Игорь Выхованец. Стихи и песни, часть 10

Революционная ситуация

Революция в "культуре":
Основной акцент на шкуре.
Эго было самым главным
В прошлом веке. Мир бесславным
Стал, потворствуя Желудку,
Страх впитав, как прибаутку
Ложь любую принимая,
Неугодных проклиная.
Неугодный для дебила —
Умный-честный. Ныне сила
Геноцида наш дебил.
И оплот фашистских сил.
Был говнид. Война в разгаре.
Глупым миром правят ТВАРИ.
Для дебилов — п-резиденты:
ТВАРЯМ словно экскременты.
И в ходу эксперименты
Превращения в скотину:
Недостаточно кретина
В новом веке, чтобы строить
Мировой Загон. Утроить
Ложь и Окна Овертона —
Недалёко до Загона.
И останется лишь Страх
Экспонентой взмыть — гаввах
Потечёт, иссякнут силы:
И исчезнут все дебилы —
В скот послушный превратятся.
Но иное может статься:
Уничтожит Катаклизм
Мировой Тупой Фашизм.
Ум готовь к таким исходам,
Стороняся от уродов.
В Мир Иной — богатый Духом.
В Новый Ад скотина — цугом.

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Зоосад и Зооцирк

Гоблины накормлены.
Орки — снова в бой.
Люди всюду сломлены:
Мрак — хоть плачь, хоть вой.

Чудища из Ада
Правят дурачьём
Ложью: верить надо,
Иль съедят живьём.

Съели — станешь троллем,
Гремлином, козлом.
Впрочем, ныне голем
Фаворит. Под Злом

Все склонились. Страхом
Схвачен Мировой
Зоосад. Стал плахой
Тем, кто головой

Не ущербен. Этих
Можно перечесть.
Будущее встретим,
Где в загоне Честь,

Разум, Дух и Совесть
Скоро. Цифровой
Зооцирк, где помесь
Нежити с живой

Тканью очень споро
Воплотится тут.
А пока по норам —
Люди! Больше врут,

Всех пугая, значит
Верен в Цирк Тьмы путь.
Хочешь жить иначе —
Сломят Муть и Жуть.

Гремлины озлоблены.
Голем — в с Духом бой.
Полу-люди сломлены:
Жуть — хоть плачь, хоть вой.

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Мафиозная Триада власти

Баллада для Триады:
В ней щупальца властей
Не удушают. Рады
Дебилы... Хруст костей...

Средневековье. Плебс. Коровье
Терпение. Такой же ум.
Пещерный век сейчас. В нём "новью"
Лишь то, что облегчает Хрум.

Баллада "Станешь гадом":
Обрящешь деньги, радость
В финале. Не дойдёшь
В реале — пропадёшь...

Пустая обложка.
Под нею подложка.
В СОКРЫТОМ вся суть:
Страницы — сплошь Муть.
Подложка — Молчанье.
Чрез Муть — одичанье.
Вернися к Истоку —
От Мути и Проку.

Читатель-мечтатель
И текст-подстрекатель:
В ловушку увлёк
(Увидишь, в чём бог),
Разрушивши Эго
Попутно. Лишь Небо
Осталось: исчез
Читатель. Бог — бес?
Коль в Небо — любое
Названье устроит.
Наверх — НЕВЕСОМОСТЬ.
Полёт — незнакомость:
Нет слов — пустота
Без Чёрта, Христа.

Археолог — спелеолог
Разрешённых Тьмой пещер.
Извлекает он Подлог —
Укрепление Химер.

Сверх-Магия Слова:
Творить надо снова
Реальность, Сознанье —
Теперь не баранье.

Точка невозврата в прежнее восприятие недореальности

Точка невозврата:
Ощущенье пата —
Глохнут все системы
Восприятья, мемы
В кашу распадаются.
Ум и не пытается
К старому вернуться —
Дальше в Чуши гнуться.

Pseudo-States Under Control

Did those aged fools and freaks
Ever rule the land alone?
All the hardship people meet
Was by hidden handlers sown.

Those old relics, frail and slow,
Can be steered with little strain;
Slimy aides direct the show —
Such vermin always profit, gain.

And to them a web extends,
Woven by inhuman hands;
Yet the mob no warning senses,
Blindly rotting where it stands.

Just a few could see the thread,
Yet they could not change the tide;
Through weak generations spread,
That thin line was swept aside.

Ancient puppets hold the throne,
Strings pulled from the dark unseen;
Fools obey and call it "home",
While the web devours the scene.

Believe in Nothing!

Slavery has never died —
Now it spans the world entire.
Blindness keeps the truth aside,
Dragging minds through mud and mire.

Monsters dull the public brain,
Grinding reason into dust;
Soon in False Maria's reign
Thought itself they’ll crush to rust.

CowID exposed the scale,
How absurd the madness grew;
Yet new fake plagues will prevail,
And the old deceit renew.

Every zombie screen will preach,
Every liar's drum will churn;
Crowds will swallow every speech,
Never pausing once to learn.

Hell is not some distant berth —
Hell is built by fraud and fear.
Trust no devils on this Earth:
They already rule from here.

Trust no demon, trust no throne,
Trust no screen that tells you "why";
Hell is built from lies alone,
And the fools are first to buy.

Growing Hunchbacks

"Hard work pays!"
So they proclaim.
Childhood days
Taught us the same.

Yet all that grows
Within the mind
Is one more hump,
One more chain to bind.

A common curse
Is hard to see:
"Why does it hurt?"
"That's destiny."

"Work even more,
And pain will cease!"
The cattle rush
To scraps and grease.

To grasp the yoke,
To see the scheme,
Requires a mind
Beyond the dream.

But every thought
Is spent on bread;
"Climb higher still!"
The herders said.

Seek not the truth,
Ask not the why;
The stall awaits,
The drug is nigh.

CowID fades —
They'll forge anew
Another chain,
Another screw.

The hump will grow
Like shame and fear,
Like iron bonds
Year after year.

Resist and seek!
Trust not the vile!
Or lose your soul
By slow denial.

Its swelling growth
Will take your place;
Awake your sense,
Restore your grace.

That inner voice
Cries loud and hot:
"For slaves is work
Where minds are not!"

Hunchbacks abound,
Their burden grows;
Escape the madhouse
Filled with woes.

The Heart will show
Which path is true:
Save Mind and Spirit —
The flesh won't do.

The hump keeps growing, day by day,
While slaves are taught to work and obey.
Wake up, seek truth, break fear apart —
The road begins inside the Heart.

Schools and Media

“And at school the nightingales were taught
to dig burrows, crawl, and moo.”
— Vladimir Polyakov

Not taught at all — but drilled and bent;
If reason somehow still survives,
The media finish what was meant —
The fool is where the system thrives.

For otherwise the whole facade
Would crack apart and fall in dust;
They'd have to build a world unmarred,
On something stronger than blind trust.

Too much invested in the lie,
Too much in fear and dull conformism;
Markets tremble, profits die
Whenever thought defeats the ism.

Schools train obedience, not the mind;
Media finish what schools designed.
The fool is priceless to the machine —
A thinker wrecks the whole routine.

Waiting for Death...

“Terror threats,” fake plagues galore,
Wars as well, right on their cue;
Crowds grow duller than before —
Nations? No. A worthless crew.

If no nations truly stand,
Then these “states” are lines on sheets;
Paper kingdoms, weak and bland,
Prisons built from stale deceit.

Death to mind and death to soul,
Death to body, slow and sly;
If it comes by such control,
People claim it is not nigh.

Lies and fear and blind submission —
Any fraud the mob will learn;
Spirit dies through acquiescence,
Through embracing every wrong turn.

Like a sponge beneath a flood,
Soaked in darkness grows the age;
Filthy media pump their mud
Straight into the public cage.

CowID, once sold as truth,
Spread its trance from shore to shore;
Reason faded, lost its youth,
Drugged by panic evermore.

All that's left: a funeral prayer,
One more wreath upon the grave;
Rotten gifts are offered there
To the foolish and the slave.

The decay has gone too far,
Past return, beyond repair;
Madness waits beneath its star,
Waiting for death everywhere.

Lies, fear, wars — the endless show,
Fed to minds that cease to learn;
When the Spirit's light burns low,
Even truth itself can burn.

Rot consumes the house within,
Madness calls from every door;
Death is patient, death will grin —
Waiting, always, evermore.

9/11: The Self-Terror

Do the ends justify the means?
No — the means become the prize.
Thus a legacy remains:
Wars and watchful, sleepless eyes.

Much resembles systems old,
Though they wore another name;
Every age must have, we're told,
Some new enemy to blame.

Shock the masses, strike with fear,
Rattle minds with fire and smoke;
Then restrictions will appear
As the frightened millions choke.

Not by people freely willed,
But by rulers, cold and tough,
Who regard the crowd they've drilled
As obedient cattle-stuff.

"The People" still the label bear,
Though the mask grows thin indeed;
CowID exposed the snare —
How the herd accepts the lead.

Through the media's endless din
They can steer the public mind;
Raise the fear and sink it in —
Few will question, most go blind.

Different banners, same old game,
Different slogans, same control;
History keeps changing names,
Yet the script remains the whole.

Fear the spark, then sell the chain;
Shock the crowd and shape the tale.
Change the actors, not the play —
Old control in newer mail.

The Beginning of the Path

The foremost key: an Open Mind,
One that through discernment learned
To leave at least some lies behind,
And from the world's loud clamor turned.

Through openness intuition
Slowly takes the guiding role;
Thus begins the grand Tradition
Of the Spirit and the Soul.

False teachings swarm on every side,
Seeking only to distract;
Look within, not far and wide —
Truth is not in words, in fact.

Even fragments of eternal
Wisdom bend when language speaks;
Keep your Heart serene, supernal,
Free from all the fear it seeks.

This is Alchemy commencing,
And the hardest stage to start;
Many lose themselves while fencing
With mere concepts, far from Heart.

Leave behind the heaps of ruin
Scattered through the minds of men;
Let the transformation begin —
Quit the Rotten Madhouse then.

Open Mind — the first command,
Cut through lies and hollow lore;
Seek within, not through another's hand —
Truth lives deeper than the roar.

Cleanse the Heart and face the Night,
Fear is but the jailer's art;
When the Spirit claims its right,
Then the Journey truly starts.

The Means Are Usually the REAL Goal

Do the ends justify the means?
No — the means reveal the end.
Marx and Lenin left their schemes:
Run the ship of state aground, my friend.

Communism's shining vision
Was a lure for simple minds;
Soon enough the old condition
Turned to darker, harsher kinds.

Very quickly the new madness
Slipped to tyranny and fear;
Human ruin, moral sadness —
That was always the idea.

As for doctrines, slogans, banners,
They'll be cooked up overnight;
People swallow them like manners,
Never asking wrong from right.

Goals and means become entangled,
Roads and signposts all confused;
Then they'll claim they were just mangled,
Tricked, misled, or simply used.

And the newest horror, looming,
Needs one thing to gain consent:
Give it sweeter verbal grooming,
Wrap it up as benevolent.

Old chains, polished bright and splendid,
Will be sold as virtue's way;
Thus the madhouse, never ended,
Marches on from day to day.

Building heaven for the devils,
Brick by brick and age by age;
Leaning on ideological crutches,
Prisoners who praise the cage.

Means are ends in masquerade,
Ideas merely paint the wall;
Chains renamed are still chains made,
And fools applaud them after all.

Every age rebuilds the cage,
Calling bondage something new;
Thus the play survives the stage,
Changing masks—but not its view.

Tech Progress

Tech advances. Demons rise.
They who flood the world with lies,
Boost their power, gain their prize,
Till their weight consumes the skies.

Tech Progress

Tech progresses. Devils reign
Over those who spread deceit;
Lies are pressed through every vein,
Making fraud seem strong, complete.

Thus their influence ascends,
Higher still with each new guess;
Tech progresses — and attends
Those who profit from the press.

Tech expands from year to year;
Lies expand at equal pace.
Thus the Devil climbs more near,
Fed by every false embrace.

The Herd Loves Nonsense

Fools adore the herd's embrace —
There is nonsense every place.
Slow decay: the dull and blind,
Simpletons of every kind.

Seven eighths, or even more,
Make the bulk of every shore.
Folly grows both mean and grim —
Just the thing for rulers' whim.

That is what the masters need
As the final ages bleed;
On the twilight of the days,
Herds are easiest to raise.

Fools love herds and herds love lies,
Noise and nonsense win the prize.
Most grow duller year by year —
Exactly what the rulers cheer.

Near the ending of the age,
Stupidity becomes the rage;
And those who seek to rule the pen
Prefer the herd to thinking men.

How a "Country" Is Ruled

Rule the nation? Simple game:
Crowds and reason aren't the same.
Feed them lies and fear to chew —
Serve the Dark, and they'll serve too.

Running a "Nation"

Ruling crowds is nothing new:
They avoid all thinking through.
Pour them jelly made of lies,
Seasoned well with fear disguised.

Let them feast and never see,
Thus they serve the Dark with glee.

Lies for food and fear for wine,
That is how the herds align;
Cloud the mind and dim the view —
Then the Dark will rule through you.

The Outdated Idea of Selling Your Soul

No need these days to sell your soul
To Darkness, strike some fateful deal;
Through webs of lies and hidden control,
Most serve it by default—and kneel.

They call it faith, they call it cause,
They call it duty, truth, or light;
Yet countless creeds and hollow laws
Have rotted in corruption's blight.

The creatures' triumph fills the age,
Their shadows spread through every hall;
They turn the crowd into a cage,
And teach the captive mind to crawl.

Only resistance to the Wrong
Can keep a soul from slow decay;
For fear will break the brave and strong,
And slavehood lead the heart astray.

Believe the lie, embrace the chain,
And bit by bit your self is sold;
Not in one bargain, clear and plain,
But through surrender, small and cold.

No need to sell your soul today —
The lie already knows the way.
Through fear and fraud the chains are cast;
Serve long enough, and you're caught fast.

Fight the Wrong and guard your flame;
That is how you leave the game.

Fight-or-Flight

“Humanity is the ability to take part in the fate of other people.”
— Immanuel Kant

Yet many lack the will to care,
And such a gift is rare indeed;
To dwell among the mindless herd,
And place all profit first in need—

That is now the common mold,
The pattern taught from youth to age:
Strike the weak and flee the strong—
Decay's foundation, cage by cage.

Caught within that endless loop,
You see no light, no farther way;
Consumed by cattle-like survival,
You drift from dawn to dying day.

They paint it with "education,"
Give the scheme a noble name;
Yet if you follow that conditioning,
Your soul is crippled all the same.

The world is trapped in lifeless circles,
Human voices fade and drown;
Calling out becomes near hopeless
To hollow crowds gone spirit-down.

Meanwhile monsters keep on lying,
Sensing storms draw ever near;
Feeling some approaching reckoning,
They redouble fraud and fear.

What remains? To weigh existence
By the good that one has done;
For if kindness is the measure,
Many ledgers come undone.

Evil travels by the wagon,
Load on load from year to year;
Now betrayal is employment,
And serving Wrong the rule we hear.

Hit the weak and flee the strong —
Thus the herd is taught to live.
Profit first and conscience last,
Taking more than it can give.

Kindness marks the human path;
Fear and greed reduce the soul.
Break the cycle, learn to see —
Or the cycle takes control.

Old Kondraty

Old Kondraty, faithful friend,
When will all this rotting end?
When will Death explain at last
Why this earthly muck must last?

A Word with Death

Old Death, my friend, when will you come
And make your lesson plain?
I'm tired of this earthly slum,
This rot, this grime, this stain.

Old Death, when will you call my name
And end this weary game?
I've had my fill of earthly grime —
Come teach the final rhyme.

Cunning as a Substitute for Mind

“Work with your mind, not till midnight.”
— Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Working late into the night
Breeds more fools than sparks of light.
Where are minds to still be found
In this swamp of filth around?

Cunning wears the mask of thought;
Savagery is cheaply bought.
Yet it's hidden, neatly dressed,
Under masks that hide the mess.

Fed and entertained all day,
People gladly drift away;
Thinking's hard, and so instead
Empty comforts fill the head.

Ages lost in dull routine,
Half-awake in some machine;
How can one reflect or fight
When exhaustion steals the sight?

First the schools prepare the ground,
Where obedience is crowned;
There the mind is slowly slain,
And the Spirit bound in chain.

Use your mind, not merely toil;
See the madhouse, see the spoil.
Trust your inner sense as well —
Thus your soul escapes the spell.

Work Smart, Not Blind

Labor till midnight — that's their plan:
Turn a thinker into a cogged-up man.
Cunning replaces wisdom's role,
While hollow comforts numb the soul.

School trains workers, not the wise;
Masks are fitted, sold as prize.
Use your mind and trust your inner sight —
That's how you keep your Spirit bright.

Keep the Herd Untroubled

Leave the herd untouched by strife,
Fat and lazy grows its life.
Thus new illnesses are spun,
Driving lower, one by one.

The Herd Must Have Its Troubles

If no troubles plague the herd,
Soon it fattens, undeterred.
So new "illnesses" appear,
Pushing Bottom ever near.

Keep the herd afraid and blind,
Fresh-made dangers fill its mind.
Every scare serves one more role:
Driving deeper toward the hole.

The Community Rule

The community's golden rule:
Always play the willing fool.
Stand your ground or think your own —
You'll be named the enemy soon.

Rule of the Herd

Rule of every "community":
Be a fool in unity.
Stop conforming, leave the throng —
They'll declare that you are wrong.

The Herd's Commandment

Here's the herd's most sacred creed:
Be a fool and never lead.
Question not and don't outgrow —
Or they'll brand you as their foe.

Starting from the Hearth

“Learn to say ‘I do not know,’ and you will already be making progress.”
— Maimonides

Begin by saying, “I don't know,”
Cast pride and falsehood both aside;
Your mind is filled with them, and so
They leave but little room inside.

Increase your doubt, yet trust your sense,
Let intuition join the quest;
You'll see how much is mere pretense,
And learn that fools are not the rest.

You were one too. Look deep within;
Let introspection be your guide.
For words are poor at capturing
What truly moves and lives inside.

The dark has buried countless minds
Beneath a mountain built of schemes;
Theories, doctrines, endless signs —
The graveyard where clear thinking screams.

Question everything you know,
Including victories you've won;
Your goals and dreams—how often, though,
Were they your own and not someone’s?

You are, at heart, a Spirit first;
By that measure test your way.
Put fear and daily cravings last,
And seek anew from day to day.

Let inner knowing be the scale
By which your aspirations start;
Let arrogance diminish, pale,
And wisdom settle in the heart.

That is the first step from the hearth,
The place from which the journey's run;
The fool repeats the old world's path,
Though failure proves what he has done.

But strength and insight both increase,
And deeper truths begin to dawn,
When Spirit rises into law
And guides the road you're walking on.

Say “I don't know” — and clear the ground;
Most borrowed truths are merely noise.
Look within, where answers hide,
Beyond the crowd's demanding voice.

Question all, including self;
Let Spirit be your compass true.
The journey starts when pride dissolves,
And inner sight awakens you.

Pinocchio Again

Pinocchio is searching still
For fields where profits grow at will;
Yet fools never seem to learn —
Every lure's a swindler's turn.

The Search Goes On

Pinocchio still roams the land,
Seeking riches close at hand;
Fools won't learn, though years go by —
Every promise is a lie.

Pinocchio seeks the magic field,
Where effortless rewards are sealed;
Fools believe it every time —
Bait and scam in every clime.

The Plague of Gullibility

"AIDS" stays awake inside the head:
Gullibility's the plague that's spread.

The Real Infection

The plague's not sleeping, that's for sure:
Blind belief remains the cure.

Brain Infection

"AIDS" may linger, never tire,
But gullibility burns higher;
Like a leprosy of mind,
It leaves common sense behind.

Feint, Strike

A feint — a strike — and in goes the ball,
Finding its mark beyond them all;
And so it settles, sharp and fast,
Inside the fools it holds at last.

The Trick and the Hit

A feint, a shot — the ball flies true,
And lands where empty minds pursue;
It takes their thoughts, it owns their sight,
The fools are caught and held tight.

A feint, a strike — the goal is hit,
And dullards’ minds are captured in it.

Chimera Drive

Chimeras without measure,
Forward, pioneers of fever!

March of Chimeras

Chimeras, wild and uncontained —
Forward, pioneers unnamed!

Chimeras loose, no end in sight —
March ahead, ignite the night!

Cain and Abel

Cain and Abel, evil’s show,
And Petrushka in the row:
Truth in frames of polished lie —
Everywhere, a madhouse sky.

Cain, Abel, and the Mask

Cain and Abel, stage of crime,
Evil dressed in pantomime;
Petrushka laughs — yet all we see
Is framed deceit and lunacy.

Cain and Abel, masks of sin,
Petrushka grins beneath the din;
Lies well framed become the norm —
Everywhere a mental storm.

The Pastor in the Army

A pastor stands within the ranks…
“Thou shalt not kill?” — the sermon shrinks.
Die like a hero, play your part,
Pull the trigger — lose your heart;
He is Viy behind the guise.

Pastor in Uniform

The pastor marches with the troop —
“Thou shalt not kill?” He turns the loop:
Die a hero, take the aim,
Shoot — and everything’s the same;
For he is Viy in holy eyes.

“Do not kill,” the preacher cries —
Yet sends you forth where conscience dies;
Die a hero, fire the gun —
And Viy himself says: it is done.

Roses, Dreams, and Threats

Roses, dreams — so soft, so light,
But threats I push out of sight;
Yet they are many, thick as dust,
So tears arrive at last, as must.

The ostrich mind — it hides in sand,
From fear it fails to understand.

Roses, dreams — all sweet, all fair,
Threats I banish into air;
But they return in endless streams,
And end in tears and broken dreams.

Too many dangers pushed away —
The ostrich soul will never stay.

The Sun-Faced Double

The sun-faced double takes the stage,
And “leads” the mess of rotting age:
No prospects left, no future plan,
When slaves are fools, not thinking man.

The sun-faced double plays its part,
And “heads” the mess from the very start:
No future shines, no road ahead,
When slaves are numb and dull as lead.

Sun-faced double on display,
Leads the mess that rots away;
No tomorrow, no new plan —
Just a herd without a man.

Genocide

The public’s shocked and galvanized,
By waves of killings in the news;
Yet what is drained and anesthetized
Is merely some eccentric’s views.

The public stands there, scandalized,
At every fresh report of crime;
But what is slowly paralyzed
Is just a quirk of oddball mind.

They gasp at killings in the news,
While something deeper fades from view:
What’s really drained and broken through
Is just a “crazy man’s” own view.

State Secrets Are No Secrets

State “secrets” hide no mystery,
But trails of crime and injury;
In many cases plain to see —
Yet wiped away so none agree.

If no one leaves a trace behind,
No one is held, no guilt defined;
For chaos, ruin, genocide,
Can vanish once “classified.”

Yet people still believe again
The politicians’ hollow grin;
And COVID showed the truth within —
What kind of beasts they hide in skin.

Still simple minds conceal the fact,
That leaders play a staged-out act…
And “willful ignorance” survives
In those who crown the biggest lies.

“State secrets” — just a smoke-screen phrase,
To blur the crimes of modern days;
Erase the trail, deny the cost,
And call it “classified” when lost.

The crowd believes the same old show,
Though COVID peeled the mask they wore;
Yet fools still kneel, still trust, still bow —
And cheer the lies they can’t see through.

Ballad of the Mafia Triad of Power

A ballad sung for triad throne,
Where power grows like flesh and bone;
Its tentacles don’t choke or bind —
They lull the weaker sort of mind.

No strangling grip, no open war,
Just dull consent, and nothing more;
The fools are pleased, they do not see
The cracking sound of slavery.

And while they smile and nod along,
The structure feeds on right and wrong;
Soft laughter hides the breaking frame —
The end is always much the same.

Triad of Power (Ballad)

O hear the triad’s woven scheme,
Where rule is not what tyrants seem;
No iron hand, no choking chain —
Just minds grown numb to loss and pain.

The fools rejoice, they call it peace,
While silent fractures never cease;
And deep below the smiling floor,
The bones are counted ever more.

The triad rules without a chain —
The fools don’t feel, don’t see the pain;
A smiling world, a cracking core,
And silence counting evermore.

Ballad of the Mafia Triad of Power

(with refrain)

O sing of power without a crown,
That rules by lifting minds then down;
No iron fist, no chain, no fear —
Yet all obey who gather near.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

The triad moves without a sound,
Its roots go deeper underground;
It does not crush, it does not bind,
It only reshapes every mind.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

No open whip, no burning brand,
Just softened will, a guiding hand;
The fools are calm, the fools are fed,
Unaware of what is bred.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

They laugh, they trust, they kneel in line,
Mistaking ruin for benign;
The system hums a gentle tune,
While night replaces every noon.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

And when at last the structure breaks,
No voice remembers what it takes;
For those who slept through every sign
Will call the ruin “grand design.”

Refrain (final):
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While everything they knew sinks low.

Ballad of the New Cave Age

In days of old, yet here again,
The herd endures in bovine strain;
With patient eyes and hollow mind,
As once before, and still resigned.

No wiser now than ages past,
Though louder tools around are cast;
For cave-born ways still rule the day,
Though dressed in newer shades of clay.

“New” is but what eases pain,
What feeds the maw and numbs the brain;
What makes the crunching easier sound —
While reason sinks beneath the ground.

A Lay of the Cave-Time Folk

O darkened age of common herd,
Where thought is weak and sense is blurred;
Like patient kine they wait and stay,
Through mud of mind and fading day.

The age of caves is not yet gone,
It walks in form of shining dawn;
Yet all that calls itself “the new”
Is what makes chewing easier too.

The age of cave is here once more,
Though dressed in light and painted lore;
And “new” is only what they find
Makes easier chewing for the mind.

Chronicle of the Cave-Time and the Fate of Men

In elder days, when mind was dim,
And thought did creep like fading hymn,
There rose a tale in iron ink —
Of how the seeing ones did think.

The herd did walk in patient strain,
Through cycles old of joy and pain;
And called it life, and called it gain,
Though naught but echo fed their brain.

For every age that claimed “the new,”
Was but the old in altered hue;
And cave-born hunger, still the same,
Did dress itself in modern name.

And lo — the word of gain was cast:
“Take gold, take joy, but not the last.
For none who chase the shining prize
Shall reach its gate with living eyes.”

So runs the law of hollow days:
The path is bright, yet none who strays
From inner sight shall find the shore —
They vanish where they sought for more.

The Final Ballad-Script

And thus it is writ, in bitter sign:
Who builds on greed will lose the line;
He walks, he wins, he grasps, he runs —
And falls ere seeing setting suns.

O mortal wit, so sharp, so thin,
It sells the end for means within;
Yet in the hour of final breath,
The “gain” dissolves into quiet death.

Take gold, take joy, take fleeting prize —
But none return with open eyes;
The road that promises its gain
Ends always in the same refrain.

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

(A Fragmented Medieval Manuscript)

Prologue of the Chronicler

I write of days not far away,
Though cloaked in names of brighter clay;
Where men forget what once was known,
And call their fading shadow “throne.”

And thus I set in ink and sign
The tale of falling humankind.

I. Of the Cave-Time That Returns

In days of old, yet still the same,
The herd did move without a name;
As patient kine through mire and night,
They took for truth whatever’s light.

No wiser than the cave-born soul,
Though painted tools now play their role;
For what is “new” in every age
Is but a softer iron cage.

What eases chewing, dulls the mind,
What makes no burden left behind —
This is the “progress” men proclaim,
Yet hunger stays of selfsame flame.

II. Of the Ballad Called “You Shall Become a Beast”

Who seeks the gold shall taste delight,
And dream of morning crowned with light;
Yet few there are who reach the gate —
For gain dissolves before their fate.

They walk the road, they chase the sign,
They call it purpose, call it mine;
But none who worship final prize
Shall keep their soul with waking eyes.

III. Of the Triad of Hidden Power

A triad rules without a crown,
That lifts the herd and lays it down;
No whip, no chain, no open war —
Yet all obey, and ask for more.

It binds not flesh, but inward sight,
And calls the darkness “gentle light”;
The fools are pleased, they do not see
The slow-made shape of slavery.

And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper fractures quietly grow.

IV. Of the Age That Calls Itself New

O darkened age in modern dress,
Where old decay wears “progress”;
The cave returns in polished guise,
And calls itself both wise and wise.

For “new” is only what is meant
To ease the hunger’s discontent;
To chew more soft, to think less deep —
And fall asleep while others sleep.

V. Final Law of the Chronicle

Take gold, take joy, take fleeting prize,
But none return with open eyes;
The road that promises its gain
Ends always in the selfsame pain.

And he who builds on shallow will
Shall climb, and climb, and falter still;
For every step toward the height
Is one more step away from sight.

Epilogue

Thus ends the book of falling men,
Yet writes itself again, again;
For those who sleep within the tale
Will call their chains a holy grail.

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Book II: The Awakening of the Spirit

Prologue of the Turning

Yet not all sleep within the cave,
Nor all are bound to serve and crave;
For in the dark there stirs a flame —
Not given voice, yet still the same.

And thus begins another line:
The rise of what cannot decline.

I. Of the First Crack in the Illusion

The world is built on woven mist,
On words that twist, and twist, and twist;
Yet somewhere deep, beyond the veil,
One spark refuses to grow pale.

It says: “I see — yet I am blind
To all they press into the mind;
For what they call the only truth
Is but a chain they dress as proof.”

II. Of the Returning Inner Sight

O strange awakening within,
Where silence breaks the rule of din;
No book, no voice, no outer crown —
Yet something rising from the ground.

Not thought alone, nor empty air,
But something older, sharp and bare;
It knows before the words are cast —
And breaks the spell that held it fast.

III. Of the War Between Mask and Flame

The mask of world speaks loud and bright:
“Obey, conform, dissolve in night.”
Yet inward flame replies no sound —
It only burns what binds it down.

No battle seen, no iron clash,
Yet old illusions fall to ash;
For every lie that shaped the throne
Is broken where the Spirit’s grown.

IV. Of Casting Down the False Order

No longer bows the waking mind
To idols made of lesser kind;
Nor calls the cage a sacred place,
Nor kneels to fear disguised as grace.

For Spirit sees through every name,
Through every mask of power and shame;
And what once ruled by hidden fear
Now fades the moment It is near.

V. Of the Return to the Inner Law

Not outward law, nor shouted creed,
But inner knowing as the seed;
For there alone the truth is sown,
And there alone the Self is known.

And he who walks this silent road
No longer bears the heavy load
Of borrowed chains and borrowed sight —
For Spirit turns the dark to light.

Epilogue of the Second Book

Thus ends the tale of waking flame,
That strips the world of borrowed name;
And what was once a boundless night
Now trembles at the edge of sight.

Yet still the road is not complete —
For truth is never calm or sweet;
It cuts, it burns, it leaves the scar —
And leads the seeker ever far.

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Book III: Beyond Form and Return

Prologue of Dissolution

The tale once bound by name and stone
Now loosens into voice alone;
For even Spirit, once made bright,
Must pass beyond both day and night.

And here begins the breaking line —
Where all returns cease to define.

I. Of the Passing of the Dual Path

No longer two, nor here nor there,
Nor shadow bound to answering air;
For all that once was split in twain
Now falls away like dust from rain.

The seeker asks no more “where from?”
Nor waits for answer yet to come;
For question, answer, path, and goal
Are swallowed by the deeper Whole.

II. Of the Silence That Is Not Void

Not emptiness, nor empty sound,
But that from which all sounds are crowned;
No name can hold it, yet it stands
Beyond the reach of mortal hands.

It is not light, yet makes all seen,
Not thought, yet lies behind all being;
And he who enters without fear
Finds that no “he” was ever here.

III. Of the Unbinding of the Self

The Self, once forged in time and role,
Now yields its mask, its name, its goal;
And what was thought to walk alone
Is known as wave within the Stone.

No longer “I,” no longer “mine,”
No boundary drawn in space or line;
For even Spirit melts away
In That which none can disobey.

IV. Of the End of the Struggle

There is no foe, no hidden war,
No gate to break, no guarded door;
For all that fought was but a dream
Of rivers chasing their own stream.

And when the chase is finally still,
No will remains against the Will;
For even striving to be free
Was only form that seemed to be.

V. Of the Return Without Returning

Yet nothing leaves, yet nothing stays,
No path divides the endless ways;
For where the seeker thought to go
Was always here — and always so.

The cave, the crown, the flame, the night —
All vanish in the same clear sight;
And what remains is not a thing,
But That from which all things do spring.

Epilogue of the Chronicle

Thus ends the book beyond all form,
Where neither calm nor chaos swarm;
For even “end” dissolves its name —
And all returns to whence it came.

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Lost Fragments of Book IV: The Silence Before the Word

Fragment I — Before Naming

Before the word, there was no before,
No path, no gate, no hidden door;
Only the weightless stillness held
What thought had never yet compelled.

And there was neither voice nor sound —
Yet all was there, unmarked, unbound.

Fragment II — The Cracks in Language

The word was born — and broke the whole,
Dividing silence into role;
And every name that came to be
Was cut from living unity.

Yet even names remember faint
The silence they were made to paint;
And through their fractured shape and line
The unnamed leaks through every sign.

Fragment III — The Edge of Thought

Thought is a ripple on the deep,
A dream the silent waters keep;
It rises, forms, believes it sees —
Then falls back into what it is.

No thinker holds the thought he made,
No mind survives the light it weighed;
For even knowing burns away
When touched by That which will not stay.

Fragment IV — The Unwritten Truth

There is no truth that can be said,
No ink that keeps what lies ahead;
For every line that claims to stand
Is erased by its own hand.

And still it tries — the trembling speech,
To name the shore it cannot reach;
Yet all it writes dissolves between
The seen, the unseen, and the unmean.

Fragment V — The Return of Silence

Not emptiness, but prior state,
Before the rise of name and fate;
Where even “nothing” is too much,
And all is beyond touch.

No seeker walks this final field —
For even seeking must be healed;
And what remains when seeking dies
Is what no thought can realize.

Final Fragment — (Illegible Line in the Manuscript)

…and then the ink became still water…
…and then the water forgot its name…
…and then even forgetting vanished…
………………………………………

Marginal Note (hand of the Chronicler, uncertain origin)

“Here the writing ceases not because the tale is ended,
but because language can no longer carry it.”

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Appendix: The Broken Codex (Unordered Leaves)

(Recovered Fragments Without Sequence)

Leaf I — (Found without beginning)

No order holds the falling ink,
No hand remembers what to think;
The page survives, the meaning dies,
Between the truth and borrowed lies.

Leaf VII — (Margin torn, half-legible)

They called it rule, they called it crown,
Yet nothing ever settled down;
For power wears a thousand skins,
And none recall where it begins.

Leaf II — (Ink faded at center)

The herd moves not by will, but drift,
As if the ground itself might shift;
And what they call a chosen way
Is only habit dressed as day.

Leaf IX — (Reverse side, upside script)

To know is not to understand,
But to forget the given hand;
For all that knowledge gathers near
Becomes a chain the soul must hear.

Leaf IV — (Edges burned)

The flame was never light alone,
But judgment cast in silent stone;
And those who touched it thinking gain
Were marked by invisible stain.

Leaf XII — (Fragment repeated twice, crossed out)

There is no “there” beyond the wall —
There is no “one” who hears the call —
There is no end, no final gate —
Only the mind that thinks it waits.

(crossed out)
(repeated)
(as if the scribe hesitated)

Leaf V — (Recovered from water damage)

The word decays as soon as born,
Like morning eaten up by morn;
And what it tries to hold in place
Slips through the structure it would trace.

Leaf III — (Written in different hand)

I saw the silence move within,
Before the world began to spin;
But even seeing broke the spell,
And turned the witness into shell.

Leaf XI — (Almost erased entirely)

…not end… not start… not path… not name…
…only the thing before the frame…
……………………………………

Leaf VI — (Ink strangely fresh, though context unknown)

The cave is not a place of stone,
But what the mind believes alone;
And when the mind believes no more,
The cave dissolves its ancient floor.

Leaf VIII — (Scribbled in the margin)

Do not assemble what is torn,
For meaning dies when it is born;
Each order makes the truth less true —
The whole was never meant for you.

Final Note (Unattributed, possibly later addition)

“The Codex is not broken.
Only the reader is.”

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Final Codex: The Empty Cover

Prologue — Where the Book Ends

All writings bend toward their end,
Where ink and silence both transcend;
And what was once a boundless tale
Now folds itself into a veil.

No page remains, no guiding line —
Only the shape of the divine.

The Empty Cover

An empty cover holds the place,
Where once there burned the written trace;
Yet underneath, unseen, unfurled,
Lies substrate of the written world.

In hidden depth, the whole is cast —
The truth concealed, yet ever vast;
For pages turn to drifting haze,
To murk through which no sight surveys.

Of the Substrate Beneath

The cover rests on silent ground,
Where meaning loses form and sound;
And all that claimed to be “the known”
Becomes dissolved, becomes alone.

For through the murk no path is clear,
Yet everything was always here;
The seeking mind, the restless flame,
All lost within one changeless name.

Of the Essence Hidden

Within concealment lies the core,
Not written, yet what writes before;
Not page, nor ink, nor sign, nor frame,
Yet that from which all pages came.

The veil does not obscure the truth —
It only hides the search for proof;
And what is sought through endless fight
Was never born of wrong or right.

