ìíèòñÿ,
Êîëü â ßâè êðàòêî î÷óòèòüñÿ.
Äóõîâíûé ìèð — òàêàÿ ßâü.
Ëèøü Ñâåò Âíóòðè, íàéäÿ, âîññëàâü.




---------------------



Óìåíüøèòü áîëü? Íå âñïîìíèòü Àä! —
Çàáâåíèå Óïàíèøàä!!!
È âåðèòü â íåáûëèöû ðàä
Ðîæä¸ííûé âíîâü ïðîäàæíûé ãàä.



---------------------



Êîðàáëåêðóøåíèå "Èíôîðìàöèè"

Âûñîñàòü èç ïàëüöà
Ðîëèê â äâà ÷àñà —
Íàäî ïîñòàðàòüñÿ?
Íå äëÿ íàãëåöà!
Ìàëàÿ ñòàòåéêà,
×òåíüÿ ïÿòü ìèíóò,
Êàê îñíîâà. Ëåéêà
Ñ ×óøüþ — âñ¸ ñîæðóò!
Çàëèòî ïîìîÿìè —
Íå÷åãî ñìîòðåòü —
Âñ¸ ïðîñòðàíñòâî. Ñ ñáîÿìè —
Òîëüêî ×åñòíîñòü. Ñìåðòü
`Èíôû â Ìîðå Øóìà.
Ìèð âïîëíå áåçóìåí:
Ëîöìàí — øîó-âóìåí.



---------------------



"Êóëüòóðíûå" øîêè

Ìàëåâàíüå áèçíåñ, òàê êàê
Òîëüêî âåùü ëåãêî ïðîäàòü.
À ñòèõè ñðîäíè òåðàêòàì,
Êîëü ïîýò íå ñòàíåò ëãàòü.
 
Îòîáðàòü ëåãêî ïîøëÿòèíó,
Î÷åíü ïðîñòî ðàñêðóòèòü,
Ïðîäàâàòü çàòåì òóõëÿòèíó
Êàê êðîâü æèçíè è ãíîáèòü
 
Âêóñ ïðèäóðêîâ, òàê êàê îáðàç
Î÷åíü âàæåí äëÿ ëþáûõ
Èçìåíåíèé "ñìûñëîâ". иáðà
Îáíàæèëèñü — â øîêå ïñèõ.
 
Íàçîâóò "êóëüòóðíûì øîêîì":
ßðëûêàìè ëþäîåä
Ìàñòåðñêè âëàäååò. Æîïà! —
Ìèð óïàë ÷ðåç Îáðàç â Áðåä.
 
Óíèòàç, ÷òî â öåíòðå çàëà
Íüþ-"èñêóññòâà", — áåñïðåäåë.
Íèæå ÄÍÈÙÀ âñÿ ÷åðíü ïàëà —
Æðàòü äåðüìî å¸ óäåë.




---------------------



 Ñêëåïå

×óøü ãîëèìóþ âïèòàâøè,
Íè÷åãî çäåñü íå ïîçíàâøè,
Òðóï æèâîé èä¸ò ê ìîãèëå —
Ñêëåïîì ñòàë Ìèðîê Äåáèëèé.

Ìàë ïðîöåíò — êòî íå ìåðòâÿê
Ñðåäü îáøèðíûõ Çëà àòàê,
Ìîðÿ ñòðàõîâ, äè÷è, âðàê.
×åðíü ñ÷èòàåò — âñ¸ íèøòÿê.

Äëÿ æèâûõ â ìèðêå íåò ìåñòà.
Íó à åñëè ñìåëûé-÷åñòíûé,
Âðàã íàðîäöåâ íèêàêèõ.
 ëó÷øåì ñëó÷àå îí "ïñèõ".

Áåñïîëåçíû îáðàùåíüÿ —
Çàïðåäåëüíî Ðàçëîæåíüå:
Äîëãî ñïîðèòü ñî ñòåíîé
Ïëîäîòâîðíåé. Íèêàêîé

Ðàçóì äàëåå âåòøàåò,
Äóõ òèõîíüêî èñ÷åçàåò:
Ñêëåï âîíÿåò — ÑÌÐÀÄ âñ¸ ãóùå;
À ïðîñëîéêà æèçíè ïóùå

Èñòîí÷àåòñÿ. Ñïëîøü Ôàòóì —
Çà ïîêîðíîñòü Çëó ðàñïëàòà.
Ïîäûòîæèò Êàòàêëèçì
Äåãðàäàöèþ, ôàøèçì.

Îí ñðàâíÿåò Ñêëåï ñ çåìë¸é.
Ìîæåò ìèð ÍÅ ÍÈÊÀÊÎÉ
Çàðîäèòñÿ, ÷òî ñòðåìèòñÿ
Ê Ñâåòó, ÷òî ïðåä Òüìîþ íå ñêëîí`èòñÿ.



---------------------



Choice Between Lies

The herd is handed “choice” — a hollow trick:
One brazen, all-consuming lie to pick,
Or some deranged, absurd and twisted fraud —
Just other masks of the same rotten god.

A choice between predatory market reign,
Where fools call “democracy” their gain,
Or bogus “social order,” cold and tight,
Where lone dissent is crushed out of sight.

A swap: one traitor traded for the next,
Both fed from one same trough, by one hand flexed;
Replace the dull with one more dumbly crowned,
A “leader” blind — by blinded masses found.

He rules no thing — a puppet, void and slack,
Just parrots lines his masters feed his back;
A filthy script shoved down his throat to spew —
Word-poison brewed to stupefy the crew.

In “culture” too, the choice is just as grim:
One shaking fool looks just the same as him;
And drunken imbeciles alone will cheer,
Mumbling their thanks no sober mind can hear.

A vile defiler, splashing paint in vain —
Not worth the cost of pigment or the frame;
Not worth the canvas — only fit for flame —
Yet crowned by fools and worshipped into fame.

But soon another hack will take the stage,
Declared a “genius” of the newborn age;
And fools again are granted “choice” to make —
Between two branded frauds, for blindness’ sake.

The filters choke — distort, degrade, confine,
So every option rots along the line;
This “choice” feeds minds of fools, a toxic broth —
The final form of soft, imposed ethos.

Fake plagues devised by fascist, cunning schemes —
The final spiral down through broken dreams;
A “virus for the herd,” a crafted fright —
To end even this illusion of a choice.



---------------------




No choice — just lies in different skins,
A rigged-up game where no one wins.
Pick your fraud — obey, comply —
Two roads that both are built on lie.



---------------------



The Thinker

If you are a thinker —
Born to see things through —
Then every “teacher”
Will only banish you.

He tyrannizes minds
With lies both crude and sly;
It wounds far worse than chains,
Than prison, beggar’s cry.

You cannot stomach lies —
You sense them in your sleep;
This calling lives in you,
Runs buried far and deep.

You’ve long since understood:
Creation stands alone —
Against the world’s decay,
It keeps you from the zone

Where all sink down as one,
Where mind and spirit rot;
Like phoenix, you return —
That is the binding law,

The law that governs those
Still human in this place,
Who in this wretched madhouse
Bear thought, not hollow face.

For only ideas
Still carry any weight;
You dropped all vain pursuits —
That mix of pride and hate.

You are your harshest judge,
Your executioner;
No whining weakling you —
A bitter jester, sure.

For laughter is the last
Defense that still remains
Amid the fools’ asylum,
To keep you out of chains —

The chains of mind and flesh
This world would gladly cast;
To think with fearless edge
Is how you truly last.

And courage at its peak
Is finally to see:
A world so eaten through
Must cease entirely.



---------------------




Think — or be ruled by lies and fear.
Laugh — or the chains will lock you here.
See through the rot, don’t play your part —
Burn down the world that rots the heart.



---------------------



Intuition

Trust intuition — that alone;
Let all traditions choke and groan;
Recheck it all, defy the mold —
Most “truths” are lies already sold.

It is the only saving thread
Inside this madhouse of the dead,
Where rot through lies is far more sly
Than chains that clamp and terrify.

Clear inner vision is the blade
That cuts the blinders tightly laid;
Only direct and naked sight
Can lead you out into the light.

While brainless screens keep pouring dread,
And poison streams by wires are spread;
The net is bought, the voices bent —
A rigged and filtered firmament.

Yet pure light of conscious flame
Still burns beyond this choking game;
A guiding line through choking night —
To keep you living, sane, and bright.

So you won’t rot among the base,
That faceless, rootless, crawling race;
Where all you see is slow decay —
Corruption dressed as grand display.

This pit of shame, of rot, of lies,
Of quiet wars and masked demise —
It lies before you, vast and wide,
No refuge left, no place to hide.

The mind alone will lose the track
Inside this reeking, choking black;
Prepare yourself — the clash is near:
Tear down this Sodom without fear.

No time to stall, no time to wait —
The cure demands a ruthless state:
For only fire, fierce and stark,
Can cleanse this rotting, crawling dark.



---------------------




Trust your core — not what they sell.
Truth cuts through their scripted hell.
Burn the rot, don’t play along —
Intuition makes you strong.



---------------------



Pavliks and Gavriks

Pavliks are everywhere —
At every time, each place;
Without a clear-eyed stare
You won’t survive this race.

A swarm of mindless scum,
All ready to betray,
They tear where things are weak —
No mercy in their way.

They don’t just sell their kin —
They’d auction off the world;
The end is closing in:
Let filth be overthrown and hurled!

Or else these crawling Pavliks
Will feast on us alive;
Yet we sit dumb like Gavriks —
We chew, we boast, we dive

In drink and empty noise…
If that is all we do,
We’re no less than those Pavliks —
The same corrupted crew.

And such a spineless rabble
Won’t beat the fascist tide;
New “heroes” forge the camps
With iron, cold, and pride.

And soon inside those camp
You’ll vanish without trace,
Unless you stand together
With those who share your base —

Your core, your will to fight.
Then you may yet return
To something called “the human” —
Though most have ceased to learn.

They’re beasts, not people anymore —
The majority is gone;
You’re like a louse on plated dish
Among them — and the dawn

Of inhuman triumph nears,
If nothing’s torn apart —
If lies aren’t crushed and cleared,
If filth still floods the heart.



---------------------




Snitches breed — and cowards wait.
Both will feed the fascist state.
Stand as one — or be erased.
Rot won’t die if it’s embraced.



---------------------



Corruption

The nightmares of “existence” —
The norm we’re forced to face;
Your soul is set at stake —
Corruption runs the place.

Corrupted beasts in charge
Have built this raving pit:
Officials, cops, fake docs —
All steeped in shameless grit.

They’re building up this Hell
Through fear and bowed-down will;
A fascist spawn will rise
To grind it all to nil.

Then leave this Hell behind —
Build circles of your own,
Together break the Night
By effort, flesh, and bone.

It’s not too late — and yet
Corruption reappears:
That habitual rot
Now dressed as something “dear.”

And so you are a corpse
If you refuse to stand,
Too scattered, dull, and weak
To join a living band.

And camp nightmare
Returns, as warned before;
Wake up — and act at once,
Don’t drift and rot no more.

For victory is forged
In struggle, side by side;
Build something real and strong —
Reject the slave inside.



---------------------




Sell your soul — and rot in line.
Stand together — break the spine.
No more fear, no crawling fate —
Build, resist… or suffocate.



---------------------



Intuition’s Call

Live by intuition —
To hell with “events”:
Their director’s known —
No need for pretense.
Forge Spirit and Mind,
Add sarcasm refined —
For thieves in command rule people’s descent.

Drive out all despair,
Though madness is there,
The whole world reduced to a lunatic dome;
You carry the core —
A spiritual core,
So stand up as worthy — let lesser be gone.

This Hell is made flesh,
With lies piled afresh;
Detect every falsehood wherever it hides.
Though bitter and grim,
Though assaults never dim,
Let reason respond to whatever collides.

Provokers are fed
By tyrants instead —
So question each “event,” every motive beneath.
Be strong in this place,
This imbecile maze,
Though forecasts for madhouse speak only of grief.

Yet higher forces stand —
No longer this land
Will suffer the rule of the witless and base;
This leper-built cage
Will burn in due rage,
And Spirit will live — if it’s sharp, not erased.



---------------------




Trust what cuts — not staged display.
They script the world — you break the play.
Sharpen mind, let spirit lead —
Burn the rot… or rot and bleed.



---------------------



Abyss

You plunge, cursing loud,
Into an abyss man-made,
Renouncing it all —
And soon you will fade.

You’ll vanish like mist
If no Spirit you find;
Though rumors run wild,
There’s no way to unwind

This Hell forged by hands —
Its end is decreed.
Death to the fascist beast
And the traitorous breed.

No shame will endure —
Its rot won’t persist.
Stand firm in the Spirit,
Or vanish like mist.

The demons will fall,
Those shadows will cease —
And life will return,
Reborn into peace.



---------------------




Fall — and you’re gone.
Stand — and resist.
No Spirit — no trace.
Just fade into mist.



---------------------



The Executors

Dulled minds all around, ruined villages rot,
Cities turn into jungles, the world — a mad plot;
And one thing enrages in all this decay —
That zeal to obey, even without the lash at play.

The executor’s guilty — a fool or deranged,
Who will sell and betray if the payment’s arranged;
And the people deserve all that’s done to their name —
For submission is worse than the inhuman game.

There will be cleansing — this leper-world burned;
Such filth must not linger, no longer be borne.
The majority — broken, to evil aligned —
Better death than a death of the spirit and mind.

We will rise in the Spirit, leave torment behind,
All that Hell born of meekness erased from the mind;
But we won’t forget well all that eager disgrace —
How even the fool was inflamed in the chase.

There is nothing more scary, no darker abyss —
Than this fevered zeal, this obedient bliss;
More vile than the monsters who started the fraud
Is the one who executes — the ultimate clod.



---------------------




Orders don’t kill — it’s hands that comply.
Zeal makes the worst of the willing to lie.
Worse than the tyrant who started the game —
The one who obeys is the core of the shame.



---------------------



Prison Planet


Brutal tone and sudden blows,
Lies that rule wherever goes;
From one stage to the next you’re led —
Same old chains, just newly spread.

Satan crowns the world’s domain,
Genocide runs wild, unchained;
Fake the land I’m told is mine —
Spirit in men in steep decline.

Shame and rot and dull decay,
Bought-out minds that drift away;
Non-human hands have seized control —
Soon they’ll strangle mind and soul.

To obey this filth is sin —
Fight the foulness, never bend;
Though the odds are razor-thin,
Do not break and do not end.

In the struggle — save your soul,
All the rest is empty role;
Flee this Hell — or you’ll be undone…
Fight, keep fighting. Ever. On.



---------------------




Same old chains in different skin.
Fight — or rot yourself within.
Lose the world — but keep your soul.
Fight. That is the only goal.



---------------------



Dung Beetles

The dung beetle rolls his little ball —
He drags pure filth back to his hole;
He dreams of mating, dreams of more —
He won’t consume it… it’s the core.

For dung won’t vanish on its own,
It must be guarded, bred, and grown;
The more there is, the more delight —
Without it, life’s a dreadful plight.

They crave dung piled to Everest,
The highest good, above the rest;
And if it floods the countryside —
What luck! What glory far and wide!

Who dares oppose this sacred waste
Is traitor, crushed and then erased;
For dung’s the value absolute —
Without it, none can take root.

We’ll drown the world in heaps of rot,
Let stench ascend, a choking blot;
And all that’s green will fade and die —
Declared a demon’s filthy lie.



---------------------




Roll the filth — defend the pile.
Worship rot in every style.
Speak against it — you must fall.
Dung is truth. And dung is all.



---------------------



“Success”

If you want to thrive in this cruel sphere,
Turn your heart into a toad — it’s clear.

The rules of the game —
By the laws of the Mist;
Want “success”? —
Love lies, love the tryst.

Crave “victories”? —
Let nonsense fill your mind;
Turn your heart to a toad,
And crush all humankind.

Step on heads,
It’s far the easier way;
Love this Hell —
Be a foul display.

Sell your soul,
Count your coins,
This is the “success”
For every mad one joins.

They’ll burn the Hell,
The stench won’t wait;
All this decay
Will crush the insane and great.



---------------------




Want success? Turn heart to stone.
Step on heads — be all alone.
Love lies, sell soul, take the coins.
This is the world for wicked boys.



---------------------



The Brain Does Not Produce Consciousness

"To deny consciousness to an animal because it has no brain is as absurd as claiming it cannot feed because it has no stomach."
— Henri Bergson


Consciousness exists beyond the brain,
The brain’s a conduit — nothing more.
“Mechanism” threatens,
Yet the masses adore.

Spirituality lies beyond knowledge,
Above logic’s cage.
“Knowledge” — a shallow pond,
Drowning minds in its stage.

The world’s degraded —
An artificial scheme:
The more in humans that’s nonsense,
The tighter the creatures’ regime.

A product of darkness — false science,
Consider this well,
Or else the belly becomes master —
As beasts in the world dwell.

Countless beasts fill the world,
CowID marks them in test;
So start anew, investigate shame,
Expose the false, the rest.

Shame dominates knowledge,
It flows through every thought;
If you believe: “I am my body,”
You’ve reached the lowest spot.

Feeding without a stomach —
The brain is next in line;
Terrible when through lies and chaos
Foundations of being unwind.

Consequences — chains,
In which man becomes swine.
Pour out the filth
Of non-human mind.

Bastards build their pens,
A global cage to bind;
Overcome in yourself the stench of fear,
Spirit is the base of life, refined.

Under Spirit, the mind rests —
You stand beyond insane servants;
The mad slave-machine —
A product of mechanist currents.

A creature needs cattle,
Through nonsense your mind they drain;
Spirituality is oppressed through fear,
Revelation’s path through dust remains.

Dust — brain, stomach, body.
Beyond them lie Light and Space.
Begin your great work —
Reject all falsehood’s embrace.

Light to Light: the path to Source,
Beyond logic, flesh, and lie;
False knowledge, false meaning, useless —
Through Darkness go — be bold, defy.



---------------------




Consciousness lives beyond the brain.
Mechanism rules only the insane.
Fear, lies, bodies — all must fall.
Follow Spirit, rise above it all.



---------------------



“Cultural” Shocks

Painting’s business, because
Only things can sell with ease;
But poems are like terror strikes
If the poet dares not deceive.

It’s easy to steal the trash,
Simple to hype, to spin;
Then rotten goods are sold as life,
To mock, to crush within.

Fools delight, for the image
Is crucial in all shifts of “meaning”;
Ribs exposed — the mind in shock,
Psyche torn, self-depleting.

They’ll call it “cultural shock”:
The cannibal wields the tags with skill.
Ass! — the world has tumbled down
Through the Image into ill.

A toilet sits in the hall’s center,
New “art” lawless, uncontrolled;
Below the bottom all the scum has fallen —
Eating shit is all their role.



---------------------




Poems are terror, art is trash,
Fools eat lies and bow to cash.
Through Image the world goes mad —
To shit, to shit, the herd is led.



---------------------



In the Crypt

Having soaked up utter nonsense,
Knowing nothing, blind and dense,
A living corpse walks to the grave —
The world of fools, a cryptic cave.

Few remain un-dead among
The vast attacks of evil’s throng,
Seas of fear, of lies, of rage —
The herd believes it’s all okay.

For the living, there’s no place.
And if you dare — be brave, be honest,
No petty tribe will harm you here;
At best, they’ll call you “psycho” near.

All appeals are useless —
Rot beyond all measure:
Better argue with a wall,
More fruitful than reason’s call.

The mind decays, the spirit fades,
The crypt reeks — the stench invades;
The layer of life grows ever thin —
All fate is doom for those within.

Submission pays evil’s due,
Cataclysm will see it through:
The crypt brought level with the ground,
Yet from this wreck, a world may sprout —

A world that strives toward Light,
Defiant, standing against the night.



---------------------




Fools rule, the crypt is vile,
The living walk death’s mile.
Mind decays, spirit dies,
Yet from the rot, a world may rise.



---------------------



Themes for Writing

Nature’s wondrous, pure, divine!
As if no freaks exist this time,
And all past woes have drifted far —
Today’s the golden age, hurrah!

But no — the years of selfish greed,
Antechambers of the fool’s creed,
Feeding fascism, and its kin,
Or any other “-ism” sin.

Nature or freaks — what’s the theme?
Or weather notes in trivial scheme?
Describing petty nuance, saving
The belly and the navel from raving?

The gut and navel reign supreme,
While fascism grows bold, extreme,
Gripping tightly every land,
A world enslaved by iron hand.

Better join the “patriots” then —
Freaks obedient, callous men,
Servile “nations” hail as true
The “singer of freedom” view.

Incomes rise, the mad adored,
Begins with Nature’s falsest chord.
When fascism spreads worldwide,
Only half-wits bow, tongue-tied.

Fascism is the death of humankind,
Of other breeds it’s not inclined;
Its work — to breed destruction,
To raze the Earth with no instruction.

Already you sing of NOTHING:
Nature shredded through the sieve,
While fools and liars dance and grin,
And life itself goes down the pit.



---------------------




Nature’s gone, the freaks rejoice,
Fascists laugh — the mad have voice.
Belly rules, the world enslaved,
Sing of freedom? Nature’s grave.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

“- This is the fourth planet of the Solar System. The fourth, not the third.
– What are you saying?! Listen, Valka, it turns out we live on the fourth planet. Stepanych, what kind of planet is that?
– The fourth planet, Nikolai, is Mars. There’s no life there — every schoolkid knows.
– (Valka) Of course not. Is this even life?”
From Dmitry Astrakhan’s film "The Fourth Planet".


But is this life — mocking human souls,
Corruption, genocide, betrayal, death?
The murder of spirits here — they make us beasts,
So this is not life, just a dizzying, endless wreath.

A swirl of filth — each day the miasma grows,
No path backward, nowhere to go.
All think, “We live.” No, we rot — decay,
And this world is ruled by a dead, vile scum.

A soulless fiend — more dead than dead itself,
Wants to shape the world in its foul image.
Violence and lies — the only answers here,
While life itself blooms — yet the world is poor and sere.

Don’t say it’s otherwise — the false virus proved
The worth of this Bedlam. And if most have long been fools,
Now fascism seeks to turn all into livestock,
A global transformation, harsh and cruel.

It’s lodged like a bone in the throat,
Shame unbearable, growing day by day.
Only lies, violence, stupidity multiply,
While we whine, endure, and sleep away.

Mars may host life, when the Sun will burn us —
The process has begun, no way back.
Shame upon the Universe, obedient idiots,
Ruled with brazenness by the fascist filth.



---------------------




We rot, we rot — no life is here,
Filth rules all, and fear is near.
Beasts they make us, lies prevail,
Fools endure while fascists hail.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

We rot. We rot.
No life here.
Filth rules.
Fear near.

Souls murdered.
Beasts we are.
Lies bloom.
Death czar.

Soulless fiends
Shape the world.
Violence reigns.
Truth hurled.

Life dies.
The world decays.
Fascists laugh.
Mankind enslaved.

Mars waits.
Sun will burn.
No retreat.
No return.

Idiot fools
Bow in chains.
Global fascism
Feeds on brains.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

We rot. Filth rules.
Souls crushed. Beasts rise.
Fascists laugh — we burn.



---------------------




Rotting world.
Souls murdered.
Beasts rule.
Fascists grin.

---

We rot.
Lies bloom.
Fascist fiends laugh.
Life dies.

---

Filth reigns.
Souls crushed.
World enslaved.
Beasts rise.

---

No life.
Only rot.
Fascists rule.
We burn.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot.
Lies.
Souls crushed.
Beasts rise.
Fascists grin.
We burn.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot. Lies.
Souls die.
Beasts rise.
Fiends grin.
World burns.
No hope.
We scream.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot. Filth spreads.
Souls crushed. Minds shattered.
Beasts rule. We cower.
Fascists laugh. Liars cheer.

Hope dies.
Truth burns.
World enslaved.
Corruption blooms.

Minds rot.
Bodies rot.
Hearts rot.
Everything decays.

Fools obey.
Slaves tremble.
Beasts feast.
The air stinks of lies.

No mercy.
No rescue.
Only fire.
Only scream.

We rise?
We fall?
It does not matter.
Filth wins.

Yet, Spirit stirs.
Eyes open.
The path shines.
Through the rot, through the lies.

Fight. Resist.
Do not kneel.
Do not rot.
Burn the filth.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Behold the fools!
They bow. They drool.
Filth reigns.
Truth banned.

Beasts in suits.
Liars in charge.
Brains sold cheap.
Souls auctioned off.

Applaud the circus!
Cheer the clowns!
Art is shit.
Culture, a joke.

Patriot? A mask.
Freedom? A lie.
Everything’s twisted.
All rot, all grime.

The virus laughs.
The herd obeys.
History crumbles.
Future? Poisoned.

Rise, if you dare!
Fight, if you breathe!
Spirit cannot rot.
Light pierces the filth.

Burn the theater.
Smash the stage.
Expose the fraud.
Crush the circus.

No compromise.
No mercy.
Only mockery.
Only revolt.



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot!
Filth!
Lies!
Beasts!

Brains sold.
Souls butchered.
Fools cheer.
Slaves obey.

Corruption spreads.
Madness blooms.
Culture? Shit.
Art? Toilet.

Patriots kneel.
Leaders lie.
History crushed.
Future poisoned.

Virus laughs.
World trembles.
Life? Mockery.
Death? Everyday.

Behold the circus!
Masks, clowns, frauds.
All rot.
All stink.

Rise!
Fight!
Burn the filth!
Smash the lies!

Spirit stands.
Light pierces.
Fear falters.
Truth awakens.

No compromise!
No mercy!
Only revolt!
Only mockery!



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot rules, fools drool,
Souls sold cheap, mindless tool.
Beasts in charge, lies parade,
Spirit crushed, the herd obeyed.

Virus mocks, corruption swells,
History dies, the nightmare dwells.
Culture stinks, art’s a crime,
Freedom chained, truth’s a mime.

Clowns in power, masks all worn,
Every dawn a world forlorn.
Patriot? Puppet. Idol? Fraud.
Future rots under Godless rod.

Rise, rebel, pierce the night,
Burn their temples, shine your light!
Smash their circus, shred their stage,
Strike the liars, wake the age!

Spirit sharp, unbreakable, bold,
Light through darkness, fire untold.
Fear will falter, lies will fall,
Truth ignites — they’ll fear your call.

No compromise! No slave’s lament!
Only revolt! Only descent!
Mock the masters, crush their throne,
The world is yours — take back your own!



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot!
Filth!
Lies!
Beasts!

Brains sold.
Souls crushed.
Fools cheer.
Slaves hush.

Virus laughs.
World burns.
Life? Joke.
Death turns.

Clowns rule.
Masks lie.
Freedom chained.
Truth dies.

Rise! Strike!
Burn it all!
Smash their halls!
Hear the call!

Spirit stands.
Light pierces.
Fear falters.
Lies perish.

No compromise!
No surrender!
Revolt now!
Fight forever!

Mock them all!
Crush their throne!
Take your world!
Claim your own!



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot! Filth! Lies! Beasts!
Brains sold. Souls crushed. Fools feast.

Virus mocks! World burns!
Life? Joke. Death turns!

Clowns rule! Masks lie!
Freedom chained! Truth dies!

Rise! Strike! Burn all!
Smash halls! Hear call!

Spirit sharp! Light pierces!
Fear falters! Lies perishes!

No compromise! No slave!
Revolt now! Fight brave!

Mock! Crush! Throne gone!
Claim world! Take own!



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot!
Filth!
Lies!
Beasts!