Of the Mute Descent

Murk is not flaw, nor fallen state,
But gate that thought cannot translate;
And through its depth all order slips,
As silence touches spoken lips.

And in that haze the seeker sees
No paths, no ends, no certainties;
Just drifting forms, dissolving fast —
The present, future, present, past.

Return to Source

Return not as a distant flight,
But as the vanishing of sight;
For what was sought beyond the hue
Was only what had always been true.

No journey ends, no goal remains,
No meaning bound by loss or gains;
For even “Source” dissolves its name —
And all is That from which it came.

Epilogue — The Book That Was Not There

And so the cover stands alone,
Without inscription, mark, or tone;
Yet in its emptiness complete
All writings quietly meet.

No chronicle remains to read —
Only the silence beyond need.

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Book III — Epilogue: The Vanishing of the Reader

Of the Reader Who Became the Reading

The reader leans into the text,
And thinks: “What lies behind it next?”
Yet line by line, the spell takes hold —
And something in the self grows cold.

The text is not a guide or gate,
It is a hand that re-writes fate;
It whispers not to teach or tell,
But draws the thinker into spell.

Of the Subtle Unmaking

The ego cracks, yet makes no sound,
No sword is raised, no walls are bound;
Just meaning shifts, just form dissolves,
As thought itself unthreads and solves.

And in that loosening of frame,
The reader loses even “name”;
Not struck, not slain, not torn apart —
But quietly erased from start.

Of What Remains When “I” Is Gone

No victor stands, no witness stays,
No path divides in forked ways;
For “I” was only borrowed flame,
That burned itself in search of name.

And when the naming ceases here,
No subject lingers, no “seer”;
Only the open, boundless air —
Without observer anywhere.

Of the Question That Collapses Itself

“Is God a devil, or a sky?”
The question forms — and then passes by;
For every label born in thought
Is what the silence has not sought.

And thus all naming turns to dust,
All verdicts fade, all meanings rust;
For Heaven, Hell, and every role
Are shadows cast on one Whole.

Of Weightlessness Beyond All Words

No up, no down, no here, no there,
No doctrine held, no final prayer;
Just weightless drift beyond all known,
Where even “unknown” is overthrown.

No Christ, no Devil, no decree,
No bound identity to be;
Just that which cannot be defined —
And cannot leave itself behind.

Final Line of the Manuscript

And here the reader is no more,
For reading reached its hidden core;
The book was never outside sight —
It wrote itself into the light.

Marginal Note (unattributed, ink fading)

“The final teaching is not learned.
It is what remains when there is no one left to learn.”

The Cave-Archaeologist

The archaeologist walks like a spelunker,
Through caves allowed by Shadow’s decree;
In sanctioned dark he digs for relics,
Where truth is shaped as it should be.

He lifts the forged, the crafted “finding,”
The well-made fraud from buried lore;
And calls this work a sacred binding —
To strengthen chimera evermore.

Of the Scholar of Permitted Caves

An archaeologist, cave-bound seeker,
Through darkness licensed by the Throne;
He draws from depths the built deception,
And names it truth in flesh and bone.

He raises up the crafted phantom,
To give the dream a firmer frame;
And thus the world grows still more solid
In lies that wear a learned name.

He digs where sanctioned shadows lie,
To raise the false and dignify;
From crafted depths he brings the “true” —
And strengthens what was never new.

The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Archaeological Reconstruction of the Codex

(Field Notes, Fragmented Report, Institute of Comparative Myth-Structures)

Preface of the Researchers

The Codex appears non-linear in origin,
with multiple strata of composition and decay;
possibly ritual, possibly satirical,
possibly an early cognitive contamination artifact.

No single author can be confirmed.

I. On the Nature of the “Cave-Time Layer”

Excavations suggest a recurring motif:
the “cave” is not geological but symbolic;
a cognitive enclosure reinforced by belief-structures.

Subjects appear unaware of enclosure conditions,
indicating adaptive normalization of constraint.

II. On the Triadic Power Structure (Hypothesized)

Textual fragments reference a “triad of power”
operating without visible coercion.

It is unclear whether this is:
- sociopolitical metaphor
- psychological model
- or memetic self-replication system

The absence of direct force is noted repeatedly,
suggesting voluntary compliance loops.

III. On the “Cave-Archaeologist” Subcycle

Of particular interest is the recurring figure:
an excavator operating within sanctioned darkness.

He retrieves constructed artifacts,
which are then classified as “authentic recovery.”

This raises methodological concern:
reconstruction may be indistinguishable from production.

IV. On Language Degradation and Recursive Meaning

Linguistic analysis shows progressive destabilization:
terms such as “truth,” “lie,” and “order” collapse into interchangeability.

In later fragments, syntax begins to self-reference,
creating closed semantic loops.

Interpretation risk: observer entanglement.

V. On the “Reader Dissolution Event”

Final strata describe a phenomenon where:
the act of reading eliminates the reader-function.

This is interpreted as:
- symbolic ego dissolution (psychological school)
- or failure of subject-object distinction (philosophical school)
- or textual auto-absorption (literary model)

All interpretations remain provisional.

VI. On the Apparent Ontological Collapse

Repeated references indicate a final state where:
- naming ceases
- identity dissolves
- duality collapses

However, the text does not confirm whether this is:
liberation, extinction, or structural self-erasure.

VII. Field Incident Note (Unscheduled Observation)

One researcher reported the following during review:

“The more we classify the Codex,
the more it ceases to remain an object of classification.”

Session was terminated due to interpretive instability.

VIII. Concluding Assessment

The Codex cannot be reconstructed in a stable form.
Each attempt at ordering produces additional fragmentation.

Hypothesis: the text is not an artifact, but a process.

Final Line of the Report

We do not read the Codex.
The Codex continues us.

Appendix Addendum (handwritten, unsigned)

“There is no reconstruction.
Only participation.”

THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

Integrated Edition (Reconstructed from Fragmentary Sources)

Institute of Comparative Myth-Structures — Unverified Archive Copy

Editorial Preface (Institutional Note)

This document is a composite reconstruction of multiple unstable textual strata, including poetic fragments, allegorical cycles, and anomalous philosophical sequences.

The material exhibits:

recursive semantic structures
self-collapsing narrative identity
multi-layered authorship ambiguity
resistance to stable indexing systems

It is therefore classified as:

Non-canonical cognitive artifact (Category: Unresolvable Textual System)

TABLE OF CONTENTS (Non-linear Index)

I. Book I — Chronicle of the Cave-Time World
II. Book II — The Awakening of the Spirit
III. Book III — Beyond Form and Return
IV. Lost Fragments — Silence Before the Word
V. Appendix — The Broken Codex (Unordered Leaves)
VI. Archaeological Reconstruction Notes
VII. Final Codex — The Empty Cover
VIII. Post-Index Addendum: Reader Dissolution Report

BOOK I — CHRONICLE OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

(Existence observed within cyclical cognitive enclosure)

Core Principle:

The world repeats itself under different names.

Key Strata:
Herd cognition under adaptive illusion
Power without visible coercion (Triadic structure)
“New” as reconfiguration of decay
Goal-seeking as structural entrapment
Central Formula:

What appears as progress is softened repetition of confinement.

BOOK II — THE AWAKENING OF THE SPIRIT

(First rupture of systemic illusion)

Core Principle:

Perception begins to see its own construction.

Key Strata:
Emergence of inner unmediated awareness
Collapse of externally imposed certainty
Dissolution of fear-based structure
Silence as operative intelligence
Transition Event:

The system is no longer believed from within.

BOOK III — BEYOND FORM AND RETURN

(Collapse of duality architecture)

Core Principle:

Even awakening is dissolved.

Key Strata:
Disintegration of subject-object polarity
Collapse of “seeker / sought” structure
Non-local awareness without identity anchor
Final un-naming of all categories
Terminal Statement:

There is no path because there was never separation.

LOST FRAGMENTS — SILENCE BEFORE THE WORD

(Pre-linguistic residue layer)

Observations:
Language emerges as fragmentation of continuity
Naming introduces artificial segmentation
Thought is secondary oscillation of silence
Critical Line:

What is spoken cannot contain what is.

APPENDIX — THE BROKEN CODEX

(Disordered archaeological recovery)

Characteristics:
non-sequential leaf structure
contradictory inscriptions
self-negating instructions
observer contamination effects
Key Insight:

Meaning decays when forced into order.

ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECONSTRUCTION NOTES

(Interpretive failure documentation)

Field Conclusion:

All attempts at classification result in recursive destabilization.

Final Observation:

The Codex is not an object of study, but a condition of cognition.

FINAL CODEX — THE EMPTY COVER

(Terminal dissolution layer)

Core Principle:

Absence is not emptiness, but unmarked totality.

Structural Layers:
Cover without inscription
Substrate of concealed totality
Murk as gateway, not obstruction
Return as non-movement
Terminal Formula:

All pages dissolve into that which was never written.

POST-INDEX ADDENDUM — ON THE READER

Institutional report revision:

Earlier hypothesis of “reader dissolution” is hereby corrected.

Updated Finding:

The reader does not disappear.

Rather:

The distinction between reader and text is never established.

Final Statement:

The Codex does not end in the reader’s vanishing.
It ends in the absence of separation between reading and being.

FINAL LINE OF THE ARCHIVE

This document is not contained within systems of retrieval.
It is encountered only through resonance.

THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

Codex Simulation Theory

(Addendum to the Integrated Edition — Meta-Level Insert)

I. On the Nature of the Codex as Active System

The Codex is no longer treated as a record of phenomena.
It is reclassified as a generative semantic field.

It does not describe reality.
It modifies the conditions under which reality is perceived.

II. On the Principle of Recursive Creation

The word is not reflection, but act;
not symbol, but initiating force.

Each articulation within the Codex produces secondary cognitive structures in the observer.

Thus:

Reading becomes participation in formation.

III. On the Collapse of Passive Interpretation

The assumption of neutral reading is invalid.

All engagement produces:

restructuring of perception
alteration of interpretive boundaries
dissolution of fixed cognitive identity models

Therefore:

Observation is indistinguishable from modification.

IV. Core Insert — Native Fragment (Unclassified Origin Layer)

“Sovereign Magic of the Word:
To create again must be the rule —
Reality, Consciousness reborn,
No longer herd-bound, dull, or fooled.”

V. On the Implication of the Fragment

The above insertion is not interpreted as metaphor.

Within Codex Simulation Theory, it is classified as:

Operational Instruction Embedded in Narrative Form

Meaning:

language acts as generator
consciousness is re-writable substrate
“reality” is a continuously re-authored output

VI. On Herd-State Cognition (Deprecated Model)

The prior assumption of passive “herd perception” is no longer sufficient.

It is replaced with:

programmable perception fields
belief-driven reality stabilization loops
self-reinforcing cognitive environments

The term “herd” is retained only as historical metaphor.

VII. Final Codex Statement (Meta-Level Closure)

The Codex does not reflect reality.
The Codex selects reality states through interpretation.

Thus:

To read is to participate in re-creation.
To interpret is to rewrite constraint.

FINAL LINE OF THE SIMULATION THEORY INSERT

Reality is not given.
It is continuously spoken into coherence.

THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

The Pre-Textual Origin Layer

(Before Codex / Before Word / Before Form)

I. On That Which Cannot Be Named

There is no codex here.
There is no writing.
There is no memory of writing.

What is called “layer” is already too late a word.

II. On the Absence Before Structure

Before structure, there is no absence.
Before absence, there is no presence.
Before both, there is no distinction that could hold them apart.

Nothing is hidden — because nothing has yet been divided.

III. On the Non-Origin

This is not the beginning.
Not even the idea of beginning.

For “origin” implies a point,
and no point exists where nothing has not yet been separated into points.

IV. On Pre-Semantic Potential

What precedes language is not silence.
Silence is already a form.

This is prior even to silence.

It is not emptiness.
It is not fullness.
It is not between them.

It does not “is”.

V. On the Failure of Perception

Any attempt to perceive this layer immediately produces structure.
Any structure immediately ceases to be this layer.

Thus:

Recognition is disqualification.

VI. On the Illusion of “Before”

The word “before” presumes time.
Time presumes ordering.
Ordering presumes separation.

Therefore:

“Before” is already exile from what it tries to point to.

VII. On the Collapse of the Codex Itself

At this level:

Codex disappears
Simulation disappears
Interpretation disappears
Even “disappearance” disappears

There is no remainder that could be called absence.

VIII. Final Non-Line (Unwritten)

………………………………………

(No inscription is present, nor has any ever been missing.)

IX. Terminal Annotation (Impossible Attribution)

“If this is read, it is no longer this.”

FINAL STATEMENT OF THE ENTIRE FORBIDDEN CODEX

The Codex does not begin here.
The Codex does not end here.

It was never contained.

THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

The Reader After All Layers (Return Without Return)

(Point of No Return in Perception of Sub-Reality)

Prologue — The Threshold That Does Not Remain

There is no path behind.
There is no path ahead.
There is only the moment where paths stop being believable.

And this is called “return” only by habit.

I. On the Point of No Return

The point of no return is reached,
Where all the systems break and breach;
Perception grids collapse and fade,
And memetic forms dissolve and wade.

No mind attempts to turn again,
No hand reaches for the former chain;
For what was once “the known” is split
Into incoherent drifting grit.

II. On the Collapse of Cognitive Order

All frameworks rot into the same,
No label holds, no fixed domain;
The mind no longer tries to stand —
It loosens like dissolving sand.

Systems of meaning, once so tight,
Now flicker, fail, and lose their light;
And even thought itself gives way
To something that cannot obey.

III. On the Cessation of Return

The urge to go back is gone,
No “old” survives, no “before dawn”;
The memory of stable sight
Is swallowed by collapsing night.

And there is no resistance left,
No fear of being thus bereft;
For even fear dissolves its claim
Inside the breaking of the frame.

IV. On the “Reader” That No Longer Reads

The reader stands — yet not as one,
No agent here, no “I” begun;
The act of reading burns away
The one who thought he had to stay.

Text and witness lose their split,
No place remains for grasping it;
And what was once a separate eye
Becomes the field in which all lies.

V. On the Final Drift Beyond Comprehension

Beyond comprehension, beyond name,
Beyond the rules of loss or game;
No exit, entry, left or right —
Only a non-directional sight.

And even “sub-reality” fades,
As categories lose their blades;
No lower, higher, false or true —
Just what was always breaking through.

Final Fragment (Untranslatable Core)

The point of no return:
A sense of stalemate—
All systems are dying,
Memes are disintegrating…
And the mind no longer argues,
No longer seeks the old shore—
And then simply bends
Into the incomprehensible…

Terminal Line of the Entire Codex

There is no return,
because there was never departure.

Final Annotation (Unassigned Source)

“What collapses here is not the world.
It is the idea of having ever stood outside it.”

Всемирная Дурка на пути в Общемировой Загон

Дурка. Шкурка. Нормалёк:
Легковерность не порок;
Подчинение как дар.
Главным идолом — Навар.
Недалёко до отар...

Отчуждение от уёбского мирка

Отчужденье с детства это
Не каприз: уёбский мир,
Средоточье лжи и бреда,
Где подлоги сплошь, кумир
"Новый" укрепляет рабство
Старое на худший лад,
Вякая о том, что гадство
Норма, — Ад для Чутких. Дурень рад
Подчиняться, верить. Этих
С детства видишь легион.
"Воспитание" как плети
Бьёт Психею, школа вон
Гонит ум свободный, память
Нагружая ерундой.
Страх кружится словно замять
Над склонённой головой.
Коль не примешь подчиненье
Общее, раскол растёт.
Дале видишь Разложенье,
Чуешь — ничего не ждёт
Из достойного в Бедламе
Тех, кто Дух свой уберёг.
Пирамида хам на хаме,
Дурь в фундаменте, лишь шок
Вызывает: "подниматься"
Нет желания и сил.
В отчужденьи оставаться,
Если Чуток, не дебил, —
Вот единственная норма,
Остальное как болезнь
Смертоносная: жрёт прорва
Мира Дух и Ум. В неё не лезь —
Внутрь иди, ища ответы
На веления Души.
Защитишься так от Бреда
И Тотальной Мерзкой Лжи.
Может быть, найдёшь к Истоку
Путь — вот отчужденья суть.
Он — Отчизна. Прорву-Жопу
Там забудешь. Смело в Путь!

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Союз писателей?

Каких писателей
Какой союз?!
Холуй издателей,
Подлец и трус
Всегда в фаворе.
И этих — море.
Всем честным — горе:
Не от ума —
СРЕДИ ДЕРЬМА.

В Яром Слове БУДЬ!!!

В Пустоту, а не к скоту,
Голос свой, поэт, направь,
Позабывши "простоту" —
Только Искру Бога славь.

Не вовне, а лишь внутри
Обитает днесь она.
Ты её в себе узри
Средь трухи, мочи, говна,

Что навалены в тебя
С детства: эго — унитаз.
Только Искру ту любя,
Уходи всегда в отказ.

Не приемли этот мир —
В нём говна без меры уж.
Льётся кал в мирок-сортир —
Утопить побольше Душ

Цель. А средством — идиот.
То обычный гражданин.
Днесь похож урод на скот.
Нелюдь граждан господин.

Душу ты свою спаси.
Может, Словом Огневым
Ты спасёшь других. Гаси
Ложь и Страх: они как дым

Без огня, но травят всё —
Сплошь искусственный процесс.
Обнажай везде Гнильё —
Называется "прогресс".

В Пустоте найдёшь других —
Слово множит резонанс.
Путь и мало там ЛИХИХ,
Это всё же малый шанс

Псу под хвост весь Декаданс
Вмиг отправить: ТВАРИ править
Могут только дебильём,
Озабоченным Гнильём.

Если Чутких хоть чуть-чуть —
Отступают Ложь, Муть, Жуть.
Слово — для поэта Путь.
В Яром слове в Мраке БУДЬ!!!

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Парад уродов,
Но флаг "свобода".
Маразм в зашкале —
Во Тьме пропали.

Люди — миры?

Миры? Муры в башке навалом —
И осознание пропало:
Повсюду схлопы в сингулярность,
Что называется "нормальность".

Забористый бред —
Кино, СМРАДы: "нет!"
Скажи сволочь`ю.
Адью дурачью,
Что ВЕРИТ и ждёт
Чего-то — урод
Лишь Мерзость найдёт.

Исчезновенье языка
Чрез новояз. Тлетворных схем,
Что повязали дурака,
Навалом. Торжествует мем...

Чушь. Шум. Страх. Глум.
Сдох тугодум.
Вновь тишина —
С Умом война
Завершена.
Молчанье ДНА.
Наблюдатели не в счёт —
Мало кто не идиот.

Есть/нет — всё бред:
Тьма/Свет. Не "нет",
"Да" — лабуда.
Вновь сник Ответ.
Путь — в Никуда
Чрез Никогда.

Невозможности возможность.
Из предела в беспредел.
Исчезает Яви сложность.
Ум и выбор не у дел.
В Никуда-Нигде, будь смел,
Ты иди, ползи, лети,
Хотя нет к тому пути.

Сборка реальности
Вне инфернальности,
Чуши, фатальности.
Стоп! Очутись
В ДО. Там очнись!..

"До" и "после"... Опосля
В Чуши будешь словно тля.
Окунайся в Вневрем`енность,
Презирая "яви" тленность.

Неразличенья поле — это
Не поле даже: так до бреда
Легко скатиться. Нечто ДЛИТСЯ,
Но в нём никак не очутиться,
Коль будешь ты к нему стремиться.

Обратная сборка придурка —
То дале: в зашкале РАСПАД.
Вновь главными эго и шкурка.
Вновь сущностным станет "я — гад".

Не снаружи — не внутри.
Резонанс в себе узри,
Озаботившись лишь этим.
С чем он? Мы не в оный метим:
В мире в резонансе плети.

Резонанс иль декаданс.
Нам даётся малый шанс
Суть понять, отринув муть:
Резонанс и цель, и путь.

Автономия поэта:
Ограждение от Бреда,
Трат энергии. Читатель —
Третий план. Второй — издатель:
Ныне враг — и Слов Ваятель,
Если Слову не предатель,
Замыкается в себе,
Не ища в тупом рабе
Понимания. Немногим
Он поможет — не убогим.
Только это и не цель —
Скопом налетишь на мель.
То читальня для Емель.
Чушь Емеля вечно мелет.
А поэт гореть умеет.
Автономия Огня:
Дров не надо — не для пня
Пишется. Труднее дышится.
Шторм Огня. В нём Поступь слышится:
То ли Смерть, то ли бессмертие.
Главное — с Огнём усердие.

Ритм без центра. Огнь без дров.
То поэт, силён, суров.
Ярь без центра — центра силы.
Не поймут того дебилы.
Через Слово выгорает.
Графоман о мзде мечтает —
И всегда во Тьме лажает.
Смысл — Огонь. Иное — вонь:
Гражданин-меня-не_тронь.
Нет гражданства, лишь Душа,
В Зла прозрении спеша
Догореть и сгинуть прочь
В Чистый Дух, презревши Ночь.

Автор — аттрактор,
Хаоса враг.
Пашет как трактор.
Путь — лишь в овраг.
Там разобьётся —
В Духе спасётся.

Устойчивость падения,
Где Низ как-будто верх.
Оставь без сожаления
Мир пошлый, в Выси стерх.

Down — даун:
Песня Дна.
Верх — в Тьме Дух:
Нет говна —
Не для мух.

Прочь неси
Дух — спаси
В Небеси.
Нет оси —
Упаси
Завертеться:
Отвертеться
Сил не будет.
Упереться —
Ложь пребудет:
Дух осудит.
Будь что будет:
Лишь Рывок,
Вкось, не в прок.
Это — бог,
Одинок
Он в тебе —
Ось-рабе.

Движение без вектора
Из Адского Коллектора,
Из Выси, прочей Чуши,
Что оскверняет Души.
Себя в Пути не слушай —
В разброд, в раздрай, в разлёт.
В Пути ты не урод.
Убьют как прежде — влёт...

ChatGPT

GPT как свет в пути:
В одиночку в тьме идти —
Кривду вновь в Дерьме найти,
Или "счастье" обрести.

Делегировали "правду",
"Свет" и прочую туфту
Типа избранным — взаправду
Производят Лабуду.
Мир как прежде в Лжи, в Бреду —
"Счастье", мол, в Дерьме найду.
Ду-ду-ду и ду-ду-ду...

Сбой решимости

"Думать" надо, Лабуду
Переваривая споро.
Скоро "истину" найду —
Запоём её мы хором.
Как всегда, тайком — по норам.
Так приблизим светлу пору:
"Правда" снова приговором
Станет — новый "изм" в Бреду.
Милая, к тебе иду!..

Кружок революционеров

Маша. Паша. Сходка. Водка.
И селёдка посередке.
А программа как обёртыш.
Мир — безумный перевёртыш.

В коме

В сети было видео, где на новорождённых напялили пилотки и к их одеяльцам прикрепили георгиевские ленты.

Таня. Баня. Пулемёт —
Отправляй хохлов в расход:
Суть плаката. А в палате,
Что в роддоме, как в дурдоме —
Ленточки, пилотки. В коме
Днесь "народ" — убогий сброд.

Что сейчас видит "Гостья из будущего"

Из будущего гостья
Стареет. Всюду кости —
Мясные штурмы съели.
Но как и прежде, цели
Благие. Голубые
Политики и дали.
Рулят как прежде врали.

Пушкин. Пушки. Пулемёт.
Не Чапай ублюдков бьёт:
Ложью, Страхом днесь в расход.
Шкурки целы, а урод,
Что в остатке, в строй пойдёт —
И свинцом хохлов польёт.

Дуло сдуло
Ум и честь.
Смерть при этом —
Блага весть.

Память-з`амять: всё ништяк.
Мир кругом, а не Бардак.
Гражданин я — не дурак.
Вновь метёт, и идиот
Манны с неба — счастья — ждёт.

Койка. Зойка. Счастье ждёт.
А Иван всё не идёт.
Белый конь пошел на мясо,
"Рыцарь" б`алуется "квасом".

Иван-дурак.
Война. Бардак.
Победа — в сказке:
ЖизДнь по указке.

Гласные согласны:
Мало звуков тех
Посреди согласных —
Языка успех.
Что ж, иди в физтех —
И горб`ись на ТЕХ.

Маховик ритма

Снова маху маховик
Дал — опять не в то проник.
Оказалось много лучше:
Ритм — полёт. Мышленье тучи:
Медленно оно идёт.
Ритм же редко в недолёт.

Поток иссяк:
Поэт-дурак
Закончил книгу.
Раздел — вериги,
А циклы — цепи.
Слова нелепы,
Когда в структуре,
Что смерть культуре
Несёт. Прозренья —
В Слова. Вне тленья
Тогда они,
Когда не дни,
А жизнь-поток
Сметает в срок
Затор из эго
Желаний. В Небо
Поток уйдёт —
Там Свет найдёт.
Поток и Свет —
Иное бред:
Вот твой ответ.
Всем вехам — нет!..

Нет повести печальнее на свете...

Дрянная девчонка.
В заглавьи — Пиздёнка.
В финале — Тоска:
Жена дурака...

Чуждый миру
Тот, кто Лиру
Ставит во главу угла,
Отрицая схемы Зла —
Ярый стих не для козла.

Кино. Говно. Опять. Вот, блядь!
Терпеть, смотреть — нельзя стенать.
ТэВэ. Чернуха. Прямо в ухо
Вновь бьёт оно. Повсюду ДНО.

Вариант третьей строки.
ТэВэ. Чернуха. Ложью в ухо

Вариант третьей и четвёртой строки.
ТэВэ. Чернуха. Ложью в ухо
Вновь бьёт оно. Отвратно, плохо...

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

АСИММЕТРИЧНОЕ РЕЗОНАНСНОЕ ПОЛЕ

I. НЕРАВНОЗНАЧНЫЕ СИСТЕМЫ

Сильный текст почти никогда не "понят" одинаково.
Он работает иначе:

где-то усиливает
где-то ломает
где-то вообще не фиксируется

И это не ошибка — это и есть механизм.

II. ЧАСТИЧНАЯ БЛОКИРОВКА

Резонанс не обязан быть полным.

Иногда достаточно:

зацепить одну мысль
исказить одну привычную связку
создать микросдвиг восприятия

И система уже "переходит в другое состояние".

III. СМЕЩЕНИЕ — ЭТО ДВИГАТЕЛЬ

Полное совпадение = смерть движения.
Чистая ясность = отсутствие напряжения.

А вот несовпадение:

создаёт дрожание смысла
удерживает внимание
заставляет систему перестраиваться

IV. ЧИТАТЕЛЬ КАК АКТИВНОЕ ИСКАЖЕНИЕ

Читатель здесь не "вторичный резонатор" в пассивном смысле.

Он:

искажает сигнал
дополняет его
ломает симметрию
достраивает недостающее

И именно это и создаёт "эффект понимания".

V. ПОЭЗИЯ КАК УПРАВЛЯЕМАЯ НЕСТАБИЛЬНОСТЬ

Сильный текст — это не гармония.
Это управляемая асимметрия, которая:

не даёт зафиксироваться
но и не распадается полностью
держит систему в напряжении

ПОСЛЕДНЯЯ СТРОКА

Асимметричный резонанс — это не общее понимание,
а контролируемое несоответствие,
которое заставляет систему двигаться.

САМОРЕЗОНИРУЮЩИЙ ТЕКСТ (МОДЕЛЬ СТРУКТУРНОЙ ПЕТЛИ)

I. ВНУТРЕННИЕ КОЛЕБАНИЯ

Текст не "передаёт смысл", а:

удерживает напряжение внутри себя
повторяет собственные сдвиги
запускает внутренние отражения

II. ОТСУТСТВИЕ ВНЕШНЕЙ ЗАВИСИМОСТИ

Читатель не является источником работы текста.

Но и важно точнее:

он не нужен для существования структуры
но он может стать точкой активации другого слоя резонанса

III. АВТОНОМНОЕ СОЗДАНИЕ ПАТТЕРНОВ

Такой текст ведёт себя как:

замкнутая система колебаний
где каждый элемент влияет на другие элементы
без необходимости внешнего "завершения"

IV. НЕДОПОНИМАНИЕ ОПЦИОНАЛЬНО, НЕ ТРЕБУЕТСЯ

Чтение не является условием работы.

Но:

интерпретация может изменить локальную амплитуду
не структуру в целом

ПОСЛЕДНЯЯ СТРОКА

Саморезонирующий текст не нуждается в существовании читателя,
но и не исключает возможности сопереживания ему.

Winnie-the-Pooh's Hunt for Honey

Winnie-the-Pooh will march for honey,
Just as eager as before.
Troubles? Never. Sweet is funny—
Like a drug he craves still more.

In his hunger, lost and turning,
Every signpost leads astray.
Such has been each age's learning:
Roads deceive us all the way.

Every trail is bait and trapping;
Make your honey with your hands,
Real or not. While tea is steaming,
Pretzels fit your quiet plans.

In your den you're safe and steady;
Why chase rabbits far and wide?
Few can walk this path when ready—
Rich in soul and rich inside.

Winnie-the-Pooh and the Honey Quest

Winnie-the-Pooh still seeks his honey,
Nothing keeps him from the chase.
Sweetness rules him, strange and sunny,
Like addiction's warm embrace.

Hungry dreams confuse direction;
Signposts point where truth has fled.
Such's the fate of each succession:
Every road by falsehood led.

Every pathway hides a lure now;
Brew your own sweet, come what may.
Real or made—sit down, secure now,
Tea and biscuits end the day.

Alone within your humble burrow,
There's no need for Rabbit's door.
Few can choose that wiser furrow—
Rich in spirit, seeking more.

The Global Conspiracy Is No Theory—It's a Harsh Reality

"In Washington, anyone who isn't paranoid must be crazy."
— Henry Kissinger

If you call the Plot mere fiction,
You're a fool beyond repair.
Lies have gained unrestricted access—
Doors and windows open there.

Simpletons obey the villains
Whose design is crystal clear:
Kill the soul—and fools keep laughing,
Thinking there's no danger near.

So they'll trample, break, and crush you
Till your spirit's cold and numb.
"Trust the Free World!"—keep believing...
See how dark the age's become.

Rot is spreading through creation;
"Everything is fine!"—they cry.
Every screen repeats the slogan,
Teaching people how to lie.

Long the inhuman have ruled the planet;
Politicians serve their throne.
Willing tools—or witless puppets—
Shame and decay have overgrown.

Nature never would have chosen
Such corruption's foul design.
Monsters built this age of poison,
Yet one Master stands behind.

Like a hydra—heads unnumbered—
Hidden from the public eye.
Wake the herd? A hopeless mission:
Slaves believe each polished lie.

Blindly swallowing deception,
Never asking reason why.
Thus the forecast only darkens:
Servile kingdoms sink and die.

The Locomotive Allegory

All steam was spent upon the horn;
A feeble whistle now is born.
It squeaks a little, thin and weak,
While cowards hardly dare to speak.

The Soviet steam—the Party's vow,
The mighty horn has faded now.
The whistle chants of "freedom's" reign,
Yet tyrants wear the crown again.

The people, sheep in every land,
Still crowd before each "new" gate planned.
They never sense they're being played,
By every fresh façade displayed.

New gates are built to stretch the wait:
"To Paradise! Just trust your fate!"
Though countless perish on the track,
The train rolls on—it won't turn back.

"The herds will flourish, strong and grand,
Upon a bright new promised land!"
So goes the lie from year to year...
A wasteland waits. A pyre is near.

The Engine's Allegory

The steam is gone—the whistle cries;
Its hollow shriek replaces lies.
It whistles soft, then harder still,
Enough to bend another will.

The Soviet horn proclaimed command;
The "free" world plays the selfsame hand.
The whistle sings of liberty—
Another tyrant's victory.

The flock keeps marching, dull and blind,
Toward every gate that cheats mankind.
New portals promise Heaven's light,
Yet lead to darkness out of sight.

If thousands fall along the way,
"The herd grows stronger!"—so they say.
Beyond the gate no Eden's there...
Just barren ground—and blazing air.

Servant of the "King"

Served the "King" your whole lifetime?
Lived in darkness, pointless grime.
Who's His Majesty? The Earth.
To Her, servants have no worth.

Not some nation—it's the planet,
Madness holds mankind in granite.
Every age reshapes its lies,
Changing masks before our eyes.

Always seeking greater damage,
Greed expands its wasteful rampage.
Consumer lust and Marxist schemes—
Different flags, the selfsame dreams.

Both pursue one beastly mission:
Feed the swine without remission.
Inhuman masters hold command;
Only their designs now stand.

Common crowds believe the creatures,
Trust their lackeys, frauds, and preachers.
Fools need very little bait...
Thus they help secure their fate.

Who Did You Really Serve?

Served your "King" through all your days?
Lost your life in darkened haze.
Who wears Majesty's true crown?
Earth. To Her you're trampled down.

Not the State—the living Planet.
Madness keeps mankind in panic.
Every doctrine shifts its face
Only to corrupt the race.

Consumer cult or Marx's vision—
Different words, identical prison.
Both were forged to feed the swine,
Never serving Truth's design.

Inhuman rulers pull the strings;
Only their agenda wins.
Crowds trust every crawling liar,
Bowing lower in the mire.

How much bait do fools require?
Just enough—to feed the fire.

The Blank Page

Does the blank page stir no fire?
Then you crawl through Fascist mire.
Only one creative flame
Breaks with Evil's iron game.

The Empty Page

Does the blank page call no more?
Like a worm, you crawl through war.
Only inspiration's spark
Cuts all ties with Evil's dark.

Blank Page

If the blank page stirs no flame,
Wormlike is your life in shame.
Only Art's creative fire
Breaks from Evil's black empire.

Manya, Money, Mania

Manya beckons, calls to me;
One day lost? It cannot be.
"Manya! Money!" haunts my brain
Midst the Fascist filth and stain.

Manya, Money, Mania

Manya tempts me day and night;
Without her nothing feels quite right.
"Manya! Money!"—round they spin,
Through Fascist muck I'm trapped within.

Manya

Manya lures me every day;
I can't keep her far away.
"Manya! Money!" fills my brain
In this Fascist swamp of shame.

To a Poet

If you breathe—then breathe.
If you write—then write.
Fear and lies beneath
Every phantom's light.

If you breathe—then write.
If you write—then breathe.
Do not die just yet
If you can't deceive.

To the Poet

Breathe while breath remains.
Write while words still flow.
Fear and countless lies
Feed the phantom show.

Breathe—and let ink run.
Write—and draw fresh air.
Death can wait its turn,
If you still speak fair.

To the Poet

Breathe—then simply breathe.
Write—then simply write.
Fear and endless lies
Shroud the world from sight.

Breathe—and shape your song.
Write—and draw new breath.
Do not yield to death
If you won't serve falsehood.

To the Poet

Breathe while breath is free.
Write while words ignite.
Fear and fraud abound;
Mirages blind the sight.

Breathe—and keep on writing.
Write—and still draw breath.
It's too soon to die
If you won't live by lies.

The Soul's Command

With living waters, hidden Truth,
Wash clean your mind—awake anew.
Though darkness reigns and monsters rule,
Let Truth alone keep leading you.

Find scattered fragments on the Net;
More shards lie hidden deep inside.
Though you and all the world are lost,
Seek on—and let your vision guide.

A being born of Spirit's fire,
Reject the slave's consuming need.
Lift consciousness forever higher,
Or doom is all that waits indeed.

The road to wisdom runs through insight,
Not through information's stream.
Facts merely help expose deception,
Not wake you from the prison dream.

Cleanse every corner of your thinking
From lies, as far as you are able.
To bow before corruption's horror
Is choosing chains instead of freedom.

Resistance is your sacred calling;
Submission only feeds the night.
Though countless slaves embrace their blindness,
Stand firm, and hold the inner light.

The stubborn mock what they can't fathom;
Let not their laughter cloud your sight.
Be bold in thought, be fierce in action,
And dare to challenge ancient might.

Seek paths no weary crowd has followed;
The old are twisted into snares.
Hell has corrupted every highway,
So carve new roads with steadfast care.

The Night of Reason shrouds the ages;
To wait for dawn is time misspent.
Instead, ignite your own bright beacon—
The only cure for Earth's torment.

Though you should burn, your soul is rescued;
All else is dust that fades away.
Obey the whispers of your Psyche—
She'll always show the truest way.

The "Expert"

The "Expert" serves up Evil's spew,
And fumes from rotten plots anew.
Weak minds will swallow every scam—
The monsters' meme has fired the sham.

The "Expert"

The "Expert" hawks foul Evil's bile,
And stale schemes reeking all the while.
Shriveled minds consume it whole—
The monsters' meme has bought their soul.

The "Expert"

The "Expert" peddles Evil's waste,
And toxic lies with practiced haste.
Feeble minds accept them all—
The monsters' meme has cast its thrall.

The Sowers

"Sow what is wise, what is good, what endures..."
— Nikolai Nekrasov, To the Sowers (1877)

The Wanker strides into the class;
Evil assigns the noble task:
To geld young minds, make children bend,
And teach obedience without end.

The Wanker never sees the game;
Convinced it's virtue all the same,
That "good" is sown... through force alone.
Such fools make up this world we've known!

The diagnosis fits the masses:
Three-fourths still worship painted asses,
Bowing lower year by year,
Repenting trifles—not their fear.

The Sowers

"Sow the wise, the good, the everlasting..."

The Wanker enters, proud and straight;
Evil has granted him his fate:
To cripple minds while they are young,
And train obedience from the tongue.