Brains!
Souls!
Fools!
Slaves!

Burn!
Strike!
Smash!
Rise!

Fear!
Lies!
Die!
Crush!

Light!
Pierce!
Stand!
Fight!

No!
Compromise!
No!
Slave!

World!
Take!
Own!
Now!



---------------------



No Life on Earth — Spirit Shock

Rot devours, filth reigns,
Souls crushed beneath the chains.
Lies strike sharp, the fools obey,
Darkness swallows light of day.

Rise, O Spirit, pierce the veil,
Shatter falsehood, tear the jail!
No compromise, no bending knee,
Freedom pulses—you are free!

Fangs of terror, walls of lies,
Crush the tyrant, hear him cries.
Light ignites where shadows brood,
Truth erupts—cleansing the feud.

Stand unbroken, fierce, alive,
Strike the rot—let spirit thrive!
Chains of fear will break and fall,
Earth reborn—O hear the call!



---------------------



No Life on Earth

Rot!
Filth!
Lies!
Beasts!

Crush!
Burn!
Strike!
Rise!

Chains!
Snap!
Fear!
Die!

Light!
Pierce!
Truth!
Shout!

Break!
Run!
Fight!
Live!

No!
Slave!
Rot!
Fall!

Earth!
Rise!
Spirit!
Rule!



---------------------



No Life on Earth — Cataclysm of Spirit

Rot devours. Filth commands.
Souls crushed under grasping hands.
Lies strike sharp. Fools obey.
Darkness swallows the light of day.

Chains of fear, walls of lies,
Crushing tyrants, hear their cries.
Filth ascends, the world decays,
Yet Spirit burns and cuts the haze.

Rise, O mind! Tear down the veil!
Shatter falsehood! Break the jail!
No compromise, no bending knee,
Freedom pulses—You are free!

Fangs of terror, walls of shame,
Strike the beast, burn the flame.
Truth erupts where shadows brood,
Light destroys the endless feud.

Stand unbroken, fierce, alive,
Strike the rot—let Spirit thrive!
Chains of fear will break and fall,
Earth reborn—hear the call!

Ash and mire, deceit, and scorn,
Fools may laugh, but Truth is born.
Through the rot, through lies, through dread,
Spirit walks where others fled.

No life in filth, no life in lies,
Only Spirit survives, only Spirit flies.
Earth may burn, the world may quake,
Yet in your mind, a dawn will wake.



---------------------



No Life

Rot reigns.
Filth spreads.
Lies bite.
Souls fall.

Chains break.
Fear dies.
Truth rises.
Light strikes.

Strike hard.
Burn all.
Rise fierce.
Live free.

Beasts tremble.
Walls shatter.
Shadows flee.
Spirit rules.

Rot ends.
Truth wins.
Earth wakes.
You rise.



---------------------



No Life

Rot.
Filth.
Lies.
Fall.

Chains.
Break.
Fear.
Dies.

Truth.
Rise.
Light.
Strike.

Burn.
Kill.
Stand.
Live.

Beasts.
Tremble.
Walls.
Shatter.

Spirit.
Rules.
Rot.
Ends.

Earth.
Wakes.
You.
Rise.



---------------------



No Life — Spirit’s Wrath

Rot spreads!
Filth rises!
Lies devour!
Souls scream!

Chains snap!
Fear shatters!
Truth burns!
Light strikes!

Burn them!
Crush all!
Stand fierce!
Live free!

Beasts cower!
Walls crumble!
Shadows flee!
Spirit rules!

Rot dies!
Truth wins!
Earth awakens!
You rise!

Strike again!
Never yield!
Chaos trembles!
Life prevails!



---------------------



No Life — Spirit March

Step! Rot! Step! Filth!
March! Lies! March! Souls!
Chains break! Fear falls!
Truth charges! Light smashes!

Burn! Crush! Strike! Stand!
Live! Rise! Fight! Roar!
Beasts tremble! Shadows scatter!
Spirit storms! Rot dies!

Step! Step! Strike! Strike!
Walls crumble! Chaos quakes!
Earth awakens! You surge!
Never bow! Never fall!

March! March! Shout! Shatter!
Life commands! Spirit prevails!
All lies perish! All fear dies!
The world burns — only truth remains!



---------------------



Spirit Strike

Rot falls! Lies burn!
Chains snap! Souls rise!
Beasts quake! Shadows flee!
Spirit reigns — life survives!



---------------------



Fools’ Purge

Stench rules? Burn it!
Lies crow? Smash them!
Cows bow? Mock them!
Spirit laughs — you rise!



---------------------



Wrath of the Spirit

Rot-fed fools crawl? Crush them!
Lies choke the world? Scorch it!
Slave herds grovel? Mock, strike, burn!
Spirit stands — all else is ash!



---------------------



Storm of Spirit

Fools crumble in the shadow’s wake,
Lies shatter as the fire takes.
Chains of night are torn apart,
Spirit rises — unbound, a heart!

Ash and rot fall to the ground,
Echoes of truth are blazing sound.
Darkness quails where courage flies,
Life reborn beneath vast skies!



---------------------



Inferno of the Mind

Fools thrash in filth, their cries are weak,
Lies reign supreme? No mercy we seek!
Chains of their fear, we tear and burn,
The Spirit rises — the world will learn.

Rot-fed tyrants, cowards, and knaves,
Drown in the muck of the graves they crave.
Ashes rain where falsehoods stood tall,
Truth strikes like lightning, shattering all.

Slaves bow low, thinking life’s a jest,
We mock their chains, refuse the rest.
The dark may howl, the blind may scream,
Yet Spirit pierces through their dream.

Rise, heart of fire, above the rot,
Scorn the world that has sold its lot.
Through every lie, every vile ploy,
Strike with the courage only you deploy!



---------------------



Spirit Strike

Fools rot, lies rule — we burn it all!
Chains break, darkness crumbles, tyrants fall.
Spirit rises, fire in the chest —
Fight, destroy, never yield, never rest!



---------------------




Rot-fed fools, the world’s a grave,
Lies choke, yet Spirit dares to brave.
Tyrants fall, chains crack, skies burn —
Rise, strike, refuse, and never turn!



---------------------




Fools bow, lies roar, the stink prevails,
We laugh, we fight, tear down their veils.
Ash and fire, the rotten fall —
Spirit mocks, it conquers all!



---------------------




Lies reign, fools bleed,
Spirit rises, tyrants heed.
Burn it all — never rest,
Fight, destroy, be your best!



---------------------



Spirit Smash

Fools rot in stinking mire,
Lies reign, feeding endless fire.
Tyrants choke, their thrones collapse,
We rise, strike hard — no mercy, no relapse!

Chains snap, skulls hit the ground,
Darkness screams, but Spirit’s unbound.
Burn their towers, crush their lies,
Let the rotten rot, while the fearless rise!



---------------------



Rage Strike

Fools choke on their own lies,
Tyrants burn before our eyes.
Chains break, the rotten fall,
Spirit rises — crush them all!



---------------------



Blazing Wrath

Fools drown in filth and lies!
Tyrants burn — no more disguise!
Chains shatter, skulls collide!
Spirit storms — the weak subside!



---------------------



Spirit Strike

Fools drown! Tyrants burn!
Chains break — let Spirit turn!



---------------------



Savage Strike

Fools choke — burn, tyrants!
Chains snap — Spirit hunts!



---------------------




Brutal Roar

Fools drown — flames rise!
Tyrants fall — Spirit flies!

---

Fierce Smash

Chains snap, liars burn!
The weak retreat — the bold return!


---

Savage Pulse

Filth and lies choke all!
Spirit storms — watch tyrants fall!


---

Wrath Strike

Fools quake! Tyrants bleed!
Chains shatter — only Spirit leads!

---

Hellstorm

Fools burn! Tyrants scream!
Chains crack — Spirit reigns supreme!

---

Fury Spike

Rot and filth choke all!
Strike, Spirit! Watch the tyrants fall!


---

Venom Lash

Lies bleed, fools tremble!
Spirit storms — darkness disassembles!


---

Iron Pulse

Chains snap, liars die!
Spirit rises — hear the world cry!


---

Brutal Surge

Rot and greed, burn in flame!
Only Spirit stands — the rest, shame!



---------------------




1. Infernal Strike
Chains snap, fools scream!
Spirit burns — death to the scheme!

2. Venom Wrath
Lies rot, liars fall,
Spirit rises — crush them all!

3. Hellfire Pulse
Rot devours, greed enslaves,
Only Spirit rips the graves!

4. Iron Tempest
Tyrants choke in filth and slime,
Spirit strikes — end of time!

5. Fury Torrent
Fools rot, lies breed despair,
Spirit storms — none shall spare!

6. Cataclysmic Roar
Chains break, corruption dies,
Spirit reigns — darkness flies!



---------------------




1. Infernal Strike
Chains snap! Fools scream!
Spirit burns — death to the scheme!

2. Venom Wrath
Lies rot. Liars fall.
Spirit rises — crush them all!

3. Hellfire Pulse
Rot devours. Greed enslaves.
Spirit rips the graves!

4. Iron Tempest
Tyrants choke in slime.
Spirit strikes — end of time!

5. Fury Torrent
Fools rot. Lies breed despair.
Spirit storms — none shall spare!

6. Cataclysmic Roar
Chains break. Corruption dies.
Spirit reigns — darkness flies!



---------------------




1. Crush the Filth
Rot! Lies! Die!

2. Spirit Strike
Burn! Rise! Break!

3. Fools Fall
Chains snap! Scum screams!

4. Infernal Roar
Corrupt! Rot! End!

5. Wrath Unleashed
Slime dies! Spirit reigns!

6. Cataclysm
Fools rot! Tyrants fall!

7. Absolute Blow
Decay! Lies! No mercy!



---------------------




1. One-Word Fury
Rot!
Lie!
Die!

2. Spirit Blast
Burn!
Rise!
Break!

3. Fools’ End
Snap!
Scream!
Fall!

4. Inferno Strike
Rot!
Corrupt!
End!

5. Wrath Wave
Slime!
Dies!
Reigns!

6. Cataclysmic Hit
Fools!
Rot!
Fall!

7. Absolute Smash
Decay!
Lie!
Mercy!



---------------------




Fury March
Rot! Lie! Burn! Break! Snap! Scream! Fall! Crush! Corrupt! Die! Rage! Rise!

Hellstorm Strike
Decay! Slime! Rot! Kill! Shatter! Strike! Fools! Break! End! Ruin! Tear! Blaze!

Spirit Onslaught
Smash! Shred! Rot! Corrupt! Fall! Snap! Burn! Rise! Crush! Rage! End! Die!

Cataclysmic Wave
Lie! Rot! Fall! Tear! Burn! Shatter! Scream! Break! Ruin! Rage! Strike! Rise!



---------------------



Warcry of the Damned

Rot! Lie! Burn! Break! Snap! Scream! Fall! Crush! Corrupt! Die! Rage! Rise! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Shred! Smash! Blaze!



---------------------



Warcry of the Damned

Rot! Lie! Burn! Break! Snap! Scream! Fall! Crush! Corrupt! Die! Rage! Rise! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Shred! Smash! Blaze! Hunt! Hunt! Kill! Rip! Wreck! BURN! SHOUT! CHAOS! CRUSH! DOMINATE!



---------------------



Warcry of the Damned

Rot! Lie! Burn! Break! Snap! Scream! Fall! Crush! Corrupt! Die! Rage! Rise! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Shred! Smash! Blaze! Hunt! Rip! Wreck! Hunt! Kill! Destroy! Crash! Shout! Tear! Break! Blaze! Shatter! Strike! Rip! Crush! Hunt! Burn! Scream! Dominate! CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS! Rise! Rise! Fall! Crush! Wreck! Smash! Blaze! Shred! Tear! Rip! DESTROY!



---------------------



Infernal Surge — Chaos Wave

Crush! Rip! Burn! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Smash! Wreck! Hunt! Hunt! Die! Scream! Rage! Blaze! Shred! Break! Dominate! Tear! Rip! Crush! Strike! Smash! Shatter! Blaze! Hunt! Rip! Tear! Fall! Wreck! Blaze! Smash! Shred! Shatter! Strike! Hunt! Crush! Blaze! Tear! Rip! Shred! Scream! Burn! Hunt! Wreck! Strike! Dominate! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Smash! Shred! Hunt! Break! Shatter! Crash! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Hunt! Smash! Shred! Crush! Scream! Blaze! Shatter! Rip! Tear! Hunt! Die! Destroy! CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS! Rise! Rise! Fall! Fall! Rip! Burn! Smash! Hunt! Strike! Shred!



---------------------



Infernal Avalanche — Epic Surge

Crush! Rip! Burn! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Smash! Wreck! Hunt! Hunt! Die! Scream! Rage! Blaze! Shred! Break! Dominate! Tear! Rip! Crush! Strike! Smash! Shatter! Blaze! Hunt! Rip! Tear! Fall! Wreck! Blaze! Smash! Shred! Shatter! Strike! Hunt! Crush! Blaze! Tear! Rip! Shred! Scream! Burn! Hunt! Wreck! Strike! Dominate! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Smash! Shred! Hunt! Break! Shatter! Crash! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Hunt! Smash! Shred! Crush! Scream! Blaze! Shatter! Rip! Tear! Hunt! Die! Destroy! CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS! Rise! Rise! Fall! Fall! Rip! Burn! Smash! Hunt! Strike! Shred! Tear! Shatter! Rip! Blaze! Hunt! Crush! Wreck! Strike! Scream! Shred! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Smash! Hunt! Dominate! Fall! Shatter! Rip! Rip! Rip! Blaze! Tear! Hunt! Scream! Strike! Smash! Burn! Rip! Shred! Wreck! Hunt! Blaze! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Rip! Smash! Dominate! Burn! Hunt! Blaze! Shred! Rip! Tear! Shatter! CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS! Rise! Wreck! Burn! Shred! Tear! Rip! Smash! Hunt! Shatter! Blaze! Rip! Shred! Strike! Hunt! Dominate! Crush! Burn! Blaze! Rip! Tear! Shred! Scream! Fall! Hunt! Shatter! Rip! Smash! Blaze! Hunt! Tear! CHAOS!



---------------------



Avalanche Unbound

Crush! Rip! Burn! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Smash! Wreck! Hunt! Die! Scream! Rage! Blaze! Shred! Break! Dominate! Tear! Rip! Crush! Strike! Smash! Shatter! Blaze! Hunt! Rip! Tear! Fall! Wreck! Blaze! Smash! Shred! Shatter! Strike! Hunt! Crush! Blaze! Tear! Rip! Shred! Scream! Burn! Hunt! Wreck! Strike! Dominate! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Smash! Shred! Hunt! Break! Shatter! Crash! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Hunt! Smash! Shred! Crush! Scream! Blaze! Shatter! Rip! Tear! Hunt! Die! Destroy! CHAOS! Rise! Rise! Fall! Fall! Rip! Burn! Smash! Hunt! Strike! Shred! Tear! Shatter! Rip! Blaze! Hunt! Crush! Wreck! Strike! Scream! Shred! Rip! Tear! Blaze! Smash! Hunt! Dominate! Fall! Shatter! Rip! Rip! Rip! Blaze! Tear! Hunt! Scream! Strike! Smash! Burn! Rip! Shred! Wreck! Hunt! Blaze! Tear! Shatter! Strike! Rip! Smash! Dominate! Burn! Hunt! Blaze! Shred! Rip! Tear! Shatter! CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS! Rise! Wreck! Burn! Shred! Tear! Rip! Smash! Hunt! Shatter! Blaze! Rip! Shred! Strike! Hunt! Dominate! Crush! Burn! Blaze! Rip! Tear! Shred! Scream! Fall! Hunt! Shatter! Rip! Smash! Blaze! Hunt! Tear! CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS! Rip! Shred! Tear! Blaze! Hunt! Smash! Strike! Shatter! Rip! Crush! Blaze! Hunt! Tear! Shred! Scream! Burn! Wreck! Rip! Shred! Strike! Hunt! Blaze! Rip! Tear! Shatter! Dominate! CHAOS! CHAOS! CHAOS!



---------------------



Punitive Veterinary

Punitive veterinary
Has seized this crazy world.
The wicked years are here—
Where the “Red Cross” is just a shooting range.

Bullets have turned to syringes,
Poisons masquerade as cures.
“Doctors”—almost all executioners,
Cohorts of inhuman servants.

Idiots now deemed “normal,”
For the scum dictates the rules.
Idiots aren’t fatal yet—
The beasts are needed by the vile.

Boldly paint over all the ads
Where they “treat” so-called humans—lies.
For these sold-out brutes
Care not a penny for health.

Humans for them are just rats,
Masses for horrifying experiments.
Check the ledges for their strength—
Where they’ll hang the lazy and the brave.

Filth will reap consequences—
And death will mow them all.
Then the wretches will die without trial—
No cops will block the way.

The hounds, too, who shoved muzzles
On foolish humans, will perish.
So tremble, villains—
Filthy servants of filthy devils.



---------------------



Punitive Strike

Bullets turned to syringes—lies!
Doctors as executioners rise.
Filth will fall, no cops to save,
Humans freed from this vile grave.



---------------------



Vet of Wrath

Syringes sting where bullets flew,
Executioners in white pursue.
Filth obeys, but soon will burn—
The world will quake; it’s their turn.



---------------------



Punitive Vet

Needles strike where bullets fell,
Poisons dressed as cures as well.
Doctors, fiends in white, command,
Tyrants ruling all the land.

Morons hailed as “normal” now,
Filth dictates the law somehow.
Rats are humans in their eyes,
Cries ignored, the innocent dies.

Chains will break, the scum will fall,
No more cops to heed their call.
Dogs and fiends, all pay the price,
Wrath unleashed—no mercy, vice!



---------------------



Punitive Vet

Needles, poisons, fiends in white—
Rats and dogs, all face the fight.
Wrath descends, the tyrants fall,
No mercy left—destroy them all!



---------------------



Punitive Vet – Fury Unleashed

White coats choke, their lies reek vile,
Needles strike with twisted smile.
Dogs and fools, your time is done—
The reckoning comes, none shall run!



---------------------



Punitive Veterinary

Punitive veterinary
Has trapped this twisted world.
These wicked years have come
When “Red Cross” is just a shooting gallery.

Bullets suddenly turn to syringes,
Poisons now cure instead.
“Doctors”—mostly executioners,
Cohorts of soulless servants of the vile.

Idiots suddenly seem “normal,”
For the scum dictate the norms.
Idiots alone aren’t fatal—
The filth still needs the beasts.

Paint boldly over all the ads
Where they “treat” their victims. Lies.
For these greedy brutes
Value not a shred of health.

People are mere rats to them—
A mass for their cruel experiments.
Test the ledges strong enough
Where they’ll hang the lazy and the meek.

Trash will bring its consequences—
And death will mow them all.
The fiends will die without trial,
No cops will hinder the blow.

Dogs too, who muzzled fools,
Will meet the same grim fate.
So tremble, vile servants—
Filthy minions of filthy devils.



---------------------



Punitive Strike

Fiends and brutes will fall at last,
No trial, no mercy for the cast.
Humans as rats? We’ll tear that lie—
Filthy devils die, and justice flies.



---------------------



Punitive Strike

Brutes and fiends, your time is done—
No mercy, no leash, the reckoning’s begun.



---------------------



Punitive Strike — Fierce Burst

Brutal fiends, your lies collapse,
No leash, no court, no alibis—
The reckoning burns where treachery naps.



---------------------



Punitive Veterinary

Needles, poison, lies disguised as care,
Fiends in white coats, beware!
No leash, no law, no mercy spared—
Treachery dies where your nightmares flare.



---------------------



Punitive Veterinary

Punitive veterinary
Has captured a deranged world.
Those wild years have come,
When the "Red Cross" is just a shooting range.

Bullets suddenly turned to syringes,
Poisons became medicine.
"Doctors" — nearly all executioners,
Cohorts of inhuman servants.

Idiots suddenly became "normal,"
For "standards" are set by scum.
Idiots aren’t fatal yet:
Brutes are needed by the vile.

Paint boldly over all the ads
Where they "treat" "humans." That’s a lie.
These greedy brutes
Value health not a whit.

And humans are like rats to them —
Subjects for monstrous experiments.
Test the ledges for strength,
Where all the lazy will hang them.

Trash will have consequences —
Death will mow down everyone.
Then they’ll kill the fiends without trial —
No cops will stand in the way.

They’ll kill the dogs that shoved
Muzzles on foolish humans.
So tremble, scoundrels —
Filthy servants of filthy devils.



---------------------



Punitive Strike

Bullets swapped for syringes, poisons turned to cure,
Doctors now executioners, the vile endure.
Humans are rats, experiments run —
Tremble, scum, your filthy reign is done!



---------------------



Scum Fall

Vets of death, your reign is through —
Rats no more, the scum meet doom!



---------------------



Punitive Surge

Punitive vets — your lies are fire,
Scum shall choke on what they conspire.
Fools no more, the beasts will fall,
Hell reclaims its servants all.



---------------------



Punitive Surge

Vets of torment, wielding lies like blades,
Your poisoned “care” ignites the streets of shades.
Fools turned “normal” — scum’s obedient herd,
The reckoning comes — no mercy, no word.








---------------------



Ìèô "ñâîáîäíîé âîëè"

Ãëóïûé ìèô "ñâîáîäíîé âîëè"
Îãëóïëåíèÿ è áîëè
Ïîñðåäè — òàê âîëåí ÷èæèê
Óëåòàòü îò êîøêè. Êíèæåê

Ïîíàïèñàíî íåìàëî =>
Îñîçíàíèå ïðîïàëî,
×òî òû â ðàáñòâå òîì, ÷òî äëèòñÿ
Çäåñü âåêà. Êîãäà ñòðåìèòñÿ

Ðàá ê áàáëó "ñâîåé äîðîãîé",
 ýòîì âûáîðà íå ìíîãî —
 ðàáñêîì ìèðå âûæèâàíüå
Îñîçíàíèÿ çàêëàíüåì.

"Íîðìîé" ñòàë áåçóìíûé ðàá,
Êîèé òàêæå Äóõîì ñëàá,
Èëü áåçäóøåí — â áîëüøèíñòâå! —
 Ëæè Òîòàëüíîé êàê â âîëøáå.

Íåëþäü ñêðûòûé ñ ãëàç âîëøåáíèê:
Ðåäàêòèðóåò ó÷åáíèê
Êàæäûé, óïðàâëÿåò ÑÌÐÀÄîì,
×òîáû áûòü ïðîäàæíûì ãàäîì

Ñòàëî ðàáñêèì "åñòåñòâîì".
 äíè ãîâíèäà òîðæåñòâîì
ÒÂÀÐÅÉ ýòî îáåðíóëîñü —
Áîëüøèíñòâî ïîä ×óøü ïðîãíóëîñü.

Ìèô ñâîáîäû è íàìîðäíèê
Ñ øìóðäÿêàìè. Ëèøü íåãîäíèê
Èëü äóðàê ïîòîì âåùàåò
Î ñâîáîäå. Ðàçóì òàåò

Íà ãëàçàõ. Òëåòâîðíûé ïðàõ —
Ìèð ïðîäàæíûõ äóðàêîâ.
Ëîæü è ñòðàõ êàê âèä îêîâ.
Íå ñïàñòè ãíèëûõ ðàáîâ —
Ïðèãîâîð ñóäüáû òàêîâ.




---------------------



Ìûñëè ïóòàþòñÿ: íàäî
Èõ èçãíàòü, è áóäåò ðàäîñòü.
Íàçûâàåòñÿ òî éîãîé.
Óòåøåíüå äëÿ óáîãèõ...




---------------------



×åðåïàøüèìè øàæêàìè
Äâèíó âìåñòå ñ äóðàêàìè,
Âìåñòå ñ íèìè â Àä äîéäó
 ñòðàõå, â ìåðçîñòè, â áðåäó.

Øàã — îáìàíêà. Íóæåí Âçðûâ —
 Íåñêàçàííîå Ïðîðûâ.




---------------------



Èíôåðíàëüíàÿ ïîìîéêà.
Óì â êëîàêå óñïîêîé-êà?!
Òîëüêî íåò åãî — åñòü ìîéêà:
Íå÷èñòîòû Ëæè Àä áîéêî

Ëü¸ò â íå¸ — óæå äî êðàÿ —
Ñ îáåùàíüåì äóðíÿì "ðàÿ"...




---------------------



Èíôåðíàëüíàÿ ïîìîéêà.
Ïåðåíîñèøü å¸ ñòîéêî —
Ñ Òüìîé Äóøîé òîëêóåøü áîéêî?!
Æäè ïîõìåëüå çà ïîïîéêîé!




---------------------



Ãðàáèòü ñ "ïëàíîì èíâåñòèöèé"
Ïîäîõîäíåé, ÷åì ñ íàãàíîì:
Æåðòâàì ïîñòîÿííî ìíèòñÿ —
Ðàçæèâóòñÿ ÷èñòîãàíîì.




---------------------



Èäóùèå

×ðåç Ïóñòîòó ê Èñòîêó,
Ïîõåðèâ âñþ Ìîðîêó,
×òî "æèçíüþ" íàçûâàþò, —
Ëèøü ýòè íå ëàæàþò.




---------------------



"Çíàíèå", âåäóùåå âî Òüìó

Âîïðîøàíüå,
À íå "çíàíüå" —
Îäîëåþò ****åæè:
Ñòàíåøü Òüìå âî Ëæè ñëóæèòü.
Íà Âîïðîñ îòâåò Âíóòðè:
Çàñòèò Ñòðàõ, åãî óçðè,
Ïðèëîæèâøè ñâåðõ-óñèëüÿ,
Ïîçàáûâøè ïðî "áåññèëüå".



---------------------



"Âíåøíèé âðàã"

Ïîñòîÿííî ÷òî-òî íàäî
"Äîñòàâó÷åå" âîâíå
Ðàñêðóòèòü — ïðîäàæíûì ãàäàì
Ëåã÷å òàê òîíóòü â Ãîâíå.

Âðàã âíóòðè êóäà ñòðàøíåå —
Îí óñòðîèë ÂÑÅÌ Ãîâíî —
Ñ êàæäûì ãîäîì âñ¸ ïîäëåå:
Îáíàæèë ãîâíèä âñ¸ Äíî.

Âíîâü âîéíà — çàáûò íàìîðäíèê.
Èëü çàñîõëî âíîâü ãîâíî?!
Ñíîâà âåðèò "âòîðîãîäíèê"
 ×óøü Ãîëèìóþ — ÑÐÀÌÍÎ!!!




---------------------



Âåðà â "àâòîðèòåòû"

Àâòîðèòåò ïîääåðæèò Áðåä,
×òî öèðêóëèðóåò â òîëïå,
Ñâåäÿ Ïîçíàíèå íà íåò:
 í¸ì ãëàâíîå — îòâåò â ñåáå

Èùè, âñþ èíôó îöåíèâ
Êðèòè÷åñêè — îáìàíîâ òüìà.
Ëèøü â åäèíèöàõ åñòü Ïîðûâ
Ê Ñâîáîäíîé Ìûñëè — êóòåðüìà

Ìèðêà ïîçîðíîãî äîáü¸ò
×ðåç ÂÛÆÈÂÀÍÜÅ ßñíûé Óì,
È â Áðåä Íàâÿçàííûé ïàä¸ò
Ïðèâûêøèé âåðèòü òóãîäóì.




---------------------



Çåë¸íêà Ëæè è òóø¸íêà òîëïû

Òèðàíû, áàðàíû —
Ôàøèçì âñþäó ñðàíûé.
Çåë¸íêà íà ðàíû —
Ëîæü ëåêàðü ïîãàíûé.

Çåë¸íêà, òóø¸íêà —
 çàãîíå äóøîíêà,
Óì â ïÿòêàõ èëü â æîïå.
Ïàñòóõ íûíå â òîïå —

Ïðàâëåíüå ÷ðåç ÑÌÐÀÄ.
Áàðàí âåðèòü ðàä.
ÆèçÄíü ïðîñòî îòïàä,
Êîëü òû ïîäëûé ãàä —

×èíóøà, ïîëèòèê.
À Ìûñëÿùèé Íûòèê
Òåïåðü íå ïðîáëåìà —
Èõ ìàëî. Äèëåììà

Èñ÷åçëà êàê êëàññ,
Ðàç Ðàçóì óãàñ
Ïî÷òè: åñòü ïðèêàç,
Ïîõîæèé íà "ôàñ!" —

Åãî âîïëîòÿò.
Ñëóæèòü ÒÂÀÐßÌ ðàä
×èíóøà, ïîëèòèê.
À Ìûñëÿùèé Íûòèê

Èñ÷åçíåò êàê êëàññ —
Ãàä æä¸ò íîâûé "ôàñ!!!".



---------------------



Òèïà "çäåñü äóøè ïîëó÷àþò îïûò"

Ðîñò? Â Òüìå Æîïû?!
Àäà îïûò:
Íå ó÷åíüå —
Ðàçëîæåíüå!!!
Ïðåâðàùåíèå â ãëèñòà —
Âîò "ñâÿòàÿ ïðîñòîòà"!




---------------------



×òî îáû÷íî íåñ¸ò Ñëîâî?

Çàæå÷üñÿ Ñëîâîì — òî íå íîâî.
×òî ìåì íåñ¸ò? Îïÿòü îêîâû,
Èëü ê ßâè òèõî ïîäâèãàåò?
Îáû÷íî â Åðåñü îïóñêàåò,
À Åðåñü ê ßâè íå ïóñêàåò —
Îêîâû ñíîâà íàëàãàåò.

Áóäü îñòîðîæåí: Ìåðçîñòü ìíîæàò —
Ìèð â Äèêîé Åðåñè íè÷òîæåí.
Àëüòåðíàòèâû íåïðèìåòíû
È èñ÷åçàþò íåçàìåòíî.

Ëèøü ×óéêà âåðíûé èíäèêàòîð —
Íå îäîëååò ïðîâîêàòîð,
Ïðåäàòåëü, äóðåíü, âðàã, áåçóìåö,
Îôèöèàëüíûé "âîëüíîäóìåö".



---------------------



Ðåäêèå Ìîìåíòû Ïîâîðîòà

Îòáîð òîãî, ÷òî åñòü "èñêóññòâî" —
Âàæíåéøèì äåëîì, ïîòîìó
Ðàñêðóòÿò òî, ÷òî äðî÷èò ÷óâñòâà,
Íåñÿ çàáâåíèå óìó.

Ýìîöèè ïëþñ âûæèâàíüå —
Îñíîâà ðàáñòâà. Ðàáñêèé ñòðîé,
Ìåíÿÿ ëîçóíãè, íàçâàíüÿ,
Âåä¸ò ñ Óìîì èçâå÷íûé áîé.

Áåçóìåí ðàá. Êîãäà ðàçóìíûé,
Òî äî Ñâîáîäû òîëüêî øàã.
Áåäëàì "èñêóññòâ", "íàóêè" øóìíûé —
Ïðèêèíóâøèéñÿ äðóãîì âðàã.

Ïîõåðåí Äóõ — îñíîâà æèçíè —
Âî ëæåíàóêå, ïîòîìó
Âó÷¸íûé òàìàäîé íà òðèçíå —
ÏÎÄ Äóõîì ×èñòîìó Óìó

Çàóïîêîé îí ïðî÷èòàåò
Ïîëó÷øå, ÷åì îáðþçãøèé ïîï.
"Èñêóññòâî" äðî÷èò — ÷åðíü ìå÷òàåò.
Æèâîé ìåðòâÿê, êâàðòèðà-ãðîá

È çîìáîÿùèê ñ èíòåðíåòîì
Âåùàþò áóäòî-áû æèâûì.
Ìèð òîíåò ïîä ãîëèìûì áðåäîì,
"Êóëüòóðîé" ìåðçêîþ ãíîáèì.

Òû ×èñòûé Äóõ â ñêàôàíäðå òåëà,
À Óì ÏÎÄ Äóõîì — èíñòðóìåíò.
Ïðîçðåíüå â ýòî è åñòü Äåëî,
Èëü Ïóòü — íå óïóñòè ìîìåíò.

Ìîìåíòîâ Ïîâîðîòà ìàëî —
Äóðäîìîì ïðàâÿò øóëåðà.
Ïðîìåäëèøü — è Äóøà ïðîïàëà,
È îäîëåëà Óì ÌÓÐÀ.



---------------------



Òèïà "öèâèëèçàöèÿ"

Ïàìÿòè Ìèõàèëà Áàêóíèíà


Èñòî÷íèê ðàáñòâà, íèùåòû,
Îò÷àÿíüÿ, òîñêè è ñòðàõà —
"Öèâèëèçàöèÿ". Ñêîòû
 íåé áîëüøèíñòâî. Ðàçóìíûì — Ïëàõà.

Äóõîâíûì — Ñâåò ñêðèâèëà Òüìà
×ðåç îòáëåñêè ãíèëûõ ó÷åíèé.
 íåé ðåäêè Ïðîáëåñêè Óìà
Ñðåäè ãíîáèìûõ ïîêîëåíèé.

"Íàóêà", øêîëà — ãåíîöèä,
Ïðèêðûòûé áðîñêèìè ñëîâàìè.
Äóõ ×èñòûé â íåé ïî÷òè äîáèò
Íå ñàòàíèçìîì — äóðàêàìè,

×òî âåðÿò ×óøè, ïðåäàþò,
Ïîòâîðñòâóþò ÷ðåç Ñòðàõ óáëþäêàì.
È ñêîðî Óì è Äóõ äîáüþò
 ìèðêå ïîçîðíîì, äèêîì, æóòêîì.

Òî ïîêàçàë ãîâíèä, âîéíà
Ïðîãíîç Ïàäåíüÿ ïîäòâåðäèëà.
Óæå ñòó÷èòñÿ ׸ðò ñî Äíà.
Íà Äíå ïðåäàòåëè-äåáèëû.

Òîíêà ïðîñëîéêà — ׸ðò ïîä íåé:
Ïðîëîìÿò Îêíà Îâåðòîíà,
Âåäü Ëîæü Òîòàëüíàÿ ñèëüíåé,
×åì "âëàñòü" ïîäëîæíàÿ, "çàêîíû".

"Çàêîíû", "âëàñòü" — ìàðàçìîì "÷óìêè"
Ïîêàçàíà âòîðè÷íîñòü èõ.
Íî ñíîâà âåðÿò íåäîóìêè
 "ñâîáîäó", "âûáîð"  è â "ñâîèõ".

"Ñâîè" — íàðîäåö: çàáëóæäåíüå —
Ñîáðàíüå òðóñîâ, äóðàêîâ,
Êîòîðûõ äåðæèò Ðàçëîæåíüå
Ñèëüíåé ïðåïîíîâ è îêîâ

Âî Òüìå è ðàáñòâå. Ïåðñïåêòèâû
Ñïàñåíèÿ ñòðåìÿòñÿ â íîëü,
Âåäü äëÿ Çåìëè ìû êàê íàðûâû,
Äëÿ Äóõà — êàê äëÿ øåðñòè ìîëü.

Ïîäâîäèò Êàòàêëèçì èòîãè,
Óñèëèâàÿ Ñîëíöà ñâåò:
Ôàøèçì, ñòðåìëåíèÿ óáîãè,
Ëîæü, ÷òî âãîíÿåò â Ñòðàõ è â Áðåä.

Èòîã ïå÷àëåí. Âåê ïîñëåäíèé —
Äíåñü âîçíèêàåò â Äíå ïðîëîì.
Àä ïðèêðûâàþò ÑÌÐÀÄîâ áðåäíè,
Ðóëÿ äîâåð÷èâûì ñêîòîì.



---------------------



Ìóäðîñòü — ñèëà...
Ñðåäü äåáèëîâ?!
Óñêîëüçàåò Ñòàðèíà
Ñðåäü Òîòàëüíîãî Ãîâíà.
Ïîêàçàë øìóðäÿê-íàìîðäíèê —
Ìèðîì ïðàâèò âòîðîãîäíèê,
Íî ôîðìàëüíî, ïîòîìó
ÒÂÀÐÈ øëþò åìó Öå-Ó.



---------------------



"Íàóêà äîáðà"

"Òîìó, êòî íå ïîñòèã íàóêè äîáðà, âñÿêàÿ èíàÿ íàóêà ïðèíîñèò ëèøü âðåä".
Ìèøåëü äå Ìîíòåíü, XVI-ûé âåê.


Íàóêà äîáðà —
Êàêàÿ ìóðà!
Îòâåäàòü ïîðà
×óøü, Ñòðàõ — äíåñü ïîðà
ÒÎÒÀËÜÍÎÃÎ ÇËÀ.




---------------------



Ôèòîôàãè-ëþäîåäû

"Âñòðå÷àþòñÿ ëè ñðåäè ëþäîåäîâ âåãåòàðèàíöû?"
Ñòàíèñëàâ Åæè Ëåö.


Ôèòîôàãè-ëþäîåäû:
Âîïëîùåíüå Äè÷è, Áðåäà
×ðåç "ñîçíàíèå" èä¸ò,
Âåäü âñåÿäåí èäèîò.
Âíåøíå äóøêà. Êîëü ïîñëóøàòü
Ðå÷è "äîáðûå" — ïðåëàò.
Êîëü êîïíóòü ïîãëóáæå — ãàä,
Ïðèãîòîâèâøèéñÿ êóøàòü.
Ñúåñò ñ êîñòÿìè, ïåðåâàðèò.
Ýòî çíà÷èò â Ëæèâîé Ìàðè —
Òû äëÿ îíîãî ëèøü ñðåäñòâî.
Íèêóäà îò íèõ íå äåòüñÿ —
Ïîäëûõ òâàðåé áîëüøèíñòâî:
Ãåíîöèäà òîðæåñòâî,
×òî ñæèðàåò åñòåñòâî,
Îñòàâëÿÿ êàëà âàë —
Ìèð â ôåêàëèÿõ ïðîïàë.




---------------------



Áëàãîðàçóìüå â êðàñíîðå÷üè —
Îòæèâøèé íûíå ýëåìåíò.
Ìàíèïóëÿöèè ïðåäòå÷à —
Ýìîöèé øêâàë. Ëîâè ìîìåíò,

Òðåòüåñòåïåííûå äåòàëè
Ñëàãàÿ â ìîòèâàöèé ïàçë.
Ïðîêîëþòñÿ â äåòàëÿõ âðàëè —
È ñòàíåò âèäíî, ÷åé íàêàç.

Òàê â "òåððîðèçìå", êîëü îñòûíåøü,
Çàìåòèøü ìåëêèå øòðèõè.
×üè èíòåðåñû — âìèã ïðèêèíåøü.
Ñïåöñëóæáû, âûâîäû ëåãêè,

Èñïîëíèëè çàêàç óáëþäêîâ,
×òî ïðàâÿò ìèðîì èç Òåí`è.
Ïóãàþò ÒÂÀÐÈ íåäîóìêîâ —
×ðåç Ëîæü è Ñòðàõ âåñü ìèð íàãíè!..




---------------------



Ñæèãàíèå áèîìóñîðà

Íàðîä, ïðåâðàòèâøèéñÿ â ìóñîð, —
Èì ïðàâèò ÒÂÀÐܨ áåç èñêóñîâ.
Áîëüøèå ãðÿäóò ïåðåìåíû —
Ñæèãàíèå ìåðçêîãî òëåíà.

À âïðî÷åì, èíûå íàðîäöû
Íå äàëüøå îò ßìû: áîðîòüñÿ
Ñî Çëîì, ÷òî ïëåíèëî, íå ñìåþò,
À òîëüêî ïàñóòñÿ è áëåþò.

Ïå÷ü ãðååòñÿ — Ñîëíöå â çàøêàëå.
 Ìèð Äóõà ëèøü òå, êòî íå ïàëè
Ïðåä ãàäñêèì ìèðêîì íà êîëåíè —
Èõ ìàëî ñðåäü âñåõ ïîêîëåíèé.




---------------------



Ïðèÿòèå Çëà

"Íåèçáåæíîå ïðèìè äîñòîéíî".
Ëóöèé Ñåíåêà, I-ûé âåê í.ý.


Íåèçáåæíîñòü Çëà â Äóðäîìå
Ìèðîâîì — èçâå÷íûé ôàêò,
Ðàç ñîçíàíüå ñëîâíî â êîìå,
Äóõ ãíîáèì — æèçÄíü êàê òåðàêò.
Ôàòóì Çëà ïðèìè äîñòîéíî?
×óøü, ìàðàçì! Íå ïðèíèìàòü!
Ïóñòü Äóøà áóðëèò! Ñïîêîéíà? —
ÒÂÀÐÈ ñòàëè äîáèâàòü
Óì è Äóõ òâîé ÷ðåç ïðèÿòüå,
Âûæèâàíèå. Âïåð¸ä! —
Ñûïü êëåâðåòàì Çëà ïðîêëÿòüÿ,
Ïîíîñè ïîêîðíûé ñáðîä!!!
Ðàçáèðàé Ëîæü ïî ôðàãìåíòàì,
Ñêðåïû Ëæè èññëåäóé òîæ.
Ïðèãîâîð ñòàâü ýêñêðåìåíòàì
Ëæåíàóê, ðåëèãèé. Ìíîæü
Ïðîòèâëåíèå ÷ðåç Ñëîâî
È Äåëà — èùè ïóòè.
Èëü ìû÷àòü òû áóäåøü ñíîâà:
"Ñ÷àñòüå â æèçíè íå íàéòè..."
Íå íàéä¸øü — ñïàñ¸øü òåì Äóøó,
Çàùèòèøü ñâîé êóöûé óì.
Ëèøü Ïñèõåþ â Àäå ñëóøàé:
Ãëÿäü, óæå íå òóãîäóì.
Óì ÏÎÄ Äóõîì ðàñöâåòàåò,
Ñèëû ìíîæàòñÿ — âïåð¸ä!
Èäèîò âî Òüìå ìå÷òàåò,
Àä âçðûâàåò íå_óðîä.
Ñàì âçîðâèñü, êîëü íåò òðîòèëà
Äåë è î÷åíü òî÷íûõ Ñëîâ.
Íå îöåíÿò òî äåáèëû,
Íî òîãäà òû íå Óëîâ.
Ìèð êàê ïðóä. Íå ëîâÿò ðûáêó —
Èçâëåêàåòñÿ ãàââàõ.
Ïóñòü ñåé÷àñ ñîçíàíüå çûáêî —
Ïðîòèâëåíüå òâîé àëëàõ:
Îáðåò¸øü òîãäà òû ßñíîñòü,
Ñòðàõ èñ÷åçíåò — Äóõ ñïàñ¸ò.
Ïðîòèâëåíüÿ Çëó "íàïðàñíîñòü"
×óøüþ ñòàíåò. ×óøü óéä¸ò.
×óøü è Ëîæü óéäóò. Â îñòàòêå
×èñòûé Äóõ. È îí åñòü òû.
Òå, êòî æäóò èëè "íàä ñõâàòêîé" —
Ðûáà â ïðóäå, ðÿäîì — Ðòû...




---------------------



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?



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




“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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




“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.



---------------------



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!!!”



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




“Civilization” — rot in crown,
A polished cage that drags you down.
Truth is crushed — the fools comply.
Wake — or sink, and rot, and die.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.”



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



“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.



---------------------




“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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



“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.



---------------------




We sell the lie, we set the frame.
Science bends into the game.
Cash decides what truth will be —
And shame dissolves in industry.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




The breach is open — norms collapse.
Rot is sold as culture’s map.
Screens of zombies, minds gone blind —
A herd replaces humankind.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.”



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




“Happiness is coming soon…”
A lie that echoes past the ruin.
Waiting turns to hollow time —
And ends in dust, in loss, in grime.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




“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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




Emptiness — pure and bright.
Walk alone toward inner light.
Crowds decay, but seekers rise —
Find the world inside your eyes.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.



---------------------



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.



---------------------




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.




---------------------



“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.



---------------------




“Right course” they chant, with empty cheer —
No matter where we end up here.
The map is lost, the slogan clear.




---------------------



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.









---------------------



ÑÌÐÀÄíîé Ôàøèçì

 òóàëåòå ýòèêåòà
Ïîçäîðîâàòüñÿ çàïðåò.
Ñêîëüêî â ìèðå äè÷è, áðåäà!
×óøü è áðåä áüþò êàê ñòèëåò:
×òî åñòåñòâåííî — ïîäðåæóò,
Òîëåðàñòèþ âíåäðÿò.
Ëîæüþ íåäîóìêàì âðåæóò —
È êðóãîì ïðîäàæíûé ãàä,
Ïîä÷èíÿòüñÿ ×óøè ðàä.
Ñòðàõ ÷ðåç Ëîæü êàê àâòîìàò
Áü¸ò. Èïðèò — Òîòàëüíûé ÑÌÐÀÄ.
Ïîêàçàë øìóðäÿê-íàìîðäíèê,
Ïðàâèò ìèðîì âñåì Íåãîäíèê,
Ñêðûòûé ñ ãëàç, à ïðåçèäåíò —
Êëîóí ÑÌÐÀÄîâ. "Âðà÷" — êàê ìåíò.
Ñïëîøü èä¸ò ýêñïåðèìåíò
Ïðåâðàùåíüÿ â ýêñêðåìåíò
×åëîâåêà — Çëó ïîòåõà.
À ãîâíèä ïîçîðíûé âåõà:
Ïîä ïÿòîþ Ïóñòîáðåõà
Ñòðîÿò Ëàãåðü — Ðåéõà ýõî.
Áóäåò Ëàãåðü Ìèðîâîé
Äóøåãóáíûé Öèôðîâîé.
Ñ íå ïðîáèòîé ãîëîâîé
È çàòðàâëåííîé Äóøîé —
Çàëå÷èòü ïîä ÑÌÐÀÄîâ âîé!
Áóäåò çäðàâûé ìåõàíèçì
Ñ ÷èïîì. Ìèðîâîé ôàøèçì
Ïîáåæäàåò — Ðàçóì òàåò.
Íåäîóìîê æå ìå÷òàåò —
Âñ¸ îêåé óðîä ñ÷èòàåò.
Îäèíî÷êà Ìåðçîñòü õàåò,
Áåç ôàøèçìà èñ÷åçàåò —
Äóõ è óì íå ïðèíèìàþò
Àä çåìíîé, è Ñèëû òàþò.
Íî ïîìîæåò Êàòàêëèçì —
Îí ñìåò¸ò ÑÌÐÀÄí`îé Ôàøèçì.
Êàòàêëèçì óæ íàñòóïàåò:
Ñîëíöà ñèëà âîçðàñòàåò —
ÏÎÑÒÅÏÅÍÍÎ Àä ñæèãàåò.
Íîðìàë¸ê — íå_òðóï ñ÷èòàåò.
Ìèð ñêîïëåíüå ñìðàäíûõ òðóïîâ:
Íå çàìåòèòü ýòî — ãëóïî...




---------------------



Æèæà

Òû áðåä¸øü ñêâîçü Òüìó ÊÓÄÀ-ÒÎ.
Çà Íåâåäåíüå ðàñïëàòà
Æä¸ò òåáÿ â êîíöå äîðîãè.
Êîëü ñòðåìëåíèÿ óáîãè,
Ñòàíåøü òû ïðîäàæíûì ãàäîì,
À òâîé "ïóòü" — Êðîìåøíûì Àäîì.
Ýãî-öèêë: ê ñåáå íå ñòðîãè
Èäèîòû — "ïîëóáîãè".
Ïÿòà÷êàìè ïðîðàñòàþò.
È ðîãàìè, êîëü ñ÷èòàþò
×òî ïî ãîëîâàì èäòè
Ëó÷øèé ñïîñîá îáðåñòè
"Áëàãà", "ñ÷àñòüå" è òý.ïý. —
×òî ìå÷òîé â ãíèëîì ðàáå.
Ðàá áåçóìíûé â Àäå íîðìà —
Ïîæèðàåò Çåìëþ Ïðîðâà,
Òàêæå Ñèëû, Óì è Äóõ.
Ãàäêîñòü ãëóïûõ Àäà ñëóã
Ïîêàçàë ãîâíèä, âîéíà
Âñêðûëà Äè÷ü è Ìåðçîñòü Äíà.
Âñ¸ òå÷¸ò íà Äíî. Âåðøèíû —
Åäèíèöàì. Àäà äæèíû
Ëîâêî óïðàâëÿþò Äíîì,
Òîëåðàñòèè ãîâíîì
Ìàæà ïñèõîâ, î÷åíü ëèõî
Îïóñêàÿ ïëàíêó íèæå —
Íîâûé Àä, ÷òî ãàä÷å, áëèæå.
Óòîíóòü â çëîâîííîé æèæå —
Çíà÷èò "ñ÷àñòüå îáðåñòè",
Âåäü íå íàäî âïðåäü èäòè.
Òüìà ñãóñòèëàñü — ñòàëà Æèæåé.
Ïóòü — çàïëûâîì. Ñîâåñòü — ãðûæåé.
×åñòíîñòü — îïóõîëü, à óì
Ïîäìåí¸í íà õèòðîñòü. Øóì
 ãîëîâå ïîõîæ íà ìûñëü.
Èñïàðèëñÿ Äóõ, à Ñëèçü
Âñ¸ ïëîòíåå — Àä ïîäëåå.
×åðåç ×óøü îí ñêðûòü óìååò
Âñå ïðîáëåìû, èçìåíåíüÿ —
Óñèëåíüå Ðàçëîæåíüÿ.
Îòûùè ïóòè èç Àäà,
Èëè â Ñëèçè ñòàíåøü ãàäîì!..



Âàðèàíò. Íîâûé Àä, ÷òî ãàæå, áëèæå.



---------------------



Âíóøàåìîñòü ÷åðíè

"Ïðåæäå âñåãî íóæíû ôàêòû, à óæ ïîòîì èõ ìîæíî ïåðåâèðàòü".
Ìàðê Òâåí.


Ïåðåâèðàíèå ÁÅÇ ôàêòîâ
Äåøåâëå, ÷åì èõ ÑÎÇÄÀÂÀÒÜ.
Òàê âàë èñêóññòâåííûõ òåðàêòîâ
Äîâîëüíî òðóäíî ïðîäîëæàòü.

Äðóãîå äåëî ëæå-áîëåçíè,
Íàìîðäíèê, áîåâîé øìóðäÿê:
Äëÿ îãëóïëåíèÿ ïîëåçíåé
"Çàáîòà", ÷åì çàøêàë àòàê.

À øìóðäÿêè è ëæå-ëå÷åíüå
Óáüþò ïîáîëüøå. È ïðîñòîð
Ôàíòàçèè â èçîáðåòåíüè
"Õâîðîá" íàìíîãî áîëüøå. Âçäîð

Âïåíäþðü òîëïå êàêîé óãîäíî —
Âñ¸ ïðèìóò: ïîêàçàë ãîâíèä.
Ìîðæîâûé òðèïïåð — òîæå ãîäíî:
Âîé ÑÌÐÀÄîâ áûñòðî óáåäèò.



---------------------



Ïðîäóêòîì ñëó÷àÿ íå ìîæåò
Áûòü Ìèðîâîé Ãíèëîé Áàðäàê:
Ïîäâîõè, Ëîæü óáëþäêè ìíîæàò,
Åñòü ïëàí î÷åðåäíûõ àòàê

Íà Äóõ è Ðàçóì. Ëèøü ïðèäóðêè
Ïîâåðÿò â ïàðòèé âîëüíûé ðîñò
È â òî, ÷òî ñîõðàíåíüå øêóðêè
Ïðèäóðêà ãëàâíûé èõ âîïðîñ.

Âñÿ èõ èãðà — "ñâîáîäíûé âûáîð",
Èñòî÷íèê äåíåã ÷àñòî îáù,
Èäåéêè îáùåãî ïîøèáà.
È êîìïðîìàò íà ãëàâ âñåîáù.

Ïðèìåð ãîâíèä: âñå ï-ðåçèäåíòû,
Ïàðëàìåíòû è ïàðòèé òüìà
Ëåãëè ïîä ÒÂÀÐÅÉ ýêñêðåìåíòû
Ñî ðòàìè, ïîëíûìè äåðüìà.




---------------------



The Pit

“I” is a pit—
Ego’s regime
Drives humans straight
Into the yoke. Extreme

It seizes fast
The dull, the blind:
The “I” will pay—
In chains you’ll find

A thousand more.
It kills the soul.
The end is poor:
A slave. A fool.

Go—seek Pure Spirit.
That’s the release
From hellish servants,
From mind’s disease.



---------------------




“I” is a pit—
A chain, a lie.
It breeds the slave,
It makes you die.

Break to the Spirit—
Or rot in mind.
Hell owns the “I”
That walks you blind.



---------------------



Sludge

You stumble through the Dark—somewhere.
For ignorance, the price waits there
At road’s end. If your aims are small,
You’ll sell yourself—you’ll rot, you’ll fall.

Your “path” becomes a pitch-black Hell,
The ego-loop you serve too well:
Not strict with self—half-gods, they pose,
While snouts and horns begin to grow

If trampling heads is seen as right—
The fastest way to seize delight,
“Success”, “happiness”, empty lies
That rot inside a slave’s disguise.

Mad slaves in Hell are normal breed—
A maw devours Earth and feed:
Your strength, your mind, your very soul.
Foul servants play their stupid role.

The filth exposed by plague and war—
Revealed the depth, the rotten core.
All sinks to bottom. Peaks are rare.
Hell’s genies rule the sludge with care,

Smearing minds with “tolerance” slime,
They drop the bar time after time.
A newer Hell—more foul, more near.
To drown in stench is “joy” here:

No need to move, no need to fight—
Just sink and call the darkness light.
The Dark condensed—it turned to sludge.
Your path—a swim. Your conscience—a bulge.

Honesty—a tumor named,
The mind by cunning is replaced.
The noise inside pretends to thought.
The Spirit’s gone—the slime is wrought

More dense, more vile—Hell growing tight.
Through nonsense it conceals the blight,
All shifts, decay, corruption’s spread—
A deepening rot, a living dead.

Find your way out of this Hell—
Or in the slime you’ll sink as well.



---------------------




Sludge is the Dark made thick and near—
You drown, and call that drowning “clear”.

No thought—just noise. No soul—just rot.
Escape—or be what sludge has got.



---------------------



Putrid Fascism

In etiquette’s toilet—don’t greet, don’t speak.
How much of madness, how much of the bleak!
Absurdity stabs like a sharpened blade:
What’s natural—cut, what’s twisted—parade.

They force-feed “tolerance”, pump it through lies,
And fools take the hit—obedient eyes.
All around—traitors, all eager to bow,
To nonsense they kneel—conditioned now.

Fear via lies—like a firing gun.
Gas from the media—everyone’s stunned.
Masks and injections—the farce laid bare:
A scoundrel unseen runs all the affair.

The “president”? Puppet. The “doctor”? control.
A grand experiment—erase the soul,
Reduce the human to waste, to grime—
A joke for Evil, a staged design.