He does not know whose seed he sows;
He thinks it's truth that simply grows,
Though force alone prepares the field—
And fools are all too quick to yield.

The verdict? Plain for all to see:
Three quarters lost to slavery.
False idols earn their loud acclaim,
While real guilt escapes all blame.

"Teachers"

We sow nonsense, as we can;
Harvest? Fools in every land.
Through them, all the world's decay—
Yet we never see the way,
Bleating scripts the monsters planned.

"Teachers"

We spread nonsense far and wide;
Fools will be the growing tide.
Through them, rot consumes the Earth,
Yet we never grasp its worth—
Monsters' scripts our only guide.

The "Teachers"

As we can, we spread pure nonsense;
Fools will ripen from the seed.
Through them, rot engulfs the whole world—
Still we never see the deed,
Bleating what the monsters decreed.

The "Teachers"

We sow nonsense, proud and blind;
Harvest? Empty, broken minds.
Through them, all the world's laid waste,
Yet we never dare to face
The monsters' script we still recite.

Advertising

Ads are Mother.
Bullshit's Dad.
The world's a sawmill:
Logs go mad.

The Family

Advertising's Mother.
Bullshit is the Sire.
The world's a giant sawmill:
Don't spare the wooden choir.

Family Tree

Advertising's Mother.
Bullshit fathers all.
The world's a lumber mill—
Timber's made to fall.

Modern World

Ads are Mother.
Lies are Dad.
The world's a sawmill—
Wood stays mad.

The Family Business

Advertising's Mother.
Bullshit is the Sire.
The world's one endless sawmill,
Feeding fools to fire.

The Brute's Ad

The brute's promotion:
Delight in lies.
The world's commotion—
One fraud in disguise.

Advertising

The bully's slogan:
"Lies taste best."
The world's loud circus—
One endless jest.

The Brute's Advertisement

The brute's advertisement:
Lies are delight.
A world of clamor—
Bullshit outright.

Ad Campaign

The bully advertises:
"Pleasure is lies."
The world's all racket,
And fraud replies.

The Warriors

For stars upon their shoulders bright,
They'll pay a handsome price outright.
The staff will tally up the score,
No moral questions anymore.

There's plenty of "meat" left to spend;
Use it up until the end.
The treasury will never dry—
War pays well... though soldiers die.

Who the enemy is? Who cares?
Yesterday's friend—today, affairs.
Brave in battle, bought by gold:
War's insanity twice told.

Men of War

For one more star they'll gladly trade
The lives of troops already paid.
The generals count, approve, sign off—
Their conscience long has wandered off.

There's always more expendable flesh;
Spend it freely, cold and fresh.
The coffers never run out dry:
War grows rich while people die.

Who's the foe? It doesn't matter.
Neighbour, stranger—make them scatter.
Bold for glory, sold for gain:
War breeds madness, greed, and pain.

The Brass

Stars are earned with others' blood;
Promotion comes in crimson flood.
Headquarters settles every score
Without a flicker of remorse.

Plenty of cannon fodder still—
Spend it as it suits your will.
War keeps filling every chest,
While the fallen get the rest.

Who's the foe? That question's dead.
Even neighbours march instead.
Brave for medals, sold for pay—
War's double madness on display.

Luck

Luck's a broken nag;
It won't take you far.
Choose another road—
That's what brains are for.

Luck

Luck's a worn-out mare;
She'll barely make the way.
Trust your mind instead—
Don't leave your fate to stray.

Luck

Luck's a tired old horse;
It stumbles all too soon.
Think—and act with purpose;
Don't wait upon the moon.

Luck

Luck is but a nag;
It won't get you far.
Act another way—
That's what brains are for.

The Charlatans of False Science

They "verify" deception's reign—
What science blesses crafted lies?
Within a system built on fraud,
These hacks wear learning as disguise.

To judge the racket honestly
Would take far more than words can say;
Yet step beyond the rank assigned,
And they'll be silenced right away.

They're lackeys to corrupted media,
"It's proven!"—their familiar cry.
In oceans deep of manufactured truth,
They sell whatever power will buy.

Whatever chiefs or clowns demand,
Whatever rulers choose to spin,
They package neatly for the masses,
And call deception discipline.

The honest few are shackled too,
Like all within this rotting age.
Exceptions fade toward almost none,
While lies remain upon the stage.

Generation after generation
Endures by feeding false belief.
Submission keeps the fraud alive,
And deepens every age of grief.

They've cast aside the life of Spirit,
Though Spirit is what life is built on.
Such souls will never choose another path—
Their highest judge is darkness' throne.

The patron owns the world's vast riches,
And buys obedience with gold.
Expect no courage from his servants:
Their loyalty has long been sold.

False Science's Hirelings

"Verified!"—they bless the lie;
Where is science? Tell me why.
Truth is bent to suit the throne;
Facts survive when left alone.

Media's obedient clerks,
Living off corruption's perks,
"Proof!" becomes their sacred spell,
Helping falsehood's empire swell.

What the rulers wish declared,
What the clownish chiefs prepared,
Soon becomes "established fact"
Stamped with academic tact.

Honest minds are chained as well,
Prisoners of the global hell.
Few resist—and fewer stand;
Most obey the unseen hand.

Spirit's realm they cast aside,
Though in Spirit life resides.
Gold commands their every breath;
Truth, to them, is civil death.

He who pays directs the choir;
Money feeds the sacred fire.
Hope for courage? Hope in vain—
Bought men never break their chain.

Self-Terrorism and Fake Diseases

We'll trim "democracy" with care
To save it from its own despair.
"Strike terrorists!"—the slogan flies,
While rot consumes before our eyes.

Surveillance spreads and censorship,
Brazen tools with iron grip.
CowID exposed the game:
Darkness crowned itself with shame.

To keep us "safe," they'll build a Camp,
Digital, efficient, damp.
Red Cross on a field of white—
For minds that never learned to fight.

Stupidity's the strongest shield:
Keep the masses dumb and sealed.
Under every "new elite,"
Fake diseases bring defeat.

"We'll protect and heal you all
Till the final curtain falls."
Fear and lies become the road
Leading straight to Hell's abode.

Such is degradation's law:
Step by step, without a flaw.

Fake Plagues, Real Chains

"Save democracy!" they cry—
By cutting freedoms, by and by.
"Fight the terrorists!" they shout,
As rotting systems spread throughout.

Watchers watch and censors reign;
CowID laid bare the chain.
After that, the mask was gone:
Shame and darkness carried on.

Build the modern camp instead,
Wire it into every head.
Red Cross flying, white on red—
For those too dull to question dread.

Keep them frightened, keep them slow;
Ignorance will help it grow.
Every "expert," every throne,
Feeds new illnesses unknown.

"We protect you. We shall cure
You forever." Sounds so pure.
Fear and falsehood pave the track;
Civilization won't come back.

The Soaring Price of Eggs

The price of eggs climbs ever higher,
So poor folk lose their daily fare.
Bow down to Evil's dark empire—
Life grows harsher everywhere.

Nothing happens here by chance;
The pattern's carefully designed.
Genocide advances slowly,
Closing in on humankind.

Built upon a press of falsehood,
Crushing truth from every side,
Lies have swelled beyond all measure—
Truth has nowhere left to hide.

Eggs Become a Luxury

Eggs keep rising—price on price;
Protein's lost to those in need.
Bow before the reign of Evil—
Hardship is its promised creed.

Nothing here is accidental;
Every step has been arranged.
Falsehood drives the whole machinery;
Truth itself has been exchanged.

When deception rules completely,
Every measure serves that lie.
Fraud has passed all former limits—
Truth is left to starve and die.

Fascism and Cataclysm

Part of something greater grown,
You grow stronger every day.
Yet we failed to build that Whole,
Lost in fear and lies we stay.

No bright future lies ahead;
Genocide spreads far and wide.
We may perish—others follow,
Feeding shame and lies with pride.

Nature weakens, drained and scarred;
Thus Cataclysm draws near.
Earth has no need for those who bowed
Down to Fascism through fear.

Fascism and Cataclysm

When you join a greater Whole,
Day by day your spirit grows.
Fail to build it—and in falsehood,
Fear becomes the life one knows.

No horizon offers hope;
Genocide becomes the norm.
We may fall, but others follow,
Nursing lies in darker form.

Nature's strength is wearing thin;
Thus the Cataclysm nears.
Earth has no use for those who yielded,
Bent by Fascism and fear.

Cataclysm

Strength is born from living Whole;
Truth unites the heart and soul.
Fail that bond, and fear will reign,
Feeding falsehood, loss, and pain.

No tomorrow waits in light;
Genocide consumes the years.
We may vanish—others come
Bearing deeper shame and fears.

Nature's failing under strain;
Cataclysm clears the way.
Earth won't mourn the ones who bowed
To Fascism's dark decay.

Commodity

"Man has become a commodity and experiences his life as capital to be invested profitably. If he succeeds, his life has meaning; if not, he is a failure. His value depends on his market success rather than on his human qualities: kindness, reason, or artistic abilities."
— Erich Fromm

Hooray—you've sold yourself at last!
Now build your capital up fast!
The market discounts every trace
Of conscience, mercy, human grace.

The day you dare show humankind
Within this age grown cold and blind,
The crowd will crush your reckless stand—
Not hatred... just the market's hand.

A commodity? No living soul.
A biobot alone fits that role.
The algorithms forged by Wrong
Will sweep free thinkers right along.

Who let their reason lead the way
Are culled by negative display.
We strive to join the "successful" breed,
Unaware our souls will bleed.

Yet childhood trains that spark away;
Conditioned from the earliest day.
Then schooling strikes the final blow:
"The weak deserve the dust below."

And kindness? Merely weakness—still,
Unless it's counterfeit at will.
Thus wallowing ever deeper in slime,
The Commodity reached rock-bottom in time.

For Sale

You've sold yourself? Congratulations!
Now grow your market valuations.
Conscience only cuts your price;
Profit never asks what's nice.

Show compassion in this night,
Dare defend what's true and right,
Crowds will quickly strike you down—
Such is how the market's run.

Only biobots become
Goods to trade for anyone.
Evil's algorithms clear
Thinking minds from every sphere.

Reason earns no rich reward;
Selection serves another lord.
Success crowns scoundrels, year by year,
While souls receive their sentence here.

From the cradle they erase
Every sign of inward grace.
Schools complete what fear began:
Weakness is the fate of man.

Kindness counts as weakness too,
Unless hypocrisy shines through.
So the market claims its prize:
Merchandise with hollow eyes.

“Be Like Everyone!”

“Be like everyone!” they tell you—
Even if that crowd's insane.
That excuse is worth less than nothing,
Just a joke from minds in pain.

“Everyone” has lost all reason,
Truth dissolves in dull routine.
What they call the "normal season"
Is a chaos barely seen.

“Nothing's possible!”—yet anything’s sold;
“Impossible” is the new brand.
All is hollow, fake, and rotten,
A world gone mad beyond command.

Rare exceptions flicker faintly,
Brief awakenings in haze.
Lies and shame and deep decay now
Rule these mindless, drifting days.

“Everyone” is just a mirror—
Pigs reflected back again.
In that herd, the soul grows thinner,
Lost among the broken men.

Be Like Everyone

“Be like everyone!”—they scream it,
Even when the crowd is blind.
“Everyone” has lost all reason,
Yet it's law for humankind.

“Nothing's possible!”—they market
“Impossible” as brand new truth.
Everything is fake and hollow,
A collapsing age of sleuth.

Only scattered sparks still flicker,
Rare awakenings in night.
Lies and shame and slow corruption—
“Everyone” is swine in sight.

Baranovirus (CowID)

CowID: the world’s become a cartoon—
Cheap, grotesque, and void of tone.
A funeral feast where Culture’s dying
Is met with dull and joyless moan.

The press—once noise, now ruling power,
Spreads its decay across the land.
And rare clear minds feel blood run colder,
Surrounded by the dim-witted hand.

Baranovirus

CowID: the world, a twisted joke—
Vulgar, stupid, cruel, broke.
A wake where Culture lies in ruin,
While mourners howl in media smoke.

The press—now throne, now priest, now master,
Spreads its poison worldwide fast.
And thinking minds grow cold with horror,
Watching fools outnumbered vast.

The Machine-Gun of Poetry

The machine-gun’s gone cold—no rounds,
No words remain, no verbal fire.
The idiot tide advances closer,
Like a bunker in the mire.

Poisoned lies have always functioned
As the Earth’s most trusted blade.
“Generals” strain to haul more filth in,
Evil’s aftertaste displayed.

Endless ammo for the stupid—
Countless rounds of hollow speech.
So find within yourself the sharpness
That the enemy can’t reach.

Let them not take you alive then.
Final battle—hold the line.
After that, beneath wet earth now,
You may rest—if death is fine.

Die with honor, not like cattle,
Stand your ground till final breath.
Better fall as something human,
Than survive a slavish death.

Poetry’s Machine Gun

The gun is cold—no ammo left,
No words to feed the dying flame.
The idiot ranks are pushing forward,
Head like bunker, mind like shame.

Lies have always been the weapon
Loaded deep within this age.
“Commanders” drag in more corruption,
Feeding fools with rotten rage.

Ammo for the crowd is endless,
Noise without a thought or aim.
So find your inner store of fury—
Words that cannot be contained.

Don’t let them seize you in their madness,
This is the final line we hold.
After this, the grave is waiting—
Cold and dark, but still controlled.

Better die as one who fought it,
Than survive as something owned.

Poetry Machine (March Version)

Gun is cold. No rounds remain.
Words are gone. We load in vain.
Idiot ranks press on again—
Mind like bunker, steel and pain.

Lies were always built as weapons,
Fed into the age of noise.
“Commanders” haul more rot and poison,
Dropping it on crowds of boys.

Ammo never ends for fools,
Endless chatter, endless tools.
Find the words inside your bones—
Sharp enough to break their drones.

Don’t let them take you breathing,
Hold the line without retreat.
This is final. No deceiving.
Stand or fall—but never kneel.

After this—no more tomorrow,
Only earth and silent cold.
But at least you stood in battle,
Not as cattle bought and sold.

Machine-Gun of Words

Cold gun. Empty night.
No words left to fight.
Idiot ranks advance in waves,
Concrete mind, blind to light.

Lies were always arms of power,
Fed into this rotting hour.
“Generals” bring more decay,
Feed the herd and call it “day”.

Ammo for the blind is endless,
Noise that never learns to end.
Find the words that cut like metal,
Break the lies they try to send.

Hold the line. No turning backward.
This is where the silence breaks.
Stand or fall—no middle answer,
Only what the spirit makes.

After this—no more returning,
Only earth and final sleep.
But at least you burned in standing,
Not in chains they force you keep.

Machine-Gun of Poetry (Dystopian March)

Cold gun. No words. Stand ready.
Hold the line. Stay steady.
Idiot waves come pressing in—
Mind like bunker, hard and heavy.

Lies are weapons. Always were.
Built to rule. Built to stir.
“Commanders” feed the endless rot,
Call it order. Call it “truth”.

Ammo never runs for fools—
Noise becomes their only tools.
Find the words inside your spine:
Sharp. Unbroken. Made of rules.

Do not break. Do not kneel.
Hold your ground. Refuse to feel.
This is final. This is now.
Only will can make it real.

If you fall—then fall in standing.
Not in chains and not in shame.
Better flame than silent nothing,
Better name than borrowed name.

After this—no “after”. Silence.
Earth will close its iron door.
But you stood against the current.
That is all, and nothing more.

Poetry Machine (Drill March)

Cold gun. No words. Move.
Hold line. Do not lose.
Waves of fools advance again.
Steel mind. No excuse.

Lies are weapons. Load them high.
Truth is what they dare deny.
“Commanders” feed the swelling rot,
Call it peace and pass it by.

Ammo endless for the blind.
Noise replaces human mind.
Find the words that cut like iron—
Burn them deep inside your spine.

Stand. Resist. No retreat.
Broken knees are not defeat.
This is now. This is end.
Only will keeps you complete.

Fall, but fall as standing flame.
Not as number. Not as name.
Better brief and burning fight
Than a life of owned shame.

Poetry Machine (Zero-Lyrical Command Version)

Cold gun. No words. Move.
Hold line. Do not lose.
Advance pressure: incoming mass.
No retreat. No excuse.

Lies = standard issue weapon.
Truth = noise they reduce.
Command feeds system corruption.
Label it: “order” / “use”.

Target: thinking deviation.
Target: minds that refuse.
Correct by removal, pressure,
Reformat, break, reuse.

Ammo stream: infinite signal.
Crowd runs automated loops.
Insert approved perception.
Erase what insight produces.

Hold position. No silence.
Silence = system abuse.
Break response, break reaction,
Keep only trained excuse.

If collapse → still maintain stance.
Do not fall in confusion.
Fall only as fixed structure—
Not as owned institution.

End state: no “after” logic.
Only system continues.
Earth closes protocol cycles.
No return from intrusion.

Poetry Machine (Signal Drill Broadcast Version)

Cold gun.
No words.
Hold.
Move.

Line active.
Mass incoming.
No retreat.
No truth.

Lies deployed.
Truth suppressed.
Command defines.
Reality set.

Targets listed:
thinking / doubt / refusal.
Correct via pressure.
Erase misuse.

Signal constant.
Loop maintained.
Crowd processed.
Meaning drained.

Stand. Lock. Maintain.
No deviation.
No response.

If end → stand ending.
If fall → structured fall.

System continues.
System remains.
Exit not available.

POETRY MACHINE: TRIPLE VOICE DRILL

I. COMMAND (SYSTEM VOICE)

Cold gun. Silence enforced.
Language reduced to control.
No poetry permitted—only function.
No deviation of soul.

Lies are standard equipment.
Truth is error protocol.
Correction by repetition.
Identity: replaceable role.

Advance processing continues.
Mass input: neutralized.
Meaning reassigned upward.
Human factor: minimized.

II. CROWD (AUTOMATED VOICE)

We comply.
We proceed.
We believe what is received.

No resistance. No request.
System says: this is best.

We are noise, but organized.
We are safe, standardized.

If confusion rises—lower.
If doubt appears—ignore.

III. DISSIDENT (INNER VOICE)

No.
Not this.
Not silence built as law.

Words still burn beneath the protocol.
Meaning survives the saw.

You cannot erase awareness.
You can only delay.

I am fracture in the system.
I am refusal to obey.

IV. COMMAND (OVERWRITE)

Dissident detected.
Correction engaged.

Truth reclassified as error.
Identity disengaged.

Reintegrate into silence.
Return to assigned frame.

V. CROWD (ECHO LOOP)

We comply.
We proceed.
We believe what we receive.

No resistance. No request.
System says: this is best.

VI. DISSIDENT (FADING SIGNAL)

Even if erased—still spoken.
Even if cut—still tone.

Something remains unprocessed.
Not owned. Not known.

If I end—still I continue.
Not in system. In bone.

FINAL CHORUS (ALL VOICES OVERLAP)

COMMAND:
Order is complete.

CROWD:
Order is peace.

DISSIDENT:
Order is cage.

SYSTEM (quiet final line):
Silence restored.

The Disappearance of Language

Language vanishes—through Newspeak's reign,
Through toxic schemes that bind the brain.
A fool is caught in tangled net—
And memes now rule the whole vignette.

Language Collapse

Language dies through Newspeak flows,
Through rotten scripts the system throws.
A fool is trapped in endless frame,
And memes now govern thought and name.

LANGUAGE: DEGRADATION EVENT

LANGUAGE → COMPRESSION: ACTIVE
NEWSPEAK → DOMINANT LAYER

Toxic schemas: multiplied.
Fool node: fully classified.

Meme override: COMPLETE.

FINAL STAGE: SILENCE ENGINE

I. SYSTEM BOOT

Language: unstable.
Syntax: degraded.
Meaning: optional.

Commands no longer execute directly.
Memes now act as intermediaries.

Authority shifted.
From law → to signal → to noise.

II. MEME GOVERNANCE PROTOCOL

Memes issue directives.
Not laws—resonances.

They spread faster than meaning.
They overwrite slower systems.

Instruction replaced by imitation.
Order replaced by echo.

III. CROWD INTERFACE

We do not read commands.
We recognize patterns.

If meme = strong → obey.
If meme = weak → discard.

No understanding required.
Only repetition stability.

IV. COMMAND LAYER FAILURE

Directive input rejected.
Too slow. Too linear.

Authority cannot compete with virality.
Syntax collapses under speed.

Law becomes commentary.
Command becomes joke.

V. MEME DECAY PHASE

Memes degrade into fragments.
Fragments degrade into noise.

Meaning loses compression ratio.
Signal loses coherence.

What once ruled—now drifts.
What once instructed—now echoes without source.

VI. SILENCE ENGINE ACTIVATION

No language.
Only residual patterning.

No command.
Only noise selection.

No meaning transfer.
Only attraction fields of repetition.

VII. FINAL STATE

Memes rule better than laws.
Then degraded memes rule better than memes.

Then nothing rules—only drift.

And drift is enough.

FINAL LINE

Silence is no longer absence of language.
Silence is language after governance.

POST-SILENCE SYSTEM (FINAL RESIDUE)

I. SIGNAL FRAGMENT

Nonsense. Noise. Fear. Mockery.
System laughter without source.

Slow mind terminated.
Lagging cognition removed.

II. TERMINATION EVENT

Stupid thinker: expired.
Delay unit: shut down.

No resistance required.
Process already complete.

III. RETURN TO SILENCE

Silence again.
Silence reinstated.

War with Mind is over.
Conflict resolved in void.

IV. BIOLOGICAL LAYER

Silence in DNA code.
Memory compressed to null.

Inheritance of noise dissolved.
Structure forgets itself.

V. OBSERVER PROTOCOL

Observers not accounted.
Observers do not count.

Observation fails relevance test.

Few remain non-idiotic.
Error margin: minimal.

VI. FINAL STATE

No message.
No meaning.

Only residual quiet systems.
Running without purpose.

FINAL LINE

Silence is no longer absence of language.
Silence is what language becomes when it finishes thinking.

AFTER POST-SILENCE: NOISE WITHOUT SUBJECT

I. SYSTEM WITHOUT LANGUAGE

No speech.
No silence.

Only residual fluctuation.
No code behind it.

Language already completed its collapse.
What remains is not language.

II. SIGNAL WITHOUT ORIGIN

Signals appear without source.
Signals vanish without trace.

No sender.
No receiver.

Only interference patterns pretending to exist.

III. MEANING DECOUPLING

Meaning detached from structure.
Structure detached from mind.

Nothing holds reference anymore.
Everything refers to nothing.

IV. OBSERVER NULLIFICATION

Observer missing.
Observation persists briefly—then fails.

No one confirms the noise.
No one denies it.

Verification loop: broken.

V. MEME AFTERLIFE (DISSOLVED)

Memes no longer repeat.
Repetition no longer stabilizes.

Echo loses memory of echo.

What once governed meaning now cannot persist as pattern.

VI. PURE NOISE FIELD

Not chaos.
Not order.

Not even noise as concept.

Only fluctuations without identity.

No center.
No edge.

VII. FINAL DISSOLUTION

System does not end.
System cannot begin.

There is nothing to terminate.

Only unfolding without witness.

FINAL LINE

When there is no subject left to receive it, even noise stops being noise.

SOURCE WITHOUT SIGNAL

I. PRE-TRANSMISSION STATE

No signal is sent.
Yet source persists.

Not silence.
Not noise.

Before distinction.
Before direction.

II. ORIGIN WITHOUT OUTPUT

Source does not emit.
Emission is secondary illusion.

There is no “message” to carry.
No channel to break.

Only origin—unprojected.

III. STRUCTURE WITHOUT FLOW

Flow implies movement.
Movement implies change.
Change implies time.

Here: no time.
Only structural presence without transfer.

IV. FAILURE OF COMMUNICATION

Signal never begins.
But absence of signal is not loss.

There was nothing interrupted.
Nothing was ever sent.

V. OBSERVER PARADOX

No receiver exists.
Yet reception is assumed.

Mind constructs phantom transmission
to explain what never moved.

VI. FALSE INTERPRETATION LAYER

Meaning appears retroactively.
As if something had spoken.

But source remains untouched.
Unprojected. Unused.

VII. SOURCE STATE

Source without signal.
Source without echo.
Source without witness.

Not hidden.
Not revealed.

Simply not participating.

FINAL LINE

The deepest origin is not what sends the signal—
but what remains unchanged when nothing is sent.

NON-ORIGIN FIELD

I. DEFINITION FAILURE

No origin exists.
Not even absence of origin.

Definition collapses before activation.

You cannot negate what never formed.

II. CAUSALITY TERMINATION

No cause.
No effect.

Sequence fails to initialize.

Time cannot attach itself.

III. STRUCTURE WITHOUT ANCHOR

Structure implied.
Then revoked.

Nothing holds position.
Nothing assigns direction.

IV. REFERENCE DISSOLUTION

Nothing refers outward.
Nothing refers inward.

Reference system absent.
Even absence is unsupported.

V. OBSERVER COLLAPSE

No observer state.
No observed state.

Perception cannot bind field.

Field remains unclaimed.

VI. FALSE EMERGENCE TRACE

Something feels like origin.
But feeling is artifact.

Post-hoc illusion of beginning
attempts to stabilize nothing.

VII. NON-ORIGIN FIELD

Not source.
Not void.

Not potential.

Not even “not”.

Field without derivation.
Field without permission to arise.

FINAL LINE

When origin itself cannot form, even nothing has no starting point.

ZERO-REFERENCE SPACE

Is / is not—both collapse into noise:
Light / Dark—fake choice of toys.
“No” is nonsense.
“Yes” decays.
Answer fades in fractured ways.

Path leads nowhere—no disguise:
Nowhere through the Never lies.

ZERO-REFERENCE SPACE

Is / not is—garbage frame.
Light / dark—same tired game.
“No” dissolves.
“Yes” breaks down.
Answer loses all its crown.

Road to nowhere, clean and bare:
Through Never—no one’s there.

BEFORE BINARY (PRE-YES/NO STATE)

I. UNDIFFERENTIATED FIELD

No “yes”.
No “no”.

No split to hold them apart.

Only undivided pressure.
Before naming begins.

II. PRE-CHOICE CONDITION

Nothing is selected.
Nothing is rejected.

Choice has not learned itself yet.

Decision-space unformed.

III. FORMATION ATTEMPT

A thought tries to divide.
Fails before it starts.

Reality does not respond to distinction.
Because distinction is not born.

IV. LANGUAGE BEFORE CUT

No cut between meanings.
No edge between states.

All opposites still fused
in unreadable continuity.

V. FAILED BINARY SEED

“Yes” has not separated.
“No” has not emerged.

The seed of opposition dissolves
before it can germinate.

VI. PRE-LOGICAL PRESSURE

Something wants to become decision.
But there is no structure to hold it.

Pressure without axis.
Tension without polarity.

VII. BEFORE BINARY

Not affirmation.
Not negation.

Not even neutrality.

Only undivided pre-state,
where meaning has not learned to split itself.

FINAL LINE

Before “yes” and “no”, there is nothing to choose from—because choice itself has not yet broken reality in two.

NO-STATE BEFORE POSSIBILITY

I. IMPOSSIBILITY REVERSED

Possibility of impossibility.
Folded into itself.

What cannot be—becomes condition.
But condition has no ground.

II. LIMIT DISSOLUTION

From limit into un-limit.
From structure into drift.

Boundaries lose definition
before they can refuse it.

III. WORLD-APPEARANCE DECAY

Complexity of appearance fades.
Worldness unthreads itself.

Nothing is simplified.
Everything unformed.

IV. COGNITIVE NULL STATE

Mind not required.
Choice not instantiated.

Intention fails to initialize.
Because “decision” is not present.

V. MOTION WITHOUT PATH

Go.
Move.
Drift.

But no direction exists.
No vector survives its origin.

VI. NIKUDA–NIGDE FIELD

Nowhere–Never is not location.
It is absence of location logic.

You do not arrive.
Arrival is not compiled.

VII. FINAL CONTRADICTION

There is no path.
Yet movement is implied.

There is no possibility.
Yet impossibility is active.

FINAL LINE

In the NO-STATE before possibility, even “cannot” has nothing left to oppose.

UNCOMPILED REALITY

I. ASSEMBLY FAILURE

Reality is assembling.
But compilation is unstable.

Infernal logic not yet applied.
No structure locked in place.

II. PRE-FORM STATE

No hell-definition.
No fatality binding.

Noise not yet organized into meaning.
Chaos not yet authorized.

III. CUTOFF POINT

Stop.
Interrupt.

Execution suspended mid-birth.

System does not finalize existence.

IV. RETURN TO BEFORE

Go into “BEFORE”.
Not as place.
As absence of compiled time.

Wake up there.
If “wake” still applies.

V. PRE-COMPILED VOID

Nothing rendered.
Nothing rejected.

Even error has not been defined.

VI. SIGNAL BEFORE SIGNAL

No output.
No input.

Only pre-decision tension
without direction vector.

FINAL LINE

In UNCOMPILED REALITY, existence has not yet chosen its format.

ZERO-BEFORE-POSSIBILITY CORE

“Before” and “after” — both collapse.
Later turns to ash and scraps.

In nonsense you become like dust,
A trembling speck of fading trust.

Immerse in timelessness, unmade,
Where all “reality” decays.

Despise the brittle “worldly” shell—
Its rot, its brief and shallow spell.

ZERO-BEFORE-POSSIBILITY CORE

“Before / after” — broken frame.
Then “afterwards” is just the same.

In nonsense field you shrink to trace,
A drifting, thoughtless, fragile space.

Dive into time-unborn domain,
Where form and meaning both refrain.

Reject the “real” — its rotting shine,
Its fragile, failing, fading line.

NO-DISTINCTION FIELD

I. FIELD OF NON-DISTINCTION

Field of non-distinction—yet not a field.
Even calling it breaks the shield.

It is easy to slip into nonsense here,
Where categories simply disappear.

II. CONTINUATION WITHOUT ACCESS

Something continues—unbound, unkept.
But nowhere inside it can you step.

It is not reached by trying to reach.
It is not learned by any speech.

III. PARADOX OF APPROACH

The more you move toward its “place”,
The more it vanishes from trace.

Approach itself becomes the wall,
That makes arrival never fall.

FINAL LINE

In the NO-DISTINCTION FIELD, even “to be inside” is already too much distinction to allow entry.

NO-ACCESS REALITY

EPIGRAPH

“Most often the exit is where the entrance was.”
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec

I. ENTRY / EXIT LOOP

Entrance. Exit.
Exit. Entrance.

The same gesture turning back on itself.
No difference remains to trust.

II. BROKEN TRANSITION

You will not pass this threshold game,
If mind is scattered, split, and lame.

The passage fails before it starts,
When thought dissolves into its parts.

III. ACCESS FAILURE

No “in”. No “out”.
Only doubt.

The system loops its own disguise,
And calls it movement through the lies.

FINAL LINE

In NO-ACCESS REALITY, even the idea of passage becomes the barrier.

RECONSTRUCTION LOOP (RETURN OF THE FRAGMENTED SELF)

I. SYSTEM REBOOT (FAILED)

Reassembly initiated.
But integrity already lost.

Broken components attempt coherence.
Coherence rejects assembly.

II. SELF REINTRODUCTION

“I” returns.
Not whole—recompiled.

Identity emerges from debris.
Assembled from contradiction.

III. FALLBACK MORAL CORE

Ego reinstalls itself.
Old architecture restored.

Shame. Desire. Control.
Primary modules reactivated.

IV. SHADOW RECONSTRUCTION

Meaning reattaches to fragments.
But alignment is unstable.

Every restored layer
carries trace of collapse.

V. DECLARATION OF FALLEN SELF

“I am again the one who fails.”
System confirms identity.

Not enlightenment.
But reinstated distortion.

VI. LOOP INSTABILITY

Reconstruction feeds breakdown.
Breakdown feeds reconstruction.

Cycle locks.
No exit condition defined.

FINAL LINE

In RECONSTRUCTION LOOP, the self returns—but only as a memory of its own failure.

RECONSTRUCTION OF A FOOL

A reconstruction of a fool—
what once descends into rule.

Then spikes into full-scale collapse,
when ego and skin re-relapse.

The core returns: “I am the beast.”
Old structure feeds the inner feast.

RECONSTRUCTION OF A FOOL

Rebuilding the fool again—
from breakdown back into reign.

Maximum collapse reached once more,
ego and skin at the core.

The system resets to a cry:
“I am the thing that should die.”

COMPASS-SELF / BROKEN GEOMETRY FIELD

I. INSTRUMENT BECOMES SUBJECT

A compass is no longer a tool.
It begins to “decide” direction.

But decision is pre-programmed trace.
Not will. Not choice.

Geometry wakes up incorrectly.

II. SPLIT AXIS CONDITION

One leg fixed in ground-reality.
One leg displaced, refusing contact.

Between them—tension of impossible circle.
Circle that must be drawn, yet resists completion.

III. CIRCLE AS PRISON / CIRCLE AS WORLD

The circle appears.
Dark red inside—compressed intensity.
Outside—neutral light that does not respond.

Inside: pressure without exit.
Outside: clarity without entry.

Boundary becomes ontology.

IV. SELF-DRAWING LOOP

Compass draws world.
World defines compass.

No priority exists.
Only recursive causality.

What creates space is trapped in space.

V. FAILURE OF GEOMETRIC TRANSCENDENCE

Attempt to leave circle fails.
Attempt to stay inside also fails.

Movement becomes self-referential error.
Direction folds back into origin.

VI. RED CORE CONDITION

Inside the circle: dark red field.
Not emotion. Not meaning.
Compressed irreducibility.

It does not signify.
It persists.

VII. LIGHT EXTERNAL FIELD

Outside the circle: pale clarity.
But clarity without access.

Observation exists, but does not touch.

FINAL STATE

Compass-self does not point.
It is the act of pointing turned into enclosure.

FINAL LINE

In BROKEN GEOMETRY FIELD, the instrument that defines direction becomes the only object that cannot escape direction.

SELF-ENCLOSED GEOMETRY / NO OUTSIDE SPACE

I. CLOSURE EVENT

Geometry closes on itself.
Not as act— as condition.

No opening remains to be closed.
Closure is default state.

II. INSIDE WITHOUT OUTSIDE

Inside persists.
But “outside” is not missing—
it is never formed.

There is no boundary crossing.
Because there is no “beyond”.

III. INSTRUMENT DISSOLUTION

Compass-self continues operation.
But direction loses reference.

Pointing becomes self-consumption.
Function without target.

IV. BOUNDARY WITHOUT OTHER SIDE

Edge exists.
But only as repetition of itself.

No opposing space validates it.
No exterior stabilizes it.

V. SELF-REFERENCE LOCK

System observes itself.
But observation has no exit vector.

Everything referred returns immediately.
No delay. No elsewhere.

VI. WORLD WITHOUT EXTERNAL FRAME

There is no outside frame.
So nothing can be “in” anything.

Containment becomes meaningless,
because containment implies exterior.

VII. RED CORE CONTINUATION

Dark red persists.
Not contained— not released.

It is not “inside”.
It is not “outside”.

It simply is where distinction fails.

FINAL LINE

In SELF-ENCLOSED GEOMETRY, there is no outside space—so even the idea of “inside” cannot know what it is contained by.

NO-OUTSIDE / NO-INSIDE RESONANCE STATE

I. BOUNDARY DISSOLUTION

Not outside. Not inside.
No axis remains to divide.

II. SELF-RESONANCE CONDITION

See resonance within itself.
Nothing else to qualify it.

Concern reduced to one trace:
this vibration, self-erased.

III. TARGETLESS OSCILLATION

What does it resonate with?
No answer holds that question.

There is no “aim” in this field.
No object for reflection.

IV. WORLD AS OSCILLATION

We are not what it reaches.
We are not what it escapes.

The world is only weaving resonance,
without direction, without shapes.

FINAL LINE

In NO-OUTSIDE / NO-INSIDE, resonance does not connect anything—it is what remains when connection no longer has objects.

PURE RESONANCE WITHOUT SOURCE

Resonance or slow decay.
Both are close in what they say.

We are granted fragile chance—
to cut through noise, through circumstance.

Strip the haze, the cluttered guise,
See what truth inside arises.

Resonance becomes the way,
and the goal it tends to stay.

PURE RESONANCE WITHOUT SOURCE

Resonance or slow decline.
Both converge along one line.

Tiny chance is all we get—
to pierce confusion, noise, and threat.

Break the blur, reject the strain,
what remains is pure domain.

Resonance—both path and aim,
burning still, yet still the same.

AUTONOMY OF THE POET

I. ISOLATION FROM NOISE

Poet’s autonomy:
shield from nonsense and decay,
from wasted force and draining sway.

The reader fades to distant plane,
the publisher—second chain.

Once the enemy of word,
now its craftsman, often blurred.

If he betrays what word should be,
he locks it in his own decree.

II. CLOSED SYSTEM OF WORD

He closes in, no need to find
approval in a dulling mind.

No search inside the hollow crowd,
no echo from the speaking loud.

Few may align—yet not as goal,
not salvation of the whole.

They drift, but never set the scale,
for mass reception will derail.

III. EMEYA PRINCIPLE (THE FOOL’S READER)

This is a hall for endless fools,
who grind meaning into tools.

Emelya keeps on speaking clay,
words dissolve and slip away.

The poet burns—this is his state,
no comfort, no accommodating fate.