That CowID mark—a shameful line:
Under loud liars they build the design
Of camps reborn—Reich’s dark echo,
A global prison, digital, techno.

With minds unpierced and hunted souls,
They “heal” you under media’s roles.
A “perfect system”—a chip inside:
World fascism spreads—reason denied.

The fool still dreams: “It’s all okay.”
The lone one curses the rot at play—
Without this system he disappears,
For Spirit and mind reject such fears.

A cataclysm will break this scheme,
Will crush this stench, this rotten regime.
It’s coming closer—the Sun burns higher,
Step by step it cleanses by fire.

The “normal” sees—he’s not yet dead.
The world’s a pile of the stinking, the spread—
To miss it all is to choose to be blind…



---------------------




They gas you with lies—call poison “care”,
Build camps of code while you just stare.

Think—or be waste in a managed scheme.
Burn or be fuel for a rotting dream.



---------------------



Not by Chance

This global rot is no accident,
No random chaos—fully meant:
Deceits are bred, traps multiply,
Planned strikes on Spirit, Reason, mind.

Only fools will buy the tale
That parties rise by “free” detail,
Or think their skin—their petty hide—
Is all that matters in the ride.

Their whole game—“free choice” on display,
One money source behind the play,
Same recycled ideas sold,
With dirt on every leader’s hold.

Just look at CowID—clear proof:
Presidents all, beneath one roof,
Parliaments, parties—bent, aligned,
Before the filth that runs mankind.



---------------------




No “chance” made this—it's built, designed.
They strike the Spirit, break the mind.

“Free choice” is staged. One hand, one scheme.
Wake up—or rot inside the dream.



---------------------



The Hammer

“If the only tool you have is a hammer,
it’s tempting to treat everything as a nail.”
— Abraham Maslow


A fascist system—hammer’s law.
You’re perched upon a narrow bar.
To tyrants—you’re a nail, no more.
You squeak—bang down—then split and scatter,

Driven through the beam in lines
Of generations, struck in time.
The pole will crack from endless blows—
Collapse will follow, as it grows.

No doubt this system grants no ease,
No slightest mercy, no release—
And so, this age—the final phase.



---------------------




Hammer rules—you are the nail.
Speak—get struck. Resist—you fail.

Blow by blow the beam will break.
Last age now. The end’s awake.



---------------------



The Suggestibility of the Herd

“First get your facts straight—then you can distort them.”
— Mark Twain


Distortion without facts is cheaper by far
Than forging the evidence, building a scar.
That’s why a flood of staged attacks
Is harder to keep than simple hoax acts.

Far easier—fake disease, fear’s mask,
A “caring” cover for every task:
For dumbing down, it works far better
Than constant shocks that barely matter.

These potions, shots, and sham “cures” sold
Will kill off more, if truth be told;
And endless room for lies appears
In crafting new invented “fears”.

Feed any nonsense to the crowd—
They’ll swallow all, obedient, loud.
CowID proved it—clear as day:
Invent a plague—they’ll kneel and pray.



---------------------




No facts? No problem—lies are cheap.
Fear dressed as “care” runs strong and deep.

Name any plague—the herd will kneel.
That’s how you bend what minds can feel.



---------------------



Pseudo-Science

Not professors—proto-priests,
Not a doctrine—dogma feast.
Double purpose, plain to see:
Kill the mind and forge the lie.

They erase what thought remains,
Bind all minds in lying chains.
Pseudo-science—iron grip:
No one escapes its tightening grip.

“Heresy” is crushed outright—
Sect and prison of the mind.
That’s why lies grow mountainous—
Heaps of filth, enormous, blind.

Only “useful” tools survive,
Those that strip the world to waste,
Keep the stench of power alive—
Donkeys fed that rotten taste.

Only donkeys still believe
Theories dressed as proven fact.
Check it once—you’ll quickly see
Endless flaws they try to mask.

Contact lost with what is real—
Only schemes, and schemes are dead.
Sorting, sorting—till the world
Turns into a latrine instead.

They proclaim themselves “the head”,
But in truth—they serve below,
Serving vile inhuman hands
That destroy all life we know.

Fake “viruses”, poisoned shots—
So much “science” in their claims…
And their “treatment protocols”?
Madness dressed in labcoat games.



---------------------




Dogma dressed as “science”—tight.
Kills the mind and breeds the lie.

Check the cracks—the whole thing rots.
Think—or drown in poisoned plots.



---------------------



Murk

The mind’s been driven out,
Numb soullessness spreads fast.
A servile loudmouth shouts—
A vile, blank psych at last—

And now that breed’s the mass.
The inhuman lead the ball.
Lies, Evil—triumph here—
And you’re near the fall.

But if you won’t go down—
Turn inward. Dare that move.
In Spirit, all this blight
Is only muddy groove.

Stir up that murky mess,
Laugh at the filth and slime,
Then go on living clean—
Your mind, your rule, your time.

For soon this Hell will break,
And rightly swept away—
Each bought and rotting fraud
Will choke and fade to clay.

In Spirit—life will rise.
Go there—step in, be bold.
All else is only slime,
Last Days’ decay, grown cold.



---------------------




They killed the mind—installed the rot.
Turn inward—cut the knot.

All this is sludge—just shake it loose.
Stand in the Spirit—or be the noose.



---------------------



Shame and Disgrace

A brutal burden—
To bear this shame.
The Spirit’s gone,
The Will’s a flame
Snuffed out—
And Reason slain.

Just scraps remain—
And even those
Are crushed and mocked.
Few humans stand—
The rest are rot.

Bought-out vermin,
Traitors abound.
The fools rejoice
In filth they’ve found.

Not a world—
A heap of waste,
A universal
Shame laid bare.
The bottom’s broken—
Nothing lower.

Just sweep this trash
To hell—and done.
So hold a little—
Just endure,
But keep your mind
Intact, and sure.

Save your soul as well—
Fight back this ill.
Don’t heed the scum—
Or you will kneel.



---------------------




Shame fills the world—
The mind is slain.

Hold fast inside—
Or join the chain.



---------------------



The Loo

“The learned world”—
A rotten loo.
A range for minds—
They shoot at you.

Believe—and beg.
Don’t trust—just test.
The Spirit’s door—
By Light be pressed.

Heaps of lies—
Wake up, then laugh.
Mirages dark—
Don’t serve that path.

Scum serve the Dark—
The world’s in filth.
A flaw in mind—
Sheep bleat their guilt.

For sheep, that “mind”
Is just a sieve.
They’re full, they grin—
Yet nothing live.

The range will fall,
The loo will rot.
The world will rise—
Let Light be God.



---------------------




Rotten loo—
They shoot your mind.

Test the truth—
Don’t walk in blind.

Break the range—
Let Light remain.



---------------------



Darkness

Darkness is not the lack of light—
It is total, active night.
A force of absolute decay.
Trust it—and you drift away,

Becoming beast of burden, bent—
And all your song is spent.
The scum will load you down with pain,
Till every backbone snaps in vain.

And fools are crushed in growing piles—
No limit to the depth of trials.
The manufactured grief expands—
By vicious hands, by rotten plans.

The donkeys numb, devoid of sight,
Have lost all bond with Spirit’s light.
So they endure, so they obey—
And multiply the darkened way.

The world of Light is beyond split,
Beyond the dual mind’s narrow slit.
This trap was set by filth and lies—
To breed confusion in disguise.

To mix all things in one false scheme—
That is the peak of fool’s dream.
No greater idiocy exists
Than fake “spiritual” mists.

When you are Spirit—pure and whole—
No “other” stands, no broken role.
Darkness retreats without a trace—
Only clear Mind remains in place.



---------------------




Dark is not absence—it is force.
It bends the mind, it breaks the course.

Become the Spirit—whole, awake.
And all that Dark will simply break.



---------------------



Tick

Tick-tock—
time is leaving.
If you’re a fool,
or seed of grieving
hell-born root—
then only tick—tick
annihilation
waits for you.

That “nervous tick”
is mind’s stagnation—
it fades, it fades…
and all profanation,
all that IS—
ALL that once seemed real—
in one sharp instant
will unseal

and vanish.

Triumph of evil
falls apart.
The world revives—
a new start.



---------------------




Tick-tock—time breaks the mind in two.
Fool or seed—there’s nothing you can do.

All collapses—false and true.
World returns. The light breaks through.



---------------------



Candies

From filth we try to make “sweet candy,”
From lies we craft a “truth” so handy.
We “heal” with poison, cold and neat—
And slowly kill each soul we meet.

Betrayal here becomes a trade,
Corruption like a sip is made.
In world of liars, bought and sold,
We rot like cattle, young and old.

A few still fight—but find no ear
Among the herd that lives in fear.
That’s just the cost of slow decay—
They listen only scum and grey.

From filth no god would ever build—
So soon we’ll be discarded, killed.
In higher Mind all things are tight:
Clean being is not norm—but light.



---------------------




From filth they make their “sweet” disguise.
From lies they forge their “truthful” lies.

A few resist. The rest obey.
And rot becomes the normal way.



---------------------



Public…

“Public people”… or rather—sold.
Souls traded cheap, for crumbs of gold.
They feed the stream of staged deceit,
Spreading lies on every street.

When propaganda’s crowned as king,
A new Goebbels pulls the string—
Then silence fits the rotten mass,
Not crawling into TV glass.

The crowd has sunk beneath the floor,
And lower still they drift once more.
No depth remains but Hell ahead—
Or better off, to choose the dead.

Ordinary street-born vice
Looks pure beside their low device.
A common thug seems saint and mild
Next to the filth that’s freely styled.

They sold it all—honor, shame,
Mind and dignity and name.
And so they earn their Hellish place—
Where fascist systems breed their base.

Soon Hell itself will feel the strain—
Such filth has never filled the main.
No age has seen such brazen roar,
Such hollow, obscene uproar.



---------------------




Public “humans”—sold and spent.
Lies for hire, truth bent.

When filth runs speech and calls it “right,”
Even Hell feels too tight.



---------------------



Idiots Finished Us All

Idiots have done the final blow—
That’s how this world has come to go.
The darkest enemy we meet
Is fool who swallows lies as truth to eat.

In former days they waged their fight
With steel and guns in open sight.
Now weapons are just crafted lies—
Multiply them, and truth just dies.

And fools will crush the “enemy,”
Till nothing human left can be.
A new Goebbels leads the frame,
And bureaucrats enforce the same.

Fake viruses, endless wars—
Sleep will come behind closed doors.
If fools believe each lie they’re fed,
They build the very force they dread.



---------------------




Idiots finish what they start—
Lies replace both mind and heart.

Give them fear—they do the rest.
Fascism lives where fools invest.



---------------------



Boys and Basements

Boys are like fragile fingers—
easy to snap in two,
when in basement “schooling” lingers
dulling all that’s true.

That’s no school—it’s sinking ruin,
factory of the vile,
where among a thousand ruined
two won’t keep the soul alive.

That’s why every “curriculum”
is written by decay,
and the parents—lost and numbed—
have drifted far away.

Lost connection with all honor,
lost the mind’s own thread.
Just exhausted, broken workers
feeding lies like bread.

Revenge? There is no such notion—
only endless feed.
Average life is dull motion
of consumption and need.

But tell me—truly, face to face:
what have you done in this place?
Did you fight the lie’s expansion,
bring the dawn to thought’s dark mansion?

Light is nearing its conclusion—
this is not illusion.
It is ending of betrayal,
greed, submission, slow decay—
and all that feeds corruption’s play.



---------------------




Boys are fingers—easily broken.
Basement schools keep minds unspoken.

No revenge—just silent decay.
Truth is rising. End of play.



---------------------



Burning Bio-Waste

A people turned into refuse and dust—
now ruled by a beastly, parasitic crust.
Great changes are gathering, rising in flame—
the burning of rot, of decay without name.

And yet other tribes are no closer to light—
they stand at the edge of the same endless pit.
They dare not resist what has taken their will,
just graze in submission—obedient still.

The furnace is warming—Sun flares in its rise.
Only those who refused to kneel or to lie
before the grotesque little world of the blind
can enter the Spirit, leave ruin behind.

And they are so few in the long line of time—
a spark in the darkness, defying decline.



---------------------




Waste becomes people—then burns in the fire.
Ruled by the beast and sinking still lower.

Only the few who refused to fall
enter the Spirit beyond it all.



---------------------



Poison

“We are troubled by your reproduction. And although we have learned to regulate your numbers (by creating perfect conditions for occupational diseases, poisoning water, food, and air, and producing instruments of killing, among many other methods), still this problem remains unresolved.”
— from a statement attributed to the ruling inhuman elite, Moscow, 1991


For long, we’ve been slowly poisoned here,
like cockroaches in concrete lairs—
and those who rule will not disappear
until all minds become despair.

All is infected: food and “cure”,
the water, the air, the endless stream.
They don’t just poison insect life—
they hunt the human being’s dream.

Dumbing-down is the main design—
the stupid are easy to control.
Poison in fields is no accident sign,
and hormones in meat play their role.

This slow corruption works unseen,
for those who swallow every lie.
A world of madmen is made clean
of reason—only fools comply.

But here’s the flaw in their cruel plan:
the foolish multiply with ease.
Yet even that can be reduced
with GMO beneath the feed.

For mice in just the second wave
already suffer from the bait—
their bodies fail, their lines decay,
their reproduction fades away.

And so the same awaits mankind,
if blind enough to poison self.
So many tools of planned decline
are placed upon the global shelf.

A fake “virus” was designed for war,
with poisoned shots for mass control—
to thin the herd, and even more:
to turn survivors into tools,

soulless cattle of total rule,
for whom even Hell would seem like myth.
Such horror you will never dream—
and now the masks have all come off.

The masks of fascism in disguise,
as “humanism” or “free thought.”
This monster did not fall from skies—
we opened every door it sought.

Only destruction now remains—
to call the Sun’s fire to the ground,
to bear the weight of all this pain,
and drag the inhuman down.



---------------------




Poison flows through food and air,
they shape a world of dull despair.

Masks are gone—the truth is bare:
we built the cage and left it there.

Burn it down—no other way.
Let the Sun erase the gray.



---------------------



Black Wall

“And you dare call us criminals? No. You are the true criminals. You allow us to do whatever we wish. You play at being kings, leaders, presidents. You are the ones who need goats to lead the herd of sheep to slaughter.”
— from a statement attributed to the ruling inhuman elite, Moscow, 1991


One out of three to face the gun,
the rest to life behind closed doors,
for cowardly betrayal done
against the task God once imposed.

That is the minimum they claim
for genocide across the land.
And even if we’re chained in shame—
fascism never leaves its stand.

And we ourselves are to blame—
for being blind, for being tame.
All serve the system without doubt,
trained slaves from childhood all throughout.

The design of total servitude:
the slave knows not that he is slave.
Born into moral decay and crude,
his mind and pride are never brave.

All effort fails if we refuse
to see the chains we still obey.
We stay obedient dogs to lose
our dignity in every way.

We drop all games of “citizen”,
and fantasies of noble mind.
On Judgment Day, no one will care
if prison or despair confined.

Those who still carry mind and fire,
despite the centuries of pain,
who did not yield to cunning liars—
will face the final fight again.

Though forces are not equal here,
you cease to be a slave in war.
Though fools are shields for those in power,
and fighters weakened more and more—

there is but one remaining road:
to shatter all this poisoned mess,
enduring pain, refusing load,
and purge the inhuman excess.



---------------------




They call us guilty—but it’s you
who fed the chain and made it true.

Wake up—or kneel until you break.
This war is all that’s left to take.



---------------------



In Hell

You rot inside this Hell made flesh,
yet busy with some petty mess.
Your mind is drowned in shameful haze,
a madness dressed in complex phrase.

Idiots surround you—executioners too,
now preaching “light” and “health” to you.
And you stay silent, weak, afraid—
a cow-like patience softly displayed.

The last remains of human light
are swallowed by a growing night
that now disguises itself as care—
mountains of lies are rising there.

Betrayal has become routine,
corruption now is openly seen.
We wait for inhuman hands to strike—
just whining softly, weak and slight.

There is but one way left to go:
to blast this Hell and end the show.
To stop the shame, erase the stain—
so only humans rise again.

So call the Sun’s consuming fire—
let it destroy this vile empire.
The Earth will cool, the world restart—
and only light will fill its heart.



---------------------




You rot in Hell and call it “life”,
while lies and silence sharpen strife.

Burn it down—no other way.
Let Sun erase the final day.



---------------------



The Last Warrior

Rise up, last warrior—take your stand,
for doom has already swept the land.
The Hell has come that once was planned
in lairs of evil, dark and grand.

Few humans now are left alive,
the Spirit fades, can barely survive.
The mind itself is almost gone—
the final hour is rolling on.

That life remains, however weak,
where honor and some reason speak.
Where even if half-buried, far,
the sense of darkness still holds scar.

For all that now is done below
is darkness in its final flow—
where human shape is soon erased
and slave-formed cattle take its place.

The final battle long was lost,
yet still one call remains at cost:
to summon Fire from above,
to stop this game of fallen love—

this scheme once set for humankind,
now twisted, rotting, left behind:
a blend of lies and violence,
of betrayal, void of sense.

No resurrection waits ahead—
that hope has long been cold and dead.
And that alone is their success,
the inhuman world’s progress.

So Fire must now be called once more
to purge the filth, to cleanse the core.
Together with it, let them fall—
that is the only way for all.

For Earth may yet be purified
if we ignite the Sun inside.
Its power burns like living flame—
a lab that wipes out every stain.

So draw the morning’s Sun to you,
let all its force burn straight and true.
Pull down its light, its endless ray,
and let it scorch this dark away.



---------------------




Rise, last warrior—hold the line.
Hell has come in human sign.

Call the Fire—let it burn.
Only then will Earth return.



---------------------



The Crypt

It’s good I’ve already spent it all—
money that came so easy, free.
If I had built a “power hall,”
a crypt of strength—who’d be left in me?

Give in to greed, and here you’ll find
slavery dressed as wealth and gain.
You’ll vanish quietly, well-designed,
caught by crooks who rule the game.

Here money tightens every chain—
you spin like a trapped and foolish beast,
a shiny trinket on your tail,
a human being “reprocessed” least.

Cunning replaces what was mind.
Greed takes the place of mercy’s trace.
You rot into a stinking pile—
no effort saves a fallen face.

No prayers will wash that debt away—
for money is the world’s own sin.
So count yourself in luck today
if you refuse that marching line.

The rich are easy to control,
and easy to force to serve the scheme.
That’s why this system breeds its roles:
obedient tools of filth supreme.



---------------------




Money turns mind into chain.
Greed becomes the only gain.

Walk away—or be erased.
In this crypt, all light is caged.



---------------------



The House Is Burning

Your house is burning—flame grows higher,
the fire climbs, it knows no rest.
You’ve lost the Spirit, lost its fire—
the banner once that led you best.

The root of life, your only power,
forgotten now, erased, denied.
And now the flood of ruin towers—
you stand as if at funeral tide.

We bury world—it’s dull, decayed,
a hollow thing, both blind and small.
Evil is king, on throne displayed,
and lies have turned to dagger-call.

The crowd is chained, the mind is dead,
fascism spreads through every vein.
Fake “cures” are poured on every head,
and rot is sold as medicine.

They “treat” the world with rotten core,
this parasite in human skin.
Its triumph comes—but nothing more—
for now it’s far too late within.

The global madhouse will ignite—
the Sun will rise and take command.
It will not let this herd of blight
continue stench across the land.

It burns it all. That is the price
for sleep, for blindness, for the lie.
For what has rotted into vice,
for all that lets the demons lie.

If we endure this state of rot,
then all are guilty, all are tied.
In wheel of death we’re tightly caught—
in shame, in ruin, side by side.



---------------------




Your house is burning—no escape.
You lost the Spirit, lost your shape.

Sun will come—and cleanse the stain.
All that’s rotten turns to flame.



---------------------



Dumbing Down

This labor long ago was set—
to dull the human intellect.
The chief command, the guiding plan
of ruling beasts over man.

From earliest school they train the mind
to leave all reason far behind,
and teach that Will is just a dream
of madmen lost in false esteem.

Instead of Will—just substitute,
a hollow, cheap, mechanical suit.
That is the fate they’ve drawn in ink
for all who stopped to feel or think.

Along with dumbing down the brain,
they sow corruption, lust, and stain—
the Spirit rots, the light is gone,
and filthy power marches on.

They think that now it’s nearly done,
that humans are reduced to none—
a herd that grazes, blind and tame,
with almost no remaining flame.

But they miscalculated all—
a trace of Spirit still stands tall.
A spark remains, though small and few,
not yet erased, not yet untrue.

And by that force—by Spirit’s fire—
we bring their rotten world to mire.
The servants of the Dark will fall,
and vanish like a drifting squall.



---------------------




They train the mind to lose its light,
to make the Will dissolve in night.

But Spirit still remains alive—
and by that fire, they won’t survive.



---------------------



A Slip of Fate

Even old women can stumble and fall,
even the fool meets the tightening noose.
If reason is absent at all,
you’ll rot like the useless refuse.

The inhuman feeds on decay,
and the world is an anthill of grime.
Over this suffering Earth today
is a banquet—not plague, but design.

Not natural plague, but crafted deceit—
for “illness” is now just a lie.
And fools bow down at its feet,
while reason dissolves in the mind.

No people remain—only herd,
no dignity, honor, no trace.
The world now obeys every word
of something that crawls in its place.

It is revenge of the void—
for forgetting the Spirit within,
for living like flies in the filth,
for surrendering quietly, grim.

Even the blind must be blamed
for the chains they accept as their fate.
A silent decision was made:
to crawl like a worm through the gate.

Now all of them crawl to the camp,
where “healing” is just a disguise.
On a white flag of fascist intent
a red cross is raised for their lies.

And there—on that banner of shame—
they are nailed in the name of the cure.
And the world that forgot its own flame
learns too late what it must endure.



---------------------




Fools meet the noose, not chance or fate.
Reason fades—it’s far too late.

They crawl to camps called “health and care.”
And call it cure while dying there.



---------------------



War

The editor’s window—just a firing slit,
the keyboard now a machine-gun spit.
And terror is no dream at night—
it runs here constantly in sight.

In this war the psycho-dead attack,
while propaganda leads the pack.
The “zombies” merged into a blend—
poisoned minds that won’t defend.

The general staff is inhuman core,
and doctors now are executioners.
And lies are weapons of command,
spitting nonsense across the land.

It’s time to mourn this leper-state—
this global madhouse sealed by hate.
And after grief for all this pain,
burn down the insane domain.

The Sun has started its long task,
growing brighter, year on task.
It will evaporate the filth,
this world where fools now hold the tilt.

Where mind has fallen, truth erased,
and only ruin takes the place.



---------------------




War is typed in every line.
Lies are bullets in the mind.

Burn the madhouse—let it fall.
Sunlight comes to cleanse it all.



---------------------



Ugly Faces

The faces in ads are mostly fools,
empty-eyed beauties playing their roles.
And everywhere, in their twisted tools,
the inhuman wiped out the human soul.

From Bush Junior to presidents’ line,
all with a grin that looks half-dead—
they train the crowd for a new design
where only idiots move ahead.

A tide of decline is carefully grown,
dumbing down is the global plan.
Even the imbecile is now “known”—
better than thinking, better than man.

So psychiatry took the command,
now rebranded as media voice.
And we live in a trembling land
where reason has lost its choice.

Statistically—most of the herd,
in every country, near and wide,
are barely above the line of absurd,
clinically broken inside.

So nations dissolve without sound or trace—
if mind is gone, there is no state.
And they all chant for a “new place,”
a global asylum sealed by fate.

Where veterinarians lead the rule,
and injections replace all law,
and the world becomes a managed school
for minds reduced to empty straw.

No cure remains for this collapse—
this world asylum burns its core.
Spirit is gone in final lapse,
replaced by worship of the raw.



---------------------




Ad-faces smile with empty mind.
Humanity left far behind.

When reason dies, the herd obeys.
And madness calls it “better days.”



---------------------



Psychovirus

The psychovirus—so they claim—
the only “virus” known by name
that was ever truly found on Earth,
to drain the mind and steal its worth.

A psychovirus of flocking sheep,
that lines the fools in ranks so deep.
And to enforce this blinded chain
a flood of filth was poured like rain—

word vomit spewed by every mouth
of fascist scum from north to south.
The main disease is dumb obedience,
a structured herd of slow compliance.

For where the mind has ceased to be,
and only sludge remains to see,
no effort’s needed to control—
decay will finish on its own.

All that the vile ones drill and press
into the heads of emptiness—
they’ll believe, obey, “treat” and fight,
and call destruction “truth” and “right.”

A method used from year to year
to thin the herd through engineered fear.
Psychovirus… the mind erased—
almost no consciousness remains in place.

It feels like war upon the mind,
a race to leave all reason blind.
To wipe out thinking everywhere—
as if intelligence were air.

But here the error comes to light:
the rotten ones will lose the fight.
For neither Nature nor the sky
will let such filth ascend on high.



---------------------




Psychovirus—mind erased.
Fools in lines, reality replaced.

But Nature breaks the poisoned scheme—
and crushes every rotten dream.



---------------------



Monitor Lizards and Sheep

The filthy mouths of propaganda priests
are soaked in poison, endless beasts.
Even the Komodo dragon’s face
looks almost gentle in their case.

A mountain of lies is fed to all,
in every land, in every hall.
Like hunted prey, the people fall
beneath their venomous, global call.

These predators obey command
like dogs that serve a hunter’s hand—
who leads them through the forest wide
to kill for sport, for endless pride.

The hunter here is inhuman core,
the rotten filth that broke before.
History itself is stained and torn
by lies from those corruption-born.

Everything’s twisted, nothing clean—
no space for silence in this scene.
Even monitor lizards rest at ease,
but these live only to spread disease.

The sheep in stalls chew every lie,
and feed it down to those nearby.
With such deceit they raise their brood,
and call obedience “being good.”

But they forget what comes to all—
the fate of scum is bound to fall.
Used up, discarded, flushed away—
that’s how the liars end their day.

No need to keep a lying tool
that turns on truth to serve the fool.
When order comes, the blade will swing—
and end the voice of anything.



---------------------




Propaganda mouths are poison-fed.
Sheep believe what lies have said.

But every liar meets the end—
used, discarded, flushed again.



---------------------



Beasts and Madmen

Psychiatrists are madmen, doctors—brutes and fraud,
rare are any exceptions in this rotten lot.
All of them are servants of a deeper hidden hand—
building global cages called a “civilized” land.

All their so-called “treatment” is to dull the mind and pain,
masking every symptom, leading straight to graves again.
And the psychiatrist—warder, executioner too—
sending “inconvenient” souls to their dark “rescue” crew.

In the Soviet system once it was the same—
only fools would question this constructed shame.
If you were dissatisfied, “mentally unwell” you’d be—
just a hostage of the system called “society.”

If you earned a hundred rubles as an engineer,
they would say: “Be quiet, nothing’s wrong here.”
If you dared complain—then sickness must be near;
“free” people suffer quietly in poverty and fear.

Now old stories float around about that past regime,
claiming there was “happiness” inside that broken dream.
But that “happiness” was only for those who could endure,
just to read a poet, you had to travel far.

And today these fake physicians are no less than filth—
executioners with needles, killing health and will.
Such inhuman creatures circle all around our days—
a global madhouse where the mind has lost its gaze.



---------------------




Doctors turned to beasts in white,
treating thought with silent blight.

Speak—you're sick. Resist—you’re mad.
That’s the “health” this world has had.



---------------------



Crossing Everything Out

We cross this world out—stroke by stroke,
erase the fear, the choking smoke.
If Evil stands as every throne,
then let it crumble into stone.

Here Spirit fades into a blur,
and Mind decays in what we were.
A hopeless sigh, a losing fight—
the battle ends without the light.

Betrayal spreads in every lane,
corruption flows like endless rain.
All are bound in iron chains,
while inhuman pride remains.

Few honest souls are left alive,
even fewer still survive.
Soon they will be swept away—
only hollow masks will stay:

the coward, hollow, bought and sold,
the “treatment” of the mind controlled,
where thoughts are “healed” by breaking will—
and empty minds are made more still.

But filth has misread every sign—
the balance shifts, another line:
the bond of Earth and burning Sun
still lives—and now their time is done.

So praise the Sun, its burning flame—
it will erase this world of shame.
The madhouse world will turn to ash,
where human life was just a crash.



---------------------




We cross it out—this broken sphere.
Fear and lies dissolve in fire.

Sun will rise, and burn it clean—
all that rotten, all unseen.



---------------------



Paralytics of the Mind

Analysts—paralytics of mind,
blind to realms beyond their charts.
They serve the systems that they find—
politics and business parts.

For intuition is the key
that opens doors to what is real.
But they, so dull and blindly free,
can only draw what graphs reveal.

No inner sight, no wider frame,
no vision free from scripted lines.
They work on orders in the name
of systems ruled by dark designs.

For fascist power writes the code
of lies in ever-changing form.
So their “analysis” is slowed,
a sleep-inducing chloroform.

They trade in endless empty talk,
and all their “results” collapse in jest—
a joke upon the mindless stock
of papers piled in endless quest.

No analysis is needed
in a world of pure decay.
Like dialysis repeated
on a corpse that died today.

So they are clowns in ordered chains,
delivering lies for filthy pay.
And fools are spellbound by their games—
for lies are dressed in “truth” each day.



---------------------




Paralytics of the mind—
blind to what the soul can find.

Graphs and lies replace all sight.
Truth survives beyond their night.



---------------------



Bredology

“Ideology is false consciousness.”
— Karl Marx


Ideologies are bred-ologies—
false awareness, poison for the crowd.
They carry twisted psychologies
that keep the thinking weak and bowed.

From childhood all these nonsense creeds
are drilled into the human mind.
A system built on hidden greed—
the finest cage mankind can find.

The image of the “enemy”
is hung like bait in open view—
to train the human herd to be
obedient dogs that follow through.

In other lands, the same device
creates new myths with minor change—
more crafted lies, more worn disguise,
but always built within the range.

The world is split into asylums,
each section set to feed the flame—
provocation, rising rhythm,
and all the crowds become the same.

A couple of sparks, a push, a scream—
and suddenly the weapons rise.
The sheep turn wolves inside the dream
of propaganda’s crafted lies.

From Marx to Smith and every school,
their books are written by demand—
and bred-ologies rule like law
that once was forged by bloodied hand.

It is not hard to lead the herd—
they’ve been prepared since early years.
To slaughter, they accept the word,
to die in wars of crafted fears.

Fake nations wear a mask of state—
but always ruled by inhuman core.
And everything becomes of late
a system of deceit and war.



---------------------




Bred-ologies rule the broken mind.
Lies are law for humankind.

Herd is trained since childhood days
to die for wars of crafted plays.



---------------------



Farce

A mockery army,
a mockery “land”—
where filth is always lively,
and lies go hand in hand.

This lie presses everyone,
like violence in reserve.
Just multiply the falsehood—
no need to shout “attack!” or serve.

For obedient servants,
all kinds of uniformed fraud—
from every edge and corner
the world is rotten to the core.

And filth just laughs and revels,
mocking the human race.
The bond with Spirit’s severed—
beasthood takes its place.

Now nearly all have fallen,
stupidity without end.
The “country” lies in ruin—
before inhuman hands we bend.

It’s time to search for passage,
to sweep this dust away.
Even burning heat will help—
to end this cursed display.

The poison age will finish—
the fools will all decay.
For furious final battles
the stage is set today.

We go into the last war
to save what still remains.
Only sacrifice can open
release from these chains.



---------------------




A mockery world of lies and dust.
Where fools obey and truth turns rust.

Only fire breaks the chain.
Only sacrifice remains.



---------------------



Impunity

Here it’s always a “mission”—
from a safe, distant position.
And always the same tradition—
clumsy, blind execution—
pushed to senseless demolition.

These are “warriors” remote,
fighting battles from a boat.
In their minds—only lies float,
while the world is at the throat.

Dumbing down is pure danger—
not a harmless behavior.
You still wait for a savior,
but awareness is no longer—
it is gone, getting weaker.

If you measure it whole—
they are crushing the soul.
The inhuman takes control,
as the final toll unfolds.

And the last spasms remain…
and the breaking of pain…



---------------------




From afar they kill with ease.
Truth is gone—no mind to seize.

When awareness fades to dust,
only ruin comes from trust.



---------------------



Population of Freaks

Not a population of people—
a population of freaks and waste.
Not a government, but a seizure,
a dictatorship in place.

Reason rots and falls to pieces,
while a fascist hand suppresses.
Everything it touches weakens,
pressing down all human essence.

And the “sheep-virus” proves the claim—
it gives permission to explain:
this is nothing but mind decay,
where beasts are trained to eat and stay.

And they swallow rotten stories
of imaginary disease—
all the lies of ruling forces
turn the world into its knees.

But there will be healing—dark and near,
not far away, but drawing near.
Through death of what is false and blind
rebirth of Spirit you will find.

If Mind and Honor still remain—
then through the ashes comes again
a higher life, a clearer flame,
beyond this world of shame.



---------------------




Not a people—just decay.
Fools and beasts are led astray.

Through collapse the truth is born.
Spirit rises from the scorn.



---------------------



The Chalice of Madness

Once it was the “chalice of life,”
now it’s the chalice of madness and strife.
Once there was a fool in the line,
now it’s the imbecile’s time.

Fools were always scattered around,
that much has long been found.
But now they have multiplied so—
an era of sickness has grown.

Schizo, fool, and empty mind—
the majority now of mankind.
No strength is left to remain
in this ocean of mental decay.

No more will we swallow this filth,
we claim a different will.
Let us dare to rebuild again
a world without their stain.

Let every place form its own ground—
no reason for shame to be found.
No longer endure this disgrace,
this rotten and stupid place.



---------------------




Once life, now madness in the cup.
Fools rise—and truth is shut down.

We build anew, we break the chain.
No room for madness left to reign.



---------------------



PR

Shifting labels, polished name—
that’s PR, another form of shame.
Words detached from what they mean,
poisoned “truth” in glossy sheen.

These “translations” of the fake
shape the mind into mistake.
They distort and bend the sight—
multiply them left and right.

Pour more “water,” smooth and hollow,
let the empty slogans follow.
Rule the crowd with fluent lies—
empty talk that never dies.

Truth is buried, drowned in chatter,
fools will swallow any matter.
Blind believers, trained and led,
walk the path that ends in dread.

World behind a false-front guise
marches calmly toward demise.
Something’s broken in the frame—
time to break this twisted game.

Build new circles, seek the wise—
though they’re rare in compromised skies.
Few remain with steady flame—
Spirit holds against the shame.



---------------------




PR is truth turned inside out.
Words that lie and spin about.

Break the mask, refuse the flow.
Only Spirit makes us grow.



---------------------



Deodorant

“Protection from sweat?”—have you lost your mind?
To cripple a system nature designed?
It isn’t the sweat that’s ever the crime—
but hidden control in a fascist guise.

Who argues with Nature is clearly blind,
a broken form of the human kind.
Not people, but numbers, reduced and spread—
a sum that is easier to keep in bed.

They build a new prison of digital lines—
what matter is sweat or bodily signs?
To normalize madness, to numb the brain,
they feed the nonsense again and again.

And fools consume every absurd decree—
that’s how this system is made to be.
A simple example, but don’t be fooled—
apply your mind, don’t stay misruled.

Here lies deception, control, and lies—
expose it all with clear-cut eyes.
Or vanish quietly in that cage—
where falsehood rules and fools engage.



---------------------




Sweat is not the enemy—
control is what you fail to see.

Break the lie, refuse the cage.
Or disappear inside its rage.



---------------------



Manure

Manure in ears—
souls long departed.
The world appears
already parted.

Just drink the lie,
don’t ask, don’t wonder.
No tears, no cry—
just sinking under.

Destroy yourself—
the poison feeds you.
No sense of health,
no hope that leads you.

Destroy your young
with needles hollow.
Praise every wrong,
and blindly follow.

All is “alright”—
hell has been founded.
Reject the light,
lament unbounded.

Death will arrive
as “liberation”
from what survives
in degradation.

We are the breed
that swallows filth
without a need
to question guilt.

And what we eat
is more than spirit—
we call it “treat,”
and never fear it.

The burning end
will come in fire—
no way to bend
this deep mire.

For inhumanity sits near,
like children void of inner gear.
And we are dragged into their fall—
for Spirit has decayed in all.



---------------------




Manure in ears—no soul remains.
The world now feeds on poisoned chains.

Fire comes to cleanse the ground.
Nothing left but ash and sound.



---------------------



The Praised West

Trained little dogs in polished rows—
that’s the “great West” everyone knows.
Sweet conformity they chew,
and political “correctness” too.

Tolerance becomes a tool
that kills the living, makes them fools.
And “culture” there is nothing more
than twisted self-absorbed decor.

Hypocrisy is standard form,
and lies are thriving, loud and warm.
A human there is just a drain—
so don’t touch pockets, don’t complain.

For damage done to wealth and gain
is worse than any soul-born pain.
And so they live by rules untrue—
not human, just a parasitic crew.

Exceptions? Yes—but quickly crushed,
their voices muted, broken, hushed.
With money they replace the soul—
and line up neatly, whole by whole.

So only death-like life remains
in those corrupted, hollow plains.
No reason left to chase that dream—
that “better West” is not what it seems.

The world is now one broken mold,
just different flavors of the cold.
It doesn’t matter where you fall—
fool, idiot, or none at all.



---------------------




The “great West”—a trained parade.
Souls for comfort gladly trade.

No matter where the fool may stand—
the world is ash across the land.



---------------------



“Atomization” of Society

“Atomization” reaches its peak,
and then comes dumbness, slow and weak.
Soullessness spreads everywhere—
the root of all our rising despair.

When separation hits its end,
there’s little left that can defend
the human mind from rot and fall,
from turning into nothing at all—

a mix of lies, of blind obey,
of vice that eats the soul away.
Always serving darker hands,
lost among the filth of lands.

So what we need are living ties,
not sterile worlds of empty lies.
No time remains to hesitate—
for fascism seals the fate.

We stand upon the edge of death,
yet waste our breath on hollow breath.
Just measure this abyss of pain—
and leave the hell behind again.

Disobedience, self-control—
the only way to save the soul.
We need both courage and resolve,
or into golems we dissolve.

So cast this “atom world” aside,
seek others, stand, and unify.
Together we can break the chain—
and strike at Hell’s corrosive reign.



---------------------




Atomized—then broken mind.
Soulless crowds and blind mankind.

Only unity can fight.
Only will can bring the light.



---------------------



Satanic System

The system ruling over Earth
is built on killing inner worth.
A shooting range for every soul—
each person turned into a goal.

So hurry—try to understand:
each human here is battlefield land.
You must resist, stay sharp, awake,
and move with rhythm no mistake.

Only the Voice within is true—
the rest is lie that cuts you through.
A Shepherd of deceitful creed
has trained the flock in blindened need.

For ages long, the scripted roles
have ruled the hearts and bound the souls.
And soon the outcast will be blessed—
for even that seems better dressed

than this so-called “world” we see,
now heading toward disposal’s sea.
They call it “order,” “new design,”
but it is fuse on endless time.

The match is lit for global fire,
the planet trapped in one great wire.
A prison built from sky to ground—
no space for truth to move around.

But there is fire of a higher flame—
the Heaven-Sun that burns the shame.
It comes to cleanse, to end the stain,
and burn away the inhuman chain.

And now the Sun begins to rise,
its light expanding through the skies.
A path for souls to break and flee—
from suffering into clarity.



---------------------




System built to kill the soul.
World turned into firing role.

But higher fire breaks the chain.
Sunlight ends the rule of pain.



---------------------



The City

This city gulps and mindlessly devours
your energy with multiplied force.
Whatever starts within its hours
will die at birth, lose every course.

All roads here lead—not to Rome—but grave,
no matter what the fools believe.
For genocide is what it makes
behind the masks it wears to deceive.

It kills you softly in the name
of “care,” of “progress,” “new reform.”
A system built to break and tame,
then call destruction “safe and warm.”

For inhumanity “cares” for you—
it never sleeps, just mass-produces lies.
And if you bow to fate they choose,
you drown within its poisoned skies.

So build your circles, live as free,
be bold, be firm, autonomous.
Ignore the media’s decree—
their endless howl is treacherous.

Fight on, and seek companions true,
destroy the lies in mountains high.
Be faithful only to what’s you—
your soul, your inner fire inside.

No cross is yours to carry here—
those crosses only kill and bind.
They crush all reason, spread all fear,
and steal the dignity of mind.

So build instead, where you are placed,
create where life has brought you near.
For only through creation’s grace
can one dissolve this city’s fear.



---------------------




The city eats, the city kills.
All “care” it gives just breaks your will.

But build instead, resist the lie—
and let creation lift you high.



---------------------



Not Dreaming, But Creating

Not dreaming—building, shaping form,
to know, not kneel in blind belief.
From dust we rise against the storm,
and open gates of higher mind relief.

If zombie crowds, in mindless throng,
become the rule in every street,
then dawn of Spirit feels so long—
for fools collide in endless heat.

For Mind is crushed, almost erased—
a rare few sparks remain alive.
Traitors and dullards interlaced
flash by like spokes in endless drive.

Like spokes within a spinning wheel
that rushes straight toward the abyss.
The thinker feels the crucifix
surrounded by a world of filth.

No honor left, no heart, no will—
just hollow shells that eat and grin.
We drown within this heap of sin,
and jokes have turned to something still.

The Spirit soon will be destroyed
by these soulless masses near—
the servants of a darker ploy,
the shame of every passing year.

Yet even with so small a chance,
keep struggling through the endless strain.
Or all will sink into the dust—
forgotten waste, devoid of name.



---------------------




Not dreaming—building through the night.
Not faith—but knowing what is right.

If mind is rare, still do not yield—
for Spirit is the final shield.



---------------------



Tricks and Silencers

Religions are silencers placed
on bold movements of the soul.
Only empty shells, erased,
please those who seek control.

They need obedient, hollow slaves,
with nothing human left inside—
who walk so calmly toward their graves,
and swallow filth with open pride.

All doctrines are just piles of waste,
all systems built on crafted lies.
Their only goal is to erase
the bond where Spirit truly lies.

To cut the link between the Source
and every living human spark—
to drag existence off its course
into submission, blind and dark.

But they miscalculated fate—
for Spirit cannot be destroyed.
Their lies collapse, they deteriorate,
their rotten order now decoys.

Now nausea flows from every screen,
from every channel, every tone—
a constant flood of poisoned sheen,
for feeding minds reduced to bone.

But there will come a flash of flame,
a surge of Spirit, pure and vast,
and all the parasites of shame
will vanish in the burning blast.

The inhuman will fall and die,
with all its systems, tricks, and lies—
its endless poisoned web of guise
will rot away beneath the sky.



---------------------




Religions mute the inner flame.
Tools of control, disguise of shame.

But Spirit breaks the chain of lies—
and all the rotten structure dies.



---------------------



Shit

A cardboard fool just wanders around,
goes to work, then shops again.
But reality is not so sound—
you face deception face to face with pain.

In real life you meet every wall
built for centuries by rotten hands.
And you start to see it all—
every system is just prison bands.

Schools and sects and every creed
are cages dressed in holy lies.
All they ever truly breed
is slavery before your eyes.

The world has turned into a cell
that holds the mind in iron frame.
Forgetting Spirit—this is hell,
built on betrayal, fraud, and shame.

A layered system rules the scene,
but fools see only surface skin.
So life appears calm, clean, serene—
they never see the deeper sin.

But hell is deeper, far more wide,
a fall so vast it breaks the mind.
What fools cannot perceive inside
is rot of universe-defined.

Like flies inside forgotten waste—
that is this slow collapsing age.
But one relief will come at last:
this filth will burn off history’s page.

For those who fight, there is release—
joy in the fire that cleans it all.
This pile of lies will never cease
unless we bring its final fall.



---------------------




A cardboard fool walks blind and free.
While hell runs deep beyond what’s seen.

But rot will burn, the lie will fall—
and nothing false will stand at all.



---------------------



Future

A broken wooden trough remains—
a burned-out Earth in silent flames.
For now, all things are stitched and sealed,
but man is already a field

of crawling decay, of fading trace—
a form of dust in time and space.
The trough is shattered by the Hell
that now on Earth has made its spell.

Dignity is killed and gone,
while “consciousness” drifts blind along.
The Spirit is oppressed and worn,
and honor’s memory is torn.

Only lies reach every ear,
the world now speaks in voices of fear.
The remnants of the soul are pressed
beneath a system unblessed.

All inhuman wills obey,
while fear becomes the law of day.

………………………………
………………………………

For this—this shameful hell-made state—
will crumble into dust and fate.



---------------------




A broken trough, a burned-out ground.
Man decays without a sound.

Truth is gone, and fear remains—
until the system breaks its chains.




---------------------



Fearful and Hard

“To force the slave out” is never light—
you must destroy the chain outright.
It’s terrifying, yet still can be done:
call forth the radiant Light of the Sun.

Once, long ago, it happened so—
the Sun burned down the realms of woe.
And now again—are fools in reign?
Do inhuman hands still chain the brain?

A mass of fools, a ruling grime,
numbers replacing human mind.
No longer Spirit’s living thread—
the sacred link has been cut and dead.

The bond is broken, the dance is done,
the final act has now begun.
Only the Spirit must be saved—
for it is nearly lost and grave.

It can be saved by Light alone:
so call the Fire to your own bone.
And it will blaze like morning true—
the Sun of Reason breaking through.



---------------------




To break the slave, break all the chains.
To end the dark, call Sun again.

Light will rise, the lie will fall—
and Spirit will outlive it all.



---------------------



“Savages” of the Amazon

Once a man lies and becomes a fraud,
the tribe will cast him from its core.
But in the “modern” human world
the pattern is reversed once more.

They rot into a feeding herd—
they stink, they lie, they chew decay.
They’ve lost all Honor, Truth, and Word,
and lies now rule the human way.

A world of falseness, endless fraud,
betrayal piled in mountains high.
The roots are gone, the bonds are rotted—
and chains grow tighter day by day.

A “savage” wife will simply feel
her husband never came back home.
No need for theories to conceal
what truth already makes her known.

They do not build corrupt control,
nor raise the worst to rule the rest.
They never learn to cash the soul,
or sell the lives of all the rest.

They cannot even contemplate
to trade their kin for piles of gold.
For them, “money” is just weight
of numbers easily controlled.

So where are savages? In green
Amazon jungles far away?
No—rotting in the concrete scene,
where lies and poison rule the day.

They spread the stench of falsehood wide,
and soon will “heal” the world with steel—
with poisoned shots and blinded pride,
a world that’s taught no longer feel.



---------------------




Savage? Not jungle, not wild land—
but cities built by lying hand.

Truth still lives where life is plain—
while modern man decays in vain.



---------------------



Don’t Believe!

Don’t wait for rescue from the twisted mind,
don’t trust the words that frauds design.
They lead their “flock” for years in circles blind,
and strengthen Bedlam’s endless line.

There are so many false “messiahs” here—
each wrapped in masks of decent guise.
But underneath, it’s always clear:
their gospel feeds on well-crafted lies.

So much deceit—the world now stinks
like digital garbage left to rot.
The so-called “net” is built on links
of poisoned noise and thoughtless thought.

Search engines bend what may be said,
they shape the truth to fit their hand.
And many follow where they’re led
by voices from a sinking land.

The Bedlam swells with hired minds
that serve the system’s inhuman will,
spreading confusion through all kinds
of engineered and toxic spill.

They help dissolve the human core,
they turn the world into decay—
a place where reason is no more
than something driven far away.

So listen only to yourself,
and keep your intuition bright.
For they will steal your inner self
with counterfeit and borrowed light.

Their “paradise” is forged deceit—
it looks like truth, but isn’t real.
So walk your path on your own feet—
and trust what Spirit makes you feel.



---------------------




Don’t trust the masks the liars wear.
Don’t trust the world built from despair.

Only your inner voice is true—
or they will steal your soul from you.



---------------------



The Coup

“The coup has been completed. Life has ceded power
to the union of corpse and thing.”
— Velimir Khlebnikov, The Crane, 1909


Corpses and things, things and corpses—
a virtual world of the dead.
Things are now “wise,” and corpses are foolish,
bound by chains still newly fed.

Now even stump-level stupidity
is required as the new ideal—
and total soul-atrocity
becomes the only thing made real.

Only objects hold attraction,
and indifference spreads like disease.
Man himself has lost all traction,
consumed by his own debris.

Like crawling lice upon the soil
he devours all in sight and breath—
consuming even his own coil,
already ruled by inner death.

For it is the inhuman hand
that long ago went cold and dead.
Now lies the world like ruined sand,
its meaning crushed and stripped and shed.

No future here. No rising dawn.
Only rumor speaks of light.
But truth is: everything is gone—
the world stands ready for the night.

And now no corpses are required—
the bio-robot takes their place.
With poisoned “care,” the dead are wired
into a hollow, broken race.

A desert formed from human trace—
a wasteland stripped of thought and soul.
So Sun, arise and scorch this place—
restore the burning, cleansing goal.

Let all this living-dead decay
be burned away, erased, undone—
a yoke, a shame, a cursed display
upon the Earth beneath the Sun.



---------------------




Corpses and things now rule the day—
life has been stripped and thrown away.

So let the Sun erase this stain—
and break the dead machine of pain.



---------------------



The Inhuman Fakirs

The fakir was drunk and botched the trick—
the audience sits in stunned despair.
The freak had access, deep and strict,
to inhuman secrets laid bare—
but miscalculated there.

Our so-called “life” is just a show,
where lies entertain the fragile mind.
The main task here, as all should know,
is crushing soul and truth combined.
The viewers sit both blind and dumb—
no voice remains, no sound, no hum.

Resistance lives in scattered few,
while mass stupidity rolls on.
The nightmare is not something new—
it walks the daylight, never gone.

Everywhere traitors take their stand
to finish what is left of soul and brain.
And fools applaud with empty hand,
for thought has long been turned to stain.

The world has turned into decay—
a swamp of rot without escape.
And thinking minds pretend away,
afraid of pain, afraid of shape.

But fear is late—it’s all been sealed:
there is no exit from this hell.
The gate of out is where it yields—
the same gate where you fell as well.

So all will soon be taken down—
both man and inhuman design.
For patience of the Earth is gone,
and limits now are marked by time.

No firing squads are needed here—
no human hand will deal the blow.
The bond of Sun and Earth appears
as judgment none can overthrow.



---------------------




The fakir fails, the crowd is still—
a broken show of human will.

No exit left, no place to hide—
the Sun will burn the lie inside.



---------------------



Understand Harsh Poems in an Average Key

I speak in averages,
plain and straight and clear.
But those who think critically
see what I steer.

If you start explaining more,
adding depth and turns,
with too many exceptions—
truth just blurs and burns.

Poetry must stay precise,
cutting like a blade.
If you fall into silence
about filth that’s made—

you must expose it openly,
name the lying stream.
For silence turns to complicity
when madness is routine.

Soon this rising horror-state
will strike you in return.
So search your path before it’s late—
don’t let your spirit burn.

This decay you’re standing in
is shame if you stay still.
Find your way beyond the din,
beyond this hollow will.

And poetry can help you rise—
it charges up the soul.
It kills the weakness in your eyes
and makes the broken whole.

Only if you are not deaf,
and still can feel the call—
the verse becomes a sharpened breath
that breaks the lies of all.



---------------------




Harsh words are plain, not meant to hide—
they show what rots beneath the tide.

And verse, if heard beyond the pain,
becomes the fire that breaks the chain.



---------------------



Return to the Soviet Hell?

The Soviet Hell—where “idleness”
was punished hard, with iron rule.
And now we dream of this? Unless
we’ve turned nostalgia into fool.

Where even Derbeneva’s voice
could strike the nomenklatura’s face.
A “proletarian” was the choice—
intelligentsia in disgrace.

The system fed on human fear,
the thinking class was always crushed.
And in that order crystal-clear
obedient herds were driven, hushed.

Even a printed “Truth” once tore
Derbeneva apart for one small song.
In Hell, the rulers feared the core
of freedom—so all speech was wrong.

You had to whisper, keep it low,
or vanish into silent cells.
A madhouse was the safer road
than speaking what the spirit tells.

To read was hard, to think was worse,
for censorship was absolute.
Your mind could only turn inward—
and still be punished for pursuit.

Do you want back that rotten place,
all wrapped in hunger, fear, and lies?
Where only “party praise” had grace,
and thought was something to despise?

There you could only eat and obey,
and worship what the system said.
If you were sensitive, not clay,
you were the first who’d end up dead.

The history of man is chain—
it only changes shape and name.
Inhuman rule repeats again,
while evolution turns to shame.

So find another path instead—
build communities, break the lies.
Or you will join the blindly led…
so let resistance multiply.



---------------------




The Soviet Hell returns in name—
but chains are still the same old game.

So break the lie, refuse to bow—
multiply resistance now.



---------------------



Hell

We all are rotting here in Hell,
where petty clerks play devil’s role.
Consciousness is under spell,
and every exit has been closed.

Betrayal works like honest trade,
corruption flows as “natural”.
Resist—and you will be delayed;
only the foolish live in calm.

Soullessness spreads everywhere,
the spiritual are crushed and bent.
The fools stand neatly in their care,
lined up beside the feeding end.

They kill the mind, they call it “right”—
no “normal” thought without its fall.
Huge sums and force are used in spite
to sanctify this system’s wall.

The inhuman has long been here,
and no horizon left to see.
Surrounding filth becomes the law—
the only rule that seems to be.

But Hell will end. It will not last.
Its stench is reaching final breath.
Each rotten force will fall at last,
and every bastard meets its death.

Life will return again in flame,
with Spirit rising from the dust.
Only the slime will lose its name
when final days dissolve to trust.



---------------------




We rot inside a living Hell—
where lies and chains together dwell.

But Hell will break, the slime will fall—
and Spirit will outlive it all.



---------------------



One-Dimensional World of the Idiot

A one-dimensional world of fools—
consume, survive, and shake with fear.
A swamp where madness calmly rules,
and “living” means to only eat and sneer.

To know, to create, to build a whole
harmonious world is what we need.
But here we serve a soulless goal—
a beastly mind that feeds on greed.

The inhuman treats life like a range,
a shooting field for empty play.
And idiots will never change—
they cannot “wake,” they cannot stray.

Like mollusks dreaming they can fly—
awakening is not their fate.
We’re left with only one reply:
to watch, to suffer, to await.

Don’t hope that herded minds will rise,
so neatly marching to their end,
will suddenly open blinded eyes
and overthrow the beast they tend.

A sheep just dreams of curly wool
that stays after the shearing knife.
No longer a pen—it’s a mental pool
where madness passes for real life.