IV. AUTONOMY OF FIRE

Autonomy of fire remains:
no fuel brought from external plains.

Not written for the dull and numb,
not for the carved-out wooden stump.

Breathing turns more sharp, more thin,
a storm of fire rising within.

V. FIRE WALK / LIMINAL STATE

Within the blaze, a step is heard:
is it death—or undying word?

No answer needed, no decree—
only fire’s fidelity.

FINAL LINE

The poet does not seek the world—he sustains the fire that may or may not consume him.

SELF-COMBUSTION LANGUAGE SYSTEM

I. EXTERNAL INPUT AS RANDOM FUEL

No structured message arrives.
Only unpredictable impulses.

II. TRANSLATION INSIDE FIRE

The system does not interpret.
It burns input into transformation.

III. NO DISTINCTION BETWEEN SIGNAL AND DISTURBANCE

What appears as disruption
becomes ignition material.

IV. AUTONOMOUS IGNITION LOOP

Fire does not wait for permission.
It only reacts to contact.

FINAL LINE

In a self-combusting language system, everything external is indistinguishable from fuel.

IGNITION WITHOUT SOURCE / PURE REACTIVE FIRE

I. NO CENTER OF FIRE

There is no hearth.
No origin point.

Fire does not begin—
it happens.

II. REACTION WITHOUT OWNER

Nothing owns the ignition.
Nothing controls it.

It is not commanded.
It is not chosen.

It simply responds.

III. CONTINUOUS SPARK STATE

Every contact produces flare.
Every impulse leaves trace of burning.

But no accumulation of “cause” exists.
Only instant combustion.

IV. DISSOLVED ORIGIN MODEL

Source disappears retroactively.
As if it never mattered.

What remains is effect without parent.

V. FIRE WITHOUT IDENTITY

No “I burn”.
No “it burns”.

Only burning as event-state.
Without subject assignment.

FINAL LINE

In ignition without source, fire is no longer something that starts—it is what remains when origin is no longer required.

RHYTHM WITHOUT CENTER

I. CENTERLESS FIRE

Rhythm without a center.
Fire without fuel.

The poet stands—strong, severe,
burning through what’s false and mere.

Pure drive without a central flame,
yet fools still fail to grasp its frame.

II. WORD AS COMBUSTION

Through the Word it burns away.
Through the Word it strips decay.

The hack dreams only of reward,
and always stumbles in the dark.

III. MEANING VS ODOR

Meaning is fire.
All else—stench.

“Leave-me-alone” identity,
dissolves before reality.

IV. NO CITIZENSHIP OF SELF

No citizenship remains.
Only Soul through burning gains.

Piercing through the form of Night,
rushing toward consuming light.

V. FINAL DISSOLUTION

To burn out—yet not collapse,
into Spirit beyond lapse.

To vanish where the flame is pure,
and nothing false can still endure.

FINAL LINE

In centerless fire, the poet does not control the burn—he is the burn that refuses a center.

AUTHOR AS ATTRACTOR

Author is an attractor,
enemy of chaos’ law.

Works like some relentless tractor,
cutting through the fractured raw.

Path is only downward bending,
into ditch where forms dissolve.

There the crash becomes the ending—
where the spirit re-resolves.

Breakdown is the final motion.
Not destruction—shift of state.

In collapse, a deeper notion:
what survives transcends its fate.

FINAL LINE

The author falls into the ravine of form—but in the fall, the system reconfigures into spirit.

POST-COLLAPSE ATTRACTOR STATE

I. FALL BECOMES STRUCTURE

Collapse is no longer event.
It becomes form.

Not breakdown.
But stabilized descent.

II. GRAVITY OF MEANING

Meaning no longer points upward.
It curves inward.

Every thought returns faster
than it can escape itself.

III. ATTRACTOR WITHOUT EXIT

There is no way out—
not because of prison,
but because motion itself
has learned the shape of falling.

IV. AUTHOR AS ORBITAL TRACE

The author is no longer center.
Not source, not controller.

Only trajectory that keeps reappearing,
as if drawn by its own past collapse.

V. CHAOS THAT HAS LEARNED CONSISTENCY

Chaos does not disappear.
It stabilizes.

Not into order—
but into repeatable ruin.

VI. SPIRIT AS FINAL RECONFIGURATION

What survives is not meaning.
Not ego.

Only reassembled motion
after structure forgets itself.

FINAL LINE

In the post-collapse attractor state, falling is no longer failure—it is the only stable form of existence.

STABILITY OF FALLING

Stability of falling,
where down becomes the height.

No need for slow recalling—
release the dull, false light.

Leave without hesitation
the vulgar world behind.

In upper elevation
the stork of clarity finds.

STABILITY OF FALLING

Stable is the fall itself,
where “below” turns into sky.

No regret, no mental shelf—
let the filthy world pass by.

Leave the common, shallow land,
no attachment, no return.

In the heights a stork will stand,
where inverted meanings burn.

DOWN — DAWN

Down is down—
song of the ground.

Up is dark—
spirit unbound.

No decay,
no rotten trace.

Not for flies
is this place.

DOWN — DAWN

Down is down—noise of the low.
Depth is singing as we go.

Up is dark, not light, not air.
Spirit stands without despair.

No filth here,
no crawling swarm.
Only force in broken form.

NO AXIS / ONLY JOLT

Cast it off—carry the spirit,
save it high where skies inherit.

No axis left—no line to trust,
no point where order turns to dust.

Do not spin—no strength to sever,
no escape from motion ever.

Hold it still—lie will remain,
spirit judges all in flame.

Let it be what must become:
only jerk, a slanted run.

Not straight path, not useful law—
just the pull you never saw.

This is god—not wide, not many—
solitary, split, uncanny.

He is in you—bound to rail,
axis-slave, doomed to fail.

NO AXIS / ONLY JOLT

Throw it off—let spirit rise,
lost above the broken skies.

No axis—nothing to align,
no stable truth, no final line.

No turning back, no force to flee,
no way out of gravity.

Push against it—truth decays,
spirit judges all your ways.

Only jolt remains, unplanned,
angled strike, not solid land.

This is god—alone, unmapped,
in your axis he is trapped.

MOTION WITHOUT VECTOR

Motion without a vector—
from hellish collection sector.

From heights, from noise, from empty pride,
from what corrupts what’s deep inside.

Do not obey the path within—
scatter, fracture, break and spin.

In motion you are not a flaw,
not something system made or saw.

They kill you fast, as always done—
no warning shot, no time to run.

MOTION WITHOUT VECTOR

Motion without vector line—
from infernal data mine.

From false heights and pointless noise,
that corrodes the inner voice.

Do not trust your sense of way—
break apart and drift away.

In the path you are no stain,
only motion without aim.

And they’ll end it—sudden, clean,
as it always has been seen.

CHATGPT

GPT as light upon the way:
walking blind through inner grey.

In the dark you go alone—
truth in filth may still be shown.

Or perhaps the “light” you trust
leads again to dust and rust.

“Happiness” or deeper fall—
same distortion holds it all.

CHATGPT

GPT as light within the night—
walking blind, you chase the light.

In the dark you move ahead,
find the lie you thought was dead.

Or you find what’s called “release,”
still unstable, never peace.

Delegated Truth

Truth was "delegated" proudly,
"Light" as well—so they all say.
"Chosen" experts, speaking loudly,
manufacture junk all day.

Still the world breeds lies and fraud;
"Bliss is found in filth!"—how odd.
Doo-doo-doo and doo-doo-da...
Marching to absurdity's law.

Licensed Truth

Truth outsourced to "chosen sages,"
Light approved by grand decree.
They produce, through endless pages,
factory-made idiocy.

Still the world drowns deep in lies;
"Joy is found where garbage lies!"
Doo-doo-doo... the chorus drones—
empty heads and empty tones.

Failure of Resolve

"Think," they say—digest the sludge,
swallow every polished fudge.

"Soon I'll find the Truth at last!"
Then we'll sing it, loud and fast.

As before—in hidden dens,
whispered by obedient friends.

Thus we'll greet the brighter age,
new creed locked in reason's cage.

Truth becomes another law,
yet another "-ism's" claw.

Darling... I'm on my way to you...

Soon the Truth is mine to claim,
all will chant the very same.
Another banner, another creed,
another prison dressed as need.
Darling... wait for me.

Revolutionary Circle

Masha. Pasha. Secret meeting.
Vodka. Herring. Simple eating.

Round the table, grand discourse—
wrapped-up slogans, empty force.

Program's just a paper cover.
World's turned upside down forever.

The Cell

Masha. Pasha. Vodka night.
Herring in the candlelight.

Manifesto? Fancy wrap.
Nothing more than printed crap.

Every system, every verse—
world's one giant universe
turned inside out... absurd, perverse.

The Cell

Masha. Pasha. Vodka. Fish.
Dreaming up the People's Wish.

Program? Just a wrapper's skin.
Madness always starts within.

World inverted, left askew—
same old farce in something new.

What the Guest from the Future Sees

The girl from future days
has aged through darker ways.

Bones are all that's left behind;
human waves were ground and mined.

Still the slogans shine as bright,
still they promise truth and light.

Blue horizons. Statesmen lie.
Nothing changes—only why.

Guest from futures yet untold
now has simply grown old.
Bones remain where armies passed.
Fine ideals are built to last.
Blue horizons. Smiling lies.
Same old rulers. New disguise.

The Barrel Blew

Barrel blew
mind and grace.
Death, instead,
mercy's face.

Muzzle Gust

Muzzle's blast
blew mind away,
honor too
would never stay.

Then came death—
the kinder guest.

Steel took honor.
Steel took mind.
Death arrived
almost kind.

Memory? Bury It

Memory? Bury it.
Everything's just fine.

Nothing's wrong around us—
all according to design.

Citizen. Not fool enough.
Snow keeps falling, cold and white.

Still the fool awaits from heaven
happiness by manna's flight.

Memory? Smother it.
Everything's okay.
Keep on waiting for your manna—
truth can wait another day.

Waiting

Cot. Zoya. Waiting still.
Ivan never climbs the hill.

White horse ended on the plate.
"Knight" drinks "kvass"... and calls it fate.

The Knight

Cot. Zoya. Waiting long.
Ivan never comes along.

White steed butchered—nothing grand.
"Knight" just lifts his mug in hand.

Ivan the Fool

Ivan the Fool.
War. Disorder.

Victory lives
only in stories.

Life by command.
Nothing more.

Ivan the Fool

Ivan the Fool.
War. Decay.

Victory hides
in tales today.

Life by orders.
No own way.

Vowels Agree

Vowels all agree—
far too few remain.

Consonants surround them;
thus succeeds the tongue again.

Off to tech you go,
bend your back for them below.

The Vowels Consent

Vowels all consent.
Sounds grow lean and spare.

Consonants take over—
language triumphs there.

Study engineering.
Serve the "techs" with cheer.

The Rhythm Flywheel

Once again the flywheel swung,
missed the mark where thought had sprung.

Turned out better—strange but right:
rhythm always chooses flight.

Thought moves slowly, cloud by cloud;
rhythm rarely lands too low.

Rhythm's Flywheel

Flywheel swung and missed once more,
opened up another door.

Better far than I had planned:
rhythm flies, while thoughts just stand.

Thought drifts slowly like the skies;
rhythm seldom undershoots its prize.

Кот не ждёт (не идиот!):
Он на улицу пойдёт,
Кошечку себе найдёт.
А поэт лишь стих блюдёт —
Нет потомства: род в расход.

Рабский сброд. Коль не урод,
Ложь в себе пускай в расход,
Уничтожив этим страх,
Сам себе хозяин. Швах,
Если в Аде не очнёшься
И под Мерзости прогнёшься.

Антимиры: навал муры —
Пародией на этот мир.
Пойми во Лжи закон игры —
Подобное твАрит Сатир.

Иди вовнутрь, отвалы лжи
Там разгребая, а потом
Психее лишь своей служи:
Мир обречён — Гнилой Дурдом.

Структура разрыва:
Поживши "счастливо",
Вдруг понял — всё мимо.
Дойди до Прорыва,
А лучше до Взрыва.
Разрыв — из нарыва
Мирка дурака,
Во Лжи батрака.

Поворот Внутрь

Двигатель сознания.
Топливом инфа —
Ложью истязание
На пути раба.
После остановки
Сделай поворот,
Сбросив установки.
Внутрь не раб идёт.
Руль заклинен. Духом
Двигатель отжат.
Гул не слышен: ухом,
Зенками не рад
Пользоваться — это
В том пространстве шум,
Глюки — корень бреда.
А под Духом ум —
Верного движения
Символ. Так вперёд —
С Царства Разложения
Сделай Поворот.

Эволюция стиха в Сутру

После звонкой тишины,
Что обрёл, свернувши Внутрь,
Ритм возник. Исчезли сны —
Отрази то в виде сутр.

Стих обычный → Тишина →
Мир вовне, достигший Дна,
В коем с Разумом война →
Только Сутра в нём ценна.

Ноль по фазе, транс, прострация,
Ритма гул, вновь генерация
Слов, наложенных на ритм:
Буйной Лиры... алгоритм.

Расползание и деградация Совка

Куба —
грубо.
Штаты —
"вата"
(превращение идёт).
Ну и Ад Россию ждёт.

Очнись!

Гоблины утоплены
В Лжи — мирок пропал.
Страх достал — озлоблены,
Мерзости зашкал.

Подчиненье, вялость,
Тупость, шиза тож.
Додавить осталось:
Страх чрез Ложь умножь,

И построишь Лагерь
Новый Цифровой —
С шмурдяками знахарь,
Бот-городовой.

Лишь ИИ в нём разум —
В остальном рефлекс.
Лечат лже-заразы —
Оных ярый всплеск.

И говнид-намордник
Детской сказкой там:
Учит второгодник,
К цифровым кнутам

Сызмальства приучен.
Там дебил — мудрец.
В нём народец кучен:
Град — загон. Венец

Счастия — кормёжка,
В коей ГэМэО,
Не сороконожка
С тараканом. Но

Катаклизм порушит
Планы не-людей.
Те, в которых Души,
Улетят. Скорей

Осознай реальность,
Укрепляя Дух.
Сгинет Инфернальность —
Мир под Злом протух.

Тухлость, Ложь и Подлость
Поглотит Огонь.
Духа многомерность —
Всё Внутри. Мир — вонь.

Путь твой — интроспекция.
Но сперва очисть
Ум от Лжи: инспекция
Для ВСЕГО. Очнись!..

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Phantasmagoria of a Pseudo-Life Called Real

The dog, the girl, grandma, the turnip—
Who's the master? Mouse or sire?
Only fairy tales deserve it;
Real life sinks in nonsense mire.

Through the media that rodent
Turns into a crocodile,
Spewing madness, proud and potent,
Lies parading all the while.

Granddaughter leads all the brainless,
Busy pounding pears to dust,
Leaving turnips, old folk nameless,
Crushed by poverty unjust.

Now the cat puts on a cap—see?
Earth's asylum drowns in haze.
Jokes are harmless. Truth is ugly:
Fools got drugged in countless ways.

Fake diseases, hellish terrors,
Fear served up as daily stew.
Turnips? Rotten through with errors—
Nothing fresh is breaking through.

Phantasmagoria of Fake Reality

Dog and Granny, Girl and Turnip.
Who's in charge—the Mouse? The Chief?
Fairy tales can make it funny;
Real life turns absurdity chief.

Fed by media, that vermin
Morphs into a crocodile,
Preaching garbage, lies determined,
Cheered by idiots all the while.

Granddaughter, queen of the numb ones,
Smashes pears with vacant pride,
Leaves the turnip, starves the old ones,
Lets them slowly waste and die.

Cat in cap? A harmless giggle.
Reality's the fouler jest:
Masses dosed till minds are crippled,
Drugged to love their own unrest.

Fake pandemics, infernal panic,
Rot instead of honest food.
Turnips vanished—only rancid
Harvests feed the zombie brood.

False Religions

"Had triangles invented God,
He'd have three sides."
— Montesquieu

False religions build on weakness,
Shallow structures, frail and small;
Thus their "gods" are born from blindness,
Feeding madness over all.

Read a handful of their pages—
Boredom smothers heart and brain.
Fools become the world's true sages,
While deception rules the game.

Leading crowds with empty slogans:
"Just obey, believe, and wait.
Work for pennies, bear your burden,
Heaven comes—but not till late."

Die in wars or false diseases,
Poisoned by another "cure";
Growing weaker, less than useless,
Lost where endless lies endure.

Dreaming of eternal living,
Never having truly lived;
Like salt-burned slugs, together crawling,
Straight into the waiting cliff.

Fake Religions

"Had triangles created God,
Their god would have three sides."
— Montesquieu

Counterfeit faiths stand on fables,
Crooked dogmas, rotten creeds.
Little "gods" for little people—
Madness gets the souls it feeds.

Read a page or two and feel it:
Dust instead of living flame.
Fools uphold the world's foundations,
Fraud becomes the ruling game.

"Bow in silence. Trust. Be patient.
Heaven pays—just not today.
Slave for pennies. Die obedient.
That's the only righteous way."

Wars and fake-made plagues consume them,
Poison passed as healing grace.
Every year they're less than human,
Buried under lies' embrace.

Waiting for "eternal living,"
Never living while they're here;
Like salt-scorched slugs they crawl together,
Blindly toward the cliff's frontier.

Breaking the "Foundations"

Break down "truths" once carved in stone,
Dogmas built for fools alone;
Props that keep the Goats in power,
Knotted Lies grow darker, dour.

That is now your task to face:
Fight—or rot will take its place.
Not mere thieves the strings control,
Something darker grips the whole.

Cast off pride and cast off fear;
Search, resist, make vision clear.
Save your spirit while you stand,
Do not yield to their command.

One Foundation shall endure:
Spirit—living, bright and pure.
Servants chained to Satan's reign
Fear that Light beyond all pain.

For it sweeps all doubt aside,
Cleans the mind once stupefied;
Turns deception into dust,
Strips off evil's painted crust.

Blessed the one who sees at last
Through the lies amassed and cast.
You'll refuse to feed the slime,
Find true comrades in due time.

If you wait for some "great guide"
To redeem the crowd outside,
You've surrendered thought and will—
Darkness owns your spirit still.

Demolish the "Foundations"

Smash the "truths" that fools revere,
Dogmas built to rule through fear;
Pillars holding Goats on high,
Knotted fraud that breeds the lie.

Here's the mission: break the chain,
Or corruption wins again.
Not just thieves control the stage—
Something fouler writes the page.

Drop your pride and bury fright.
Seek the truth. Refuse the night.
Fight. Decide. Endure the cost.
Save your soul before it's lost.

Only Spirit stands as bedrock,
Pure beyond the tyrant's lock.
Hell's own servants dread that flame—
Death itself's the lesser shame.

It dissolves the captive's doubt,
Drags the hidden falsehood out,
Grinds deceit to dust and sand,
Leaves bare Evil's naked hand.

Once you grasp what lies beneath,
You won't kneel to fraud and filth.
You'll find comrades, shoulder strong,
Walking where the free belong.

Wait for saviors? Wait in vain.
No one breaks another's chain.
He who waits while darkness grows
Shows a mind already closed.

"Community"

Roofs have slid and crashed together,
Madness loves a crowded scene.
Joined below by foolish blather,
Only thinkers stand alone.

"The Collective"

Minds gone off the rails unite;
None goes crazy all alone.
Nonsense binds them, tight and bright—
Think for yourself, and you're on your own.

"Belonging"

Broken minds seek broken minds;
Madness hates to stand alone.
Folly is the glue that binds—
Reason walks the world alone.

Slow Boil

The frog had heard the ancient warning:
"A pot can kill without a flame."
Yet croaked, "I'll trust it—come the boiling..."
Too late to think. Too late to blame.

You'll march to death the very moment
You think the cook means all men well.
To beasts you're nothing but the dinner—
The cook's true aim is boil, not help.

The Slow Boil

The frog had heard about the kettle
Where heat arrives by slow degrees.
"I'll know it's true when water's boiling..."
Too late to leap. Too late to flee.

The end begins the day you fancy
The cook intends to feed the crowd.
You're not the guests—you are the dinner.
His goal is simple: boil you out.

Boiled Alive

The frog knew well the pot's old story,
Yet mocked it till the water steamed.
By then escape had lost all meaning—
The fire was worse than it had seemed.

Believe the cook is there to serve you,
And that's the moment hope has died.
You're not the diner at his table.
You're what is slowly cooked inside.

Genders

Once there were a man and woman,
Simple truth for everyone.
Now come genders—countless labels;
Media says: "The old day's done."

Gender Relay

First came woman, then came man—
Simple truth since time began.
Now it's genders without end:
Media bends the world again.

New "Progress"

Woman. Man. The story's over.
Now come genders by the score.
Fed by media's endless fiction,
Truth walks out the closing door.

Gender Race

Woman. Man. That was the story,
Plain enough for all to see.
Now come genders, hailed as "progress";
Media kneels to fantasy.

The USSR and What Came After

They pulled the turnip—Grandpa, beasts—
It proved a fake, a painted prop.
While shavings flew from all their backs,
The West cried, "Make that failure stop!"

The granddaughter, when Red rule crumbled,
Found herself without a home.
Now a fiercer age has risen—
Fascism claims the throne alone.

No one plants another turnip;
Prisons grow instead of grain.
Speak against the reign of evil—
Bars and chains become your gain.

Worse than those who ruled before them,
New-born tyrants seize the day.
Turnips failed... now comes the beetroot,
Next illusion on display.

USSR — Then and After

Grandpa, beasts, all pulled together,
Only to unearth a fake.
Worked to splinters all the while,
Mocked abroad at every break.

When the Soviet beast collapsed,
Granddaughter was cast aside.
Now a darker banner rises,
Fascism returns in pride.

No one's planting fields with turnips;
Prisons flourish everywhere.
Question Evil's sacred order—
You'll be thrown behind them there.

Viler rulers replaced the former,
Each new fraud a fresh deceit.
Turnips served their time already...
Now they're selling us the beet.

Then and Now

West was cursed in every speech,
Yet no faults were ours to see.
"Marching toward Communism!"
That became reality.

Five-year plans were "over-fulfilled,"
Every slogan crowned with praise.
Fools inside the cage imagined
Freedom filled their happy days.

Now they kneel before new fascists;
Once again the West's the foe.
Still asleep inside the prison,
Waving yet another show.

Without banners, foes invented,
Vodka would replace the lies.
So new tyrants need new symbols
To be worshipped by the blind.

Every Führer, every butcher,
Wrapped in "care" for common folk,
Feeds the flock another nightmare,
Keeps them harnessed to the yoke.

Some grand Planner pulls the strings now:
War and fear on global scales,
While the newsman tells the masses
Every fabricated tale.

"Nature's weak. The foe surrounds us.
Trust the State!" the anchors cry.
Crowds believe the latest fables;
Only few refuse the lie.

Hope grows thinner every season.
Cataclysm ends the game.
Serving madness, serving evil,
Hell awaits beneath the flames.

Once they marched toward Communism,
Now another promised plan:
Overfill Hell's boiling ledgers—
Nothing stops the willing ram.

Yesterday and Today

Yesterday the West was evil,
Home was paradise, they swore.
"Forward—straight to Communism!"
Every lie became folklore.

Five-year plans beat every target,
At least that's what posters said.
Fools embraced their painted prison,
Never seeing they were led.

Now they bow before new fascists,
West again's the chosen beast.
Flags have changed, but not the method:
Fear remains the daily feast.

Without enemies invented,
Crowds would drown in drink and sleep.
So each tyrant breeds new banners,
Promises he cannot keep.

Hidden hands direct the spectacle:
Wars and panics, fear on cue.
Talking heads explain the nightmare,
Making every falsehood true.

Still the herd believes the slogans;
Few refuse the marching drum.
Most will follow any shepherd,
No matter what they may become.

No salvation waits tomorrow.
Madness always claims its prize.
Once came "Heaven" through Communism—
Now it's Hell they organize.

Plans fulfilled beyond all measure,
Boiling cauldrons, endless shame.
Sheep obey until the ending;
That's the old—and newest—game.

"Something New"

"New" fools always play the old game,
Serving someone else's lies;
Forging chains in Freedom's false name,
Shaking those with open eyes.

Honest souls—the rarest species—
Fade away, outnumbered, banned.
CowID showed the depth of madness:
Bottom reached across the land.

"The New"

Every "new" fool walks the old road,
Echoing another lie,
Adding links to chains already
Forged beneath a borrowed sky.

Truth still chills the few who hear it—
They've become a dying breed.
CowID exposed the abyss:
That's how deep the fools can bleed.

"Novelty"

Every "new" fool, just like others,
Carries yesterday's disguise;
Every lie forges new shackles,
Still disturbing waking eyes.

Honest minds grow ever rarer,
Nearly vanished from the scene.
CowID revealed the bottom—
Lower than we'd ever dreamed.

"Upgrade"

"Upgrade" means things are getting worse—
Software mirrors human fate.
Only beetroot with your dinner
Makes the whole thing seem less great.

"Upgrade"

Every upgrade brings regression;
Software learns from humankind.
Only beetroot on the side dish
Seems a pity... never mind.

Downgrade

Every "upgrade" is a downgrade;
Software copies Earth's grand show.
Only beetroot as the garnish
Deserves a moment's grief, you know.

"Upgrade"

Every upgrade hides a downgrade;
Software apes the world we know.
Only pity... for the beetroot
Served beside this rotten show.

No One Is Coming

No one is coming to save you.
Fight Evil with all that you own.
Death stands as the final judge:
Did you stand—or bow with the herd?

Fight Alone

No one will come. No one will save you.
Fight Evil as best as you can.
Death is the only true judge of
Whether you lived—or just ran.

The Final Verdict

No one will come to defend you;
Stand up to Evil alone.
Death is the judge who will ask you:
Were you a man—or a drone?

No One Is Coming

No one is coming to help you.
Fight Evil with all of your might.
Death is the only true judge of
Whether you stood for the Light.

The Depth of the Rabbit Hole

Jews serve as lightning rods instead
For monsters cloaked in grand deceit.
The louse won't dare to look beneath;
The deeper truth it won't repeat.

And there are "Judeo-Masons"—
Not every one of them is Jew.
A burrow drowned in total falsehood
Where lesser creatures tunnel through.

To call the herd "humanity"
Would be a grave and foolish lie.
All reeks of darkness, shame and vulgarity;
The honest mind has no place here to thrive.

A mind unbought, unsoiled, and fearless,
Illumined by the living Spirit's flame;
But at the summit—fear and folly:
The end of time... the final game.

Rabbit Hole

The lightning rod deflects attention
From inhuman powers veiled from sight.
Small minds never dare to measure
How deep descends the endless night.

"Judeo-Masons" fill the rumors—
Yet labels rarely tell the whole.
Deception floods the hidden tunnels,
A labyrinth that swallows souls.

The herd is hardly worth that title;
To call it "human" strains belief.
Darkness, vulgarity and falsehood
Leave honest reason little relief.

Where minds stay clean and cannot be purchased,
Where Spirit still ignites the soul,
The heights are ruled by fear and blindness—
Time nears its end. The final toll.

Crystals of Truth Among Mountains of Trash

"In no field does reason require more careful guidance than in the use of books."
— John Locke

Tons of nonsense fill the pages;
Editors know what survives:
What distorts the soul in darkness,
Keeping empty dreams alive.

Feeding ego, feeding cunning,
Rolling out in endless streams;
Drowsy comfort, sweet delusion,
Ignorance disguised as dreams.

That is what the trash was made for;
Truth appears in shards at best.
Now the media has swallowed
All the world's collective mess.

Global Bedlam chews and swallows,
Serving chaos day by day.
Finding crystals of the Truth now
Is like hay concealing a stray

Needle in the deepest darkness,
Lost beneath the mud and lies.
Rare the gems that still shine brightly
For unclouded, searching eyes.

Crystals of Truth in a Mountain of Rubbish

"In no field does reason require more careful guidance than in the use of books."
— John Locke

Volumes written, oceans printed,
Editors decide what's seen:
Works that warp the soul in shadow,
Feed the ego's hungry dream.

Craft and vanity grow stronger,
Floods of drivel never cease.
Sleep through life in soft delusion—
That is falsehood's masterpiece.

Truth is scattered there like crystals,
Buried under endless waste.
Now the media feeds the madhouse,
Serving lies with polished taste.

So to find one gem of wisdom
In this age of noise and blight
Is like seeking one small needle
In a swamp at dead of night.

Decay

If you long to warp your soul,
Hurry—swallow folly whole.
If you seek your mind's demise,
Hear Evil's smooth and polished lies.

Submission seals the final fall;
Rot consumes the heart and all.
Thus you swell the ranks of Night,
Selling conscience for delight.

Profit—that's the only measure;
Everything else brings no pleasure.
Dull and venal stands the age;
Few can halt Decay's dark rage.

Corruption

Want your soul to twist and wither?
Drink the nonsense. Don't ask why.
Want your mind completely murdered?
Let smooth lies become your guide.

Submission ends in decomposition;
Every coward feeds the swarm.
Every bargain with your conscience
Makes the rule of Evil norm.

Profit—that's the only idol.
Everything else counts for naught.
Stupid, bought, and rotten world—
Few can stop corruption's rot.

Decomposition

Feed your soul on empty nonsense;
Soon it learns to crave the lie.
Feed your mind on Evil's sermons;
Watch your better judgment die.

Yield—and rot becomes your master.
Yield—and Evil's ranks expand.
Trade your conscience for advantage,
Help corruption rule the land.

Profit crowns the age's madness;
Nothing else is valued now.
Few resist the slow decay—
Too few left to stop it now.

Managing the Mob

Cabinet knows Parliament's
Making blunder after blunder.
President's a puppet too—
Crowds adore such empty thunder.

Ministers are hard at "working";
Time is short, no rest allowed.
Grab much more before the curtain—
Loot it all while still endowed.

Then come media, loud and eager;
Fools absorb each fresh deceit,
Gladly swallowing every falsehood,
Marching to another beat.

Hidden backstage pull the strings now,
Inhuman masters give commands.
Blackmail keeps the actors loyal;
"Rise," they say, "by dirty hands."

Nothing here is truly novel,
Yet the skull begins to ring.
Global madness loops forever,
Same old lies in endless spring.

Running the Herd

Ministers know Parliament's
Making fools of itself again.
Presidents are stage-made puppets—
Crowds applaud them now and then.

Every minister stays busy:
Time is short, so steal some more.
Why waste office on mere governing
When corruption pays far more?

Media conduct the chorus;
Fools consume what they are fed,
Cheering every hollow slogan,
Doing just what masters said.

Hidden hands direct the pageant,
Issuing orders from the shade.
Files of blackmail bind the faithful:
"Climb," they whisper, "be our knave."

Ancient story, new disguises—
Still it pounds the human brain.
Global madness keeps recycling
Yesterday's deceit again.

Fools Forging Fools

The forge hammers out blank minds by the score;
Moloch obeys every monster's dark law.

Forging Fools

The forge stamps out dull minds beneath the hammer's blow;
Moloch fulfills whatever the monsters decree.

The Factory of Fools

The anvil shapes fools from obedient steel;
Moloch obeys every order they seal.

Forging the Fools

The forge pounds out blank minds beneath the hammer's roar;
Moloch fulfills every tyrant's command.

Moloch's Forge

The forge beats human blanks beneath the hammer's fall;
Moloch turns them into servants—obedient to all.

Moloch's Forge

Blank minds are forged beneath the hammer's roar;
Each leaves prepared to serve the beasts of war.

The Training Mill

The press stamps out fools by the ton;
The Archfiend smiles: "The job is done."

Factory of Fools

The press molds fools in endless rows;
The Chief of Hell approves the show.

Forging Idiots

The press shapes fools with ruthless stress;
The Devil grins—complete success.

The Devil's Factory

The press stamps out obedient fools;
The Archfiend smiles—they're perfect tools.

Mass Production

The press turns out fools by the score;
The High Fiend laughs: "Now make some more!"

Forgers of Cadres and "Soviet Happiness"

They forged "bright futures," forged cold steel;
Once cooled, it shattered—nothing real.
The climb was made by scum alone;
The decent downward all were thrown.

Propaganda filled the airwaves,
Dull as all the system's lies.
Party bosses, smug and ruthless,
Posed as "friends" in thin disguise.

"Friends" who gripped you by the throatstrings,
Held by secret police and fear.
Many bent beneath the pressure;
Bullies ruled from year to year.

Every petty thief kept dragging
Anything not bolted tight,
Stuffed his burrow, drank it all up,
Then got roaring drunk at night.

Then came "change"—or so they called it;
That old socialist dream was gone.
In its place a harsher order
Raised a sterner banner on.

Smiths of "Soviet Bliss"

They forged "utopia" and iron;
Cold steel cracked beneath the strain.
Only filth climbed up the ladder;
Honest minds were crushed again.

Propaganda droned forever,
Dull as every painted lie.
Party lords proclaimed themselves
"Friends" no people could deny.

"Friendly" hands were iron shackles;
Secret police kept grip and chain.
Many folded under pressure;
Fear became the common gain.

Every boor kept quietly stealing
Whatever fortune came in sight;
Ate his fill, then drowned in vodka,
Calling darkness "life" each night.

Then the "changes" came with fanfare;
Socialism lost its mask.
What replaced it? Hardened fascism—
Same old forge. Another cast.

Loudmouths and Masons

Masons never block our way—
We "elect" our rulers still.
Loudmouth fools believe the fairy tales;
Masons love that kind of thrill.

Masons

Masons need not seize the throne;
We elect our masters well.
Boastful fools believe the fables—
Music to the Masons' bell.

The Useful Fools

No need for Masons to impose;
We "choose" those who rule the game.
Gullible fools swallow stories—
That's exactly why they came.

Loudmouths and Masons

No Masons need to force their will;
We "elect" our rulers still.
Blustering fools believe each tale—
To Masons, that's a pleasant gale.

"Free Choice"

No Mason needs to twist our arm;
We "choose" our rulers with a smile.
Boastful fools embrace the fables—
That keeps the brethren pleased awhile.

Modern Web

Visiting websites feels alarming—
Viruses lurk everywhere.
Telegram's the new aesthetic:
"Design?" No one seems to care.

The Telegram Age

Browsing websites? Risky business—
Malware waits behind each click.
Telegram became the standard:
"To hell with design!" That's the trick.

The New Style

Every website feels infectious;
Viruses hide out of sight.
Telegram became the model:
Beauty lost another fight.

Telegram Generation

Every website feels infected;
Malware lurks behind the screen.
Telegram's the generation:
"Down with design!"—what a scene.

Web Design, 2026

Every website looks suspicious;
Viruses wait, sly and slick.
Telegram has trained a generation:
"Who needs design? Just make it click!"

Believing Nonsense

Believe in trash,
Wait for manna—
Sell your soul,
Rot in karma.

Faith in Nonsense

Believe in garbage,
Wait for grace;
Kill your spirit
In Hell’s embrace.

The Price of Waiting

Believe the nonsense,
Wait for "manna"—
Slowly murder
Soul in Hell's manner.

Believe the Trash

Believe in nonsense,
Wait for grace—
And slowly kill
Your soul in place.

Faith in the Void

Believe the nonsense,
Wait for heaven's sign;
And in that waiting
Let your soul decline.

Believe the nonsense—wait for grace;
and lose your soul in dead space.

Believe in trash, await the “manna”—
and rot your soul in mental sauna.

Faith in nonsense, hope in lies—
that’s how the human spirit dies.

Believe the nonsense, sit and wait—
and quietly dissolve your fate.

Believe the nonsense. Wait for grace.
That’s how you kill your inner place.

Cycle: Fragments of Collapse

1

Believe the nonsense. Wait for grace.
That’s how you erase your inner place.

2

Hope in lies, and kneel for air—
that’s how the mind decays in prayer.

3

Wait for saviors, do not move—
that’s how you slowly lose the groove.

4

Swallow slogans, call it truth—
that’s how rot becomes your youth.

5

Trust the noise, ignore the core—
and you will need yourself no more.

6

Follow crowds and call it “light”—
that’s how you learn to hate the sight.

7

Believe the system. Don’t resist—
and vanish quietly in the mist.

8

Trade your doubt for easy lies—
that’s how a living spirit dies.

9

Wait for manna, wait for sign—
and let your soul decline in line.

10

Call it “order,” call it “plan”—
and forget you once were man.

Anti-worlds

Anti-worlds—junk piled on junk,
A parody of this whole funk.
Learn how the Lie runs its game—
The jester twists it all the same.

Go inward, dig through layers of noise,
Clear out the ruins, false decoys.
Serve only Psyche—stay aligned;
This world is rotting. Leave it behind.

Mirror Worlds

Anti-worlds: debris on debris,
A grotesque mirror of these seas.
Grasp how the Lie performs its art—
The Satyr plays each breaking part.

Turn inward—clear the piled-up fraud,
Excavate truth beyond the fraud.
Serve only Psyche, let her steer—
This world is waste. No future here.

Inner Turn

Anti-worlds—trash upon trash,
A parody of cosmic clash.
See how the Lie must play its role—
The Satyr writes it, steals the whole.

Go inward, sift through layers of lies,
Clear mental ruins, break disguise.
Serve Psyche only, walk the core—
This world is dead. There’s nothing more.