And are the “smart” ones any better?
They never build the world they know.
So clouds grow darker, heavier, wetter—
and no escape is left below.

Each one has dug his own dark hole,
and howls inside his private cage.
A “brilliant world”—a broken whole,
rewarded only with its rage.

For here, reward is simply death—
like cattle in a firing ground.
A shooting range that takes your breath,
where sense is nowhere to be found.

Only one hope remains—our Sun:
it will dissolve this world of shame.
It burns the madness, one by one,
where thinking starts below the brain.



---------------------




A one-dimensional idiot’s world—
where minds just eat and stay unfurled.

But Sun will rise, and lies will burn—
and blind creation will return.



---------------------



Criticality

“I thank You, Lord, my God above,
that death’s harsh hour, fools’ final storm,
will tear the spirit from this rotting love
of flesh that once had human form.

And then—please let me disappear
into the darkness, deep and still.
In heaven I would only fear
a boredom worse than any hell.

For Hell I’ve already seen on Earth.”
— Sasha Chorny, Prayer, 1908


From depths of ruin comes clear sight,
while fools still chant their fake “positives.”
Despair becomes the norm of life,
and cynic thought the only pivot lives.

When Sasha Chorny struck the cage
of that old leprous mental dome,
it was just blossoms for that age—
now Hell itself has fully come.

The despair of those who still can think
is now an ocean without shore.
And in that void, on rotten brink,
the same old beast rules evermore.

That beast was born in earlier days,
but now it’s grown—both strong and bold.
No longer can you hide away
in warm safe holes from what it holds.

For fascism writes the rulebook now,
it governs all that breathes and moves.
And every system learns to bow
to what its dark command approves.

The corrupt multiply like flies,
and lies are scooped like endless stew.
The righteous few are swallowed cries,
while armies of the false break through.

Their screaming drowns all honest sound,
all clean resistance to the rot.
This inhumanity, profound,
becomes the “success” they’ve sought.

And sheep still march toward the knife,
obeying voices of the beast.
They walk as if that is their life—
a silent, programmed, final feast.

So those who think must find the way
out of this filth and mental chain.
Or else it ends in total fray—
the mind’s last remnants lost in pain.



---------------------




Criticality is born in ruin—
when lies collapse and minds are burning.

Without escape, the final chain
will crush what little truth remains.



---------------------



Deceit

It doesn’t matter what you’ve craved,
nor where your suffering took its shape.
All justifications sound depraved
if Beauty you have failed to make.

If not even a spark of harmony,
if nothing new was brought to light—
then all is void, pure irony,
a life dissolved in quiet deceit.

For man was meant to build and form,
and fight when creation cannot stand.
Or else he sinks into the norm
of empty mind and hollow hand.

And every line here proves its truth
when you just look outside your door—
a mass of fools, a night of mind,
where trickery spreads evermore.

When money guides your inner voice
and every lie becomes your creed—
you are a fool by broken choice,
or nerves dissolved in poisoned feed.

Your consciousness is fully seized
by mirages that cloud your sight.
No fate could be more ill-at-ease
than walking blind through fading light.

Then you’re just part of dull parade
of idiots in endless rows,
who answer every trumpet call
and go wherever madness goes.

They march to wars both old and new,
hybrid wars of masked control.
And that is all they’re fit to do—
asleep in their lethargic role.



---------------------




If you create not truth or form,
your life becomes a quiet storm.

And fooled by money, lies, and fear—
you sleep while emptiness grows near.



---------------------



Whiteness and Straightness

Don’t look down on the stomach’s need,
nor judge the body’s daily call.

Don’t think of teeth so white and neat,
of crowns and health and gums at all.

Instead reflect on straightness there—
the twisted folds inside the head.
On crooked thoughts that rot and tear
the empty spaces left for bread.

Already canary brains
can serve as models of our state.
We see no path through endless plains—
only the inhuman dominate.

For inhumanity has long
built here a true and living Hell.
And still we sift, like fools among
false ideas that serve us well.

We fill our minds with useless noise
so we won’t face the deeper wound:
that we are turned into a choice
of trained livestock, tightly wound.

It’s obvious—so painfully clear!
Yet how few sound the alarm?
The masses drift in dull career,
like moths that feed without alarm.

And soon they’ll teach us how to eat
even worms—just pull the hook.
A camp is ready, cold and neat,
for those who once were human look.

So if you think—build your own band,
communes are the only way.
The only sense is to withstand,
and never let yourself obey.

For if you do not bend your core,
you will not enter slave-made fate—
and pass beyond the final door
that marks the boundary of state.



---------------------




Don’t mock the body, don’t look down—
the mind is where the chains are grown.

Build bonds, resist, refuse to kneel—
that is the only way to heal.



---------------------



Marasmus

“February. Get ink and weep in pain!
Write of February, tearfully true,
While slushy thunder drowns the plain
And black spring fires break through.”
— Boris Pasternak, 1912


Marasmus. Get green dye, start marking
All fools that crawl across the land.
This world-madhouse is beyond all charting —
Only a “red cross” might understand.

Only a fascist system, patient,
Can count and clip and cull the herd,
Where mass stupidity is ancient
And “to exist” means “to be absurd.”

They “treat” the herd with poison medicine —
Fascism caring, as it claims.
The world is caged in foul possession
Of nameless beasts with shifting names.

And year by year it turns still darker:
Decay has reached its final line.
In this filthy, stagnant harbor
The wise are cast out of design.

And yet remains one final motion —
To die with dignity intact,
With honor, clarity, devotion,
To burn the shameful lie to ash.

For only Lie now reigns and hollows
The spark of Spirit, Mind’s own flame.
The spiritual are nearly swallowed
In endless dumps of rot and shame.



---------------------



“Doctors” and “Teachers”

Here the maiming quack,
The dullness-maker, the brain-breaker
Have grown shameless—almost crack
The soul. Once: doctor and teacher.

That world is overgrown with dust—
Now selling out is held in honor.
Only Evil’s rise we trust,
While Honor, Mind are fading under.

To betray, to sell—how sweet,
The finest thrill this place delivers.
Entertainment, endless meat,
More noise, more rush—more fevered shivers.

So fools and sickness spread like weeds,
A plague across the human ground.
Evil’s “workers,” feeding needs—
Or simply traitors all around.

That’s how it goes in this world-madhouse,
A global ward of shattered minds:
All in service to the goat-house,
Docile souls in fearful binds.



---------------------



Armor

Cracked and hollow armor—
Cunning, ego, pride.
All your “great success” here
Turns to dust inside.

New and true armor rising—
Honor, will, and care.
Brave hearts, uncompromising,
Break the fascist snare.

Only unity in motion,
Fury, strength, and flame
Bring the needed cleansing potion,
Wipe away the shame.

Death to fascist poison-seeds!
We will bring them down.
Only standing as one breed
Wins the lost renown.



---------------------



Bovinus / “Sheeple-Virus”

Not about “health” at all—
But slaughter’s call:
The whole flock driven
Down into their hell.

That is all they wish for,
Nothing more to tell.
Soft words on the surface—
But beneath: “go to hell.”



---------------------



“Teachers” and “Doctors” of the Sheeple-Virus Fascist Age

What can they even cure,
What can they ever teach,
These rotten pretenders
Who for two long years can’t reach
The simplest truth so clear—
Yet still they preach and preach?
Traitors in white coats,
With poison on their speech.

They only maim and twist,
They only dull the mind,
Spreading a deeper mist
For every child they find.
This new age of confusion
They carefully design.

Such filth—fit for prison,
Or erased from the line.
Crawling, slavish creatures,
Kneeling to the crime.



---------------------



“Spiritual” Nonsense

All those hollow “spiritual” schemes—
Empty patterns of polite decay—
Preaching “love” in broken dreams
While oppression rules the day.

But when you face a rotten foe,
Don’t rush to “love” his tainted face.
A cleansing fire must sometimes show
What cannot be healed by grace.

When a criminal stands before you,
Keep that syrupy “love” aside.
Traitors, sadists—those who tore you—
Need truth, not a gentle guide.

They say: “Don’t feed the darkness anger,
It thrives on negative emotion.”
Yet softness only serves the danger,
And feeds its growing ocean.

Take courage, clarity, and fire—
But keep compassion where it’s due.
For warmth and care are not a liar’s
Gift to those who still are true.

The world is complex, not a slogan;
Rage has its place within the fight.
Intuition must be spoken
To tell what’s wrong and what is right.

Forget the hollow “gentle” teaching,
Forget politeness as a chain—
Without discernment, you are reaching
For truth in blindness, loss, and pain.

For in a struggle sharp and mortal,
No fake “virtue” will defend.
Only clarity of spirit
Can help you stand until the end.



---------------------



Social Idiot-Machine

On a poetry site—“fascism” as filter line,
Bots are trained to catch the keyword trace.
Pseudo-love, dull minds, fake patriotism shine,
Everything else is trash—make room for the base.

It’s an idiot-system, everywhere you look—
Education of deformity in full swing.
Idiots are easier to keep on the hook,
Running in lies like a hamster on a string.

For idiots it’s easy to inject the fear,
Just a “cold” can be made into doom.
No need for slaughter, no war drawing near—
A whisper of poison is enough for the room.

And the clever ones? The idiot will win—
Smother the last of the thinking with mass.
Here the “scientist,” “doctor,” the informer within
All drown in the sewage of ignorant class.

Now the fool is in line—next in the queue,
A “youth-building project” is underway.
And soon only one thinker is left in the crew—
And the idiot comes to “treat” him away.



---------------------



“Pedriots”

Not patriots—but “pedriots” instead,
For patriots strike fascism down.
Yet fools refuse to see or read
Who truly wears the world’s dark crown.

For if the world is ruled by rot,
By satanic will and lie,
Then “friend or foe” is not the plot—
But who makes all this living die.

Now there is only one task here:
To break the fascist worm in two.
Take up the fight without fear—
This is the answer we give you.

We will prevail—we’ll sweep them out,
Go to the final battle’s flame.
And skies will clear of smoke and doubt,
And humankind will be its name.

No slaves we are—we end their reign,
We drive a stake through what they made.
For turning life into a chain
Of evil, rot, and charade.



---------------------



Runners and the Rest

Endorphin-made “addicts” in motion—
The healthiest kind of a “junkie” breed.
They heal their souls with quiet devotion,
Relieving the pressure of unseen need.

Even if Reason is partly in chains,
Running will still let you breathe once again.
Though the whole world is gone and insane,
Keep your own line through the chaos and pain.

Yoga or movement—whatever the name,
Helps you remember how breathing feels true.
While Spirit and Mind are dragged into shame,
Poison replaces what once carried you.

So don’t just sit there, legs calmly crossed—
Buddha has gone, and no God will return.
But if you change yourself, at whatever cost,
You help the prison of the world start to burn.



---------------------



No tale is sadder in this world…

No tale is sadder in this wide world’s story
Than Ivan’s tale and “Gillette’s” false glory.
There was once Peter—first famed “barber king,”
Who spared no child, no elder suffering.

He brought in foreign tricks across the land,
To better keep the people in command.
Like poisoned honey dressed in sugar guise—
You taste it once, and then your soul decays.

Don’t trust those wretches calling it “progress,”
When Spirit fades and Reason meets distress.
Build living communes—stand as their own guide,
Be bold, and you shall conquer every tide.



---------------------



Do we not need the Light?

“Among the worlds, amid the stars’ faint gleam,
One single Star I call by name…
Not that I loved Her in a dream,
But that I suffered with the same.
And when my doubt becomes too sore,
To Her alone I seek the answer’s light—
Not that from Her there is more,
But that with Her I need no light.”
— Innokenty Annensky, Among the Worlds, 1909


The Light is hated only by the blind,
By fools who serve whatever feeds their blindness.
And so the Earth is chaos intertwined—
A madhouse filled with rot and mindless kindness.

You must become a being made of flame,
For Light is breath—without it, death is near.
Only then ends the fascist endless game
Where Spirit and all Honor hang in fear.



---------------------



Psychopaths

Psychopaths are ruling nations,
and the world’s a madhouse now.
It has turned to foul sanitation,
where the people kneel and bow.

Non-human hands sell degradation
as a “protocol of rule.”
Psychopaths feel satisfaction
watching humans made a tool.

They crush the mind without remission,
break all Spirit, crush all flame.
Yet they’ve misread the final vision—
their own ending bears their name.

Soon the guilty will be called,
hung upon the same old stake.
No escape in holes or walls—
not when anger’s wide awake.



---------------------



Test Subjects

Little monkeys press the buttons in labs,
while the children tick their boxes in line.
Only minutes are given for scraps—
a fight for the feeding, the place, the design.

And the wretches who built it are laughing,
while the dull ones can’t see the design.
They decide what position you’re having—
in the cage… if you fall out of line.

Then you vanish in concrete jungles,
if your thinking won’t neatly obey.
For the goal is the mind made simple—
a world where all brightness decays.

Nothing here is by chance or collision—
every reflex and memory trained.
All too sharp becomes slow, like erosion,
and the light of the mind is restrained.

For these shadows don’t know what is thinking,
they’ve forgotten the flame of the mind.
Only hollow reactions are lingering—
while awareness is left far behind.



---------------------



“Science”

My brother’s a professor—
Doctor of science, well known.
I come from the same old pressure,
But math was a struggle of my own.

I once built a theorem,
Even managed to prove it as true.
I still hold some love for it, clearly—
But long ago I broke through.

Then I slipped down a crooked direction—
Made money like a streetwise thief.
Not that I dreamed of mere “sustenance”—
Just rotting in shame and grief.

When I speak now of science and reason,
I know very well what I say:
It’s sold by corrupt little schemers
In labs that have gone astray.

Only fools kneel before its altar,
Where lies and fraud multiply fast.
A tool for the system of darkness—
Just filth from beginning to last.



---------------------



Time to Give Account

Much water has already flown,
many roofs have been blown away,
and things have turned foul to the bone—
evil is everywhere today.

The bottom has long since been cracked:
no human left—just waste intact.
Hell has been here for years in fact,
and knowledge has been fully sacked.

You are not meant to understand—
just to consume what’s in your hand,
to sleep and follow foul command,
and sell your soul across the land.

But this inferno will not last—
the Spirit cannot be harassed.
What time remains is running fast:
they burn—we howl, but it won’t last.

The Sun will scorch this reeking stain,
where filth and tyrants rule the game.
And those with soul will not feel pain—
checkmate to darkness, end of shame.



---------------------



Ground Squirrels and Bark Beetles

We are all bark-beetles,
gnawing crust of Earth.
Soon there won’t be enough of it left—
no shelter, no warmth, no worth.

Each one sits in a burrow,
just a “crunch” and “gnaw.”
Endless little punishments—
the slow-witted law.

Soon the foxes will be coming,
wiping squirrels clean away.
Bark-beetle hell is humming—
ready for its final play.

“Crunch” and “gnaw” will vanish—
replaced by “bark” and “bite.”
Better guard-dogs, ruthless, savage,
will rise into the night.

Even foxes will be bitten,
crunched by canine jaws.
But for now we’re all just drifting
through insanity’s applause.



---------------------



Herds of the “Near Ones”

Lively herds of the “near ones”
trample the sprouting mind.
No need for chains or iron—
just masses of fools combined.

Why should the wise be slaughtered?
Better to feed the herd.
They’ll trample all that’s sacred
just chasing the promised word.

So we invent a “race track,”
call it progress, call it fight.
Only the strategist notices
the crematorium in sight.

That race leads straight toward it—
that is the hidden plan.
And the one who drives it faster
is the politician man.








---------------------



Ìàë ïî ìàëó —
Âíîâü óñòàëîñòü.
 ñâåðõ-óñèëèÿ îñòàëîñü
Îêóíóòüñÿ
È î÷íóòüñÿ,
Ïåðåä Çëîì çàòåì íå ãíóòüñÿ,
À áîðîòüñÿ,
Âñå óðîäñòâà
Îáëè÷àÿ áåç þðîäñòâà.




---------------------



Ïåíü â ïëåòåíü óï¸ðñÿ — ïüÿíêà
Ïîäîøëà ê êîíöó. Îáìàíêà
Ïñåâäîæèçíè â ïîíåäåëüíèê
Âíîâü çàêðóòèò. Êðåñò íàòåëüíûé
Íå ïîìîæåò ñòðîèòü ñ÷àñòüå,
Âåäü èñêóññòâåííû íàïàñòè.
Òðóä íàïðàñíûé  è âîéíà
Îïóñêàþò ÷åðíü äî Äíà.
Îñòà¸òñÿ òîëüêî ïüÿíêà —
Ïÿòíèöà âíîâü âñòðåòèò ìàíêî.




---------------------



Gullible Fools Walk Willingly to Slaughter

No “global terror,” no plague in the air —
Just sheep-made viruses fed by the glare
Of screens that whisper and rot every mind,
A zoo for the blind, by the blind designed.

How long will you trust it?
How long will you sleep?
You must test and question —
No time left to keep.

To wait is to dig
Your own grave in the ground.
Though awkward and bitter,
Begin turning around.

Start thinking. Start doubting.
Tear falsehood apart.
Or poison of madness
Will swallow your heart.

Deception and blind faith —
A road to the knife.
The icons are bleeding,
Hell seeps into life.

Deceit is around you,
No reason to bow.
Worse even than Judas —
It murders you now.

It murders your spirit,
Your love, and your dreams.
How long will you listen
To whispers and schemes?

From childhood they fool you,
Relentless, obscene.
And yet you grow fond of
The cage in between.

For bondage is easy,
And comfort feels right.
Why question the system
When answers are tight?

One answer for all —
For years they repeat:
“Stay silent. Obey.
Do not think. Just eat.”

But who ever promised
You’ll live if you comply?
You swallow this nonsense —
But all of you die.

You’ll fade into nothing,
Your mind swept away,
Beneath the cold shadow
Of death’s final day.

The lie’s reached its limit —
A false plague, a regime.
It kills off the reason,
And life like a dream.



---------------------



The End of the Consumer Age

An almost-Soviet chorus:
And once again the battle cries,
A restless pounding in the chest,
“Lenin” still young before our eyes,
And bloody October ahead, unblessed.

And once again the chant is “TAKE!!!”
No heart remains within the frame.
“Grab all you can, don’t hesitate —
There’s more ahead — consume the game!”

If there’s no heart within your chest,
Your mind is broken, dull, and lost.
And fools will march, like all the rest,
Into fake plagues at any cost.

No rifles, camps, or firing lines
Are needed now to make them crawl:
Just strip a little comfort — signs —
And herds will rush to slaughter’s call.

They need blinders and a prize,
A carrot dangling in their sight.
They’ll serve whatever power lies —
They’ve long been steered, both day and night.

The herd must always live in fear —
But never something real — oh no.
Feed them absurdities severe,
And broken minds will surely grow.

Only such minds will take as truth
A crumbling lie, absurd and grim:
They’ll bare themselves, in bloated youth,
For poisoned shots that slowly dim.

Yes, many deaths are yet to be
Where hearts are gone, where none can feel.
And this the final road you see —
A camp ahead. A silent kill.



---------------------



Digital Concentration Camp

You think your phone was made for you,
From kindness, rich and wide?
A gift of care, so warm and true,
With love as guiding guide?

For near and far, for all mankind,
Concerned with just one aim:
To stretch the limits of your mind —
Then lock you in the frame.

To give the lonely voice and space,
To speak, to shout, to be —
But hide the net, the tight embrace
Of total scrutiny.

A control so vast and deep
You’re open like a book,
No step you take they fail to keep,
No move escapes their look.

And now you’re not alone — you’re with them,
Together with all your “own”:
your dreams,
your deeds,
your guts
are shown.

Then they will only raise the scale,
Turn power into “Five-G”:
Your health will crack, your bodies fail —
All masked in lies you’ll see.

A fake-born plague, a crafted fear,
A scourge for minds asleep,
Designed to wipe what still is clear,
What little thought you keep.

Then comes the cure — a hollow blade,
A shot that ends it slow…
But you don’t hear the steps that fade
To death of all you know.

Because you’re not alone — you’re with them,
Together with all your “own”:
your dreams,
your deeds,
your guts
are shown.



---------------------



The Seed of Hell

“If all that lives is but a stain
In one short, dying day,
On Lamarck’s shifting ladder’s chain
I’ll take the lowest way.”

— after Mandelstam

The living never are a stain —
A shadow of genocide was cast.
Prepare yourselves: there’s coming flame —
We’ll blast this rotten world at last.

Yes, everything must be undone,
No place for humans left in here,
Where half-made demons choke the sun,
And living means to crawl in fear.

That is the aim of genocide —
To twist mankind to something less.
The very air is poisoned wide,
While demons scheme in craftiness.

All schemes converge to just one goal:
To kill the spark of the divine,
To drug the mind, control the soul
With crafted lies that intertwine.

A sleeping mind is demon clay —
They mold it into what they will.
This path is horror, bleak decay:
The spark of God they seek to kill.

But burn the seed from which hell grows —
The spark will never fade nor fall.
The time of genocide now goes —
Its judgment long ago stands for all.

And we ourselves will call that trial
If we unite and dare to flame,
Invoke the Fire, fierce and wild,
That burns hell’s seed out of its name.

That Fire brings no harm to soul,
But ends the inhuman, false, profane.
And Earth, released, restored and whole,
Will shake off ash — and break the chain.



---------------------



The “Fight-or-Flight” Lie

The crippled logic of a maddened age
Is always split in two — and that’s the flaw.
It builds a world, a tyrant’s iron cage,
Where “fight” or “flight” becomes the only law.

Yet life is shades — not black against white.
This “yes-or-no” is fraud dressed up as truth.
And inhuman hands exploit that sight,
Burning nuance from the mind of youth.

They burn it down with wildfire lies —
Dualism forged to keep you blind:
The choice is fake, as it implies
“Bad” or “far worse” for humankind.

The madness loops, again, again,
For trust is trained on crafted lies.
The gullible mind accepts the chain,
And never stops to analyze.

There is no choice: “war” or “peace” —
Such options reek of staged deceit.
You can’t reduce the world to this,
Nor trap it in a poisoned cheat.

To turn the Earth into a drain,
Invent a plague that never ends —
Such tricks reduce the mind to pain,
And break the will that once defends.

When all that’s left is flesh or rot,
Two options — body or decay —
These “choices” forced, a poisoned plot,
Are sold as wisdom every day.

There is no choice: false disease
Or chains that bind you, cold and tight.
Such options scream insanity —
A madhouse logic dressed as “right.”

You can’t replace true liberty
With filth disguised as moral code,
Nor turn the world to one foul spree,
A global pit, a rotting road.

Don’t blow up towers with your own hand
To stage some “patriotic” show,
Then offer choices, cold and planned:
Be dumb — or wear the slave’s uniform.

And thus a world of fools was grown,
Where thinking minds are rare and few.
The vile inhuman force has thrown
Its weight to crush the thinking crew.

By such a logic, all is doomed —
And will be, when there’s none to fight.
When mind is dead and soul entombed,
Destruction comes with little might.



---------------------



Sheep, Goebbels, and Coffee

Goebbels today would serve up coffee trays
On nightly news — that’s all he’d need to do.
And idiots became the main dish these days,
The prime-made product of this media brew.

The slogan “shoot the enemy” is gone —
No bullets now, just lies in megatons.
Invent a threat, ring panic all day long —
And human shapes will turn on everyone.

They’re not quite human if they buy it whole,
This flood of nonsense, swallowed without fight.
And it gets worse — no thinking, no control,
No need for ideas — just fear and fright.

One psycho-virus rules the herd outright,
It spreads, commands, no questions to be asked —
And everywhere the sheep are led to slaughter,
Erased with ease — a simple, final task.



---------------------



Petty Little People

Petty little people —
Petty little wars.
Shrunken, starved of reason —
Mockery and scorn.

Thought is thin and fading,
Stupidity runs deep.
One thing still remains now:
Sweep them from the sweep.

Lies without a border,
Spirit crushed and chained.
Reason is dismantled.
Filth alone has reigned.

Man was never fashioned
Just to serve a lie.
Grieving comes too late now —
Final age draws nigh.

Sunlight burns much brighter,
Burns the murk away:
Either truth convulses —
Or the world will decay.



---------------------



“Adults”

Few true adults exist —
Just bodies fully grown.
Stagnation, foolish minds —
Overripe kids alone.

To truly grow takes strain:
To think, to push, to see,
To face and cut through lies,
To choose integrity.

Old age after “maturity”
Becomes a living hell:
Decay of mind and spirit
For those who never dwelled.

Children turned to elders —
A judgment cold and stark.
Gray heads, empty within,
Just waiting for the dark.

So few exceptions left —
The thinning cuts run deep.
A plague across all ages:
Infant minds in sleep.



---------------------



Duties and “Guilty” Deeds

From one imposed “duty”
To the next “guilty” plea,
Crowned in lies, we march along in line.
Endless rules they hand us,
Filth that seeks to brand us —
A brazen tyrant rules this world of blind.

Crooked laws and breeding
Beast-like ways of leading
Shape the mind from childhood, dull and numb.
Thus we turn to grayness,
Stunted, stripped of greatness —
Numbers in a ledger, totals we become.

Digital confinement:
Banners of alignment —
“Care” disguised in symbols cold and grim.
Poison passed as healing,
While the crowds are kneeling —
Global dullness grows at every limb.

No more camps are needed —
Other judges seeded:
Soon this shameful system will be tried.
Few will stand unbroken,
Few refuse the token —
Every vile deceiver cast aside.



---------------------



The Sideways Race

A marathon raced sideways, not ahead,
On highways paved with layers of pure lies —
It leads you downward, to the lowest bed,
And only fools compete for hollow prize.

This race will drain the strength from every vein,
It twists the soul and leaves it worn and torn.
It is escape from what we should attain —
Its goals are empty, trivial, and worn.

The runners long forgot who set the course,
Who drives them on, who whispers where to go.
Along the roadside stand the lying force —
They praise the race, yet truth they never show.

For in this race, the fuel is crafted lies —
You’re fed on it like some recurring meal.
Refuse to swallow what deception buys —
You’re cast aside, left starving by the wheel.

The final turn is passed — the end is near,
The bottom waits ahead, a silent grave.
No strength remains, no clarity, no steer —
It takes them all: the bold, the weak, the brave.



---------------------



“Security”…

Only poets in this world can still
Reflect the truth of utter despair.
They bring the final verdicts to the will,
And ease the soul’s consuming, burning air.

Only despair alone can now embrace
The endless void where all of us are drowned.
No chance remains to rise or find a place —
A sea of lies has swallowed every sound.

We thrash inside that ocean, weak and blind,
Cursing the bitter fate that we were sold.
No strength, no skill can ever save the mind
Once honor and free will have been controlled.

They promised “safety” — monsters in disguise —
And fools believed the comforting deceit.
Now payment comes in full for all the lies —
For that, their only plan was our defeat.

But they miscalculated in their pride —
Reckoning comes for ALL, for EVERYTHING.
Who did not sell their soul will stand aside —
This world was never theirs to truly bring.



---------------------



Non-Resistance and Resistance

The final folds of grazing, dim-witted herds
Are burned by viral lies — a bitter end.
Years of submission to disgraceful words
Have built a world where slaves will never mend.

A total cage has risen, cold and wide,
While inhumanity wears crown and throne.
Yet all the blame lies with the herd inside —
For every soul once stood at crossroads alone.

To choose the beast within, the fearful path,
Means stepping past the point of return.
No way back from that silent aftermath —
Once in the pen, forever there to burn.

So waking cattle now is not the task —
They are another breed, just walk away.
Some sparks of mind still linger, faint and masked,
But nothing more can truly change their way.

So build your islands, scattered through the field,
New worlds within the spheres of mindless crowds.
And purge the filth that never will be healed —
For this is Lucifer who wears their shrouds.



---------------------



Petri Dishes

Not minds — but Petri dishes here,
Where psycho-viruses grow and spread.
They swell until the end is near —
Until the dishes turn to death instead.

To smash them all would take too long,
Too many shards would fill the air.
So poison is injected strong —
A filthy strain of mental despair.

That filth is mixed with leavened lies,
And sealed until it bursts apart.
No tanks are needed for these skies —
The virus strikes the human heart.

It kills without a weapon’s sound,
It spreads through thought, through breath, through fear.
And all that once seemed safe and sound
Is gone the moment it comes near.



---------------------



Entertainment

The more the curses, filth, and spite,
The more each rotten word is hurled,
The nearer comes the final night —
Measured in clicks across the world.

Now only “entertainment” sells —
A game with ego, tame and blind.
It swallows all, and soon as well
The hollow crowds will lose their mind.

The volume of deceit is vast —
It crushes all beneath its weight.
Yet poetry must stay light and cast
A pastel tone for fools to sate.

Sweet little words, soft lullaby —
For idiots who crave the fake.
While underneath, the truth will lie,
And rotting worlds begin to break.

A funeral march of “cute” and “nice”
Will soon be written, played, and sung.
The traitors crawl in fear and lies —
Their end is near, their time undone.

No fake-virus will save the fall —
This Armageddon comes by other hand.
The foolish soon will lose it all —
But LIGHT shall rise and firmly stand.



---------------------



Tension

Hold the tension, hold it tight,
And do not yield to fear.
Let self-burn blaze through the night —
Let pain be sharp and clear.

Only infernal burning pain
Becomes your bitter sign —
If freedom is what you would gain,
And spirit stands in line.

Only extreme, unyielding strain
Can show the path to rise.
Or else decay will rule again —
A horror in disguise.



---------------------



To Be a Poet

It’s hard to be a poet here —
They treat you like you’re “off the track.”
But all that cheerful “love and cheer”
Won’t ever bring you something back.

“Want happiness?” — then play the fool,
Or sell yourself without a trace.
That’s wisdom’s coldest, oldest rule
Passed down from every rotten age.

Here only sales and deals prevail —
Sell everything, your soul as well.
And then no pain will dare assail
The hollow heart that learns to sell.

Betrayal keeps the dark in place.
To sell is to become “important.”
Yet somewhere in some hidden space
Your soul still burns — forever tormented.



---------------------



A Playful Advice to Tatiana

Tatiana here, Tatiana there —
The neighbors soon may gasp for air.
Though envy is a mortal sin,
Her shining luck won’t let them win.

Tatiana’s like a lively spark,
A little devil in the dark —
Yet she keeps reason close at hand,
Not drifting where the foolish land.

We ought to guard her, keep her near,
And cut the roots of envy here.
Let jealous tongues be trimmed and torn —
They feed on spite, but she is born.

Tatiana’s light in shadowed space —
A quiet glow, a steady grace.
So take this simple counsel true:
Stay sharp, stay kind — and wise in view.

For only minds both strong and clear
Can steer the world without fear.



---------------------



I Walk Across the Carpet…

“I walk as long as I still lie,
You walk as long as lies you say.”
But where does such a road lead by?
And what do you sell truth away?

Your soul for nothing — for a coin…
You look like fool who cannot see.
If lies become your heart and voice,
Then what remains of dignity?

So cast all falsehoods far behind,
Let honor grow, let conscience rise.
Even if you must fall and die —
You save your soul by cutting lies.



---------------------



They Will Help You, Catch You, and Help You Again

“If only you call, help will appear,
Through swamps and deserts, ice and fear.”
— Leonid Derbenyov, 1966


The fool believes: the planes will fly,
The rescue troops will soon arrive.
Special forces rushing by —
To keep his fragile hope alive.

He thinks the state, so kind and wise,
Protects him everywhere he goes.
A kingdom built on lullabies —
That feeds the dull, but never grows.

But all its care is poisoned air,
In food and water, slow decay.
A fascist horde that everywhere
Has long been holding life at bay.

And everywhere — the dumbing down,
A “national” design in play.
Corruption dressed as noble crown,
Where leaders lead the mind astray.

Endless “necessary” slaughter too
Is praised as something good and fine.
Now slaughterhouses — old and new —
Are trends in this grotesque design.

We’ll inject you all with silent death,
A toxin sold as saving grace.
A fascist mind once drew this breath
And shaped the world into this place.

A turn has come — to camp and cage,
Now global in its final form.
On genocide’s official page
A cross hangs over every storm.

That cross now marks the world itself,
A warning written in the sky.
In this foul stall of lies and wealth
You’ll die by “care” they justify.

For centuries they “care” for man,
So tenderly they play their part.
But every soul must understand:
The human is already torn apart.

Only fragments now remain,
Scattered ruins of what was.
No drink can wash away the stain
Of what this broken system does.

Disaster knocks on every door,
Disguised as truth, as law, as plan.
And soon it turns into much more —
A nightmare where you are no man.

So only unity remains
Among the last who still can see.
A fragile chance, through breaking chains,
To leave this dumb, speaking debris.



---------------------



Final — Finished

“Final consumer” is sold as delight —
A happiness wrapped in a modern disguise.
But switch just two letters, and instantly right,
The “finished fool” stands revealed before your eyes.

A “jam of wild berries,” a hollow clich;,
Is all that this creature consumes and believes.
A shadow of life, led so easily astray,
With spirit so broken, with mind that deceives.

Its soul is exhausted, its thinking a blur,
It rebuilds the old chains it once should have burned.
A system of slavery rises in her —
The past in new packaging neatly returned.

So step from the herd of the cracked and the lost,
This rotting existence will drag you below.
No nations remain — just a globalized cost,
And fascism quietly runs the whole show.

Build new kinds of ties and connections instead,
Seek comrades with vision, with strength, and with will.
Those fascist machines are not gods to be fed —
They fracture beneath a determined skill.

Destroy every lie where it hides and survives,
And build living communities, strong and aware.
For even the darkest system that thrives
Will fall when confronted by courage and care.



---------------------



The Thousandth Poem

A thousand poems in two years —
Enough to blur the weary sight.
A crowd of fools, a swarm of fears,
Destroying all — themselves in flight.

I said I’d step away, retire,
But silence feels too false, too thin.
A stale, forced thought will not inspire —
It’s better burn than let it in.

To burn is better, yes, indeed —
But fire still consumes your hand.
To hell with comfort, ease, and speed…
Look closer — idiot at hand.

A newer breed, not yet in verse,
Still wandering beyond the page.
This work goes on — for better, worse —
There’s always madness for each age.

I never liked the rounded count —
This poem’s just a passing joke.
But past the limit, thoughts mount,
And anger quietly awoke.



---------------------



Transformation

How does it happen,
what is the reason,
that a child is turned
into ruin and treason?

Parents are failing —
no strength in their mind.
Just servants obeying,
fearfully blind.

They tremble before
a tyrant’s command,
empty and brutal,
too weak to stand.

Obedience leaves
its wounds in the chest —
and those very wounds
infect all the rest.

And soon they are passed
to the child in turn —
for where there is weakness,
infection will burn.

And then comes the school —
a factory of mind,
where truth is distorted
and reason is blind.

A system designed
to dull and to break,
where generations
repeat the same fake.

A ritual mockery
few can survive —
only a handful
keep thought alive.

So out comes the youth
into ruin and chain,
into a world
of betrayal and pain.

For adults as well
there is no escape —
deceit is the currency,
cruel and sharp-shaped.

Around them are creatures
with hollowed-out eyes,
no pride, only remnants
of truth in disguise.

No longer quite human —
fragments of form.
So struggle becomes
the only true norm.

Against decomposition,
routine and decay,
that turns every spirit
to animal clay.

And those who surrender
become what they fear —
a twisted existence,
a soul disappeared.

Only one path remains —
no turning aside:
the road into freedom,
where truth can abide.

Who searches, who struggles,
who will not conform,
will rise into spirit,
beyond human deform.



---------------------



Freudianism

A rotten inhumanity laughs loud,
Shoving into every simple mind
Ideas that return like a darkened cloud —
Obsessions twisted, bitter, and unkind.

Freudian thought — a clinical mistake,
Where some half-mad and fevered brain
Turned heaps of psychic garbage and fake
Into a “method” dressed as gain.

As parody, it might amuse a while,
To watch the foolish take the bait —
To see them stumble, break, and smile,
Yet never fully humiliate.

But mockery is not the goal they serve —
A darker game is played instead:
Control of thought, the bending of the nerve,
A fascist will inside the head.

Any nonsense is welcomed in this game —
Just to confuse and cloud the mind.
The aim is clear, though never named:
To kill the natural thought of humankind.

For such thought breaks every rigid scheme
That long ago was set in stone —
So they must drown it in a stream
Of filth and noise, meticulously sown.

No normal child desires to kill
His father by some hidden drive.
No human born would ever will
To start as traitor in their life.

No “Oedipal law” defines mankind —
No universal truth in that.
The mind is layered, rich and wide,
Not some mechanical psychopath.

And every dream-book, crude and plain,
Offers more sense than Freud’s display.
More truth is found in simple strain
Than in his twisted dream-logic play.

So all that’s left is laughter now
At these collapsed and hollow schemes.
And struggle — to restore somehow
The clear, unbroken human mind and dreams.



---------------------



The Tenth Poem of the Day

The tenth one today —
like coal brought to the hill.
Each verse fits its way,
yet sleep calls me still.

The tenth is a surplus,
a joke, nothing more.
How did I grow careless
when anger was war?

If you struggle onward,
your strength will return.
Though nothing feels lighter,
you still have to burn —

A work beyond human,
relentless and cold.
Yet through all the strain,
something real takes hold.



---------------------



Cinematic Heroes

Cinematic heroes —
they’re made for slave control,
for guarding rotten systems,
for “saving” the whole.

Also for distraction
from problems in the way,
and manufactured answers
to dilemmas they display.

Dilemmas built on choices
between two kinds of lies —
the scaffold or the torture —
that’s how the logic lies.

If you strip away the labels,
the polished, painted words
placed so carefully on everything
through centuries of blur,

you’ll see the same deception
repeated everywhere.
And trouble comes returning —
the fascist in the air.

He washes minds with nonsense,
a lie as vast as sky,
so easy to distribute
and multiply and lie.

Through cinema it spreads now,
a tool to reinforce
the fiction of illusion
as an unquestioned force.

If films “save” some freedom
that never did exist,
they only strengthen madness
with carefully framed mist:

that man is self-creator,
in full control of fate —
not Cain within the system
that binds him, sealed and straight,

within a fascist order
that’s lasted many years.
And cinema is mourning
the death of thinking here —

a funeral for the reason,
a feast for empty minds,
where hollow entertainment
replaces truth it blinds.



---------------------



Razors

Two razors rule us — stupidity and greed,
They slash the throats of all who still remain.
Add servile selling-out to that creed —
And nothing else is left to name the pain.

All else is locked away, dismissed, ignored —
No use for anything beyond control.
Are we just cattle, horses, or the horde
That lost all trace of mind and human soul?

These blades are shearing every blinded sheep,
And others face a slower, final end.
Through crafted lies so vast and cold and deep
The fences of this global pen extend.

How comfortable the pen feels to the crowd,
Though all we eat is filth and processed rot.
No horses now — just ponies, bowed and cowed,
A dwarfed existence, measured, bought, and taught.

We’ve turned into domestic swine at best,
Obedient hamsters in a metal wheel.
No need for clubs — just scans that pass the test,
And eyes that yield what they once used to feel.

All herds submit to slaughter without sound,
We chew our chips and popcorn, dull and slow.
Concerned with bodies, tightly earthbound,
Unaware of how far the chains now go.

And bodies suit the masters of this farm —
They’ve tasted well the urge to consume all.
They’ve yielded to the ancient, simple charm:
“I’ll eat them whole, and watch the others fall.”

The slaughterhouses now are fully built,
The hour strikes with cold, mechanical grace.
No war alone is needed for the guilt —
A wider harvest takes the human race.

A needle now will do what war once did,
A “virus” mask for every final blow.
And sheep and horses echo, scared and hid —
Afraid of this “apocalypse” they know.



---------------------



Death by “Boom-Boom”

A joke

The tribe of Yumba-Mumba caught
A castaway from distant shore.
The chief asked him: “Now choose your lot —
Death… or ‘boom-boom’ forevermore?”

He thought: “Death I already know,
But boom-boom’s meaning is unclear.
I’ll choose it then — and see how low
It can go worse than what I fear.”

And so they took him, let him go —
Then later caught him once again.
“Death or boom-boom?” — the answer slow:
He chose the unknown once more then.

This cycle turned, repeated fate,
Until at last he cried in dread:
“No more! Just kill me — end this state!”
The chief then smiled and calmly said:

“Death… by boom-boom instead.”

The praised ‘life’ we know is just
A polished form of slow decay —
A shameful death wrapped up in dust,
In endless boom-boom every day.

The tribesmen here are soft and loose,
While ours are rigid, cold as steel:
Computers counting human use,
Where people turn to profit deal.

They see mankind as just a tool,
A dividend from simple fools.
This pseudo-world obeys one rule —
Humanity becomes the fuel.

“Economic livestock” — the phrase
Has entered many learned minds.
Now one in hundred breaks the haze
Among the pigs and sheep aligned.

Your job itself becomes your end —
A slow decline through boom-boom fate.
No longer man, nor foe, nor friend —
Just product, noise, or data state.

You are white noise in system flow
If you resist this hell-made scheme.
And barely heard, you drift below
The algorithm’s watching dream.

Entertainment kills the mind,
A poison wrapped as pleasure’s face.
Far better prison chains to find
Than this refined, slow torture place.

Fake science binds the broken thought,
Turning minds to hollow dust.
And death is better than this rot
Of rule-by-code and blind trust.

For ruling forces justify
Each slaughter, each machine of pain.
They weave the lies that never die
And hook the minds they wish to drain.

Your murder now is ritual art —
A harvest for the inhuman few.
Even the Yumba chief would start
To envy what these systems do.

And slow destruction is the key —
It squeezes out each drop of will.
That is the price of loyalty —
The deepest fall, the final spill.



---------------------



The “Unpeaceful” Atom

Atomizing mankind — a inhuman design,
A plan of the ones who no longer feel.
Where once there were clans, a common line,
Now every man dwells in his private unreal.

And madness multiplies, splits like a germ,
Mutating strange, unstable, obscene.
For the enemy’s aim is to break every term
That once led to unity strong and unseen.

To crush one by one is an easy affair
When the world is arranged in such shape.
No prisons are needed, no chains to wear —
Just silent erasure with no escape.

A hidden “latrine” where they wash you away,
A shell where obedience learns to reside.
The strongest of chains in a modern display
Is loneliness — while the crowd stands outside.

Control of illusion is vital and strict —
No chaos of thought is allowed to roam.
A whole apparatus of patterns is picked
By masters of narrative, slick and foam.

The Internet wasn’t built for exchange
Of truth or free mind — they never cared.
It serves as replacement, a structured cage,
To finish the breaking of bonds once shared.

Each fool is embedded, locked in the lie,
A matrix of falseness, global and vast.
And thus the whole world was remade to comply,
A madhouse where reason no longer lasts.

Within this asylum it’s easy to sell
The poison of “viruses” made of deceit.
No effort is needed to deepen the spell
If thinking has long been dragged off its feet.

Only communities still may preserve
A fragile last chance for the ones who resist,
Who refuse to become just another nerve
In fascist designs that tighten their twist.

For fascism builds not on fear alone,
But also on dust of divided minds.
On isolation where nothing is known,
Where man disappears and no one finds.

And if there is no one left to be heard,
Then no one will answer from higher ground.
And only one god remains in this world —
A darkness where Lucifer’s law is crowned.



---------------------



Marionettes

Ma-ri-o, Ma-RI-O, Ma-RI-o-NETTES
Have flooded and swallowed the whole of the earth.
Our ancestors’ horror would rise from the depths —
For fascism is now their new source of worth.

The stupid “journalist” is just a stringed toy,
He spews out the lies that are ordered above.
So truth becomes rare, almost lost in the noise —
Yet truth is what saves and restores human love.

The bureaucrat serves only systems of fear,
Obedient, hollow, and trained to obey.
No limit remains to the madness we hear —
They mock the whole crowd in a bureaucrat’s play.

The doctor, the cop — all are tools in the chain
Of systems that kill under banners of “care.”
They wait for commands to unleash the campaign —
For violence dressed as a medical stare.

The teacher no longer brings knowledge or light,
But feeds only dullness to children in rows.
The myth of “safe childhood” dissolves in the night —
For schools have become where obedience grows.

What leaves is a puppet, a hollowed-out mind,
Fit only to serve those who feed on control.
And power can shut every valve it can find
If people grow slightly too free in their role.

The politician — just a hollowed-out clown,
A mouthpiece for nonsense with shameless display.
The laughter has died, and the curtain falls down —
We’re living in fascism’s coldest of days.

Now puppet regimes rule each formalized state,
Where cruelty spreads with no limit or end.
The pressure on thinking is constant and great —
A genocide masked as administrative trend.

So thinkers must gather, unite and resist,
Build islands of strength in a fractured terrain.
For otherwise nothing of human will persist —
Not even the shadow of life will remain.

A global camp rises where graves are a norm,
Where coffins are luxury few can afford.
The lie has been weaponized, sharpened, and worn —
And armies of “doctors” advance with their sword.

So let us unite and strike back at the beast,
And drown this whole system in its own decay.
Let spirit grow stronger, let bonds be increased —
And find those who stand in the fight of the day.



---------------------



Slavery

What is not born within your core,
But planted from the outside in,
With passing time will turn once more
To slavery — deep and grim.

And you will find yourself below,
In madhouse ruled by fools and fear.
You catch the sickness, slow and low,
A chain far worse than iron gear.

No priest is needed to connect
Yourself to what you call divine.
For long the vile and desecrate
Have mocked the natural design.

You can connect, explore, and see
The links that form your inner sight.
And thus expand your mind to be
More free, more clear, more aligned with light.

The more you grow in inner space,
The more you break the chains of old.
While rotting systems, full of waste,
Impose decay on hearts and souls.

That decay is everywhere —
No reason left for patient wait.
Within it only lies despair,
A root of all corrupted fate.

For lies are basis of the thrall,
A road that leads to nowhere near.
And filth alone will fill it all —
The constant presence of the smear.

Do not believe the vile thieves
Who seized control through force and fraud,
Who dream of turning human beings
To mindless clay beneath their claw.

They promise gardens, pure and bright,
A world of peace they never build.
But only cages come in sight,
Where every spark of thought is killed.

No garden waits — just iron pens,
A zoo where reason’s left to die.
The fascist mind that never ends
Will turn the world into a lie.

And soon this mad and poisoned scheme
Will crush the minds that still remain.
Where thinking humans once could dream,
There only silence follows pain.

So all this rotten world must fall,
This collapsing, hollowed shell.
For only breaking through it all
Can keep the soul from living hell.



---------------------



The Swing

“Only children’s books to read,
Only childish thoughts to keep,
All the vastness cast away,
Rising from a depth of grief.

I am tired unto death of life,
Nothing in it do I take,
Yet I love my poor old land
For no other one I’ve seen.

I once swung in a distant garden
On a simple wooden frame,
And the tall dark firs I remember
Through a haze of fevered dreams.”
— Osip Mandelstam, 1908


After reading, one must now dare —
Only struggle justifies in Hell.
We must rise, or else we’re there,
Rotting in a zoo as well.

Everyone is tired to the bone —
Price of patience, long and slow.
If you’ve seen this Hell alone,
Then you know what lies below:

Not “progress,” but masked decay,
Different forms of genocide.
Main design is clear as day —
Make the idiot the guide.

And there is no use to recall
Anything but endless dread.
It is time to break it all —
Or we’re finished, nearly dead.



---------------------



Urban Mirages

In cities where all life has died
Beneath the weight of lies and stone,
Only decay is left inside —
And mirages begin to grow.

One after one they rise and spread,
These visions built on false desire.
They take the living by the head
And pull them deeper into mire.

Mirages promise better days,
But never once have kept their vow.
Wake up before your mind decays —
They steal your years here and now.

Mirages, mirages — power vast,
Yet poisoned is their empty reign.
They lead you nowhere but the past,
And leave you nothing in exchange.

For attention is the highest gold
In this world’s endless, brutal game.
For it, all battles now are sold —
And human force is fuel to flame.

So wake up fast — or disappear,
This madhouse kills the soul within.
Only exhaustion grows you here,
And death is all you’ll find therein.

Mirages, mirages — power vast,
Yet poisoned is their empty reign.
They lead you nowhere but the past,
And leave you nothing in exchange.



---------------------



Kings Cannot Decide…

All around is lying, sorrow, bitter strain,
And ruling over us a traitors’ chain.
In slavery we’ve lingered through the age,
And without unity — the world will fade.

Illusions of a “good king” still persist,
To keep the pressure down, to numb the fist.
But no true rulers stand upon the throne —
Just trembling creatures feeding lies alone.

No petty “kings” decide how fate will flow —
They only serve the darkness down below.
The world is trapped beneath a shadowed crown,
And truth is buried, twisted, and thrown down.

So wake up now, and take your life in hand,
Build living communes across every land.
Destroy the lies that keep us bound and still —
Through struggle multiply the force of will.

The path is hard — the darkness still is strong —
But only death awaits if we stay wrong.
Enough of strength, of clarity, of mind
To break the cycle, leave the old behind.

All trapped within the turning wheel of night —
And naked now the “king” stands in plain sight.
So harden spirit, rise above the pain,
Cast off the fear, embrace the will again.



---------------------



Half-a-Dog plus Half-a-Dog equals Pop-dog

A nine-year-old girl once wrote,
To a radio station she knew:
“Your pop music settles inside my mind
And blocks what I love to do.”

Half-a-dog of pseudo-poet,
Half-a-dog of tinkling noise,
Calls itself a melody —
But ends in empty, hollow noise.

This noise is sticky, clinging,
A danger for the young and weak.
A cabinet of curiosities —
No spirit, nothing to speak.

They feed us all this rotten mix,
This dull and mindless mush.
The stage has long been ruled by tricks,
By demons in the hush.

Just empty fun and fake “great pride,”
To shape us like obedient hounds,
To make us chew and swallow blind
What fascist rhythm sounds.

For fascism has long been king —
And pop is just its mask.
Submit to it, and everything
Is lost beyond repair or task.

So don’t consume this poisoned tune —
This “dog-music” decay.
For when you merge the halves as one,
The full beast comes to stay.

And that full dog, unleashed, complete,
Will smash all minds to dust.
A universal, common grief —
A system built on trust.

And all these tame, obedient hounds
Will never give a hit.
No soul, no spark, no human sound —
Just hollow shells of it.



---------------------



Tatiana and the Fat Man

The fat man swells from lack of food,
And Tatiana’s full of strain.
If only that bastard had long been gone —
Things would feel less sharp, less plain.

Less trouble then for everyone —
He poisons lines with bitter verse.
The seeds of light, the mind’s own sun
He drags through filth and makes them worse.

He’s worn out every soul around,
Now left alone within the place.
And now for Tatiana’s mind is found
A new and strange disturbing case:

Perhaps to choke him would be best —
But laws would call it “crime” instead.
Such “individuals” must be pressed,
Their presence foul, their words like lead.

He even writes in curse and spite,
Tatiana’s ears grow sore and thin.
Is hunger killing him outright?
No — not yet… the rot’s within.

So starve him slow, ignore his cries,
Or build some social wall of hate.
Or better still — let prison rise:
At least then peace would dominate.



---------------------



Trojans

No bullets now are needed here
To wound, to scar, to bring despair.
What kills us silent, cold, and near —
Are Trojan minds that spread the air.

Psycho-viruses invade,
A hell of code inside the brain.
They hunt the cracks that fear has made
And grow within each hidden vein.

So drop your blind and passive trust,
Leave behind your hollow shell.
For tolerance here turns to rust
Inside the cage they build so well.

Stop listening to rotten voices —
The world is ruled by crafted lies.
A fog of darkness makes its choices,
Clouding vision, blinding eyes.

That fog is stored through endless ages
By masters of distortion’s art.
Soon truth will drown inside its pages —
So wake before it tears apart.

For lies are everywhere and strong —
Expose them now, refuse the game.
Don’t let the deceivers prolong
Their empire built on fraud and shame.

Build only systems of your own,
Autonomous and clear of rot.
Let truth be multiplied and grown —
And let corruption take no spot.



---------------------



The Limit of Collapse

Corrupt men and ruined lands around,
The limit of decline is long since reached.
Yet most of all what makes the mind unbound
Is how this rot keeps spreading, never leached.

All poisoned now — the air, the food, the flow,
The ancient paths of wisdom are erased.
We sit like cuckoos in a alien nest below,
In crumbling shells that strangers once had raised.

Stupidity has now become the norm,
And soullessness the ruling law of man.
A human turned to hollow, endless storm —
No longer human, just a broken scan.

Here fascism no longer hides its face,
Genocide is now a daily rule.
Honor and dignity have lost all trace —
We stand at history’s final school.

Betrayal now is service, not a sin,
And murder hides inside the hospital.
Online, deceit is friendship we live in —
And fools emerge from every protocol.

The screens pour out their tons of poisoned lies,
All “news” is just propaganda fed.
The taste of truth has vanished from our eyes —
We breathe again the ghosts of Goebbels’ thread.

The frightened corrupt ones shake in fear —
A fake virus cuts through blinded crowds.
No need for gallows, no need for spear,
No old restraints beneath these toxic clouds.

Control is built on fear and manufactured lies,
The peak of genocide, no lower fall.
The breaking point of degradation lies
In gates of hell now opened to us all.

No path remains for thinking minds to tread,
Each honest soul is driven to a wall.
While chaos thrives in hands of half-dead
Inhuman forces celebrating all.

All truth is drowned in propaganda’s flood,
No poet’s voice, no writer’s cry is heard.
We sink within a manufactured mud
By gangs who poison every spoken word.

All crises forged — artificial, planned,
A theater run by traitors in disguise.
Their creed is written in a satanic hand,
Commanding chaos with a simple “rise.”

But even Nature has her final line —
The Earth will not endure this parasite.
The Sun burns hotter with a warning sign,
As years grow thin before the final night.

And we may vanish — saving Earth instead,
For she deserves a purer path ahead.
Her strength is sleeping, buried, almost dead
Beneath the herds of humans turned to lead.



---------------------



“Somehow…”

“The temptation grows —
to live somehow,
yet the scent of linden trees
can still deceive you now.”
— Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Fresh Scent of Linden, 1974

To live “somehow” — to lie, betray, deceive,
That is the guiding rule for most alive.
Conscience, honor — no one here believes,
A half-demonic crowd that tries to thrive.

Everything is sold — the world is trade.
The crowd is dull, distorted, lost, untrue.
A fog of lies is everywhere displayed —
And fascist fools still steer what people do.

The lure is not so bright: to live is rot,
If spirit dies, then all becomes a mask.
If you endure it all, you lose your lot —
Your soul will break beneath the crushing task.

So break the lies, cast every chain away,
Go inward, like a hermit from the storm.
Stop running like a hamster day by day
Inside a wheel that kills all human form.

If you pass through this stage, then re-emerge
Into the world — but now for conscious fight.
For struggle is the place where meanings surge,
Yet old approaches fade into the night.