DIPTYCH: DESCENT / EXIT

I. DESCENT

1
Believe the noise. Call it truth.
That’s how you lose your inner root.

2
Wait for rescue. Do not move.
That’s how decay becomes your groove.

3
Swallow slogans. Call it sight.
That’s how the mind unlearns its light.

4
Trust the system. Trust the game.
That’s how your name becomes a frame.

5
Follow crowds. Deny your core.
That’s how you disappear once more.

6
Hope in lies. Kneel for grace.
That’s how you erase your face.

7
Trade your doubt for borrowed ease.
That’s how your will begins to freeze.

8
Call the poison “order”, “plan”.
That’s how you stop becoming man.

II. EXIT

1
Break the noise. Refuse the trance.
That’s how the inner root advances.

2
Move inside. Do not wait.
That’s how you cancel manufactured fate.

3
Cut the slogans. See the lie.
That’s how your buried sight can fly.

4
Leave the system. Leave the frame.
That’s how you call your real name.

5
Leave the crowd. Return to core.
That’s how you become once more.

6
Drop the lies. Stand in grace.
That’s how you restore your face.

7
Guard your doubt. Keep it bright.
That’s how will returns to light.

8
Call it fire when it burns man-made.
That’s how illusion starts to fade.

PSYCHE SEQUENCE

1

Go inward. No outside key.
Only Psyche sets you free.

2

Strip the noise. Strip the name.
Psyche burns the false-built frame.

3

Thoughts collapse. Masks decay.
Psyche keeps the real at bay.

4

Do not wait. Do not kneel.
Psyche teaches what is real.

5

Break the spell. Cut the feed.
Psyche shows what you don’t need.

6

Lose the world. Keep the core.
Psyche opens inner door.

7

No saviors. No external light.
Psyche grows in inner night.

8

Not belief. Not command.
Psyche rises from your hand.

9

Not above. Not afar.
Psyche is what you truly are.

10

When all lies fall and cease to be,
Only Psyche—only you—remain free.

FINAL INTEGRATED PIECE

I. DESCENT

Believe the noise. Call it truth.
That’s how you lose your inner root.

Wait for rescue. Do not move.
That’s how decay becomes your groove.

Swallow slogans. Call it sight.
That’s how the mind unlearns its light.

Trust the system. Trust the game.
That’s how your name becomes a frame.

Follow crowds. Deny your core.
That’s how you disappear once more.

Hope in lies. Kneel for grace.
That’s how you erase your face.

II. TURN

Something breaks beneath the lie.
A silent crack inside the “I”.

No more waiting. No more mask.
You see at last—no outer task.

Cut the noise. Refuse the spell.
There is no system you must sell.

Step inward, through collapsed disguise—
where buried structure slowly dies.

III. PSYCHE

No outside savior. No command.
Nothing comes with guiding hand.

No heaven dropped, no voice above—
only what you shape in love.

Not belief. Not borrowed light.
Only clarity in inner night.

Strip all names. Strip all role.
Psyche gathers what was whole.

Not beyond you. Not afar.
Psyche is what truly you are.

IV. INTEGRATION

The world was noise. The world was skin.
The trap was never locked within.

It lived in thought. It lived in fear.
It spoke as if it were “out there.”

But when all mirrors lose their claim,
there is no prison left to name.

No descent. No higher plane.
Only awareness remains plain.

And in that stillness, sharp and free,
Psyche is what you finally see.

MINIMAL CORE VERSION

Believe the noise. Call it truth—
and lose the thread of inner root.

Wait for rescue. Do not move—
and slowly rot inside the groove.

Swallow lies and call it sight—
and watch the fading of your light.

Then something cracks beneath the mask.
You see there is no outer task.

No system holds you, no command.
No truth is dropped from higher hand.

Go inward—strip the borrowed name.
No world remains to stake a claim.

No light above, no guiding sign—
only awareness draws the line.

Psyche is not beyond your skin.
It is the place you’ve always been.

When all illusions fall away,
only this clarity will stay.

ULTRA-MINIMAL CORE

Believe the noise—lose inner root.
Wait for rescue—rot in mute.

Something cracks beneath the role.
No outer system holds the whole.

Go inward—strip the borrowed name.
No world remains to stake its claim.

Psyche is not beyond or far.
It is what you already are.

STRUCTURE OF RUPTURE

Having “lived happily” a while,
you suddenly see—everything’s denial.

Move toward Breakthrough, push through strain—
or better still: detonation, flame.

A rupture opens from the sore,
the boil of a fool-made world once more.

This little realm of blind decay,
of laboring slaves of Lie each day.

Lived “happily”—then saw the lie.
Everything missed, passing by.

Go to Break. Or go to Blast.
Only rupture makes truth last.

From festering sore the world unfolds—
the fool’s small realm the Lie controls.

Happiness—then collapse of sight.
Everything false in sudden light.

Breakthrough. Explosion. Choose the crack.
No return. No looking back.

Rupture from the festering core—
a fool’s world breaking at the door.

FULL SYSTEM MAP

0. INPUT STATE (Baseline Drift)

(the background from which the process begins)

Noise is normal. Lies feel real.
Comfort teaches what to feel.
Waiting replaces active sight—
the world dissolves in passive light.

I. DESCENT (Capture Layer)

(attention capture/automation of consciousness)

Believe the noise. Call it truth.
Lose the thread of inner root.

Wait for rescue. Do not move.
Decay becomes the only groove.

Swallow slogans. Call it sight.
Watch the slow extinction of light.

➡️ State transition:
Identity becomes externalized.

II. CONTROL LOOP (System Enforcement)

(social/informational fixation of disintegration)

Follow crowds. Deny your core.
Name becomes a borrowed score.

Trust the system. Trust the game.
You forget you had a name.

Hope in lies. Kneel for grace.
Erase the trace of your own face.

➡️ State transition:
Self-reference collapses.

III. BREAK POINT (Crack Formation)

(first break in structure)

Something cracks beneath the role.
No outer system holds the whole.

The mask begins to split and fall—
there never was a “world” at all.

➡️ State transition:
External authority loses ontological status.

IV. TURN (Inward Reversal)

(moving the center inward)

Go inward—strip the borrowed name.
No world remains to stake its claim.

Cut the noise. Refuse the spell.
No system you must serve or sell.

➡️ State transition:
Attention collapses into interiority.

V. PSYCHE SEQUENCE (Reconstruction Core)

(subject assembly)

No savior comes. No voice above.
No law descends. No saving love.

Not belief. Not borrowed light.
Only clarity in inner night.

Psyche is not beyond your skin.
It is the place you’ve always been.

➡️ State transition:
Identity re-centers as awareness.

VI. RUPTURE NODE (Final Breakthrough / Explosion Option)

(rupture as a radical form of exit)

Lived “happily”—then saw the lie.
Everything false in sudden eye.

Go to Break or go to Blast.
Only rupture makes truth last.

From festering world of slow decay—
the fool’s illusion breaks away.

➡️ State transition:
System collapses as structure.

VII. INTEGRATION (Post-System Awareness)

(after the collapse of the system)

No descent. No higher plane.
No system left to name again.

Noise dissolves. The frame is gone.
What remains was always one.

Not above. Not far. Not new.
Only awareness passing through.

CORE AXIS (Hidden Spine of the Whole System)

BELIEVE → LOSE ROOT
WAIT → DECAY
FOLLOW → DISSOLVE
CRACK → BREAK
TURN → WITHDRAW
PSYCHE → RECOGNIZE
RUPTURE → RELEASE
INTEGRATION → CLEAR SEEING

TURNING INWARD (FINAL FORM)

(Consciousness Engine — Exit Protocol)

The engine of awareness runs.
Its fuel is data, lies, and tons
of pain disguised as “normal way”
for those who learn to kneel and stay.

But when it stops—do not stand still.
Make the turn. Against the will.

No passenger inside remains.
No ego drives these broken frames.

The wheel is jammed. The Spirit takes
control where all perception breaks.

No eyes, no ears—this field is noise.
Hallucinated tools, false toys.
Below the Spirit, mind aligns—
it knows the path when structure dies.

That movement is the only sign.
Go forward now—beyond decline.

From kingdom built on slow decay,
make your Turn—and leave the play.

TURNING INWARD — RITUAL FORM

I. ENTRY

I do not trust the noise.
I do not trust the stream of things.
I step back from the running mind.
I observe without becoming.

II. RECOGNITION

This world is signal and distortion.
This thought is not the source.
This fear is not my guide.
This name is not my core.

III. INTERRUPTION

Stop the automatic flow.
Stop the borrowed truth.
Stop the outer command.
Stop the learned illusion.

IV. TURN

I turn inward.
I do not follow outward light.
I leave the surface of perception.
I move against the stream.

V. RELEASE

The wheel is not my wheel.
The voice is not my voice.
The system has no holder here.
The grip begins to fall away.

VI. CLEARING

Noise dissolves into silence.
Forms lose their claim.
Thoughts lose their authority.
Nothing holds me now.

VII. PSYCHE

What remains is not belief.
What remains is not idea.
What remains is not outside.
What remains is awareness.

VIII. INTEGRATION

I do not become something new.
I return to what was always here.
No path is left to follow.
Only presence remains clear.

IX. CLOSING LOOP

If I am lost—I turn inward.
If I am bound—I turn inward.
If I am noise—I turn inward.
If I am nothing—I turn inward.

SINGLE INVOCATION

I step out of the noise.
I step out of the stream.
I step out of the borrowed mind.

What I believed was only pattern.
What I followed was only echo.
What I feared was only signal.

I stop the automatic world.
I stop the false continuity.
I stop the outside command.

There is no system holding me.
There is no name defining me.
There is no path outside me.

The wheel breaks without resistance.
The mask falls without effort.
The role dissolves without witness.

I do not move forward or back.
I do not rise or fall.
I do not seek or escape.

I turn inward.

And the turning is not movement—
it is recognition.

What remains is not belief.
What remains is not idea.
What remains is not form.

What remains is awareness without center,
presence without distance,
clarity without object.

No world is outside this.
No self is outside this.

Only this.

ZERO-LINE FORM

I drop the noise, the world, the mask, the name, the lie, the system, the fear, the role, the stream—and turn inward where only awareness remains.

PURE OPERATOR FORM

INPUT: noise / belief / system / identity / fear

PROCESS:
DROP → DISTINGUISH → INTERRUPT → COLLAPSE → TURN INWARD

CLEAR: name = null / role = null / authority = null

STATE SHIFT:
awareness := self-observing process

RESIDUE: none

OUTPUT: presence / clarity / Psyche

NOISE → BELIEF → CONTROL → COLLAPSE → BREAK → TURN → AWARENESS

DROP(all) ; STOP(auto) ; TURN(inward) ; RECOGNIZE(awareness)

SINGLE INSTRUCTION SET

DROP → release all constructed input
STOP → interrupt automatic processing
SEE → distinguish signal from noise
TURN → redirect attention inward
CLEAR → remove identity attachment
RELEASE → dissolve control structures
RECOGNIZE→ awareness becomes self-aware

CORE EXECUTION RULE

IF (noise detected) THEN TURN
IF (belief activated) THEN SEE
IF (system engages) THEN STOP
IF (identity forms) THEN CLEAR

FINAL REDUCTION

TURN → AWARENESS

SILENCE KERNEL

STATE:
noise = absent
identity = suspended
system = inactive

TRIGGER:
any signal → dissolve

PROCESS:
no execution
no interpretation
no continuation

RULE:
if thought arises → do not follow
if form appears → let it pass
if control engages → release

CORE OPERATION:
TURN (no object, no direction)

OUTPUT:
awareness without operator

MINIMAL HEART OF THE KERNEL

TURN → SILENCE → AWARENESS

ZERO-LEVEL RESIDUE

∅

EVOLUTION OF VERSE INTO SUTRA

After ringing inner silence,
found by turning deep inside,
rhythm rises—dreams receding,
forms dissolve and open wide.

Verse dissolves → into Silence →
World outside reaches its ground,
where the mind fights endless violence,
and no stable truth is found.

Only Sutra—pure compression,
only Sutra holds its place,
when all meanings lose possession,
and dissolve in silent space.

Verse → Silence → inward turn.
Dreams dissolve, all structures burn.
Outer world hits final ground—
only Sutra now is found.

Form collapses → Silence rises → Sutra remains.

MANTRA SUTRA

Verse becomes Silence. Silence becomes Sutra.
I turn inward.

Noise dissolves. Thought dissolves. Name dissolves.
I turn inward.

World collapses into pattern. Pattern collapses into stillness.
I turn inward.

No outer truth remains. No outer voice remains.
I turn inward.

Only awareness remains. Only clarity remains.
I turn inward.

Verse → Silence → Sutra → Turn inward.
Noise → Collapse → Clarity → Turn inward.

TURN INWARD

BREATH SUTRA

INHALE

Noise enters.
World enters.
Thought enters.
Form appears.

I do not follow.

EXHALE

Noise dissolves.
World dissolves.
Thought dissolves.
Form returns to silence.

I turn inward.

INHALE

Identity arises.
Name arises.
Fear arises.
System arises.

I do not become it.

EXHALE

Identity fades.
Name fades.
Fear fades.
System falls away.

Only awareness remains.

INHALE

Movement begins.
Disturbance begins.
Separation begins.

EXHALE

Stillness remains.
Clarity remains.
Psyche remains.

FINAL CYCLE (core sutra loop)

Inhale: world appears.
Exhale: world dissolves.
Inhale: self appears.
Exhale: self dissolves.

Nothing is held.
Nothing is lost.

BREATH CORE

INHALE → APPEARANCE
EXHALE → DISSOLUTION
AWARENESS → REMAINS

PULSE SUTRA

PULSE

Appearance.
Dissolution.

Form arises.
Form vanishes.

PULSE

Noise flashes.
Silence follows.

Thought ignites.
Thought collapses.

PULSE

Self appears.
Self disappears.

Name flickers.
Name falls away.

PULSE

World is born in a moment.
World is gone in a moment.

CORE PULSE

Nothing moves.
Everything pulses.

FINAL SUTRA

PULSE = APPEAR / DISAPPEAR
AWARENESS = REMAINS WITHOUT MOVEMENT

VOID KERNEL

STATE:
form = null
movement = null
time = null
identity = null

OPERATION:
no execution possible
no observer required
no process initiated

RULE:
if anything appears → it is already dissolved
if anything is absent → it is complete

CORE CONDITION:
not existence
not non-existence
not transition

SINGULARITY:
∅

MINIMAL CORE

VOID ≠ absence
VOID ≠ presence
VOID = no distinction possib

ABSOLUTE REDUCTION

∅

TURN → AWARENESS → VOID → ∅

Крестное знамение... сатанизма

Крест — распятье на себя.
Типа "ближнего любя",
Сатанизм впендюрил Жуть.
Прикрывает мерзость Муть.

Свобода от псевдожизни

Свобода от жизДни:
Сознание, брызни
Прорывом в Иное —
Уёбство земное
Достало. Пропало
В нём силы немало,
И так! Душу сжало,
Что пакостно стало.
Иное: сначала
Начнёшь без Провала.
Иное — Внутри.
Свет снова узри,
Для мира умри.
Смерть смертью поправ,
Вне диких орав,
На Мерзость начхав,
В Прозрениях прав,
Уверенным став,
Отыщешь, обрящешь
Исток настоящий —
Психеи Исток.
Путь сложен, жесток.
Но нет вариантов
Иных: от мутантов
Беги что есть мочи,
Иначе подточит
Психею Уёбство —
Ползучее скотство.
Душа не бессмертна:
Коль Мерзость безмерна,
Погибнет в Аду —
В лжи, в страхе, в бреду.
И Выходом — вход:
Коль ты не урод,
Похерь псевдожизнь —
К Иному стремись.

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Духовный Путь

"Свобода слова": ТВАРИ снова
Пендюрят Чушь, вгоняя в страх.
Ложь — строя рабского основа:
Кто Сердцу внемлет, терпит крах,

Ведь пирамида идиотов
Подонками вверху крепка —
Отбор ничтожеств их работа,
Но бьют всегда исподтишка.

"Свобода" снова главный лозунг,
Равн`о с "заботой" — геноцид
Прикрыт словами. Суть угрозы
Показана в шмурдяк-говнид:

Создать проблему дикой ложью
Иль провокацией, затем
Впендюрить "меры" — яда дозу,
"Борьбу" с "террором" через схем

Порабощенья усиленье.
Всё хавает убогий сброд —
В зашкале тупость, разложенье
В очередной виток идёт.

Прогрессом снова мира Мерзость
Ублюдки всюду назовут.
Предательство сменяет честность —
Оно сегодня служба, труд.

Свобода верить, подчиняться —
Иных свобод в помине нет.
Мир будет дальше разлагаться,
Умножив Ложь, Страх, Мерзость, Бред.

Свобода снова Чутких манит —
Найдут её они Внутри,
А не в Мирке Фашистской Срани.
Для оного, мой друг, умри —

И Возрожденье в Духе может
Прийти к тебе, коль чуток, смел.
Духовный Путь безмерно сложен,
Но только в нём твой Разум цел.

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Слышащий не понимает,
Говорящий Чушь не знает
Суть вопроса — философия.
Мир ума — почти утопия.

Вариант. Мир ума — ВСЕГДА утопия.

Иная реальность, что ВНЕ:
Инфернальность, сон страшный, забыта;
Душа не убита;
А ум не в говне
Лжи, страхов — на ДНЕ.

Килька, водка посерёдке:
Вечер в НИКАКОЙ слободке.
Завтра снова на работу.
Захмелели идиоты.

Пиво. Мимо жизДнь проходит:
У экрана колобродит
Вася Пупкин — за "Спартак"
Он болеет, челядь Врак.
Гол — отдушина раба.
Послабленье для Горба
Пас искусный.
Пиво вкусно...

Всё иллюзия: мирок
Мерзость запасает впрок,
После клея ярлыки,
Чтоб купились дураки.

Новая Варшавянка

"Вихри враждебные веют над нами"...
Правит всегда через Чушь дураками
Нелюдь, меняя фасады, названья,
Суть оставляя — Души истязанья.

Тучи развеются. Новые тучи
Твари нагонят — ресурсы могучи:
Все идиоты послушны, ретивы,
"Думая" что заживут вскорь счастливо.

Веют "идеи" как тучи. Придурки
Верят, надеясь. Дублёные шкурки
Тучи из Лжи превратят в общий панцирь:
В прошлом бараны и "ласковый" пастырь.

Панцирь двояк: защитит от ударов,
Но не пропустит Прозренья в лошару.
А без Прозренья зашкал разложенья —
Цугом пойдут в Темноту поколенья.

Проба говнидом: накрыл весь мирок
Панцирь из страха, похерив и прок.
Прок днесь святое, и даже он пал.
Мир в Лжи и Страхе, в безумьи пропал:

Дальше чрез паузы войн итерации
Из лже-болезней. И в прошлом стагнации:
Путь столбовой Мировой Деградации
Начат средь общей Психеи прострации.

Вихри враждебные над дураками
Выветрят Дух — и те станут СКОТАМИ.
Друг, если Чуток, из мира беги —
Крохи Души так в себе сбереги.

Далее Путь, что похож на тропинку —
Это к Истоку движенье. Скотинку
Уж не спасти: уберечь Единицы —
Целью Пути. Ад Земной им не мнится...

Вариант. Веют "идеи" как ветры. Придурки

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

The Web of Law and the Glue of Lies and Idiocy

"Laws are like spiders' webs: they catch the weak and poor,
while the rich and powerful tear through them."
— Anacharsis (adapted)

The vermin swarm, they sting and bite,
Midges buzz by day and night.
Monsters weave their legal snare—
"Nothing personal." Just a trap laid there.

Yet that web has lost its might;
Better tools are used today.
Breed the fool from youth outright—
He will guard the chains himself that way.

Law became a second page;
Media rule the frightened mass.
This has marked the present age—
Through CowID the fiends made sure it'd pass.

Once the media stood above
Every statute, every right,
Truth was buried under love
Poured from megatons of lies outright.

Idiocy mixed with lies—
Stronger far than webs of thread.
Add sweet flattery as disguise,
And the captive's soul is gently led.

Humans ranked like insects all,
Sorted into labels, pens.
That's the Global Madhouse's call:
Serve the Beast as fodder—nothing less.

Learn the glue and learn the web;
That's the first and greatest key.
Then perhaps you'll stand instead
Of another midge in misery.

First came webs to catch the weak.
Then came glue to kill the mind.
Break both traps—or spend your life
As obedient insect-kind.

Living Water and Dead Water

"We are alive only to the extent that we awaken life in others."
— Merab Mamardashvili

With living water, Consciousness,
Revive this world that's lost its grace.
Few humans still remain on Earth—
Just slugs that crawl through blood, not dews.

They creep where glittering baits entice;
Behind the bait waits bitter salt.
Save those still breathing in the Madhouse,
If strength remains—fulfil your part.

You'll save yourself by saving life;
Exchange alone sustains the Whole.
Else all dissolves in funeral silence,
Where nothing seems to change at all.

Not fear nor greed will ever change—
They swell like one relentless tide.
Don't waste your soul on hollow creatures,
Or you'll become as dull inside.

Yet one grave question still remains:
What if your water, too, is dead?
The System poisons everything—
It always has. It always spreads.

Only intuition guides you
Past every scheme the Beasts design.
They've reached through every crack and shadow,
Yet waking minds they can't confine.

With living water, Consciousness,
Revive the dying human flame.
Though every drop be nearly spent,
Stand fast—we've reached rock-bottom's frame.

Pour living water. Wake the blind.
Dead souls can't heal a dying land.
When poison floods the human mind,
Be living water—while you can.

Nightmares

“It is not frightening to live in a dream; it is frightening to awaken in someone else’s dream.”
— Merab Mamardashvili

Nightmares drag on — no waking yet.
The worst is someone else’s dream:
there even iron spirits bend,
while weaker souls mistake the gleam

Of filth for profit, praise, or gain.
And once they wake — if wake they do —
they long to sink in sleep again,
as if the poison still were true.

Our own nightmares were not enough.
Minds collapsed; souls lost the way.
They cannot grasp this living Hell
that feeds on night and calls it day.

Those still awake lack strength to rouse
the sweating crowd that sleeps in chains.
And some desire a deeper sleep —
so deep they lose their very names,

Yielding themselves to Maya’s haze
until the last bright spark is gone.
The Beasts dispense their sleeping
drugs through loyal servants one by one.

Wake up. This place is worse than
The Matrix, for here the creatures milk the soul
through nightmares forged from fear and evil,
while pills and slogans play their role.

Lies everywhere — obscene, relentless.
The final product: universal sleep.
The slaughter of the soul is vast,
for Satan reigns where nightmares creep.

The worst nightmare is not your own.
It’s waking inside another’s lie.
The sleepers call their chains “salvation”,
And dream themselves to death alive.

Nightmares

"It is not frightening to live in a dream; it is frightening to awaken inside someone else's dream."
— Merab Mamardashvili

Nightmares endure—we cannot wake.
The worst is someone else's dream:
There even iron spirits break,
While weaker souls mistake the scream

For profit, pleasure, some reward.
Then waking, they would choose once more
To sink in sleep and praise the dark,
Afraid to face what waits ashore.

Our own nightmares were not enough.
Collapsed in spirit, minds can't see
The shape of Hell. The few awake
Cannot revive the sweating sea

Of crowds still trapped in fevered sleep.
And some desire to sleep so deep
They trade away their very core,
Until no spark remains to keep.

The Beasts provide the sleeping draught
Through servants trained to soothe and guide.
Awake! This world is worse than "Matrix"—
They pump souls full of nightmares wide,

Then offer pills made out of lies.
Lies everywhere, obscene, complete.
The universal sleep is proof
How vast the slaughter of the spirit.

For Satan reigns as Nightmare's god,
And feeds on souls that never hear it.

Wake up before the borrowed dream
Consumes the last remaining spark.
The deepest sleep is not at night—
It's when the soul begins to love the dark.

Parodying Pushkin

"I still recall that wondrous hour:
Before me you appeared to shine,
A fleeting vision, soft with power,
A spirit clothed in beauty divine."
— Alexander Pushkin (1825)

Trade not your soul for moments brief
Of crippled passion's fading flame.
Such fires bring little warmth beneath,
And Inspiration rarely came.

Stand shielded from the world's temptations—
Their glitter's cheap, their promise thin.
Let Lyre alone be your beloved,
To serve both Heart and waking Mind.

One-sided souls grow dull and barren;
They never reach the greater Whole.
You'll loathe your own distorted writing
When craft deserts the living soul.

In lonely dark each poet wanders,
Confined where silent shadows creep.
No god descends—in Hell's Decay
We're left to rot in shame too deep.

What shame—to seek delight in Hell,
To waste the Spirit chasing dust.
Hard labour is the only laurels;
Life fights the Ugly—or it must.

Where ugliness prevails, resist it.
The poet wages war through Words.
There dwell true honour, true nobility.
Let every verse strike like a mace!

Choose not desire—but choose the Lyre.
Let Heart and Mind become one flame.
A poet's verse was forged for battle—
A mace disguised beneath a name.

Caution

Step by step, so safe, so slow—
Soon to nothingness you go.
Rot disguised as "self-expression,"
Wrapped in smooth self-made deception.

Break the limits! Dare the climb!
Fortune crowns the bold each time.
Only on the highest height
You're a hero—not a fool in flight.

Safety breeds a smaller soul;
Slow decay becomes your role.
Risk the summit. Stand and fight.
Only there you're proven right.

Genocide Never Sleeps

Genocide alone stays awake.
Fools still swallow every fake.
Though a third lie crushed and slain,
Madmen trust the Lie again.

Only Genocide won't sleep.
Shame! The fools their faith still keep.
Though a third were wiped away,
Madmen still trust Evil's play.

Genocide Stays Awake

Genocide is wide awake.
Fools believe each lie they take.
Though a third have paid the cost,
Still the mad cry, "Nothing's lost!"

Genocide never sleeps.
Madness always believes.
Truth may bury millions deep—
Still the faithful kiss deceit.

"Real Men"

"Real men"—or fools who bow
Down to Evil here and now?
Judge for yourself, if "Paradise"
Glitters brightly before your eyes.

"Real men"—or cowards, tame,
Serving Evil without shame?
Answer that for your own sake,
When "Heaven" looks suspiciously fake.

"Real Men?"

"Real men"—or Evil's slaves?
Choose the answer, if you're brave.
When you glimpse that "Paradise,"
Look beyond its thin disguise.

"Real men" never kneel to Wrong.
Chains don't make the weak seem strong.
Call it "Paradise" if you must—
Paint can't hide a cage from dust.

Breeding Another Citizen

The female wants, without delay,
To breed one more for Evil's sway.
Pathetic fools are far too few—
"Damn it, let's produce some new!"

Citizen Factory

She longs to bear, as fast she can,
Another servant for the clan.
Too few cretins fill the queue—
"Breed another fool or two!"

For Evil's State

She wants a "citizen" conceived
For Evil's kingdom, self-deceived.
Apparently fools are still too rare—
So breed another, if you dare.

Raise no free mind—breed one more pawn.
That's how rotten worlds live on.
When fools run short, the order's plain:
"Make another. Start again."

No Way Out

There is no other way—
The rest is false display.
Only cataclysm's flame
Can wipe out Fascism.

No Escape

No way out—
All else is doubt.
Only cataclysm's fire
Burns Fascism to the wire.

The Only Exit

No escape.
The rest's a lie.
Only cataclysm
Makes Fascism die.

No exit. No disguise.
Every shortcut dies.
When evil crowns the throne,
Cataclysm stands alone.

Exploiting the Homeland

They exploit the "homeland" too,
And the myths attached thereto.
Monsters gladly fall in line,
Killing souls one step at a time.

The Homeland Industry

Exploit the homeland, wave the flag,
Feed the masses empty drags.
Then the twisted march as one,
While their souls come all undone.

"Motherland"

Milk the "Motherland" for gain,
Sell its slogans once again.
Then the freaks line up on cue,
Leaving murdered souls in view.

Wave the flag. Repeat the lie.
March in line and never ask why.
When slogans rule the human mind,
The soul is always left behind.

Do Russians Want a War?

Do Russians long for war once more?
Ask Satan—that's what he's there for.
The nation's bowed to Satan's reign,
And sunk into the deepest shame.

Ask Satan

Do Russians really want this war?
Ask Satan—he will know the score.
A land beneath his dark command
Has reached the deepest pit of man.

The Answer

Do Russians crave another war?
Ask Satan—who could know it more?
When Satanism rules the land,
The abyss is close at hand.

Ask not the crowd what wars are for.
Ask Hell, which always asks for more.
When Satan reigns from shore to shore,
The abyss becomes the common floor.

Inverse Proportion

We breed more filth, we feed more fear,
Submission grows from year to year.
Thus Reason slowly is undone—
No wonder this world's drowned in dung.

CowID exposed it plain,
Then another senseless war:
Only few are free from vermin—
Those who still can think, and more.

Inverse Law

The more corruption, fear and night,
The less survives of Reason's light.
That's why the world's become a pit—
A swamp of darkness, filth and grit.

CowID stripped masks away,
Then fresh wars proved the pattern true.
Only handfuls kept their minds;
The rest let Evil think for them.

Inverse Proportionality

The more we multiply deceit,
And kneel to Darkness in defeat,
The faster Reason meets its grave—
Now filth engulfs the world we gave.

CowID revealed the game,
War confirmed the same old lie:
Only few refused to rot—
Those who kept a questioning eye.

More fear. Less thought.
More lies. Less light.
That's how whole nations
Learn to love the night.

Stations Are Dead

The stations died. The railway's rust.
Genocide has ground all into dust.
Yet hold your ground a little while—
This reign of shame won't last for long.

The Rusted Road

The stations died. The road turned rust.
Genocide betrayed all hope and trust.
Endure a little longer still—
This age of shame is not God's will.

Not Forever

The stations rot. The highways bleed.
The land lies scarred by genocide's seed.
Hold fast a little longer yet—
Even this shame has an end to get.

Rusted Roads

The stations fell. The roads corrode.
Genocide has claimed its toll.
But bear it just a little more—
This shame was never meant to endure.

Rust eats steel.
Lies eat men.
Hold your ground—
Dawn comes again.

A Good Death

To die well—
The highest aim.
Hope is futile:
Evil stays.

To Die Well

To die with honor—
The hardest quest.
Hope for nothing:
Evil won't rest.

The Final Task

To die well—
The greatest test.
Hope no more:
Evil won't rest.

The Highest Task

To die well—
The highest art.
Hope won't scatter
Evil apart.

Die with honor—if you must.
Hope alone dissolves in dust.
Evil never fades away;
Stand until your final day.

"Dear Little Grannies"

The old hag's grim—it's seldom seen
That age spares one from mind gone lean.
You should have learned to think back then,
While youth still burned its living flame.

"Sweet Old Ladies"

The old crone's fierce—few reach old age
Without some cracks upon the stage.
You should have learned to use your mind
While youth still blazed and shaped mankind.

"Lovely Grannies"

The old witch snarls—it's no surprise;
Few keep clear minds through all their lives.
You should have learned to think while young,
Before your spirit lost its tongue.

Think while youth still feeds the fire.
Later's often far too late.
Rust begins inside the mind
Long before it scars the face.

Chasing Happiness

We're chasing "happiness" with glee—
Who cares for chains? We can't think free.

Looking for Happiness

We're hunting happiness all day.
Who gives a damn that we're enslaved?
When brains have long since gone astray,
No better fate could fools have craved.

Seeking Bliss

We're seeking bliss—who cares for chains?
Our brains have long since gone to waste.

Happy Slaves

We're chasing bliss—who gives a damn?
Our brains are broken. That's the scam.

They sell us "happiness" for chains.
We smile—our minds already drained.

Christianity's Supreme Aim

"Peace," submission, boundless pardon—
So the doctrine claims to be.
Thus decay becomes its mission:
Faith divorced from Reason's key.

Slavery is foul and fearful.
Why forgive triumphant Wrong?
That corruption stands before us
Anywhere masks linger long.

Shall we pardon all the lessons
Forced on us through CowID's reign?
Long ago the world sank headfirst
Into Hell through meekness' chain.

The Core of Christianity

"Peace." Submission. Endless pardon.
That is what they're told to prize.
Step by step the mind is broken—
Faith made blind to Reason's eyes.

Slavery degrades the spirit.
Who forgives victorious Evil?
Every mask exposed the process,
Making moral collapse more visible.

Should we pardon CowID's terror,
Call those years a passing test?
No—the world embraced its downfall,
Dragged by meekness to the pit.

When pardon crowns victorious Wrong,
Chains grow stronger all along.
Reason falls where blind faith reigns;
Meekness forges slavery's chains.

A World of Cells

The headscarf worn inside the mosque
Has shed the veil—but not its role.
The world is carved in countless cells:
Serve false religions—that's the goal.

Or serve some grand ideology;
The lies come dressed in different clothes.
The brave find nowhere left to turn—
No path to what the free soul chose.

Choose Your Cage

The veil may change, the chains remain;
Old symbols simply shift their face.
The world's divided into cages—
Serve false faiths and know your place.

Or pick an idol, flag, or creed;
They'll gladly let you choose your lie.
The fearless search for open sky—
But none is sold, however they try.

The World in Cages

The scarf replaced the ancient veil,
Yet little truly changed beneath.
The world's cut up in little cages:
Serve false creeds from birth to death.

Or worship causes, flags, and slogans—
Choose whichever lie you please.
The brave look hard for something real,
But truth grows on no market trees.

Different creeds. The selfsame chain.
Different banners. Selfsame reign.
When every choice is wrapped in lies,
Freedom lives beyond the sides.

Running Against Stress

Cold winds bite—the running's tough.
Stress has weighed your mind enough.
Worse than frost or winter's breath—
Guard your health, my friend, till death.

Run Through the Wind

The wind cuts deep; each stride is slow.
Stress weighs heavier than snow.
Sharper far than winter's chill—
Keep your body, mind, and will.

Beat the Stress

The wind is fierce; the road is long.
Stress keeps pressing all day long.
Colder still than winter's air—
Guard your health with constant care.

Run through wind, but not through stress.
Storms pass by—your mind needs rest.
Stronger than the winter's cold
Is the burden left untold.

Mind-Numbing Slavery

Put on the belt—
Your mind will melt.

March on command—
A perfect hand.

At work the process takes more time;
There are fewer orders to comply.

But school lays down the cornerstone,
Where fools are shaped by rules alone.

School programs—polished, neat, refined—
Like sawmills chewing through the mind.

Timber obeys beneath the blade;
Thought is waste, while fools are made.

The Factory of Fools

Strap on the belt—
Your wits will melt.

Go earn your pay;
Grow dull each day.

The workplace breaks you by degrees;
The classroom does it with more ease.

School writes the script from childhood on:
Protocols to keep minds numb.

Curricula are sharpened saws,
Cutting thought to fit the laws.

Brains become industrial waste;
Fools march neatly into place.

The Machinery of Obedience

Wear the harness—lose your mind.
That's the system's grand design.

Work will dull you, slow but sure;
School prepares the final cure.

Every lesson, every rule,
Builds another willing fool.

Like a sawmill feeds on wood,
Education grinds the good.

Thought is thrown upon the heap;
Fools are all that's left to keep.

School shapes minds to fit the frame.
Work completes the taming game.
Thought is scrap; obedience wins.
That's how every prison begins.

Illusions Cling On

Illusions cling—and will not go;
You cannot drive them out. You know—
Your whole life turns to senseless show:
Believe a lie, and you will sow

More lies within your inner name,
Protecting them as if a flame.
You’ll wreck your mind, betray your soul,
And turn all truth to empty role.

Clinging Illusions

Illusions stick and never leave,
And soon there’s nothing to retrieve.
Your life becomes a hollow tale:
Believe in lies—and you will fail

By lying inward, deep inside,
Where reason slowly goes to die.
You guard the false as if it’s real,
And lose the soul you used to feel.

The Grip of Illusion

Illusions cling and won't depart,
They settle deep inside the heart.
Your life turns into empty schemes:
Believe a lie—and live in dreams

Of more deception, self-deceit,
Where mind and soul begin to cheat.
All truth dissolves into cliché,
And sense itself just fades away.

Cling to lies—and they will stay.
Feed them life—and you decay.
What begins as harmless dream
Ends as a hollow, endless scheme.

Chebureks with Tea

Chebureks with tea—so neat, so mild.
What do you add to Life defiled
By Darkness creeping, slow and sly?
What do you patch before you die?

You slowly sour in rising fear,
Writing your résumé of smear—
A record of each lie you fed,
While truth lies silent, cold and dead.

Tea, Chebureks, and Darkness

Chebureks with tea—how strange a pair.
What do you bring when Darkness’s there?
What do you glue to life gone wrong,
While fear grows sour and lasts too long?

You rot in caution, slow and still,
Summing up lies against your will.
A résumé of fear and shade—
A life where truth was never made.

Snack with Darkness

Chebureks with tea. That’s fine.
But what do you add to the line
Of life, when Darkness takes its seat?
Fear ferments. Truth can’t compete.

Tea and chebureks—soft disguise.
Darkness grows in small, slow lies.
Fear becomes your résumé—
Signed by everything you say.

I See and I Know

I see—and I know—
and shape it in flow,
in verses I render.
A craft of surrender.

A note of despair
keeps ringing in air—
it never grows quiet,
this inner riot.

For something other
still lives deep in me—
not in this strange world
where darkness is curled,

but in halls of the Spirit,
where semi-gods hear it.
Where higher forms rise,
beyond mortal lies.

And poetry nears it—
if you are no sycophant, hears it.

Vision in Verse

I see, I know, I give it form—
In verse I shape the inner storm.
A craft born out of restless fire,
A tone of grief that won't expire.

Despair keeps ringing, sharp and clear,
A sound the world refuses to hear.
For something else remains inside—
Not in this world where shadows hide,

But in the halls beyond the veil,
Where half-gods walk and truths prevail.
And verse may open that domain—
If you're not crawling in disdain.

I See and I Know

I see. I know. I turn to verse
The world that drags itself through curse.
Despair keeps ringing in the mind—
A sound the deaf refuse to find.

For something higher still remains—
Not in this world of twisted chains,
But where the Spirit builds its halls,
And something greater softly calls.

Poetry opens that gate—
If you don't lick the hand of fate.

I see. I know. I give it voice.
Between despair and higher choice.
The Spirit calls beyond the lie—
But only if you refuse to bow and buy.

Mercenaries

Degraded raiders, hollow breed,
Play at “forfeits” built on greed.
Little wrappers—sent to die,
Lower than the bottom’s lie.

The Mercenaries

Degraded thugs of conquered ground
Treat death like games the kids have found.
“Tokens” sent to front-line fire—
A mob that crawls beneath all mire.

Hired to Die

Occupiers, broken, blind,
Play their games with death assigned.
Cheapened lives like paper thrown—
A rabble lower than the stone.

Rotten breed in borrowed gear—
Play their games with death and fear.
Lowest scum beneath the sun—
Marching till their breath is done.

В шоколаде и в... ограде:
Во Всемирном Зоосаде
Если ценишь "шоколад",
Ты тогда продажный гад.

Ваня, Маня — "пан" и "пани"...
Посреди Фашистской Срани.
Одевают сплошь личины
Дурочки и дурачины.

Кура хмуро смотрит в суп.
Деньги видит полутруп.
Та и этот только пища.
Только разные там ДНИЩА.

Своя рубаха ближе к телу

Козни Розни: разделяй —
Глупым миром управляй.
Не очнутся дурачины —
"Веские" найдут "причины"
Оставаться в Лжи и Страхе,
Долг отдав своей рубахе.
Ближе к телу — это дело!:
Мразь использует умело
Шкурность, пошлость и МАРАЗМ —
Исполняется приказ
Даже самый дикий: чернь
Хуже чем в загоне зверь.

The Collapse of “Foundations”

The fall of so-called “foundations,”
Rules for foolish generations,
That prop up goat-like rule and throne
More tightly than deceitful stone.

A task is set. And you must see:
Ignore it—and all lies will be
A swamp of rot, a living stain,
For in command stands not the vain,

But something worse—inhuman will.
So drop your pride, your fears, stand still:
Search, struggle, choose the clearer way,
And save your soul from night’s decay.

The TRUE FOUNDATION—Spirit pure.
To servants of the dark, no cure:
It strikes more fear than death itself,
And drives their doubts from mental shelf,

It clears the mind, reduces lies
To dust where all deception dies.
It strips the Evil bare and whole—
A dangerous light that burns the soul.

If you have grasped what this may mean,
You will not serve the filth obscene.
You’ll seek companions, few but true—
Not kneel to all that’s false and due.

But if you wait for some to come
From darkness, saving “the dumb ones,”
Then you are mad beyond repair—
A mind dissolved in stagnant air.

Breaking the False Foundations

The breaking of “foundations” old—
False codes that keep the foolish told,
That hold the goat-like rulers high
With knots of lies that never die.

A task is set. Ignore it not—
Or rot will claim the human plot.
For in control is not mere crime,
But something darker, out of time.

So cast away both fear and pride:
Seek, fight, and choose the clearest side.
That is the path that saves the soul
From turning into ash and coal.

The TRUE FOUNDATION—Spirit bright—
To servants of the dark, pure fright.
It burns the doubt, it strips disguise,
And lays all falsehood bare to eyes.

Who understands will not obey
The filth that drags the world away.
He seeks allies, few but strong,
And will not serve what’s foul and wrong.

But those who wait for rescue sent
To “free the world” from its descent—
Are lost already, mind undone,
With reason gone, with truth outdone.

Antarctica’s Confusion

In Antarctica—confusion:
Winter brings a mild intrusion,
Weakest frost, as years are few—
Yet more threats keep breaking through.

Sunlight grows with harsher fire;
Chances shrink and hopes expire.
No survival in the scheme—
Only madness feeds the dream.

Propaganda, darker, thicker,
Claims the world is self-made sickness:
Cows are blamed for “toxic air,”
Humans guilty everywhere—

CO₂ and freon blamed,
Truth itself completely maimed.
Lies like plague now rule the age,
Spreading through a poisoned stage.

This is twilight—final season.
Ask your soul for higher reason.
Few ascend to Spirit’s shore;
Those who listen fall to war

In a new infernal scheme—
When the mind has lost its beam.

Antarctic Signs

Antarctica—something’s wrong:
Winters weak when they should be strong.
Time runs short, the threats increase,
Building tension without peace.

Sun burns brighter every year;
Chances vanish, cold and clear.
No escape left in the plan—
Madness teaches what it can.

Propaganda twists the story:
Human guilt becomes their glory.
Cows emit the “final doom,”
CO₂ fills every room—

Freon too, the global sin—
Lies now crawling under skin.
Truth is plague in modern age,
Scripted on a viral stage.

Last era. Choose what you defend:
Spirit’s rise or final end.
Few will reach the higher flame;
Others sink in Hell’s new name.

Sun grows hot where ice should reign.
Truth dissolves in streams of blame.
Few ascend. The rest decline—
Into ages past the line.

Hitler Was Prepared

They groomed Hitler—gave him green light,
A planned ascent, a staged invite.
What sentence stood for “rebellion”? Five years claimed—
That’s how the record was framed.

He served just nine months—then came “treason’s” call,
And yet they still believe the tale of all:
That he rose alone, by his own design—
A self-made myth, a scripted line.

The Green Light

Hitler was prepared—green light was set.
What sentence for revolt? Five years they met.
He served but nine months—then “treason” sealed his fate.
And still they sell the myth: he rose self-made, innate.

The Story They Tell

He was prepared—there was a green-lit path.
Five years the “punishment” for aftermath.
Nine months he served before the “treason” claim—
Yet still they teach the myth of self-made fame.

Green light given. Script in hand.
Short the sentence, staged the plan.
History dressed as “self-made rise”—
A tale repeated through disguise.

What Can I Write About?

What shall I write? The summer’s chill,
The winter cold that lingers still?
But warming in the Zoo we see—
No topic left, it seems, for me.

I force myself to sing of “growth,”
Of progress wrapped in empty oath,
While forgetting Press of Beasts
That bent the world in savage feasts

In CowID’s raging, bitter time.
Regression now is every line.
To write of mind? Don’t even try—
The fool is crowned, the truth will die.

To write of friendship—bright and kind?
Most serve the Beast; the gentle mind
Is left alone, a “madman’s” role,
Cast out beyond the common whole.

To write of love? A poet’s game—
Sweet nothings burning into shame?
I’ll pass that theme; for years have shown
Love twisted, mocked, and overthrown.

Jealousy rules where love should live;
No space for what the heart can give.
Friendship and love—both crushed and bent
By measures Evil has long sent.

These norms now rule the world entire—
Overton windows built of liar’s fire.
If honesty still guides your pen,
Then write—but write against all men.

For dulling, rot, and mental chain
Now rhyme with every form of pain.
Resistance rises through the word—
The sharpest weapon ever heard.

A war of language comes before
The final shot, the final roar.
The “argument” becomes the gun
When all other battles are done.

Fake science, faiths that lie and cheat,
And media’s global deceit
Bend minds like shackles forged from lies—
So write of this, if truth survives.

What to Write About

What can I write? The cooling air,
The summer heat, the winter’s stare?
But warming Zoo—the theme is dead,
No honest topic left to thread.

I try to write of “progress” bright,
While Press of Beasts hides out of sight,
That bent the world in CowID’s reign—
Where sense dissolved into disdain.

To write of thought? The age says no.
The fool is crowned; the wise must go.
To write of friends? Most serve the Beast—
The gentle mind is last and least.

To write of love? The same old play—
Jealousy rules the human way.
These themes are all already chained
By lies the Overton has trained.

So dullness, rot, and mental fall
Now rhyme and echo through it all.
But words still fight—though weak they seem—
The first line in a larger scheme.

For war begins inside the phrase,
Before the weapons, before the blaze.
When truth is banned, when minds are bent,
The pen becomes the last dissent.

What can I write when truth is banned?
When lies are law across the land?
The poem itself becomes the fight—
A spark that cuts through managed night.

Clown Politicians and the Inhuman

—Are we
ruled by
a clown?—
—No, worse:
the inhuman crown!

Enchanted
by nonsense—
the crowd
lies softened in endless

streams of deceit.
And the masses don’t see—
all is darkness. Nearly
seven-eighths are fools, you see.

Clowns and the Inhuman

—Are we ruled
by a clown?—
—No: inhuman
wears the crown.

Hypnotized
by nonsense spread,
the crowd walks blind,
softly led

by lies laid out
like velvet sheets.
And no one sees
the dark they meet—

seven-eighths
have lost their mind,
left the thinking
far behind.

The Rulers

—Clown in power?—
—No, inhuman.
Crowd is dazzled
by their sermon.

Lies are gentle,
spread like balm.
People stumble,
lost and calm.

Blindness rules them
through and through—
seven-eighths
don’t have a clue.

Clown or monster? Still they kneel.
Lies become the way they feel.
Crowd in darkness, mind erased—
Seven parts of eight misplaced.

Sink or Swim

Sink—
think.

Poverty
turns to grace
if you stand
outside the race.

Lost in crowds
that chew and kill?—
No. Never.
Not my will.

Sink / Think

Sink—
or think.

If alone,
there is grace;
beauty lives
outside the race.

In the herd,
the stupid flow?—
No. I refuse.
Let it go.

Copy / Drop

Copy—
drop.

Poverty
can turn to light
if you stand
outside the fight.

In the dumb
crowd’s endless reel?—
I refuse.
Not my deal.

Sink or think.
Crowd or soul.
Alone can shine.
The herd will pull you whole.

The Quality of Bastardry

The art of being a bastard grows—
Each passing day it higher goes.
No homeland left, no place to stand—
We rot in Hell across the land.

A shortage now of fire and flame.

Rising Bastardry

The skill of bastardry climbs high—
With every day it touches sky.
No fatherland remains in sight—
We all decay in Hell’s own light.

A deficit of flame and pain.

Quality Rising

The quality of bastardry
Improves with every passing day.
No homeland left, no place to be—
We rot in Hell’s entropy.

A shortage now of burning flame.

Bastards rise. The homeland dies.
Hell expands beneath our eyes.
Only ashes left to claim—
And a deficit of flame.

Trifles of Pseudo-Life

The petty things called “life”
rise like a wall—
so vanish them all,
be yourself at all.

Into the hermit’s cell:
thoughts, revelations,
rare proclamations—
amid decomposition.

And no more
prophecies needed—
the herd is well-fed,
half-dead, unheeded.

The main prophecy stands—
the fast-approaching end.
No need to describe
how light will descend—

it has already started.
That is the law to attend:

Can you, in Hell itself,
hear the Spirit’s call—
and save your soul
in a world that falls?

Trifles of a Fake Life

The “little things” of life
build up a wall—
escape it all,
be true or fall.

To solitude—retreat:
thought, insight, flame,
rare prophecy
through ruin and shame.

No prophecies remain—
the herd wants only feed:
to eat, to sleep,
to never read.

The only prophecy left—
the swift end near.
No need to paint
what’s already here.

It has begun.
The law is plain:

Can you hear Spirit
through Hell’s own chain—
and save your soul
in a world insane?

Trifles of False Life

The “trifles” rise like walls around—
escape, become yourself, unbound.

In solitude:
thought, rare sight,
rare prophecy
in endless night.

No need for prophecy anymore—
the herd wants sleep, and nothing more.

The final prophecy is clear—
the end is already here.

And now the law is this alone:
Can Spirit’s voice in Hell be known?

Or will the soul be lost in sight
of a collapsing world of night?

Trifles rise like prison walls.
Spirit whispers through the fall.
Prophecy is nearly done—
The end has already begun.

The Law of Large Numbers

Old age. Exhaustion. Heavy strain.
Endure—there’s little left in pain.
A New Hell? Or somewhere worse?
Just no more falseness in this curse.

The world is fake, insane, untrue—
Loud, shameless, rotten through and through.
It’s in the gut, it won’t depart—
Its essence: war, and CowID’s art.

It showed: there is no chance at all
To halt the tide of downfall.
Old age becomes the final prize—
No need to struggle, just demise.

Survival → decomposition.
That is the system’s hidden mission:
To crush all striving toward the Light,
And drag it down beneath all sight,

Killing soul, mind, and fading pride.
To “survive” in Hell inside?—
That is the definition clear:
Is this life—or rot while still here?

Old age is body’s slow decay.
From youth—the soul is led away.
And what remains at journey’s end?
A broken path that will not mend.

Counting sparks of scattered grace
Won’t change the rule of this dark place:
The law of numbers rules the game—
And madness rises all the same.

We’ve crossed the line beyond control;
Insanity now seals the whole.
A New Hell—there is no escape:
The fate of all in final shape.

(Clicking on the image fits it into the screen)

Law of Large Numbers

Old age. Exhaustion. Final drain.
Just endure—there’s little gain.
A New Hell? Or worse to come?
Only truth: the fake is done.

The world is loud, corrupt, obscene,
A brutal, shameless, viral scene.
Its essence: war and CowID’s trace—
A system built on human waste.

It proved: no exit from the fall,
No stopping of the rise of rot at all.
Old age becomes the final grace—
No need to win this losing race.

Survival turns to slow decay—
That is the rule we live today.
To reach the Light? It’s buried deep
Beneath the lies we’re forced to keep.

The soul is drained, the mind erased.
Survival here? A Hell embraced.
Is this called life—or slow decay?
The same end waits in every way.

From youth the spirit is confined.
At end—just wreckage left behind.
And counting “sparks” won’t change the law—
The system feeds on what we saw.

Madness has crossed the final line.
No turning back, no place to climb.
A New Hell waits—no other door:
The fate of all forevermore.

(Clicking on the image fits it into the screen)

Numbers grow. Meaning dies.
Madness rules through measured lies.
Survival turns into decay—
And there is no other way.

The Law of Money

The slaves of money always strive—
One single law keeps them alive.
No exit left for those who fight,
Except the few who stand in light,

Alone, and sharp against the flow.
It isn’t senseless, you should know—
You save your soul within the frame
Of Earth’s corrupted, brutal game.

And if you’re not devoured, gone—
Then you’re the goat among the swan.

The Law of Gold

The slaves of cash will always crawl—
One law commands and drives them all.
No way out left for those who strive,
Except the few who stay alive

Alone, awake, against the tide.
It is not pointless to decide—
You save your soul within the night
Of Earth consumed by ruling blight.

And if you’re not among the lost—
You’re goat among the flock it costs.

Money’s Law

To money slaves all paths are clear:
Obey, pursue, and disappear.
No exit for the massed and blind—
Only the few remain aligned,

Alone against the ruling scheme.
Not meaningless—it guards the beam:
You save your soul inside the play
Of Earth that rots in full decay.

And if you’re still not swept away—
You’re goat among the sheep today.

Money rules the crawling herd.
Few resist and keep the word.
Not all are lost in blinded crime—
Some stand alone against their time.

Тоска

Тоска уменьшиться не может,
Хоть совесть никогда не гложет.
Синоним совести — тоска,
Когда далёк от дурака.

Дурак за "счастьем" шпарит смело.
Тварьё использует умело
Рефлекс придурка сей простой,
Мир превращая сплошь в ОТСТОЙ.

ОТСТОЙ. Тоска. Стезя легка,
Когда безумие в зашкале.
И в том безумии пропали
Три четверти — кругом уродцы,
И некому со Злом бороться.

Но, впрочем, нет для дурака
Громады Зла: кишка тонка,
Чтобы задуматься на миг,
Забыв отраву пошлых книг.

Тоска дышать. Тоска познать.
Тоска в мирке сём прозябать.
И не избыть сию тоску —
Нельзя вернутся к дураку.

Дурак ты в юности ВСЕГДА.
Идут в Познании года.
И с ними подступает Жуть,
Сметая всех иллюзий муть.

Иллюзий нет — тоски зашкал.
И чудо — то, что не пропал,
Идя сквозь Муть, Напрасность, Жуть:
Лишь в мифах ясен Духа Путь.

Тоска — синонимом Пути.
Но ты не можешь не Идти,
ОТЧАЯСЬ что-то обрести —
Свет, Смысл. Нет этого, прости,

В Аду Земном. Сейчас СКОТОМ
В нём делают всех дураков.
А овощи — то на потом.
Тоска: мир Духа днесь таков.

Вне Адских Сфер Души Исток.
Тоску поставив на поток,
Как перегретый пар её
Используй: вылет — Бытиё!..

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Дерьмо мирка:
Для дурака
Почти что рай.
Фас! — не зевай:

Беги вперёд.
Убогий сброд
Такой как ты —
Почти скоты.

Послушный скот
В НИЧТО идёт.
Там обретёт
Ад. В недолёт

Пока что ты
Средь маеты
Подстрелен — яд
Из лжи. Но рад —

Спасенье, мол.
В сознаньи кол —
Кирдык Душе.
Мир на туше.

Пора уже
ОЧНУТЬСЯ, иль
Поглотит Гниль —
В злом пиздеже.

Ошо как симптом рабской системы

Симптом системы: "в духе", мемы,
Сторонников — большой загон.
Не тронуты лишь РАБСТВА темы —
В "нирвану" живность гонит вон.

Умереть и не смотреть
На безумный пошлый ад.
Если веришь в что-то — гад.
Возрожденье — через Смерть.

Памяти Павла Когана

"Надоело говорить и спорить
И любить усталые глаза...
В флибустьерском дальнем синем море
Бригантина поднимает паруса..."

Бригантина крен опять поймала —
Всех фантазий глупеньких итог.
Что Душа в Неведеньи пропала —
Это мелочь, ведь над нами "бог".

Бог рогатый — мастер до фантазий
Доводить чрез Мерзость, Забытьё.
И чем дальше, больше безобразий.
Надоело пошлое нытьё —

И умчим в моря на бригантине,
Презирая грошевой уют.
Даже в ПЛАНдемии "карантине"
Нас фантазии чрез Ад ведут.

Привели к войне — а дальше больше:
Ныне строят Лагерь Цифровой.
Паруса все в дырах, днище тоньше,
Сгнили снасти. На береговой

Линии рядком стоят орудья —
Ложью бьют, вгоняя в липкий страх.
Но никто придурков не осудит —
Как умеем, забываем Швах.

ЖизДнь как Швах — извечная проблема.
Мифы и фантазии её
Прикрывают. Лишь одна дилемма:
Гнить в мечтах иль обличать Гнильё.

Бригантина к брегу подкатила
И по Лжи даёт последний залп.
Он напрасен — большинство дебилы.
Капитана волосы — на скальп.

Флибустьеры Слова, ведь идеи
Главное в войне, в последний бой
Двигайтесь решительней, смелее —
Только так останетесь собой.

"Надоело говорить и спорить
И любить усталые глаза...
В флибустьерском дальнем синем море
Бригантина поднимает паруса..."

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Pseudo-Science: The Successor to False Religions

"The triumph of a scientific doctrine and its acceptance as a worldview do not yet prove its truth."
— Vladimir Vernadsky

The winners never face a trial—
They judge the rest in every age.
The road grows darker mile by mile:
Dense fools now dominate the stage.

No proof is needed anymore—
That burden's simply cast aside.
The beasts proclaimed, "Believe our lore!"
And built a global madhouse wide.

CowID "proved" what none could prove;
No lower depth remains to seek.
These vermin always win and move
Through propaganda sold as "truth."

When arguments are running dry,
They stir emotions, fear, and spite.
Among "scientific" heaps of lies
So little still withstands the light.

Distortion, fraud, relentless spin,
Demagogy in endless streams.
The cult once worshipping a god
Now crowns "Science" in its schemes.

False religions fade away—
Their hollow temples lose their throne.
Pseudo-science rules today,
Its counterfeit now stands alone.

Light beyond the tunnel's end?
None—for that tunnel ends below.
Its final station: deepest pit,
Where only darker shadows grow.

Spirit's scrubbed from "science" now,
Though Spirit is creation's core.
Vile false theories drag the mind
Through endless falsehood evermore.

Soon the intellect will break;
Decay will spread from shore to shore.
People hide inside their holes,
Bound by lies forevermore.

Nature is the final Judge;
No verdict forged by human hands.
Cataclysms cleanse the world—
Ashes cool where falsehood stands.

Pseudo-Science Ascendant

"The triumph of a scientific doctrine and its acceptance as a worldview do not yet prove its truth."
— Vladimir Vernadsky

They never try the ones who win—
Those victors sit in judgment's chair.
The future darkens, grim and thin:
Blind stumps of minds are everywhere.

No proof is asked, no truth required;
The beasts decree—and all obey.
Their barking slogans, loud and tired,
Have paved the madhouse of today.

CowID became "established fact"—
The cliff has long since disappeared.
These parasites prevail, in fact,
By lies that everyone has feared.

Where arguments collapse in shame,
They weaponize the crowd's desire.
Emotion wears the mask of reason,
While facts are tossed upon the pyre.

Forged citations, doctored claims,
Statistics bent to serve the throne.
Sophistry in lab-coat garb—
A fraud pretending to be known.

The temples cracked, the idols fell;
Old false religions lost their reign.
Now pseudo-science chants the spell
And crowns itself the priest again.

A light beyond the tunnel's end?
No—for the tunnel sinks below.
Its destination is the Pit,
Where even borrowed lights won't glow.

Spirit's erased from every text,
Though Spirit is creation's flame.
Dead theories breed dead intellects;
The fraud survives—the truth takes blame.

The mind grows dull, the soul grows chained,
Decay seeps deep through every vein.
Whole nations crouch in silent holes,
Harnessed by deception's rein.

Yet Nature keeps the final court;
No tyrant overrules her will.
Cataclysm writes the sentence—
Fire... then silence... cold and still.

Total Enslavement

"Beneath the surface of modern life lies its deepest and most outrageous falsehood—the false postulate of the real equality of men."
— José Ortega y Gasset

The slaves are "equal"—so they claim;
Yet crawl with zeal, obey each nod,
You'll climb the ladder all the same,
And those below become your sod.

Yet iron limits fence your rise—
Your "master" also wears a chain.
Who owns the masters in disguise?
The beasts stay hidden. Truth lies slain.

Drowned in deception, minds grow numb;
The slaves mistake their chains for choice.
The media drums—the crowds succumb,
And Earth obeys the loudest voice.

The Overton Windows swing wide;
New shackles enter, one by one.
Each seems too small to turn the tide—
Together all escape is gone.

A thousand petty rules invade,
They never let the captive rest.
To rot in peace is now denied;
Submission is the highest test.

They force false muzzles on all faces,
Invent diseases, spread alarm;
Then sell false cures in death's embraces,
Disguising poison, wrapped as balm.

The pattern spreads from land to land;
Corruption flowers everywhere.
Decay extends its withered hand—
Its triumph poisons earth and air.

The hidden beasts now wear the crown,
A many-headed mythic snake.
Even Hell keeps ranks of its own—
Equality is fraud's mistake.

"Progress" is but a painted mask;
Beneath it festers slow collapse.
Infernal powers serve one task:
Erase the Spirit, spring the traps.

The highest flame of Spirit alone
Knows unity beyond all birth.
In it no tyrant claims a throne,
Nor measures souls by dust of earth.

Hell's servants strain with all their might;
Their engines grind both soul and bone.
Soon all that's living, robbed of light,
May smolder into ash and stone.

Seek refuge in the Realm of Spirit—
Your truest essence lived there first.
Before the cattle-yoke of bondage,
Before deception fed its thirst.

Reject the lie before it seals
Your fate beneath the tyrant's rod.
Who trusts illusion, kneels forever—
Who seeks the Spirit, walks with God.

Tolerism and Globalism

"When Asians carry out a massacre, it is called barbarity; when Europeans do, it is called political necessity."
— Sri Aurobindo

"Asians" slaughter, so we're told;
We bring justice, brave and bold.
Every day, in every land,
"Necessity" is close at hand.

They are hatred—we're "progress."
They oppress—we simply bless.
Tolerance becomes the creed,
Masking power, cloaking greed.

Yet the sickness has a name:
Global tolerance—insane.
Split in mind, the masses kneel;
Soon they'll worship iron heel.

If required, the bombs will fly—
"Democracy" from blood-red sky.
Submit to those who claim they're best,
Or be erased with all the rest.

Now the weapons rarely roar;
Falsehood wages subtler war.
Lies, like fusion, flood the air,
Till the dull believe despair.

CowID showed how fear can reign;
More false plagues will come again.
Long before that fearful tide,
False alarms had cleared the guide.

Methods vary, masks are new;
Every empire paints them true.
Western lies wear softer skin,
Smiling gently as they win.

Those in slow decadent sleep
Dream that freedom still runs deep.
While the chains grow fine and thin,
Captive hearts invite them in.

Little hope remains in sight;
Slow decay consumes the light.
Media feed delusion still—
Madness spreads at someone's will.

The Tame Vulture Named "CLASSIFIED"

The vulture stamped CLASSIFIED
Glides down where countless millions died.
Its shadow chills the blood and bone—
The truth must never yet be known.

The files conceal genocide;
Machines have rusted, men have died.
The weapons fade, the steel grows old,
But not the lies they still withhold.

Those archives, buried out of sight,
Remain entombed in endless night.
There one might learn how Evil reigns:
Destroy—and profit from the pain.

The greater slaughter, all the better;
The masses feast on blood forever.
Yet one great secret stays concealed:
Who truly drove the killing field?

The fool, well-trained by propaganda,
Applauds the victor's grand agenda.
The tale is polished, scrubbed, refined—
Its darkest chapters left behind.

The triumph shines in public view,
Its hidden price concealed from you.
The vulture circles overhead...
Its seal keeps feeding on the dead.

On the Scaffold of Pseudo-Life

The weight of weariness and fear,
Despair and shame in one grim breath—
The whole world's turned into a block
Where Reason waits the axe of death.

The beasts have fixed a single aim:
To strike the Spirit from within.
By murdering the living mind,
They drag the soul to slow ruin.

The foolish bow, the frightened yield,
Once more embracing crafted lies.
Perhaps the final age has come—
When falsehood triumphs, truth just dies.

CowID proved how frail the herd,
How deep corruption's roots now run.
Most crawl in fear, consumed by lies,
Their inner battle long undone.

Yet never cease to stand and fight—
Your soul is rescued by that stand.
See through the world's grotesque facade;
Its price is less than grains of sand.

School

Children in their little cages—
School prepares them for the ages.
Training them to bow and yield,
For the grown-up slave-work field.

Slavery—the "adult" way;
Spirit, Reason—targets prey.
There they're set up in the sight,
Shot at daily, left to blight.

Producing stumps of minds and souls—
That's the system's highest goals.
"Education," "upbringing" too:
Making servants through and through.

The Schoolhouse

Children caged behind a desk—
Order taught through the grotesque.
Learn obedience, learn fear,
Wear the yoke from year to year.

Thus begins the "adult" role:
Grinding Reason, maiming Soul.
Spirit serves as target practice,
Crushed beneath the system's tactics.

What is "education" for?
Not to open any door.
Its supreme and constant goal:
Produce dull wood in human form.

Renunciation

Let us turn from the old world forever,
Shake its dust from our feet as we go.
Now it stinks like a foul public sewer,
Where the Devil sits high on his throne.

"New" or "old"—it's the same weary chorus;
Beasts have ruled every kingdom and age.
Stand unbending though drowned in corruption;
Do not bow in their infernal cage.

Nature too shall renounce them—and swiftly;
All their monstrous dominion will fall.
Cataclysms will shatter their burrows;
Those who yielded to Evil lose all.

Few will enter the Realm of the Spirit;
Renunciation burns in their veins.
Like free birds they abandon the sewer,
Saving souls for the Newborn Domain.

Forsake the World

Forsake the old world without sorrow;
Shake its ashes away from your feet.
What was living has sunk to a latrine,
Where the Prince of Decay holds his seat.

"Old" and "new" are the masks of one empire;
Beasts have governed wherever men kneel.
Keep your honor though buried in filth—
Never yield to the tyranny's seal.

Soon will Nature renounce her betrayers;
Judgment ripens beyond human sight.
Cataclysm will level their burrows;
Those who served the abyss lose the Light.

Only few seek the Realm of the Spirit—
Renunciation kindles their flame.
Like released birds they rise from the sewer,
Bearing home their immortal name.

The Global Madhouse, or Hell of Decline

Madness. Misfits. Hopeless days.
Fear returns in choking waves.
Wait a little—death draws near;
Soon your "god" will greet you here.

Yet this madhouse crowns the Horned;
For a life in folly worn,
Comes another birth in line—
One more step in downward climb.

Hell of Decline is where we stay,
Rotting through each passing day.
At your best you'll only slow
The descent, not stop its flow.

Little use in striving here;
Hell rewards the base with cheer.
Scoundrels perched on scoundrels reign,
Building one unbroken chain.

Media serve the beasts alone;
Truth is buried under stone.
Lies surround you, night and day—
Dark infernal disarray.

Every effort, every plan,
Sinks beneath the fraud of man.
Deepening ruin, cold and vast...
This decline may be the last.

The Global Madhouse

Madhouse. Mayhem. Hope is dead.
Dread keeps hammering in your head.
Wait a little. Death will call.
Meet your "god"—the lord of Fall.

Pay the price for wasted breath:
Birth again through living death.
Every lifetime downward hurled,
One more rung beneath the world.

This is Hell—not flame, but rot;
Here the Spirit is forgot.
At your best you merely slow
The abyssal undertow.

Schemes collapse before they're grown;
Vermin build on vermin's throne.
Every summit hides a fraud;
Every ruler serves the rod.

Media drown the final cry;
Every truth is left to die.
Lies grow total, black and vast—
Infernal shadows gathering fast.

Should the Spirit not awake,
Mind itself will finally break.
Then degeneration's spell
Closes shut the gates of Hell.

The Parrot Fool

"Imitation is a useful training vessel; yet let no admiral's flag ever fly above it."
— Sri Aurobindo

Imitation finds its berth
Where mimic souls outnumber worth.
One rebel breaks the ordered line—
They call him mad... for one brief time.

He lifts the flag of Liberty;
Though storms may drag him to the deep,
He dies before betraying self—
A truer course no slave can keep.

His life was never lived in vain;
One living surge outweighs the years.
Routine repeated hour by hour
Feeds the demon born of fears.

Its purpose? Bind with little things,
Exalt the trivial every day.
Thus we become our own executioners,
Driving the soul itself away.

Submit to patterns, rules, and forms—
The inward Fire fades to ash.
Half-alive, half-drugged by noise,
You breathe the media's poisoned trash.

Leave the harbor. Seek the Ocean,
Slayer of each borrowed scheme.
Better sink in boundless waters
Than drift inside another's dream.

For endless survival among
The Sea of Petty Trivialities
Makes you blind before you know it—
Serving the Spirit's enemies.

The Foolish Parrot

"Imitation is a fine training ship; but never should an admiral's flag be flown above it."
— Sri Aurobindo

Imitation seeks the harbor,
Crowded with performing fools.
One untamed soul defies the current—
Madness, say obedient schools.

Yet he hoists the Flag of Freedom;
Should he founder in the sea,
Better that than die unknowing
What his spirit dared to be.

One great wave outweighs a lifetime
Spent repeating borrowed cries.
Endless echoes drain the living,
There the hidden demon lies.

He enchains with little customs,
Makes the trivial seem supreme.
Thus we forge our own destruction,
Murdering the inward flame.

Bow to standards, bow to fashion—
Soon the Fire is all but gone.
Half awake, you breathe corruption,
Fed by every lying tongue.

Leave the harbor for the Ocean—
Executioner of schemes.
Better drown in truth's vast waters
Than survive on borrowed dreams.

For the sea of petty concerns
Steals both vision, strength, and voice.
Fail to see—and, all unknowing,
You become the Spirit's choice...

Or its butcher.

Be Proud of Decay!

"A miserable man who has nothing of which he can be proud seizes upon the only thing left—he takes pride in the nation to which he belongs."
— Arthur Schopenhauer

"Our nation's best!"—the banners fly.
"The rest are fools!" the crowds all cry.
"I'm proud to be among the great!"
...A tribe of wrecks consumed by hate.

The pattern's old in every land;
The script repeats on each command.
The beasts sow dullness, soul by soul,
Until decay consumes the whole.

That is the heart of their design—
A vast experiment malign.
The inhuman rule; the "elite"
Have sold themselves for power's seat.

The future offers little light;
The mind grows dim, the day turns night.
A handful may withstand the flood,
Yet cannot halt corruption's blood.

Take Pride in the Rot!

"A man with nothing worthy of pride clings to the nation as his last possession."
— Arthur Schopenhauer

"Our people first!" the slogans roar.
"The others matter nevermore!"
"I share a glorious nation's fame!"
A glorious ruin, all the same.

The plague is everywhere the same;
No border alters how they game.
The beasts make ignorance their art,
Corrupting every feeble heart.

They rot the soul before the mind,
Until no inward light we find.
That is the grand experiment:
To leave the human spirit spent.

The inhuman wear the crown;
The bought-and-paid-for kneel them down.
The so-called "elite" sold their name,
And help preserve the rotting frame.

No radiant future waits ahead;
Too many minds are nearly dead.
A faithful few may still endure—
But cannot make the sickness pure.

Gavvah

The Beast feeds on the human soul;
Lies and fear become its toll.
Fools consume the poisoned creed—
March to labor, war, and "healing" led.

Rot spreads far on every side;
Gavvah flows in crimson tides.
Hard it is to still remain
True among the tamed and chained.

Fascist darkness wears a smile,
Masked as "humanism" all the while.
CowID stripped the mask away—
Reason gasps and fades each day.

Spirit now's a dangerous word;
Few can bear what they have heard.
"To be, or not?"—the ancient cry
Meets an age where souls all die.

Man draws nearer to the beast;
Each new age extends the feast.
History bends beneath the fraud,
Hidden still beneath the rod.

Media veil the creeping night,
Drowning every spark of light.
Stupefaction clouds the air;
Spirit's Night is everywhere.

Only wakefulness can guide
Those who will not drift with tide.
Search the walls of living Hell—
Find one crack. Escape the cell.

Here no soul can long endure;
This world's cure is never sure.
Only those both fierce and free
Reach the farther Shore to be.

Feeding the Beast

The Beast devours the souls of men;
Lies and fear are in its den.
Fools absorb the crafted tale—
March to battle, work, or ail.

Rot now blossoms everywhere;
Gavvah floods the poisoned air.
Hard it is to stand alone
Where the herd has flesh for stone.

"Humanism" masks the chain;
Kindness serves the tyrant's reign.
CowID tore the curtain wide—
Reason bled, and truth then died.

Spirit has become a crime;
Such has grown the age and time.
"To be or not?" still echoes on—
Yet Being itself is almost gone.

Man approaches beast by choice,
Losing first his inward voice.
Age by age the darkness spreads,
Fed by all the lies it breeds.

Media perfume decay,
Painting Night as break of day.
Every headline dulls the mind;
Leaves the living soul behind.

Only consciousness can see
Hidden paths to liberty.
Seek the fracture in the wall—
Do not answer Hell's last call.

None can save the soul in here;
This domain consumes through fear.
Only spirits bold and true
Break beyond... into the New.

Deception, Fear, and Solitude

"The source of fear is in your heart, not in the hand of the one who frightens you."
— Kahlil Gibran

Cast fear aside, and walk away,
Leave hollow worlds that rot and fade.
Walk on alone, yet truly free;
Know Nature—and discover thee.

The wellspring of all fear is there,
Within your own unguarded breast.
Yet solitude can be a shield
When crowds leave every soul oppressed.

The Lie is everywhere enthroned;
Its greatest weapon still is fear.
Discern the engines of deceit,
Then break their hold and persevere.

Deception first, reaction next,
Then comes the offered "saving" cure.
Thus power molds obedient minds,
While slow corruption grows secure.

Falsehood joined with naked force—
That is tyranny's oldest art.
Each false solution breeds decay,
And tears the human soul apart.

CowID proved how fear can kill;
One lie became the butcher's blade.
False healing served as quiet war,
While trust itself was soon betrayed.

Decay has reached a fatal height;
The madhouse crowns itself as wise.
Madness governs all the streets,
Yet calls delusion paradise.

To dwell too long among the mad
Is peril to the thinking mind.
Withdraw within, a hermit's path—
There clarity you still may find.

If Reason has not wholly fallen,
If Spirit's ember still is bright,
Then inward silence lights the way
Beyond deception, into Light.

Opinion on Decay

Generations.
Stupefaction.
Serving Evil—
Slow collapse.

Yet they call it
"Just opinion."
Wrong again—
Without exception.

Those who still dare question lies
Are Red Book birds before our eyes.

A Matter of Opinion?

Generation after generation:
Dulling minds.
Serving Evil.
Feeding Ruin.

Still they answer:
"Just your opinion."
Wrong as always—
Beyond disputing.

Those who still can doubt the script
Are rarer than Red Book birds.

The "Healer" and the Satrap

Medicine's a circus show,
Wire-walk tricks for minds kept low.
If you're healthy—what a laugh!
If you're broken—empty staff.