New methods must be found, a sharper way
To face the rot that spreads across the land.
Only through this can freedom hold its sway —
So walk the final battle, wise and planned.



---------------------



Quotation Marks and Skeleton Keys

The force of habit —
is all in the brackets,
in “quotation marks”
where meaning is bent.
And through those little “birds” of speech
they often extract the very essence meant.

These are just skeleton keys
always kept at hand —
they open in a second
and pour out rotten sand.

Already nothing but poison,
a corrosive, toxic haze,
fills every vessel to the edge
until the container breaks.

The vessel is sealed shut tight —
and slaves obey the chain.
They wait in silent submission
for the monsters to bring pain.

Killed by a single lie —
for that is all it takes,
when all believe the liars
and truth itself decays.

There is no deeper shame
than living in this age
where Honor and Conscience
are dying on the stage.

No Honor — only disgrace
will hang all souls on racks,
beneath a “red-cross mercy”
that hides the butcher’s axe.

So gather, stand together —
let conscience rise again.
Expel the inhuman presence
from every stolen den.

Cast off your learned habits —
step beyond the “quotes.”
Together we can break
this spreading toxic growth.

New patterns must be forged —
or monsters take control.
Build communes, build resistance —
that is the only goal.

All “life” here is in brackets,
rights reduced to birds in flight.
An inhuman force has captured
the world and drowned the light.

So answer this dark banquet
with lives autonomous and free —
and tear apart the cannibal feast
of this inhuman spree.



---------------------



Gavrila — the Power of Lies

“Gavrila bought a chair one day,
a chair that broke and fell apart…”
— Ilf and Petrov, The Twelve Chairs, 1927


Gavrila was a propagandist,
He ground out lies in endless stream.
From his mouth a poisoned mist amassed —
And tons of it now drown the dream.

Gavrila turns into an anchor,
The first thing thrown into the sea.
No ship survives a truthless banker
Of fraud and mass insanity.

The captain, in the final hour,
Will curse the load he cannot bear.
For lies have lost their sinking power —
They drag the vessel down to despair.

And at the bottom lies the verdict,
A court where souls are stripped and weighed.
The “harbor” now is death electric,
Where truth and falsehood are displayed.

All ships go down with all aboard them —
And Gavrila’s kind is legion here.
To drown such pests is not absurd then —
They sink inside their own foul fear.

So let them drown — at bottom level
No excuses can be made.
Though judgment there may look quite dreadful,
No sin is it to end the plague.



---------------------



All in a Lump

All pancakes, all destinies — in a lump,
Every glance returns as foreign noise.
Human mass is like a swelling stump —
A crowd of hollow, empty shells and voids.

Thinking minds are rare, almost extinct,
Only few still truly see and feel.
This alone shows how the world has shrunk
Under rule of devils at the wheel.

The main design is dulling human sight,
Corruption of the spirit’s core.
Just decomposition everywhere in sight —
And fog has covered vision more and more.

We miss the essence right in front of us,
Bent and whining under hidden chains.
Chasing nonsense, powerless and thus
Serving Mammon’s endless reign.

And we sell ourselves so easily,
Destroying children with each lie.
Pressure rises — we collapse, you see,
A broken species passing by.

So let our destinies be crushed to dust —
Nothing more is left to gain.
If soul-killers now decide the trust,
Then let most of them be slain.

The Sun has risen to begin its task —
Brighter, fiercer, burning through.
It will scorch the fools behind their mask,
And leave a freer world anew.

Those with soul will surely be preserved —
Spiritual life will rise again.
Let the soulless tremble, fear disturbed —
For Hell, as always, moves downwards, not in vain.



---------------------



No Day Without a Line

“I am in crisis. Soul is numb.
‘No day without a line,’ my friend insists.
But I have neither days nor lines to come…”
— Andrei Voznesensky, It Is Not Written, 1967


No day without a line — if line is real,
Then sharpen it with irony and flame.
We’ve wallowed far too long in poisoned deal
Of carefully constructed lies and shame.

Timelessness and fascism are one thread,
From age to age the pattern stays the same.
Don’t talk of “love” — just look at what is spread
Upon those faces stripped of human name.

Yes, there are souls still carrying the light,
But light is fading, darkness pressing near.
So do not trust the voices preaching “bright”
In middle of an ongoing attack and fear.

For now the strike goes deep into the root —
To kill the spirit, turn all minds to herd.
And every chain is tightened with the brute
Weight of exhausted, ancient, rotting word.

When faced with filth or inhuman design,
Do not respond with songbird softness there.
Or else you’ll serve them, part of their decline —
Their servant, polished, silent, stripped and bare.

So scatter lies, let every ash disperse —
Be sharp as cutting edge, not passive dust.
For poetry has reached its breaking verse —
To stay silent now would be unjust.

And word becomes a blade, not decoration —
A tool of truth against the rot below.
For only through precise articulation
Can anything like human spirit grow.



---------------------



Ours and Not Ours

“Dasha and Klasha did not understand the cult of suffering.
Nor did they try to understand it.
They were content with what they had.”
— Vessa Blumenbaum, The Abnormals, 2021


Those Dasha and Klasha —
they truly are ours.
The rest is just waste,
more foolish than thieves or liars.

But Dasha and Klasha
will soon be pushed out
by endless “Masha-types”
who swallow each doubt.

They listen to nonsense,
they never look through —
the rot and the breakdown
that eats up the truth.

A sickness of spirit,
a death of the soul,
has turned into “culture,”
a hollowed-out role.

Those “Masha” are not ours —
they’re just blended mass.
A boiling of nonsense
from filth and from trash.

The fascist-like filth
is ugliness pure.
But filth always ends —
nothing stays secure.

A spiritual bond
will rise once again.
So move toward that moment,
break out of the chain.

For you are a “king”
if you do not bend —
if you stand through the darkness
and refuse to descend.



---------------------



Opinions

Assimilating borrowed points of view,
And turning alien thoughts into “our own,”
Transforms us into fading shades of you —
Where dullness, grey and empty, has been grown.

That dullness builds the shape of what we call
A “person,” ready-made for crooked hands.
A turning cycle swallowing us all —
Where lies respond, and deeper fraud expands.

The waves of submission rise and spread,
While arrogance of falsehood multiplies.
The content of the mind becomes half-dead —
A program fed by those who wear disguise.

You are a spiritual being — nothing less.
All else is false, a collar forged in pain.
This earthly “being” is just emptiness —
A living hell that cycles through again.

But those who place the spirit first and high,
Above all other drives and passing schemes,
Will find another fate beyond the lie —
A path that breaks the surface of all dreams.

The rest are only flies upon decay.
So turn toward Spirit — that is the way.



---------------------



Hi

I hate the loud and empty “hi”
That’s pumped through screens of mass deceit,
Where poison lies are fed on high
And traitors set the social beat.

The worst of all is propaganda’s face —
A filthy breed, a rotten core.
It drives all thinking from its place
Till fools feel “happy” evermore.

The fascist comes when minds are trained,
When brains are softened, blurred, and bent.
He slips inside each home unchained —
The price of lies, the downward descent.

And maybe this is well deserved —
For endless patience, blind consent.
If you have bowed to what you served,
Then face the ruin that is sent.

But even devils lose their throne —
The madhouse burns without regret.
No evil can possess the whole —
The Earth has ways it won’t forget.

The Earth is alive — and Sunlight’s fire
Is its most merciless defense.
It burns the house of dark desire —
And this is not pretense.



---------------------



Fight

Nothing to do —
then you must fight.
Strike down lies
with fearless might.

Crowds of deformity —
seem without end.
Yet in the stormy sea
young hearts ascend.

Yes, it is hard —
these bitter years,
but break your guard
through pain and fears.

Only through struggle
the Soul is saved.
Be only YOURSELF —
don’t heed the depraved.

Honor and reason,
steadfast and clear —
through every season
we purge the fear.

The plague of the rotten
we burn away.
What’s foul and forgotten
will not hold sway.

We shall overcome —
our world be born.
We shall become
what was once torn.

All strength is Spirit —
draw from its flame.
The servants of darkness
will fall in shame.

Forward with courage!
Doubt left behind.
If you are not broken —
keep the pure Mind.

Hear only the Spirit —
its sacred call.
And rise unshackled —
beyond them all.



---------------------



Black Sasha — Genius

“Immortality? For you, two-legged moles,
not worth a single earthly day you’re given?
Perhaps even lizards, worms and toadlike souls
would claim it too, once deeply driven…”
— Sasha Chorny, 1908


Sasha Chorny — the one true flame of his age,
who a century back saw the rot and decay,
rose against the world’s masquerade and its stage —
the “World of Shadows” devouring the day.

He saw man as a creature of borrowed disguise,
a swarm of small evils in carefully sewn skin.
He cursed all the masks and the well-polished lies,
and the “truths” politicians pour straight from within.

He mocked all the fools in poetry’s hall —
a museum of madness, grotesque and obscene.
If he lived in our time, he would likely just fall
into shock at how shameless the fascists have been.

Sasha, friend — I did not inherit your fight,
nor expect to continue your blazing decree,
yet your voice from my youth still ignited the light
that returned what I thought I had lost from me.

Let them hiss about “love” in a world turned to cage,
where the remnants of spirit are barely alive.
Your name is my banner against modern age —
and poetry’s weapon. So I pull the drive.



---------------------



“What’s to stop us building it all?”

What’s to stop us building lies? —
First, we scare the crowd outright
With absurd and frantic cries,
And lay the groundwork of night.

How the foolish multitudes
Swallow every baited tale!
Once it was “terrorist” news
That made the frightened people pale.

Now they “treat” each made-up flaw,
Each disease that’s pure disguise.
Even laughing at the law —
Health is built on such “surprise”.

More will come — the plan expands,
We’ll inject them with decay.
No need subtle, soft demands —
Chaos eats them anyway.

Above it rises: the CELL —
A resort for broken minds.
Truth will finish them as well,
No more chains are left behind.

And above — the flags will wave,
“Red Cross” banners shining bright.
Call it “camp”? — then kindly take
Cyanide as “healing light”.




---------------------



Crush Fascism!

Idiots “think” that fascism’s right —
just darkness all around, no lies
about a “bright and noble light.”
And “communism” from inside
is mixed and ground in subtle guise.

For fascists always preach the same —
of struggle, future, “people’s good.”
It’s all wrapped up in battle’s flame:
“Enemies everywhere” — and blood
is washed away by “heroic” mood.

And after that — a promised bliss,
a paradise for those who fight.
Who disagrees — they must be hissed,
or whipped “for their own benefit,”
corrected into what is “right.”

Fascism always shows one face —
just one side of the twisted coin.
And truth is lost without a trace,
while lies about the past are sewn
to hide the crimes they now deploy.

Worse than before — it grows and spreads,
more dangerous than ever known.
It opens every locked-up thread —
and sorrow thickens like a stone,
a storm that no one can disown.

Rise up, O people — crush the beast!
While it is still in fragile form!
Or later shame will never cease —
our grandchildren will bear the storm
of what we failed to see or warn.



---------------------



The Apocalypse Harness

From childhood onward every soul
is shaped by psychic rupture.
Some later seek a church as whole —
a place to numb the future.

Some find relief in art instead,
though shallow, well-known pleasure.
They heal in museums of the dead —
another “holy” treasure.

But most of those who lose their way,
with dreams of world dominion,
raise banners of false science — they
worship its rotten “vision”.

Everywhere blind belief prevails,
and lies are loud and blatant.
All sense of measure slowly fails
in faces ruling patient.

No measure left for meaning here,
no weight for poisoned phrases.
Only the count of numbers clear —
not people — fills the pages.

No measure where insanity
becomes the daily standard,
where filth is normal gravity,
and “success” is what they’ve granted.

All are harnessed to the load,
this cart of global madness.
A mason’s WHO now holds the road —
the driver of this sadness.

Reason and honor turned to dust,
just manure for their system.
Soon they will wither — that is just,
no doubt, no contradiction.

The harness rushes down the track,
erasing all before it.
But you — you’ll never feel the crack:
what can a corpse report it?



---------------------



Managing the Activity of Fools

An active fool is far more dread
than idle scum that simply lies.
And so the world grows darker, fed
by tricks and bought-for compromise.

Now “activity” is cheaply sold —
just hire a rogue with payment high,
and place a schemer, sly and bold,
to rule the mob that passes by.

Then all the sprouts of conscious thought
are trampled flat without a trace —
and everything that could be taught
is crushed by mindless, empty pace.



---------------------



Waiting for the Drain

“O soul — your noble impulses…” — a paraphrase of Pushkin

O soul — your thirst for knowing fire,
and you may “live in happiness.”
But otherwise you stand at wire
of cliff, awaiting stream’s abyss.

The “happy” mind sees none of danger,
dreaming of “purity” in lies.
But flow cares nothing for the stranger —
it sweeps away all made-up skies.

It tears away the world of nonsense,
of violence wrapped in disguise —
and leaves no trace of all pretenses,
no fragile dreams, no painted lies.



---------------------



Belief in “Authorities”

Authority will back the haze,
the nonsense flowing through the crowd,
and knowledge slowly fades away
beneath the noise so harsh and loud.

Seek out all facts and weigh them well —
with mind that questions, not obeys.
For truth in only few can dwell,
in free thought’s rare and stormy blaze.

This shameful world will meet its end
through clear and stubborn will to see.
And reason, forced to fight and mend,
will break through chains of “certainty.”

And those who blindly trust the noise
will fall into the woven lie —
while thinking mind, through struggle, rises,
and leaves delusion’s grip to die.



---------------------



“The External Enemy”

There must always be a target
“outside” to stir and spin,
so selling filth becomes the market
for scum that drown in sin.

But far more dangerous is the foe
that works from deep within —
he built the filth we all now know,
and made decay begin.

Each year the rot grows more refined,
more shameless in its spread.
With “CovID” truth was redefined —
and bottom fully bled.

Now war returns — the masks are gone,
or has the filth dried out?
Again the fool believes upon
the nonsense filled with doubt.



---------------------



Remembering CowID and Looking into the Half-Real Present

It doesn’t get much better — only worse,
as total lies grow harder, more severe.
Stupidity and fear now break their curse,
and set new records year by year.

Rags and masks upon the faces
of creatures lost inside the show —
like cherry icing on the traces
of decay that we now know.

All stuck inside decomposition,
no way out of this decline.
No future left, no clear condition —
just dullness, thick and over time.

And prospects? None worth even naming —
a world grown dim, confused, resigned.
A mass of minds that stopped reclaiming
any spark of conscious mind.



---------------------



The Law of Plasticine, or Plasticine People and the Overton Windows

Plasticine will squeeze through any crack —
even pressure means no harm.
Once it slips, it won’t come back,
spreading through the human swarm.

Through the law of soft submission
it expands in every line —
sideways, sideways, no remission,
crooked growth in crooked time.

A world of fools who serve all evil,
obedient, tame, and blind —
just toss them scraps, and like medieval
dogs, they’ll fall back in line.



---------------------



Transformation of the Soul

Only this is worth the race —
change within your inner space.
Books won’t help you reach the fire,
often they are chains of mire:

Savage censorship prevailing,
“culture” thin and weak and failing —
that’s the outcome, blunt and cold,
rows of nonsense neatly sold.

On the airwaves, wider, stronger,
spreads the lie and nothing longer —
purest nonsense, bold and loud,
feeding fear into the crowd.

Through the media they breed
fear and folly, lies and greed.



---------------------



Shipwreck of “Information”

Pulling nonsense from the air —
two-hour clips appear from nothing.
Does it take real skill and care?
Not for those who thrive on bluffing.

Tiny article, five minutes’ read —
that’s the base for modern thinking.
Pour the funnel, feed the feed —
they will swallow, never blinking.

Everything is soaked in sludge,
nothing clear is left to view.
Every space a broken nudge —
only honesty breaks through.

Information drowns in noise,
truth is barely even breathing.
World is madness, fake decoys —
and the “pilot” now is streaming.



---------------------




Wrinkles on the face
with passing years are nothing.
But stains within a base —
in mind and soul are something.

That is the real decay,
not lines upon the skin.
When conscience rots away —
the true decline begins.

In fascist-stained existence,
where moral laws are gone,
a living corpse persists —
or herds that stagger on.

For rotten deadened swine
amidst fear, lies, and rot
are just the normal sign
of total breakdown plot.



---------------------




The poet’s reward is only fatigue —
no more than that, and always so,
when not a single trace or streak
of conscious lie you let slip through.

Through years both poison and fatigue
accumulate — life’s venom too.
And though a final point you seek,
a blot will form and overrule —

a blot that outweighs the point itself,
if, spent, you fall — then truth is plain:
to collapse within the fight
means you were strong within the strain.



---------------------



An Unusual Daisy Fortune-Telling

I’ll pluck a daisy — not for love,
but where I’ve gone astray above.
Yet is there sense in asking fate?
If you are born, you simply wait
to stumble, fail, and misalign —
that seems the role that you design.

Around is rot and slow decay,
a world where truth has lost its way.
In every generation’s line
you kneel in fear, accept the sign —
a common state, a well-known art:
to fail is simply in your part.



---------------------



“Real Men”

For aggression no one needs
a reason — if the weak ones stand
in their way. Like frogs in reeds
before the monster’s iron hand,

they shift at once to goat-like guise
beneath the wheels of greater evil.
Frogs are crushed — and still it tries
to act the same, though just a swivel

of cruelty planned ahead,
for Evil knows where crowds are bred:
it gathers fools through webs of lies,
and density of herd replies.



---------------------



On “Happiness” and Something Else…

The “happy” one —
a fool, is done:
a synonym of wrecked minds.
The one whose head
has cracked instead
is called “normal” in these times.

Be quiet now,
accept the vow —
and all will somehow settle.
In darkness deep
you learn to creep —
a smiling wreck of metal.

A happy clown
near cliffs goes down,
the current drags him under.
The happy mind
is often blind
to lies that tear asunder.

And over the edge
the rushing pledge
of chaos takes its toll.
The “happy” one
sees nothing done —
the lies have filled his soul.



---------------------



Exposing the Rot of the Crowd

When you expose the crowd’s decay,
do not fear — though slaves may rage.
Soon their master comes their way,
Cain of lies upon the stage.

He returns to stir the trouble,
wipe all thoughts of vengeance out.
All their hatred bursts like bubbles —
fear and lies replace the doubt.

Once again in lies they’re stranded,
half-comforted by crumbs they’re given,
moving where they are commanded —
deeper into rot-driven living.

Every “solution” they devise
only deepens the decay.
Thus the cycle multiplies —
and truth keeps slipping away.



---------------------



Pessimism and wisdom stand side by side

Pessimism and wisdom dwell
together — few escape the spell
and fail to turn into a vile
and selling-out, corrupted style.

If judgment comes, then what you find
is bitter foam upon the mind —
a layer of sadness over thought,
as everything begins to rot.

You watch decay in clear review,
a world on knees before the few
who serve the Evil without shame,
where Honor died without a name.

All judgments turn to darker tones,
and hope for change has turned to stone —
no future left to call your own,
just silence carved in rotten bone.



---------------------



The World’s Execution Block, or Bureaucracy, “the People,” and the Thinkers

Backroom schemes beneath the floor,
“new policies” above once more —
genocide is on the chart,
all for “well-being” of the heart.

The stump is “people” — dull and blind,
an axe is waiting close behind
for those who cannot stand the grime
of herd-like fools and wasted time.

Though now the axe is just a flat
and lifeless room where spirits rot —
a state of drifting out of life,
where thought itself is cut like knife.

And there, no fool can call it home —
no place where thinking minds may roam.



---------------------



The Slave-Owners’ Amusement

“My smile is just a sign of gain.”
And so the cruel game goes again:
the slaves are not just slaves — they pose
as masters of their own supposed.

But there’s a flaw inside the play:
the Earth is prison anyway.
And if the herd calls rot “freedom,”
then “success” is just a phantom.



---------------------



“Progress” Without Makeup

A goat’s whole “work” —
to serve the Dark.
A fool’s concern
is hide-and-skin.

Soul and mind?
Don’t waste that kind
of empty air.
Just chew and stare —
that’s all worth “fair”.

This is the “rise”,
this so-called prize —
a press on beasts
for endless feasts.

And “exceptions”?
Those rare directions
only confirm —
the rot’s a firm
global swarm.

They sink in lies,
and multiply,
becoming more
of crawling lore.

The shadow’s slaves
bend down like waves —
on trembling knees
their brains at ease.



---------------------



Breakthrough into the Unseen

Blue and light — the woven thread
of the Soul’s ascending sight.
But the mind is tightly led
through the circuits of the lie.

Always caged within its frame —
dulling waves at overflow,
genocide and endless noise,
fear and nonsense all in tow.

Grasp the basics, switch it on —
inner sense that cuts through guise.
Then escape — and break beyond,
into where the Unseen lies.

A breakthrough there — no turning back —
the Soul’s only path from night.



---------------------



The Strongest Weapon of the Inhuman — The Great Mighty Lie

The Great Mighty Lie will grow
on fear and on obedience too —
and then complete control will show,
the final grip of power through.

And there is nowhere lower still
than trusting “all is fine and right”,
while serving darkness at its will —
a wretched slave in plain daylight.

The servants — dull, a blinded mass —
the herd that never stops to see —
and from that swamp the shadows pass,
and claim the world for tyranny.



---------------------



Everything’s Fine — Thanks to My Charger

“I’m doing just fine —
thanks to my charge line!”

Phone in my hand,
all life is “on stand” —
always connected,
never defected,
always in sync
with the digital link.

Say something real?
No time to feel.
Nothing is “mine” —
just signal and line.

We’ve learned to repeat
what others delete —
it’s easy to cite
what empties the mind.

So nonsense is fine —
we echo it twice,
or three times, or more…
till nothing is ours.



---------------------



Erudition

The “erudite” — the mind long dead,
replaced by memory alone.
False science breaks the world instead
to shards of fact, of half and tone.

He gathers bits — and cuts the Soul
on jagged edges made of lies.
The “erudite” plays servant’s role
where darkness calmly organizes.

To plant a template in each brain
of half-thought, dull and standardized —
for if free thinking should remain,
then all control is compromised.



---------------------



Apocalypse

Decay has reached a point
beyond all words and name.
Corruption joins each joint —
the world is only shame.

All must be torn away,
this mad and rotting sphere —
the demons’ yesterday,
the fools’ adored frontier.

Ahead — a camp of night,
where dreams are laid to dust,
and only blind delight
of idiots remains just.

So rage must wake at last
and sweep this ruin clean —
or else the die is cast
for hell in living scene.

Then mind and soul will fall,
no light will find a door —
you’ll sink, a fly in thrall
down sewage of the poor

astral decay of man,
a world without a name,
where half-demons began
their stinking, hollow game.

But Sun will bring release —
its fire will make things pure,
consuming rot and grief,
that nothing else endures.

A radiant realm will rise
where Spirit takes its throne,
while bought and crawling lies
are lost and overthrown.

So draw the morning Sun
into your chest and bones —
let all its power run
through darkness of these zones,

through sludge of earthly pits,
this near-infernal state —
and enemies’ demise
will come without a fight.
Then burns away the night,
and gardens take its place.



---------------------



Ode to Sheepavirus

The sheepavirus has revealed
how rotten this whole world became —
and how beneath its painted shield
the fascist system showed its frame.

Long gone is mind, and dignity,
and honor from this choking place —
we rot in silent misery,
with vengeance lost, without a trace.

No path remains for talent here
in this foul, stinking madhouse game —
just endless swamp of loss and fear,
not life, but digging through the same.

Here “friendship” is just empty noise,
and “love” a sport of hollow skin —
you stand alone among the voids,
while bitterness crawls from within.

Only a fool will leave a mark
in this world’s refusal of flame —
they sing of chaos, blind and dark,
and bleat, forgetting why they came.

The inner call — the heart’s own voice —
that once could guide through night and dust —
is drowned beneath imposed “choice”,
obey the system — that’s a must.

Fascism rules, just changing masks,
it wears new faces every age —
resist it, and you’re gone at last,
submit — become a beast in cage.

They turn you into something tame,
a tool for their corrupted hand —
and when they’ve used you in their game,
they end you too — as they had planned.

You won’t stay long in this foul drain,
this stinking pit of human waste —
there’s only one way left to reign:
to break it all, with fire embraced.

With fire born of Sun’s own light,
when called upon by human will —
it burns the house of endless blight,
and cleanses all, and burns it still.

And in that flame we also go —
not lost, but freed from rotten years —
we die as light, in final glow,
consumed with all its lies and fears.



---------------------



Destroy the Rot

I’m Ukrainian in blood and bone,
and Russian in my verse and tone.
But filth around us is so small —
a parasite pretending tall.

Strike down the rot, but spare the flame
of those who haven’t lost their name.
For in our land, when truth is gone,
the wrong still tries to claim the throne.

How long will rotten power stay
and mock the world in foul display?
There is no higher task than this:
to break the cycle of abyss.

No war of blind destruction’s call —
but war against the lie that crawls.
Against the dehumanized decay
that drags the living mind away.

One enemy alone is here:
the void that feeds on human fear.
And peoples, all, are not our foe —
but brothers in the world below.

And when that darkness breaks apart,
a clearer world may finally start —
not built on hate, but on release,
where life can breathe again in peace.



---------------------



The New International

Rise up, you people bound in night,
who’ve lost your voice, your will, your right.
A people pushed toward ruin’s gate —
rise up, or else it seals your fate.

The world now bows to fascist reign,
where lies and force command and chain.
And death arrives with “civil” face —
the healer turned to execution place.

This is our final stand in flame,
our last and clearest call by name:
we break the system built on lies,
and humankind again will rise.

Only when bonds are forged as one
can chains of filth be overcome.
When unity becomes the key,
the age of shame will cease to be.

We build a life autonomous,
not ruled by fear or poisonous trust.
We push back darkness, break its grip —
a turn toward light in one hard step.

So build a world where each is free,
a sovereign mind, a dignity.
Where creeping rot no longer grows,
and honest exchange freely flows.

Build communes strong, build councils wide,
and smash the lies they spread with pride.
Let inhuman systems feel the shock
of truth that cracks their iron lock.

For only unity makes strong
the ones who’ve suffered far too long.
Where every hand will help defend
the broken ones, and make them mend.

And victory will come at last —
the fascist night will be the past.
We break the chain, we end the fear —
and that is the good news we hear.



---------------------



Dream

I dreamed a dream: a crowd of wretches
suddenly woke against the tide.
They turned to save the dying nature,
and built a Temple of New Light.

They grew attentive, calm, and steady,
and learned to guard the flame within.
And all lost hopes became now ready
to rise from ashes, free from sin.

The world, by miracle, turned justly,
and justice ruled with open hand.
And slaves were “happy” — yes, they trusted…
then suddenly the curtain slammed.

For even dreams refuse illusion,
when hollow hopes begin to rot;
oblivion brings no true solution,
nor hides the filth we’ve not forgot.

The filth of shame and slow corruption,
the dust where broken worlds now lie.
Not yet enough is dull disruption
to make this ruin seem divine.

But dulling minds will come much faster,
and finish all this tragic game.
No refuge left for hidden laughter,
no exit from the scripted shame.

These schemes will crown the empty-headed
as “highest stage” of humankind.
And when the hour of ruin’s bled in,
the world dissolves into the blind.

Yet there is one way — sharp and cunning,
for cunning answers cunning hand.
And all that crawls will meet its burning —
the Sun can cleanse this fallen land.

If we absorb its morning power,
if fear is cast away like dust,
we’ll stand no longer bent and lower —
but something like a light made just.