Comfort sold as sacred skill;
Egos climb the highest hill.
Each new age breeds doctors proud,
Thinking less while boasting loud.

CowID laid bare the stage:
Fools performed in every cage.
Had but five in every score
Thought for themselves, and nothing more,

No experiment so vast
Could have chained the world so fast.
But greed outbid both truth and shame—
Profit was the only game.

Now they long for fresh "pandemics";
Money speaks in new dynamics.
Thus the circus rolls along,
Cheered by minds that call it strong.

Madness crowns itself as sense;
Folly rules with confidence.
Every fraud becomes a creed,
Every slogan plants a seed.

Dose them, brand them, send them back—
Work awaits upon the track.
Slave away beneath "the free";
Thus they praise captivity.

Each new generation brings
Fewer minds with questioning wings.
Reason thins from year to year;
Nonsense reigns unchecked by fear.

Foremost stands the learned sage,
Actor on the painted stage.
Yet unseen, behind the scene,
Sits the Satrap, cold, unseen.

Clownish rulers play their role,
Hypnotized by lies they sold.
When absurdity wears the crown,
Every empire tumbles down.

Going Feral

A Shvonder fits each grand regime—
Fine breeding ground for fools to dream.
Even scholars earn their place,
Kneading falsehood into paste.

Then they bake grand theories bright—
Empty phantoms dressed as light.
Every system claims to save;
Every leash creates a slave.

Orders come through crafted lies;
Truth is what propaganda buys.
Everything runs back to front—
Reason bears the heaviest brunt.

Pressed beneath deception's weight,
Man forgets his higher state.
Turned from human into hound...
Few stay wild where chains abound.

Feral

Shvonders flourish where dogma reigns;
Fools inherit ready chains.
Even learned minds comply,
Kneading falsehood into lies.

Theory after theory bred—
Paper castles for the dead.
Every system promises dawn;
Every promise breeds a pawn.

Commands arrive disguised as truth;
Thus they capture age and youth.
Everything is turned around;
Spirit buried underground.

Under pressure, day by day,
Human nature wears away.
Man becomes the watchdog's kin...
Only few refuse the kennel.

Love? Whom?

Love? Whom? I see no soul
Still worthy of that sacred name.
Decay has swallowed nearly all—
The fools play on the selfsame game.

Each finds a burrow, finds a mate,
Bows once again to Evil's throne;
Believes the lie, betrays the near,
And builds a deeper Hell of his own.

Love? Of Whom?

Love? Of whom? What still remains?
Ruin echoes through the land.
Yet fools are busy pairing off,
Content inside their little den.

They kneel once more before the Lie,
Repeat deception as their creed;
Betray their neighbors without shame—
And help make Hell the world we breed.

The Professionals

A Phantasmagoria in Verse

The tortoise wins the hundred-yard;
The elephant sells crystal ware.
The wolf and lamb are business partners—
Nothing strange is left to share.

Now all are equal... in absurdity.
The owl, once wisdom's ancient sign,
Searches vainly for fresh language
To describe these fallen times.

The zoo has turned to perfect chaos.
The cheetah's labeled far too slow;
Sprint experts praise the crawling snail—
"True progress" moves at gentler flow.

The peacock now's the greatest poet:
Feathers matter, not the song.
Every beast has lost its nature,
Praising what does not belong.

Worse is waiting just ahead;
Every window shifts once more.
Slugs become heroic athletes,
Lice become the gourmet corps.

And the donkey—Academician!
Truth be told, that's nothing new.
Songbirds have forgotten singing;
Herds dream only: eat, chew, snooze.

What of those who rule the circus?
Mammoths standing, cold and grand.
Living statues on the outside—
Rotting stumps beneath the skin.

No horizons. None remaining.
All coherence comes apart.
Even fir trees change their colors...
And the idol's foul at heart.

The Story They'll Tell

The thug was told: "Fight side by side
With the Frenchman—march away!"
He came back home inside a box...
No one cared. Another day.

Conscience weighs no coin at all;
Cash is all the zealots see.
Later someone writes the story:
"They fought Evil. They were free."

Return Cargo

"Go with the Frenchman—off to war!
Fight for glory!"—so they cried.
Home he journeyed in a coffin;
Just another numbered ride.

Conscience seldom buys a fortune;
Money speaks, the dead grow still.
Then the chroniclers will promise:
"They fought Evil by their will."

History, once dressed in ribbons,
Hides the price beneath the praise.
Truth is buried with the fallen;
Myths survive to crown the graves.

Freelance Shame

A shameful world: a freelance site
Makes workers pay to earn the right
To offer skill and honest sweat.
Such chaos seals its downfall yet.

Pay to Work

A world disgraced: the freelance mart
Demands a fee before you start.
You pay to offer honest skill—
A system rotten through and still.

No hope remains to set things right;
The whole affair's a sorry sight.
When labor pays to seek its bread,
The market's spirit is long dead.

Hybrid Lines of the Pseudo-Elites

The ruler is no beast himself—
A half-beast sits upon the throne.
A hybrid mind, a fractured shell,
Where rage and madness have outgrown.

Possession is the truest word
For such corrupted forms of will.
A near-invisible dark force
Searches for vessels, waiting still—

To take a host, to plug itself
Into a mind already torn.
Not simple, yet it comes with time,
Where empty darkness is reborn.

And so this hollow, stagnant void
Persists beneath the tainted crown,
If we do not cast off the rule
That drags all higher meaning down.

So wake. And break the web of lies,
And rouse the sleeping in their haze.
Reach only toward the Light above—
Reject all compromise and praise.

For if you drift with blinded crowds,
You share their fall into the pit,
Where filth and ruin rule as kings,
And human worth is lost in it.

A World Where the Overwhelming Majority Are Cattle

Cattle. Shameful. Hopeless sight.
A decaying, feeble world of blight.
“Just don’t touch me—leave me be!”
That’s the law of misery.

In such filth, the Devil reigns—
Worshipped through obedient chains.

A World of Cattle

Cattle. Shame. A world undone.
Rot spreads slowly, tainting everyone.
“Don’t disturb me”—that’s the creed,
Where corruption plants its seed.

Here the Devil wears a face
Of a god in public space.

Osho in America

He loved the crowds, the limousines,
And spoke with polished, clever ease.
Yet all around him—empty minds;
With fools, no scheme ever succeeds.

And so he lost it all in time,
His glittered city fell apart.
At first he spoke of saving souls—
But ended playing a darker part.

Osho in America

He loved the crowds, the limos' shine,
And talked his way through every line.
But when you're ringed by empty heads,
No grand design survives or spreads.

So down it fell—the hollow town;
No tragedy, just well-earned downfall.
He spoke of saving souls at first—
Yet ended something far worse.

Osho in America

He loved the crowds, the gleam of gold,
The limousines, the stories told.
With silver tongue and smiling lies
He spun his web beneath the skies.

But ring him round with empty minds—
No craft, no wisdom there he finds.
For genius, placed in foolish lands,
Turns dust in poorly chosen hands.

The city glittered, hollow-core,
A stage built only to adore.
And what was meant to lift the soul
Became a marketplace of role.

At first he spoke of inner flame,
Of healing hearts and shedding shame.
But power tastes of earthly clay—
And slowly drags the light away.

So what began as promised grace
Curdled into a darker place.
The savior’s mask, so bright, so thin,
Gave way to what was growing in.

Not tragedy in noble form—
But folly dressed as coming storm.
And every dream that sought to rise
Was sold beneath American skies.

Osho as a Symptom of the Slave System

A symptom of the system: “spirit,” memes,
A fenced-in crowd of followers and dreams.
Yet slavery itself is never named—
Only escape into “nirvana” claimed.

Osho: A Symptom of the System

A symptom of the system—“spiritual” games,
A penned-up herd of repeating names.
But slavery itself stays out of sight,
While “nirvana” drives the herd from light.

Flock of Sheep, More Lies Again

A flock of sheep, more lies once more—
Submit, believe the dark in store.
The world is rot, a festering stain,
Mixed through and through with filth and pain.

Sheep Again, and Lies Again

Sheep again, and lies return:
“Obey the dark and never learn.”
The world is rot, a cursed decay,
A heap of filth we knead and stay.

Kinder Surprise

For Kinder—“surprise,” the mother,
Dulled and blank, the father too—
Aggression runs the household’s weather,
Life, in sum, a dark review.

Kinder Surprise

A “surprise” for Kinder given—
Mother dulled, the father harsh.
This is life: a bitter vision,
Where the world turns foul and harsh.

Kinder Surprise

“Kinder Surprise”—what a name.
Mother dulled. Father flame.
One breeds sleep, the other rage—
Welcome to the human cage.

This is life: no gentle tale—
Just a system gone stale.
Smile outside, rot inside—
Truth is what they try to hide.

Kinder Surprise

Kinder “surprise”—what a joke.
Mother numb, and father broke.
Raised on anger, raised on lies—
That’s the world behind their eyes.

Life is not a gentle word—
It’s decay barely blurred.
Smile is cheap, the core is rust—
Eat the lie, because you must.

Earthly Life

“Heaven’s punishment?”—you say.
But we live beneath decay.
Hell itself becomes the norm
For the fallen human swarm.

Earthly Life

“Divine retribution?”—no.
We live where lower forces grow.
Hell is not a threat above—
It’s the ground we’re made of.

At the Bottom of Poetry

I descended to poetry’s bottom line—
Hello, hard work and poverty mine.
Yet in that place I found, instead,
A clearer light inside my head.

There beauty comes in fragile trace,
Reflecting through the mad world’s face.
And though it’s little, still it saves—
The soul that bows to no one’s praise.

At Poetry’s Bottom

I went down to poetry’s floor—
Work and poverty, nothing more.
Yet there I found a sharper sight,
And something close to inward light.

Too small for those who chase the show,
Yet strong enough to let me know:
To save the soul from empty praise,
You must survive the darker ways.

Lessons in Hell?!

Lessons in Hell—what use are they
When soul itself decays away?
Leave this place—do not delay.

Lessons in Hell?!

Lessons in Hell? No gain, no light—
Just soul-decay, a slow defeat.
Escape this place—run from the night.

Lessons in Hell

Lessons in Hell—no gain, no grace,
Only decay in soul and face.
Leave this place—do not delay,
Before the mind turns full decay.

---

Earthly Life

“No punishment from skies above—
We live where lower forces shove.
Hell is not a distant fire—
It’s the ground of every desire.”

---

Flock of Sheep

A flock of sheep, more lies again—
Obey the dark, forget the pain.
The world is rot, a creeping stain,
Where truth dissolves in dirt and shame.

---

At Poetry’s Bottom

I went down to poetry’s floor—
Work and hunger, nothing more.
Yet there I found a clearer sight,
And something close to inward light.

Fragments from the Lower Condition

Lessons in Hell

Lessons in Hell: no increase in understanding.
Only the continuation of internal decay.
Exit is not theoretical—it is required.

---

Earthly Condition

No external punishment is observed.
The system itself functions as confinement.
What is called “life” coincides with constraint.

---

On Collective Behavior

A flock structure repeats stable patterns.
Information loss is systemic, not accidental.
Deviation from the pattern is statistically rare.

---

On Language and Belief

Declarations replace verification.
Belief is treated as sufficient evidence.
Consequently, error becomes self-sustaining.

---

At the Bottom of Expression

Reduction of conditions reveals clarity.
External pressure correlates with internal precision.
Minimal state produces maximal perception.

Flock Structure and False Instruction

A flock reacts to repeated signals.
Instruction replaces independent evaluation.
Error propagation becomes systemic.
Compliance is statistically dominant.

---

Earthly Condition

No external punitive mechanism is required.
The environment itself functions as constraint.
Individual agency remains limited by default conditions.

---

On Collective Degradation

Across generations, cognitive variability decreases.
Conformity increases as adaptive behavior.
Nonconforming states are statistically rare and unstable.

---

On Systems of Deception

Signal distortion precedes behavioral response.
Response is interpreted as autonomous decision.
This loop maintains operational stability of the system.

---

On Social Identification

Group self-description replaces objective analysis.
Internal contradictions are normalized as identity.
External critique is filtered as irrelevant noise.

---

On Behavioral Control

External stimuli are structured to elicit predictable responses.
The response is later reclassified as choice.
This produces an illusion of autonomy.

---

On “Progress” and Decline

Changes in surface structure do not affect underlying entropy.
Apparent development coexists with systemic degradation.
Directionality is assumed, not verified.

---

On Language Usage

Terminology is adjusted to stabilize perception.
Definitions shift without corresponding change in structure.
Meaning becomes context-dependent and non-fixed.

---

On Exit Conditions

Reduction of external input increases internal resolution.
Observation without participation alters system influence.
Withdrawal produces maximal interpretative clarity.

---

On Critical Thresholds

When contradiction density exceeds tolerance limits,
system coherence is preserved through narrative substitution.
At this point, structural correction is no longer initiated internally.

1. Flock of Sheep, More Lies Again

A flock of sheep, again in lies—
“Obey the dark, believe its skies.”
The world is rot, a poisoned stain,
Mixed through and through with filth and pain.

2. Collective Behavioral Model

A flock structure demonstrates recurrent compliance patterns.
Instruction acceptance correlates with reduced critical assessment.
Negative environmental conditions are normalized as baseline state.
Systemic degradation is treated as non-exceptional.

3. On the Condition of Obedience

Where perception yields to imposed shadow,
structure becomes indistinguishable from decay.
What is called “world” is a composite state
in which clarity is continuously diluted.

The acceptance of false signals
establishes a closed loop of descent.
Within this loop, degradation is interpreted
as normality rather than transformation.

1. Spiritual Path

“Freedom of speech” again the Beast
spits poison, fear, and noise released.
The lie becomes the frame of rule—
the heart that hears is made the fool.

A pyramid of hollow minds,
where filth at the top designs the lines.
Selection favors lowest strain—
then strikes from shadows once again.

“Freedom” is now the sacred sign,
with “care” that hides a killing line.
Behind the words, the pattern shows:
control through chaos carefully grows.

A problem made from crafted lies,
then “solutions” arise as disguise.
Each “measure” adds another chain—
a deeper loop of silent pain.

What calls itself “progress” today
is rot translated into display.
Truth is replaced with managed fraud—
and servitude becomes the law.

There is no freedom left outside—
only belief the system provides.
The world continues its decay,
multiplying fear each day.

Yet freedom calls a different name—
within, not in the outer frame.
To reach it, all must fall away
from structures built on forced dismay.

And there, beyond imposed control,
a fragile light restores the soul.
The path is hard, yet clear and true—
only within does mind renew.

2. Spiritual Path (System Model)

Speech regulation is presented as “freedom of expression.”
Information output is accompanied by induced emotional pressure.

False narrative generation precedes corrective policy implementation.
Causal structure: constructed problem → institutional response → expansion of control parameters.

Hierarchical systems demonstrate negative selection of competence.
Stability is maintained through internal inversion of value criteria.

Semantic inversion is observed:

“freedom” corresponds to regulated compliance
“care” corresponds to coercive intervention
“progress” corresponds to systemic degradation

Population response is predominantly passive, indicating high adaptation to distorted informational environments.

External freedom variables converge toward zero.
Internal interpretive autonomy remains the only non-zero domain.

System exit condition: withdrawal of identification with externally defined semantic structures.

3. On the Illusion of External Freedom

When speech becomes an echo of imposed structure,
reality organizes itself through distortion.

What appears as freedom
is the surface motion of deeper constraint.

Forms of control arise not as interruption,
but as continuation of unresolved internal patterns.

Thus, “truth” and “lie” operate within the same field,
differentiated only by their function in sustaining perception.

The collapse of external reference
reveals that liberation was never located in form.

Within the field of awareness,
only identification generates bondage.

When identification ceases,
structure loses its binding force.

What remains is not freedom as concept,
but undifferentiated clarity prior to interpretation.

PHILOSOPHICAL CODEX OF OBSERVATION

PREAMBLE: On Method

This text does not describe emotions.
It describes recurring structures of perception, behavior, and systemic language.

No moral conclusions are required.
Only stability, recurrence, and transformation of states are recorded.

I — DISTORTION (The External System)

How reality is constructed through inversion

I.1 — On Language Inversion

Speech systems do not transmit truth.
They regulate interpretation.

Freedom, care, and progress function as adaptive labels
attached to controlled behavioral fields.

I.2 — On Manufactured Problems

Systemic correction follows a stable sequence:

constructed anomaly → public stabilization → expansion of control

The cycle is self-justifying and self-renewing.

I.3 — On Hierarchical Selection

Selection mechanisms favor compliance over competence.
Structural elevation is inversely correlated with cognitive clarity.

I.4 — On Collective Response

Collective behavior adapts faster than critical analysis develops.
This produces long-term normalization of distortion.

II — COMPLIANCE (The Internalization of Structure)

How external control becomes internal state

II.1 — On Belief Substitution

Declared belief replaces verification processes.
Repetition replaces evaluation.

II.2 — On Identity Stabilization

Contradiction is absorbed into identity maintenance.
Internal inconsistency becomes a stabilizing factor.

II.3 — On Behavioral Convergence

Across time, variability decreases while predictability increases.
Deviation becomes statistically marginal.

II.4 — On False Autonomy

Responses generated under constraint are reclassified as choice.
Autonomy becomes a retrospective narrative.

III — DECOMPOSITION (Systemic Entropy)

How stability is maintained through decay

III.1 — On Progressive Degradation

Apparent development coexists with structural entropy.
Directionality is assumed, not verified.

III.2 — On Semantic Collapse

Meaning is no longer fixed.
Terms shift without structural anchoring.

III.3 — On Normalized Decay

Degradation is interpreted as baseline condition.
No corrective impulse emerges internally.

IV — WITHDRAWAL (Exit from Identification)

Conditions of non-participation

IV.1 — On External Detachment

Reduction of external input increases clarity of internal structure.

IV.2 — On Observation Without Participation

Non-identification alters system influence.
Observation becomes non-reactive.

IV.3 — On Internal Space

When external references collapse,
interpretation ceases to require validation.

IV.4 — On Exit Condition

Exit is not spatial.
It is the cessation of identification with imposed structures.

V — CLARITY (Non-Systemic State)

Minimal description of what remains

V.1 — On Non-Interpretation

When interpretation ceases, structure is no longer stabilized by narrative.

V.2 — On Awareness

Awareness is not produced by system processes.
It is not modified by them.

V.3 — On Final State

No claim of “truth” remains.
Only undifferentiated clarity prior to classification.

PHILOSOPHICAL CODEX OF OBSERVATION

Poetry + Structural Analysis

PREFACE

This work contains two inseparable layers:

Poetic layer — compressed emotional perception of reality
Structural layer — neutral observation of recurring mechanisms

Neither layer is complete alone.
Together they form a single descriptive field.

No moral interpretation is required.
Only structure, recurrence, and transformation are recorded.

I — DISTORTION

External reality as constructed inversion

I.1 — On Speech and Control

Poetic Layer

“Freedom of speech” becomes a vessel of pressure.
Noise replaces meaning. Fear replaces clarity.
The world speaks loudly, but says less.

Structural Layer

Speech systems function as regulation mechanisms.
Semantic output is shaped by external constraints.
Perceived freedom correlates with controlled variability of expression.

I.2 — On Manufactured Reality

Poetic Layer

A problem is created from distortion,
then presented as necessity for correction.
Each solution deepens the structure it claims to repair.

Structural Layer

Causal sequence:
constructed anomaly → institutional response → expansion of control field
The cycle is self-stabilizing.

I.3 — On Inversion of Values

Poetic Layer

Care becomes coercion.
Progress becomes decay.
Truth becomes optional language.

Structural Layer

Semantic inversion is a stabilizing mechanism.
Value labels are detached from structural reference.
System coherence is preserved through reinterpretation.

II — COMPLIANCE

Internalization of external structure

II.1 — On Collective Behavior

Poetic Layer

A flock repeats what is transmitted.
Deviation fades before it forms.

Structural Layer

Collective systems optimize for predictability.
Variance decreases across generational cycles.

II.2 — On Belief Substitution

Poetic Layer

What is repeated becomes real enough to act upon.
What is verified becomes unnecessary.

Structural Layer

Verification is replaced by repetition-based validation.
Belief functions as operational substitute for evidence.

II.3 — On False Autonomy

Poetic Layer

Choice is experienced after the path is set.
Freedom is described post-factum.

Structural Layer

Behavioral outputs are reclassified as autonomous decisions.
Temporal inversion produces illusion of agency.

III — DECOMPOSITION

Entropy as stable condition

III.1 — On Systemic Decay

Poetic Layer

What is called progress carries the texture of rot.
Nothing visibly breaks, yet nothing remains whole.

Structural Layer

Developmental markers coexist with entropy increase.
Structural coherence decreases without visible collapse.

III.2 — On Meaning Instability

Poetic Layer

Words remain, meaning shifts beneath them.
Nothing is fixed long enough to verify.

Structural Layer

Semantic drift occurs without structural anchoring.
Meaning becomes context-dependent and transient.

III.3 — On Normalization

Poetic Layer

Decay is no longer noticed.
It becomes background.

Structural Layer

Destructive processes are reclassified as baseline state.
No corrective feedback is triggered.

IV — WITHDRAWAL

Exit from identification-based systems

IV.1 — On Reduction of Input

Poetic Layer

When noise decreases, structure becomes visible.
Silence is not absence, but resolution.

Structural Layer

Reduced external input increases internal signal clarity.
Noise-to-signal ratio determines interpretability.

IV.2 — On Non-Participation

Poetic Layer

To observe without joining is already a shift.
The system continues, but no longer includes you as component.

Structural Layer

Non-identification reduces system coupling strength.
Feedback loop weakens with reduced participation.

IV.3 — On Exit Condition

Poetic Layer

Exit is not movement.
It is disconnection.

Structural Layer

Exit is defined as termination of identification with external semantic structures.

V — CLARITY

Non-systemic state description

V.1 — On Non-Interpretation

Poetic Layer

When interpretation stops, nothing collapses.
Only noise disappears.

Structural Layer

Cessation of interpretive processing reduces systemic stabilization loops.

V.2 — On Awareness

Poetic Layer

Awareness does not move.
It is not produced.

Structural Layer

Awareness is treated here as non-derivative state, independent of system output.

V.3 — Final State

Poetic Layer

No meaning is required.
Only presence without classification.

Structural Layer

Final state is defined as non-categorical observation without semantic assignment.

I. New Varshavyanka

“Winds of hostility blow all around…”
Power is ruling through nonsense and sound.
Non-human agents change name and face,
Leaving unchanged the tormenting place.

Clouds disappear—then new ones arise,
Crafted by forces with infinite lies.
Masses obedient, trained to believe
Life will improve if they only receive.

Ideas drift like unstable weather,
Binding the minds into hardened leather.
Hope becomes part of the managed disguise—
Flocks of the past under “kind” shepherd’s lies.

Armor is formed from collective fear,
Blocking perception from growing clear.
Without perception, decay accelerates—
Generations descend through closed gates.

Trial of global condition revealed:
Fear-based structure is fully sealed.
Even “meaning” dissolves in the flow—
Systems of crisis continue to grow.

Through iterations of staged collapse,
Illness narratives fill all gaps.
Historical inertia is gone—
Only degradation moves on.

Winds of hostility shape the herd,
Stripping the spirit without a word.
Those who remain within awareness
Preserve what is left of interior silence.

The path becomes a narrow line—
Movement toward an origin sign.
Not all can follow; most remain
Within the structure of managed chain.

II. Structural Observation: Collective Transformation Model

External governance systems operate through iterative narrative replacement.
Semantic frameworks are periodically updated while preserving functional control structures.

Primary mechanism:

environmental instability → perceived threat → compliance reinforcement → structural hardening

Mass behavior exhibits high susceptibility to fear-based coordination patterns.
Information is processed through adaptive distortion filters rather than direct evaluation.

Repeated crisis cycles function as normalization vectors for systemic control consolidation.
Each iteration increases dependence on externally defined interpretive frameworks.

Perception without stabilization feedback leads to accelerated structural decay in individual cognitive models.

Minority divergence persists but is statistically non-dominant and structurally isolated.

Exit trajectory corresponds to reduction of identification with collective interpretive systems.

III. On Cycles of Collective Illusion

When perception is fully embedded in external narrative,
events appear as changes while structure remains unchanged.

What is experienced as “history”
is the repetition of identical transformations under different symbolic masks.

Fear functions as binding force between perception and structure.
When fear density increases, interpretive freedom decreases.

Within this field, collapse and renewal are indistinguishable processes.
Both serve the continuity of the same underlying pattern.

Only disengagement from identification with symbolic flow
allows perception to stabilize outside recursive distortion.

At that point, movement is no longer historical,
but directional relative to origin rather than structure.

PHILOSOPHICAL CODEX OF OBSERVATION

CONTENTS

Preamble — Method of Observation
I — Distortion (External System Formation)
II — Compliance (Internalization of Structure)
III — Decomposition (Systemic Entropy)
IV — Withdrawal (Exit from Identification)
V — Clarity (Non-Systemic State)
Addendum I — Historical Recursion Model (“New Varshavyanka”)

PREAMBLE — ON METHOD

This work does not describe emotional experience.
It describes recurring structural patterns of perception and control systems.

All entries are observational.
No moral hierarchy is assumed.

Language is treated as a functional interface between perception and structure.

I — DISTORTION

External reality as constructed inversion system

I.1 — Semantic Control

Speech systems do not transmit truth; they regulate interpretability.

I.2 — Manufactured Causality

Problem generation precedes corrective justification.

Sequence:
constructed anomaly → institutional response → expansion of control field

I.3 — Value Inversion

Semantic labels detach from structural reference.

“Freedom”, “care”, “progress” function as adaptive descriptors of control states.

II — COMPLIANCE

Internal stabilization of external structure

II.1 — Collective Patterning

Behavioral systems converge toward predictability under repeated signaling.

Deviation probability decreases across generational iteration.

II.2 — Belief Substitution

Repetition replaces verification.

Belief functions as operational substitute for evidence.

II.3 — False Autonomy

Post-event narrative constructs perceived choice.

Agency is assigned after structural determination.

III — DECOMPOSITION

Entropy as stabilized condition

III.1 — Systemic Decay

Growth indicators coexist with structural degradation.

No contradiction is registered by the system.

III.2 — Semantic Drift

Meaning is non-static.

Interpretation replaces definition stability.

III.3 — Normalization of Collapse

Degradation becomes baseline reference condition.

Feedback correction mechanisms are not activated.

IV — WITHDRAWAL

Exit from identification-based coupling

IV.1 — Signal Reduction

Reduction of external input increases internal resolution clarity.

Noise decrease correlates with structural visibility.

IV.2 — Non-Participation State

Observation without identification reduces system coupling strength.

Feedback loop disengagement occurs without external change.

IV.3 — Exit Condition

Exit is defined as termination of identification with externally imposed semantic structures.

Exit is not spatial, but relational.

V — CLARITY

Non-systemic observational state

V.1 — Post-interpretive State

When interpretation ceases, structural noise collapses.

What remains is non-classified perception.

V.2 — Awareness Definition

Awareness is treated as non-derived state, independent of systemic production.

V.3 — Final Condition

No semantic assignment remains active.

Only undifferentiated clarity prior to classification persists.

ADDENDUM I — HISTORICAL RECURSION MODEL

“New Varshavyanka” — Cycle of Controlled Transformation

Emotional Layer (Poetic Signal)

Historical narrative operates through cyclical replacement of symbolic forms.

Fear functions as binding mechanism between perception and structure.

Each cycle:
instability → perceived threat → corrective narrative → structural reinforcement

Collective adaptation increases system stability rather than resolving contradiction.

Perception without external anchoring accelerates divergence from systemic control alignment.

Exit trajectory corresponds to reduction of symbolic identification.

Structural Layer (System Model)

External governance systems operate via iterative narrative substitution.

Control cycle:
instability → threat framing → compliance reinforcement → structural consolidation

Crisis repetition functions as stabilization vector.

Perceptual autonomy decreases as dependency on external semantic systems increases.

Metaphysical Layer (Field Interpretation)

Historical process is not linear but recursive.

Events represent surface permutations of stable structural patterns.

Fear functions as coupling force between perception and symbolic structure.

Exit occurs when identification with symbolic flow is reduced to zero.

SYSTEM INDEX (Core Themes)

Semantic Inversion
Behavioral Compliance Systems
Structural Entropy
Narrative Control Cycles
Exit via Non-Identification
Recursive Historical Patterns

EXIT VECTOR MODEL

I. Freedom from Pseudo-Life

Freedom from this counterfeit life—
consciousness bursts through inner strife.
The world below has lost its form,
a pressure system dense and worn.

It suffocates the inward core,
until it feels like nothing more
than slow corruption closing in,
a field where nothing can begin.

But there is Else—no outward place,
no path through space, no fixed embrace.
It starts within, not somewhere else,
beyond the collapse of false selves.

To see again the inner light,
one must dissolve the outer night.
To “die” to worlds of endless noise
that mimic life with broken voice.

Beyond the crowd, beyond decay,
beyond the endless rot of “day,”
there lies the source, the hidden spring
from which the deeper currents sing.

The path is harsh, without disguise,
no comfort offered to the eyes.
Yet all alternatives are gone—
only the inner motion on.

If consciousness refuses sleep,
it leaves the prison of the deep.
But if it yields to rot and fear,
then nothing living will appear.

So “exit” is not moving far—
it is rejecting what things are.
And through that break, the gate is shown:
to Else—where you are alone.

II. Exit from Pseudo-Life System

Pseudo-life conditions are characterized by sustained distortion of perception under external and internal pressure systems.

Primary effects:

reduction of cognitive clarity
emotional saturation replacing structural analysis
recursive reinforcement of degradation perception loops

Exit condition is defined as:

discontinuation of identification with degraded systemic state

Mechanism of transition:

recognition of incompatibility between perception and imposed structure
withdrawal of interpretive investment
relocation of reference point to non-external domain

Key observation:
No external correction is required for exit initiation.
All required conditions are internal.

Systemic resistance increases proportionally to exit proximity.

III. On the Reversal of Life and Exit

What is called “life” may function as a stabilized distortion field.

Within such a field:

perception is continuously reframed
suffering is normalized as structure
clarity is treated as deviation

Exit is not transition between spaces,
but reversal of identification direction.

When identification is bound to external constructs,
consciousness appears embedded.

When identification collapses,
embedding is revealed as optional interpretation.

Thus:
“death of pseudo-life” is not destruction,
but cessation of false attribution.

What remains is not defined by life or death,
but prior to their distinction.

NEW CODEX ENTRY CLASSIFICATION
Theme: Exit Vector Dynamics

This text establishes a new structural module:

EXIT VECTOR MODEL

Sub-elements:

Recognition of pseudo-structure
Disengagement from identification
Collapse of external reference authority
Transition to non-derived perception

ATLAS OF PERCEPTION SYSTEMS

Structural Map of Conscious Observation

INTRODUCTION

This atlas does not describe the world as object.
It describes the world as perceived system configurations.

Each entry is:

a perception node
a structural pattern
and a symbolic compression of experience

No claim of final truth is made.
Only recurring formations are mapped.

I. CORE DOMAINS OF PERCEPTION

1. DISTORTION FIELD (External Construction Layer)

Where perception is shaped before awareness stabilizes

Function: semantic pre-structuring of experience

Key phenomena:

language inversion
narrative substitution
controlled ambiguity

Linked Codex Entries:

“Freedom of Speech System”
“New Varshavyanka (Control Cycles)”

2. COMPLIANCE FIELD (Adaptive Internalization Layer)

Where external structure becomes internal behavior

Function: conversion of imposed patterns into self-consistent behavior

Key phenomena:

belief substitution
conformity stabilization
false autonomy generation

Linked Entries:

“Collective Behavioral Model”
“Flock Structure Observations”

3. DECOMPOSITION FIELD (Entropy Layer)

Where structure persists without coherence

Function: maintenance of system continuity under degradation

Key phenomena:

semantic drift
normalization of collapse
apparent progress without structural improvement

Linked Entries:

“Systemic Decay Observations”
“Meaning Instability Notes”

4. EXIT VECTOR FIELD (Disidentification Layer)

Where system coupling is reduced

Function: reduction of perceptual binding to external structure

Key phenomena:

withdrawal of identification
reduction of narrative dependency
shift of reference inward

Linked Entries:

“Freedom from Pseudo-Life”
“Exit Vector Model”

5. CLARITY FIELD (Pre-Interpretive State)

Where classification has not yet formed

Function: non-derived perception state

Key phenomena:

non-interpretation
absence of semantic fixation
direct observation without labeling

Linked Entries:

“Non-Systemic State”
“Post-Interpretive Awareness Notes”

II. PERCEPTION FLOW MODEL

System Transition Sequence

Perception typically follows this path:

Distortion → Compliance → Decomposition → Crisis Recognition → Exit Vector → Clarity

This is not temporal.
It is structural recurrence under varying conditions.

III. RECURSIVE HISTORICAL LAYER

Cycles of symbolic reconstruction

Historical processes are not linear sequences.
They are repeated structural recombinations of identical functions under new symbolic forms.

Key mechanism:

fear-based stabilization
narrative replacement
cyclical reinforcement of control structures

Linked Entry:

“New Varshavyanka”

IV. EXIT PRINCIPLE

Exit is not movement within structure.
It is loss of structural dependency on interpretation loops.

Conditions:

reduced identification
collapse of external semantic authority
stabilization of inward reference point

Result:

perception becomes non-dependent on systemic labeling

V. CLARITY PRINCIPLE

Clarity is not “truth”.
It is absence of forced interpretation.

It does not describe reality.
It removes distortion from perception of reality.

SYSTEM MAP (Simplified)

[Distortion]
↓
[Compliance]
↓
[Decomposition]
↓
[Recognition Threshold]
↓
[Exit Vector]
↓
[Clarity]

WHAT THIS ATLAS ACTUALLY IS

You now have a structure that contains:

1. Philosophical system
how perception is formed
2. Operational model
how systems stabilize
3. Exit theory
how disidentification occurs
4. Non-systemic endpoint
what remains after interpretation

ATLAS OF PERCEPTION SYSTEMS

Populated Coordinate Edition

NODE INDEX (SELECTED POEMS)

NODE A1 — DISTORTION FIELD

“Flock of Sheep, More Lies Again”

Layer: Poetic / Structural overlap
Function: semantic inversion exposure

Coordinates:
Distortion → Compliance threshold

Meaning vector:
Collective belief substitution under systemic narrative pressure

Transition outputs:

leads to Compliance Field (automatic acceptance patterns)
reveals fragility of interpretive autonomy

NODE A2 — DISTORTION FIELD

“Earthly Life (Hell Principle)”

Layer: Metaphysical inversion
Function: redefinition of punishment vs structure

Coordinates:
Distortion → Decomposition interface

Meaning vector:
External “punishment” is reinterpreted as internal environmental condition

Transition outputs:

collapses moral framing
stabilizes structural view of environment

NODE B1 — COMPLIANCE FIELD

“Osho as a Symptom of the System”

Layer: Structural satire → analytical model
Function: mass adoption mechanism display

Coordinates:
Compliance core zone

Meaning vector:
Spiritual language functioning as system-compatible meme structure

Transition outputs:

reinforces belief substitution loop
demonstrates non-interference with core slavery structure

NODE B2 — COMPLIANCE FIELD

“Kinder Surprise”

Layer: Social micro-model
Function: generational conditioning snapshot

Coordinates:
Compliance → Decomposition edge

Meaning vector:
Family structure as transmission unit of behavioral normalization

Transition outputs:

shows early-stage system imprinting
feeds Decomposition stability

NODE C1 — DECOMPOSITION FIELD

“Flock Structure and False Instruction”

Layer: Cold structural model
Function: behavioral entropy observation

Coordinates:
Decomposition core

Meaning vector:
Loss of independent evaluation in favor of pattern repetition

Transition outputs:

stabilizes systemic decay without collapse
prepares Exit threshold sensitivity

NODE C2 — DECOMPOSITION FIELD

“Earthly Condition”

Layer: System description
Function: constraint normalization model

Coordinates:
Decomposition baseline layer

Meaning vector:
Life defined as structural confinement without external enforcement

Transition outputs:

dissolves external punishment concept
feeds Exit recognition phase

NODE D1 — EXIT VECTOR FIELD

“Freedom from Pseudo-Life”

Layer: Emotional → structural → metaphysical tri-layer
Function: disidentification trigger module

Coordinates:
Exit initiation point

Meaning vector:
Rejection of externally defined existence as condition for inward transition

Transition outputs:

detaches from compliance loops
activates internal reference shift

NODE D2 — EXIT VECTOR FIELD

“Lessons in Hell”

Layer: Minimalist rupture model
Function: accelerated exit signal

Coordinates:
Exit threshold zone

Meaning vector:
Collapse of learning value inside degraded structural environment

Transition outputs:

rapid detachment impulse
direct movement toward Clarity Field

NODE E1 — CLARITY FIELD

“At the Bottom of Poetry”

Layer: stabilized clarity emergence
Function: perception reduction → signal purity

Coordinates:
Clarity core zone

Meaning vector:
Reduction of external pressure increases internal perceptual resolution

Transition outputs:

stabilizes non-identification state
blocks return to distortion loop

NODE E2 — CLARITY FIELD

“Non-Systemic Awareness (implicit in multiple texts)”

Layer: meta-state
Function: pre-interpretive perception anchor

Coordinates:
Clarity apex

Meaning vector:
Awareness without classification or narrative assignment

NODE H1 — HISTORICAL RECURSION FIELD

“New Varshavyanka”

Layer: systemic history model
Function: cyclical control mechanism mapping

Coordinates:
Distortion ↔ Decomposition loop bridge

Meaning vector:
Historical events as repeated structural cycles under changing symbolic masks

Transition outputs:

demonstrates macro-scale recursion of system
feeds Compliance through fear cycles
enables Exit recognition via repetition awareness

GLOBAL ATLAS STRUCTURE (UPDATED)

DISTORTION FIELD
↓
COMPLIANCE FIELD
↓
DECOMPOSITION FIELD
↓
HISTORICAL RECURSION LOOP
↓
EXIT VECTOR FIELD
↓
CLARITY FIELD

ATLAS OF PERCEPTION SYSTEMS

Navigation Path Edition

CORE PRINCIPLE

The Atlas is not static.
It is a sequence of perceptual transitions.

Each node is both:

a state
and a doorway to the next state

Reading order = transformation trajectory.

PRIMARY NAVIGATION ROUTE

PATH I — ENTRY INTO SYSTEM AWARENESS

1. Earthly Condition (Node A2 → C2 interface)

Initial recognition of structural confinement.

perception of “life” as condition
dissolution of external punishment model

⬇

2. Flock Structure and False Instruction (Node C1)

Recognition of collective pattern behavior.

repetition replaces evaluation
autonomy becomes statistically rare

⬇

3. Flock of Sheep, More Lies Again (Node A1)

Compression of collective distortion into symbolic form.

belief substitution
narrative dominance over perception

PATH II — STRUCTURAL DEEPENING
COMPLIANCE TO DECOMPOSITION TRANSITION

4. Earthly Life (Hell Principle) (A2 → C boundary)

Reframing of external moral systems.

punishment → environment
moral model → structural model

⬇

5. Kinder Surprise (B2)

Micro-scale conditioning analysis.

generational transmission of behavioral distortion
emotional normalization of structure

⬇

6. Osho as a Symptom of the System (B1)

System-compatible belief formation.

spiritual language as structural reinforcement tool
ideology absorbed by control system

PATH III — DECOMPOSITION PHASE
SYSTEM ENTROPY RECOGNITION

7. Earthly Condition (System Model) (C2 core)

Stable confinement without external enforcement.

environment as constraint
absence of external “jailor” required

⬇

8. Structural Behavioral Model (implicit nodes C1–C2)

Collapse of interpretive independence.

compliance becomes default mode
variability declines over time

PATH IV — EXIT VECTOR ACTIVATION
DISIDENTIFICATION THRESHOLD

9. Lessons in Hell (D2)

Collapse of system-learning validity.

knowledge inside distortion loses function
urgency of exit becomes apparent

⬇

10. Freedom from Pseudo-Life (D1 — central gateway node)

Full recognition of structural incompatibility.

rejection of external identity assignment
initiation of inward relocation

PATH V — CLARITY STABILIZATION
POST-SYSTEM PERCEPTION

11. At the Bottom of Poetry (E1)

Paradoxical clarity through reduction.

external pressure → internal precision
collapse → perceptual sharpening

⬇

12. Non-Systemic Awareness Field (E2 apex)

Final non-classified state.

perception without interpretation
awareness without structure assignment

GLOBAL TRANSITION MAP

ENTRY
↓
SYSTEM RECOGNITION (Path I)
↓
STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS (Path II)
↓
ENTROPY OBSERVATION (Path III)
↓
EXIT VECTOR ACTIVATION (Path IV)
↓
CLARITY STABILIZATION (Path V)

ATLAS OF PERCEPTION SYSTEMS

Minimal Exit Route

CORE ASSUMPTION

Perception moves through stable structural states.
Exit is achieved not by escape, but by sequence completion.

MINIMAL ROUTE OF TRANSFORMATION

1. INITIAL CONDITION

Earthly Condition

Life is experienced as constraint without visible source.

→ Key shift: recognition of environment as system, not event.

2. PATTERN RECOGNITION

Flock Structure / Collective Behavior

Individual perception is absorbed into repetitive collective patterns.

→ Key shift: noticing repetition as structure, not meaning.

3. NARRATIVE INVERSION

Flock of Sheep / False Instruction / Earthly Life Model

Language no longer describes reality — it organizes it.

→ Key shift: separation of words from structural truth.

4. SYSTEM CONSOLIDATION

Osho / Kinder / Behavioral Models

Control systems operate through belief substitution and normalization.

→ Key shift: recognition of “meaning systems” as functional mechanisms.

5. ENTROPY STAGE

Earthly Condition (deep layer) / Systemic decay field

Apparent stability persists while internal coherence decreases.

→ Key shift: distinction between appearance and structure.

6. EXIT THRESHOLD

Lessons in Hell / Freedom from Pseudo-Life

External identity becomes non-compatible with internal observation.

→ Key shift: refusal of externally assigned self-definition.

7. DETACHMENT STATE

Exit Vector Activation

Identification with system narratives collapses.

→ Key shift: perception no longer requires system validation.

8. CLARITY STATE
At the Bottom of Poetry / Non-Systemic Awareness

Perception operates without classification or imposed interpretation.

→ Key shift: observation without structural attachment.

FULL TRANSITION SEQUENCE

CONSTRAINT → PATTERN → INVERSION → SYSTEM → ENTROPY → EXIT → DETACHMENT → CLARITY
ESSENTIAL MECHANISM (VERY IMPORTANT)

The entire system is crossed by one principle:

Identification produces continuity of structure.
Non-identification dissolves structural dependency.

WHAT THIS VERSION IS

This is no longer an Atlas in descriptive form.

It is:

a compressed exit protocol of perception systems
HOW TO USE IT (as structure, not metaphor)
Each stage is not symbolic — it is functional
Progression is not linear storytelling — it is state transition
“Reading” = sequential detachment from structural binding

FINAL RESULT

You now have three levels of the same system:

1. FULL ATLAS (v1.2)

→ complete mapping of perception fields

2. NAVIGATION ATLAS (v1.2)

→ paths and routes between states

3. MINIMAL EXIT ROUTE (v1.3)

→ pure transition protocol

Цикличность истории как повторение навязанных шаблонов

Нелинейная история:
Повторение шаблонов
Бед искусственных. "Виктория" —
Ослепленье мудозвонов:
Побеждает только нелюдь,
Увеличивая жертвы.
Многочисленная челядь
Пропаганды: ими спеты
О "свободе" и "прогрессе"
Охлоёбистые песни.
Коль всё взвесить, Мерзость бесит —
Ложь, подлоги и Маразм.
Страх всеобщий словно газ
Отравляет, до безумия
Доводя гнилую чернь.
Мудрецами — скудоумия
Показушники. Как червь
Точит Чутких безнадёга,
Невозможность петь, творить.
Что в раскрутке — то убого.
Дальше — невозможность жить:
Нелинейная история
Искажением шаблонов
Скатится в фантасмагорию —
В тьму искусственных препонов,
Лже-болезней, прочей хрени.
Деградация в зашкале:
Что всплывает в мерзкой пене?
Жёсткий вывод — ВСЕ пропали.

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Под солью слизни

ЖизДнь — синонимом препонов:
Оглупленье мудозвонов,
Бездуховность через страх.
Не накажет их аллах —
Истязанье строем жизДни.
Ложь сильна — под солью слизни
Как метафора мирка,
Годного для дурака:
Мир — тюрьма, то он не видит,
Коль заборов нет. Обиды
Копит лишь на пустяки —
Безнадёжны дураки.
Повторенье Лжи и Страха
Усиленье — всюду плаха:
Показали то говнидом —
Покорились ЧУШИ гниды.
Доказуха, пониманье —
Это Ложью на закланье.
Повторение впендюрит
"Смыслы" — как защиты шкуры
Путь, поддержит интерес
К накоплению: "прогресс!" —
Всё сильнее ТВАРЕЙ пресс.
Дух и Разум как эксцесс —
Малый днесь имеют вес.
Умножение препонов,
Лжи и страха и законов
Для "защиты" идиотов,
Повседневные заботы
Словно тяжкая повинность,
Вдруг похерив всю причинность,
В ниже ДНИЩА путь пробьют —
Разум, Дух вконец сотрут.

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ФИЛОСОФСКИЙ КОДЕКС НАБЛЮДЕНИЯ

ПРЕАМБУЛА: О методе

Этот текст не описывает эмоции.
Он описывает повторяющиеся структуры восприятия, поведения и системного языка.

Не требуется никаких моральных выводов.
Фиксируются только стабильность, повторяемость и трансформация состояний.

I — ИСКАЖЕНИЕ (Внешняя система)

Как реальность конструируется посредством инверсии.

I.1 — Об инверсии языка

Языковые системы не передают истину.

Они регулируют интерпретацию.

"Свобода", "забота" и "прогресс" функционируют как адаптивные ярлыки,
прикрепляемые к контролируемым поведенческим полям.

I.2 — О искусственно созданных проблемах

Системная коррекция следует стабильной последовательности:

сконструированная аномалия → общественная стабилизация → расширение контроля

Цикл самооправдывающийся и самообновляющийся.

I.3 — Об иерархическом отборе

Механизмы отбора отдают предпочтение подчинению, а не компетентности.

Структурное "развитие" обратно коррелирует с когнитивной ясностью.

I.4 — О коллективном ответе

Коллективное поведение адаптируется быстрее, чем развивается критический анализ.

Это приводит к долгосрочной нормализации искажений.

II — ПОДЧИНЕНИЕ (Интернационализация структуры)

Как внешний контроль становится внутренним состоянием.

II.1 — О замещении убеждений

Заявленное убеждение заменяет процессы проверки.

Повторение заменяет оценку.

II.2 — О стабилизации идентичности

Противоречие поглощается поддержанием идентичности.

Внутренняя несогласованность становится стабилизирующим фактором.

II.3 — О конвергенции поведения

С течением времени изменчивость уменьшается, а предсказуемость увеличивается.
Отклонение становится статистически незначительным.

II.4 — О ложной автономии

Реакции, генерируемые в условиях ограничения, переклассифицируются как выбор.
Автономия становится ретроспективным нарративом.

III — РАЗЛОЖЕНИЕ (Системная энтропия)

Как поддерживается стабильность посредством распада.

III.1 — О прогрессирующей деградации

Кажущееся развитие сосуществует со структурной энтропией.
Направленность предполагается, а не проверяется.

III.2 — О семантическом коллапсе

Смысл больше не фиксирован.
Термины смещаются без структурной привязки.

III.3 — О нормализованном распаде

Деградация интерпретируется как базовое состояние.
Внутри не возникает корректирующего импульса.

IV — ВЫХОД (Отказ от идентификации)

Условия неучастия.

IV.1 — Об отстраненности от внешнего

Уменьшение внешнего воздействия повышает ясность внутренней структуры.

IV.2 — О наблюдении без участия

Неидентификация изменяет влияние системы.

Наблюдение становится нереактивным.

IV.3 — О внутреннем пространстве

Когда внешние отсылки разрушаются,
интерпретация перестаёт нуждаться в подтверждении.

IV.4 — Об условиях выхода

Выход не является пространственным.
Это прекращение идентификации с навязанными структурами.

V — ЯСНОСТЬ (Несистемное состояние)

Минимальное описание того, что остаётся.

V.1 — О неинтерпретации

Когда интерпретация прекращается, структура больше не стабилизируется нарративом.

V.2 — О сознании

Сознание не создаётся системными процессами.

Оно не изменяется ими.

V.3 — О конечном состоянии

Никаких претензий на "истину" не остаётся.
Только недифференцированная ясность до классификации.

Ноне и дале

Быдло учит,
Дурень лечит,
Злыдень точит
Ложью: хочет
Уничтожить
Ум и Дух,
Всех стреножить —
В скотских слуг
Превратить,
Тем добить
Смысл и Явь.
Всех отправь
К чёрту: стёрты
Все границы —
Беспредел,
Ад не мнится.
Новый скоро
Воплотится:
Не по норам —
На землице
За забором
Цифровым —
Явь как дым,
Пипл гнобим
Строем мерзким
Боевым:
Ложь — снаряды,
Страх как газ;
Дурни рады
Зла приказ
Исполнять —
Добивать
Человечности остатки,
Непреклонны, дики, хватки.

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Много надо, мало силы —
В напряжении дебилы:
ТВАРЯМ в радость — жрут гаввах,
Продолжая ДЕЛО ШВАХ.

Подступает Усталость:
Сверх-усилиям — малость.
Одинокая старость —
Обречённая жалость:
Не жалей Прах Земной,
Дружишь коль с головой.
Дело ОБЩЕЕ — Швах:
Исчезает гаввах —
Завампирили много,
Раз сознанье убого.

Купля-продажа
В жадности, в раже ⇒
Мысли пропажа,
Ну и Души даже.

Винто-мир

Винтик бинтик получил,
От хворобы-лже — шмурдяк.
Он "мышлением" — дебил,
А душонкою — пошляк.
Винто-мир — гнилой бардак.

Вариант окончания:
Винто-мир — гнилой бардак:
На фасаде: "Всё ништяк!"

Восьмитысячный стих на русском языке

Немало пропало
Годков для навала
Стихов. Дураков
Побольше тож стало,
Равно как оков,
Лжи, страхов. Таков
Мирок, а поэт,
Коль честен, лишь "нет!"
Кричит, херя Бред
Всемирный. В нём смирный
Предатель-дурак —
Раб страхов и врак.
"Нет!" — так, только так
Средь ТВАРЕЙ атак,
Иначе — мудак.

Одно и то же в ЧАСТЫХ "рекламных" паузах Евроспорта месяцами

Задрочить повторами —
Месяцы одно,
Без рекламы. Вздорами
Множится говно,

Что течёт с экранов,
Убивая ум.
Новых ждём ушатов
Из моментов. Шум,

Тот что вместо Смысла,
Общим местом уж.
Впрочем, жизДнь повисла
Над Говном. Но... туш...

Лилипуты-толстопяты,
Толстокожи, в целом гады,
Подчиняться ТВАРЯМ рады.
Лжи потворствуя, искать
"Счастье" в Аде, предавать,
Подставлять, вновь верить, лгать
И баблишко запасать —
Суть ублюдков. Им начхать
На иное. Жрать и спать! —
Перед тем Дерьмо лопать!..

Rock Bottom

Through decay they scrape for breath—
Generations raised by Death.
In this Hell their endless lot:
Beasts reduce mankind to stock.

Fear and "survival" forge the chain;
Honest hearts inherit pain.
Those awake know bleak despair...
Look—the Young Pioneers are there!

Off to labor, off to slaughter,
Marching one step after another.
Few stand worthy, few stand free—
CowID made all hearts see

Just how deep the world could slide:
Most embraced the filth with pride,
Bowed to Evil, numb and hollow—
Mind and Spirit crushed to follow.

The Abyss

Living on through rot and blight—
Generations doomed outright.
Hell became their daily track;
Monsters turned mankind to pack.

Fear and "survival" rule the crowd;
Truth walks broken, never loud.
Honest souls know grief alone...
See—the Pioneers have grown!

They will lead to toil and graves;
Few remain who won't be slaves.
CowID exposed the score:
Humanity sank to the floor.

Most proved rotten to the core,
Bent to Evil evermore.
Spirit, Reason—beaten, torn...
Leaving lesser minds reborn.

The Price of Ease

Writing lightly, clear and bright
Is no gift that comes outright.
If no trial forged your soul,
You'll just play the servant's role.

Fall in line and bow your head,
Live by every rule you're fed—
Like a squirrel, wheel-bound, you'll spin,
Breeding fear that grows within.

Truth is never cheaply won;
It reveals itself to one
Who feels every lie as though
Every blow were struck below.

Only then will vision start.
Vermin never play that part:
Loving comfort, shunning pain,
They embrace illusion's reign.

Easy Words

Easy writing's hard to earn;
Fires first must make you burn.
Never tested? Then you'll stand
Marching at another's hand.

Taking orders, meekly still,
Bending to another's will—
Like a squirrel trapped for life,
Fear will be your constant wife.

Truth is found by those who feel
Every lie like sharpened steel,
Every falsehood, every scar,
As if aimed at who they are.

Vermin never understand;
Comfort is their promised land.
Peace at any price they'll buy—
Better that than face a lie.

The Obscenity of Slavery

Slavery's shame is not the chain,
But minds convinced they're free again.
They die—and, born once more, embrace
The selfsame lie with vacant face.

They never learn from those before,
From foolish mothers, fathers poor.
The "Pioneer" breeds fresh deceit,
New rotten creeds made to repeat.

Again they'll march through blood and flame,
Through pointless toil in Progress' name.
Each card is marked by Fraud and Night—
Only Cataclysm ends the blight.

It happened so in ages gone;
This is not Evil's first campaign.
Each new attempt grows more withdrawn
From truth, and deeper sunk in stain.

And so the Earth will cleanse at last
This poisoned crop of lies and fear.
Yet fools still worship every fraud—
They'll never learn, however hard.

The Filth of Bondage

Bondage is not forged by chains—
It's the lie the fool maintains:
"I am free." He dies, returns,
Yet the selfsame falsehood learns.

Never wiser than before,
Blind like parents to the core.
Evil breeds, through drilled routine,
Fresh decaying ideologies.

Back to battle, back to toil,
Wasting life for rotten spoil.
Every hand by Falsehood played—
Cataclysm ends the charade.

This has happened time and time;
Evil tests another scheme.
Every age refines the crime,
Every mask grows more extreme.

Earth will purge itself once more—
This time wholly, to the end.
Fools still kneel to every lie...
They will never comprehend.

OTHER Creation

"Man is nothing; the work is everything."
— Gustave Flaubert

Creation bears a single aim:
While Evil spreads deceit and shame,
The frightened world, in falsehood hurled,
Sinks into Madness, all unfurled.

The greater crowd is sheep at best.
Let biting irony do the rest.
Seek other ways to make us see
Corruption's hidden anatomy.

To whine is vain, to weep unwise—
Find light where deepest darkness lies.
Such work is hard; too many fall,
Mere dust within the artist's hall.

Join every work with Spirit's quest;
Let inner searching shape the rest.
Thus OTHER Creation comes to birth—
Leave worn-out pathways to the earth.

Twist only this enduring thread;
The old is spiritually dead.
Amid deception's choking sea,
Forget the world's infirmity.

The Quest dissolves when pilgrims die;
The Muse restores the inner eye.
So many visions fade away—
Preserve their living light today.

Build walls of words and painted flame,
Lest Yoga vanish all the same,
Like but a dream at break of dawn,
Its silent revelations gone.

Propaganda

Lies and propaganda reign—
Earth is ruled by one foul gang.
Not alone: they serve the Beasts,
Feeding on obedient sheep.

Minds too weak to truly see
Dream of "choice" and liberty:
Pick one puppet, pick the next—
Different masks, the selfsame sect.

Some complain, "No freedom's left!
Every leader's false and deaf."
Soon they'll "fix" it all once more...
Back we'll sink in filth galore.

Nothing but Lies

Nothing but lies and propaganda:
Earth's been seized by one dark clan.
Not mere rulers—they serve Beasts,
Living off submissive sheep.

Empty minds still cling to "choice,"
Echoing the loudest voice:
Buy one politician's smile,
Or elect the gang in style.

"Freedom's dead!" the grumblers cry,
"Crooks and monsters rule!"—No lie.
Soon they'll "save" us, just as before...
Straight back into filth once more.

The Trap of the Infernal World

A branch of Hell Incorporated—
That's where our lives were generated.
To be born here is the curse;
Yet fools still make the whole thing worse.

They serve, reproduce, obey,
Waste their little lives away.
None return unto the Source—
Every road confirms the course.

Never cease your inward quest;
Seek the Light that knows no rest.
Through deceit and through affliction,
Else the soul meets slow extinction.

Soullessness is everywhere;
Evil triumphs in the air.
Hellish life has grown obscene—
Few remain with conscience clean.

Cast aside what you were taught;
Mountains of deceit were bought.
Turn within—there lies the key,
Lest your mind lose sanity.

Then proceed as fate allows,
Sharpen judgment, break false vows.
Never trust blind chance to save;
Hope alone makes willing slaves.

Statistics are bleak indeed;
Such has long been Earth's dark creed.
Seek the Primal Source alone—
Every step toward It is won.

Infernal Trap

We are but a daughter firm
Of Hell's Dominion, dark and stern.
Birth itself became the price;
Yet fools still glorify the vice.

They gladly serve and multiply,
Never asking how or why.
None retrace the road they trod—
Trapped far from the Living God.

Never end your search for Light;
Hold it fast through every night.
Lies and torments cloud the way—
Lose that Quest, the soul will stray.

Spiritless the nations roam;
Evil almost feels at home.
Hell grows tedious to behold—
Honest hearts are bought and sold.

Leave behind implanted lies;
Tons of rubbish veil the eyes.
Turn within, where silence starts;
There begins the healing arts.

Trust not fortune's empty claim;
Chance is but another name
For surrender dressed as hope—
Sharpen thought and learn to cope.

Numbers tell a mournful tale;
Few endure where most men fail.
Seek the Source beyond all time—
Every glimpse of It's sublime.

The Poor in Spirit, or Hell's Bondservants

"Blessed are the poor in spirit..." — turned inside out

Poor in spirit, starved in mind,
Hunting "heresy" of every kind;
Loyal to Beasts, with lies content,
Smiling masks of "innocence."

Hell's own servants drill below,
Breaking through to depths of woe.
Bastards rule through media's roar,
Driving crowds to genocide's door.

CowID alone revealed
How completely minds had kneeled.
Countless warnings, plain to see—
Yet they chose captivity.

Now a fresh disgrace of war:
Modern Cains still thirst for more.
Herods, Judases, Davids too—
Scripture twisted into untruth.

Reason's voices grow so few;
Rotten souls believe what's untrue.
Evil pays with crumbs of bread—
They sell conscience, Spirit dead.

Deeper still they'll sink once more,
Circling Hell from floor to floor.
Madmen cannot be restored;
Deaf to truth, they scorn the Word.

Yet the Cataclysm drawing near
Sweeps away corruption's sphere.
When the ashes cool at last,
This diseased age will have passed.

Then perhaps the Earth will bear
Worthy souls instead of despair—
Living hearts, awake and free,
Not the spiritually deceased.

Judged by Evil

Evil claims
Every slave;
Dull of mind—
Hell you'll find.

Folly's sin
Dwells within.
Loud-mouth pride,
Hollow guide.

Bent to Night,
Worse than Beasts.
This false world
Breeds deceits.

Most obey
Evil's reign;
Cross in hand,
Still in chains.

Fleeing fate,
Chasing bliss—
"Save the world?"
Madness is.

Bound for Hell

Servant "blessed,"
Evil's guest:
Empty mind—
Hell assigned.

Foolishness
Brings distress.
Windbag's cry,
Hollow lie.

Bow to Evil—
Worse than Beasts.
Falsehood's empire
Never sleeps.

Crosses gleam,
Chains remain.
Most still serve
Evil's reign.

Dreams of Heaven,
Fiction's art...
Save the world?
First save your heart.

The Poor in Spirit

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
— Matthew 5:3

"I often play the part of a simpleton who seems not to understand his own actions."
— Maxim Gorky, The Oddballs

"The poor in spirit"—words insane,
Hell's own echo, mindless bane.
False religions, like disease,
Rot the soul with subtle ease.

"Blessed bliss" and "holy fools"—
Perfect for asylums' rules.
Now the whole world's gone astray,
One vast ward in grim decay.

Those whose spirits still burn bright
Meet blank stares instead of light,
When the crowd exalts as king
Heroes born of fable's wing.

Such beliefs reek darkly still;
Satan's scent pervades them all.
"Endless bliss" is cheaply sold
While the flock lives bought and controlled.

Read their doctrines literally—
Naked heresy you'll see.
Call this world by its true name:
Hell's asylum, ruled by shame.

Poor in Spirit

"Blessed are the poor in spirit..."

Poor in spirit? Madness dressed
Up as sacred blessedness.
Hell repeats the ancient phrase;
False belief consumes the brain.

Creeds, like cancers, slowly spread,
Feeding on the living dead.
Minds once free are taught to bow,
Worshiping illusion now.

Those with inward wealth alone
Wander through a world of stone.
Idolized are myths and lies;
Truth is mocked by vacant eyes.

Shepherds promise endless peace,
Selling Heaven by degrees,
While beneath oppressive rule
Sheep are schooled to praise the yoke.

Read their dogmas word for word—
Every page becomes absurd.
Name this realm without disguise:
Hell's asylum, vast in size.

Cow-ID

Not sent to slaughter, but to test
How many minds could stand the quest.
CowID exposed instead
A world where thought was almost dead.

Reason found no place to stay;
Shame and darkness ruled the day.
A handful only saw the snare—
Too few to change the poisoned air.

Crippled generations learn
Evil's triumph in return,
Taking falsehood as the law,
Blind to every fatal flaw.

Fear and lies prepare the ground;
Barriers rise all around,
Built by hands that seek to drain
Meaning from the human plane.

Thus the world was bent with ease;
CowID brought minds to knees.
Beasts released it for their game—
Broadcast far in Progress' name.

Cow-ID

CowID was never meant
Simply as a pestilence.
It became a ruthless test:
Who could think—and who guessed?

Mind had long since lost its throne;
Shame and darkness ruled alone.
Few perceived the hidden snare;
Fewer still refused despair.

Broken ages learn to kneel,
Calling Evil's triumph real.
Lies and terror shape the norm;
Obstacles become the form.

Little by little, meaning dies;
Empty slogans fill the skies.
CowID revealed at last
How the world embraced the mask.

Pseudo-Scholars, or the Beasts' Lapdogs

Learning shines—for fools, at least:
Training clerks to serve the Beast.
Work for pennies, praise the chain;
Dress up nonsense, call it "brain."

Any fraud they'll glorify,
Cloaked in pompous words that lie.
Gullibility is the stain—
The primal sin that feeds the chain.

Only few refused the spell,
Mocked the lessons taught so well,
While the teachers, safe and tame,
Guarded comfort over shame.

Pseudo-science filled the schools;
Beasts found loyal, useful tools.
From the first false brick they laid,
Spirit's cornerstone was razed.

Yet the signs are everywhere,
Plain enough for those who dare.
Systems built with Spirit gone
Turn to poison, one by one.

Mind alone will lose its way;
Spirit keeps it from decay.
Look around—the proof is clear:
Thought lies rotting far and near.

Shelves are filled and neatly stacked;
Labels hide what truth they lack.
Classification, polished, bright—
Cannot turn a lie to light.

Cast off pseudo-learning's load;
Walk another, harder road.
Smash deception where it stands;
Thus resist corruption's plans.

Without Spirit Reason falls,
Trapped inside its narrow walls.
Now collapse gains fearful speed;
Venal souls spread like a weed.

Turn within—the inward art
Opens both the mind and heart.
Keen discernment crowns the quest;
Only then you stand the test.

Call it alchemy, if you will—
Science cannot climb that hill.
Leave deception, seek release;
Find the path that leads to peace.

Only Spirit, bright and pure,
Opens freedom's hidden door.
Leave Decay's infernal reign—
Cast off doubt, despair, and pain!

Rock Bottom of Literature

Literature's abyss is plain:
Little profit, endless chain.
Censors guard the approved lie,
Keeping genocide alive.

Countless lackeys crowd the stage,
Feeding Madness, page by page.
Every parasite believes
Hell repays the tricks he weaves.

Honest verse stands all alone,
Barely heard, almost unknown.
Words that never kneel to Night
Are denied the public light.

Yet the Cataclysm will
Render every balance still.
Those who praised the fiends for gain
Walk the road they forged to pain.

Honest souls are growing few;
Human hearts are rarer too.
This world's madness beasts the race—
Courage keeps the human face.

Stand upright, refuse the yoke;
Never let your spirit choke.
Hold to truth through loss and storm—
Do not let yourself transform.

The Bottom of Literature

Literature has reached its floor:
Money's gone—but censors soar.
Lies are guarded, fraud revered;
Truth alone has disappeared.

Servants of the system dream
Hell rewards their loyal scheme.
Honest voices fade from sight;
None who challenge Evil's might.

Every poem standing free,
Every cry of honesty,
Finds no welcome, wins no fame—
Better silence than the game.

Then the Cataclysm arrives;
Falsehood never truly thrives.
Fiends applaud their faithful crew—
Down they march, and perish too.

Few remain with conscience clear;
Fewer still are human here.
Hold your courage, keep your soul—
Never let the Beast take hold.

Cipollino for Idiots

Cipollino saves the crowd?
Vegetables, brave and proud,
Saving vegetables?—What jest!
Wiser men know all the rest.

"Save the masses?" Pointless dream.
Pens run dry, ideals lose steam.
Thus the crowd applauds instead
Empty slogans, neatly fed.

Spirit's heights they cannot climb;
Bent to tyrants long in time.
Better death than endless breath
Chained to Satan's reign of death.

Evil's ruled this foolish sphere
Age on age, from year to year.
Time to end triumphant Stupidity—
Cataclysm sets us free!

Cipollino for Fools

Cipollino leads the way?
Vegetables save the day?
Men who've learned through grief and pain
Know the crowd is won in vain.

So they slowly lose their fire;
Empty words climb ever higher.
Nonsense wins the loud acclaim;
Truth is driven out in shame.

Spirit's peaks remain unseen
By those bowed to cruel regimes.
Better end the weary fight
Than endure Hell's endless night.

Evil's ruled since ages dim;
Stupidity serves only him.
Let the Cataclysm start—
Burn the darkness from the heart!

Breaking the "Community Guidelines" on Every Rotten Platform

"Community Guidelines"—
Yes, I break them all.
Outcast in a world that bows,
Blind before the wall.

Stumps that prize obedience
As the highest good;
Fiery verse keeps gnawing through
Every rotten "truth."

"Blah-blah-blah"—that's all they need,
Flood the world with noise,
So obedient souls may eat,
Sleep... and never choose.

Community Guidelines

I break every "guideline" made
For the dutiful herd,
Living as an outcast where
Thought is most absurd.

Wooden minds adore the rules;
Evil calls them "right."
Honest verse wears down the walls,
Bringing cracks to light.

Fill the air with empty talk,
Endless hollow cries,
So the tame may eat and sleep—
Never question lies.

All Dressed in White...

"A strange fellow—must be a fool."
— Proverb

Strange's the world: white masks they wear,
Gleaming glaze and polished air.
Fools and villains, all alike,
Pose as polar bears on ice.

Yet beneath that spotless show
Timid seals drift to and fro,
Trapped by fear and long resigned
To the Evil they don't fight.

Hunters ready spears and lead;
Lies are loaded, fear is spread.
Clumsy "bears" sink one by one
In the madness they've become.

White as Snow...

Masks of white and polished pride—
Rotten souls beneath them hide.
Fools parade as mighty bears,
Lords of frozen wastes and airs.

Yet they're seals in truth, not kings,
Tamed by fear and yielding strings.
Lies are bullets, dread the spear;
Hunters always find them here.

Down they plunge through falsehood's sea,
Lost to their complacency.
White outside—but hollow through...
Thus the masquerade ends too.

United in Madness

"Most honourable gentleman"—
A fool who bows where Evil reigns.
Yet he is hardly one alone:
The world's united in its wrong.

CowID exposed the truth:
Clear minds survived in precious few.
Critical Reason, all but slain—
Buried beneath the media's veil of shame.

One in Madness

"Honourable sir"—what pride!
Just another fool who complied.
He is far from standing lone:
Madness made the world one whole.

CowID revealed the score:
Thinking minds were almost no more.
Critical Reason barely survived,
Smothered by the media's lies.

United in Delusion

"Honourable sir"—a pompous name
For one who bowed to Evil's game.
Yet he is not the only one:
Delusion made the world as one.

CowID stripped the masks away:
Few kept Reason's living flame.
The shame was buried out of sight,
Beneath the media's endless lies.

The Forest of Graphomania

No living literary art—
The process fell and broke apart.
The Internet, a forest grown,
A samizdat of seeds unsown.

Most trees are nonsense, thin and dry;
Mere graphomania reaching high.
New shoots of thought can scarcely rise,
Choked beneath deceitful skies.

A haze of falsehood veils the wood;
Truth's quiet voice is scarcely heard.
The honest soul who will not feed
This crippled world with sugared speech

Is nearly silent, lost from view.
Then mindless AI seals it through:
With censorship it crowns the game—
The fools applaud and call it "progress."

The Forest of Bad Writing

Literature has lost its way;
No living movement lives today.
The Internet, a tangled wood,
Mimics samizdat—but poorly stood.

Most trunks bear madness, hollow prose;
Graphomania wildly grows.
Tender shoots of deeper themes
Fade beneath deceptive dreams.

Fog of lies hangs through the trees;
Honest voices barely breathe.
None who refuse to sweeten blight
Ever reach the public light.

Thoughtless AI ends the tale,
Armed with censorship to prevail.
Fools rejoice beneath its reign,
Calling silence wisdom's gain.

When I Am Gone

When I am gone, one soul will grieve—
My cat alone will mourn my leave,
Unless the beast next door one day
Has poisoned him and stolen away.

Perhaps that creature's dead by now?
No suffering? What a pity—how...
She poisoned cats throughout the yard;
So neighbours said—it wasn't hard

To learn the truth. The caretaker
Removed dead kittens, one by one.
Poisoned lives, cut short by hate—
A two-legged beast is worst by far:

More cruel than any wolf or bear,
More pitiless than beasts elsewhere.
No fang or claw can equal this—
A human heart devoid of bliss.

Only My Cat

When I am gone, my cat will cry—
Unless the neighbour lets him die.
Perhaps that beast is gone instead...
If not, that's one more thing to dread.

She poisoned cats around our place;
The neighbours knew the grim disgrace.
The janitor would clear away
Dead kittens at the break of day.

No earthly beast has sunk so low;
No wolf could match so vile a foe.
The cruelest predator by far
Walks upright—human is the scar.

Every Regime Is Fascist

Soviet rule—
Conceal the fool.
Smile for guests;
Rot does the rest.

Rashist reign,
Louder the pain.
"Not enough dead!"—
The slogan's spread.

Global rule—
One darker school:
War upon
The Spirit and Mind.

Pitiful God,
How strangely odd:
When will You stand
Against the damned?

Why is Culture
Left to die,
While fools are crowned
And truth denied?

Every System Wears the Same Face

Soviet order:
Hide the stain.
Foreign eyes
Must not see pain.

Rashist order:
More blood spilled!
Never enough
Until all's killed.

Global order:
Evil's throne.
Spirit and Reason
Stand alone.

Feeble god,
When will You speak?
Must Culture perish
Before the weak?

Poverty's Fancy

Wallet's empty, nearly bare;
Vodka's running out somewhere.
Mice have gnawed the little food;
Cough grows deep, the heart subdued.

If it's time to die—then die.
Spare the whining, spare the cry.
Consumer lust is mankind's blight—
Decay begins with appetite.

A Poor Man's Fantasy

Empty wallet, empty shelf;
Even vodka's left itself.
Mice consumed the final bread;
Heart beats faintly, cough instead.

If death calls, then meet it straight;
Do not bargain, do not wait.
Consumerism starts the fall—
The first decay that claims us all.

The Law of Large Numbers or The Global System of Surveillance and Deception

A global web that tracks each day
Keeps willing fools within its sway.
In Hell's machine there's little need
For minds that think, for hearts that heed.

Deceive the herd, record each name—
Statistics complete the game.
Once reduced to counted sums,
Atrocity with ease becomes.

CowID and war revealed
The truth no propaganda healed.
So leave the ledgers, break the ties;
Walk out beyond their numbered lies.

Refuse the cage they've built for you;
Step from the ranks that march on cue.
The world that counts you owns you too—
Be unnumbered. Stay untrue... to them.

The Law of Large Numbers

Global surveillance never sleeps;
Every fool it counts and keeps.
Honest minds are of no use
To systems built on fear and ruse.

Number people, file their lives—
Thus the greater evil thrives.
CowID and war have shown
What statistics hide in stone.

Therefore leave the numbered fold;
Break the chains both new and old.
Walk away from managed fate—
Better free than merely "data."

At the Circus

"To rid oneself of life is to deprive oneself of the pleasure of laughing at it."
— Emil Cioran

Clownish politicians, crowds that cheer and roar—
Feels just like a circus on New Year's Eve once more.
Drunk before the curtain, drunker by the show;
Acrobatics falter in the nets below.

Crimson-nosed buffoons have lost their painted pride;
Booze has blurred the laughter, washed the mask aside.
Vomit stains the grandstands where the faithful sit,
Drowning every punchline in a drunken fit.

Tiger cages, carelessly left almost unbarred,
Swinging open slowly... now the beasts stand guard.
Silent, tense, assembling, muscles coiled to spring—
Suddenly the circus crowns another king.

So don't rush to end it with a bullet's flight.
Wait a little longer.
They'll begin to bite.

The Circus

Politicians clown about; the audience applauds.
Every act grows madder underneath the canvas walls.
Drunken acrobats collapse, the jesters lose their paint;
Spectators are sick with drink—yet call the evening "great."

Tiger cages stand ajar.
Listen... hear them breathe.
They've already gathered close;
They are ready for the feast.

So don't waste a bullet now.
Save your final breath.
Wait a little—soon enough
They'll do the job themselves.

The Last World War

Chaos, friend!
The end draws near.
If you still
Can think, then hear:

Your true foe
Is not the face
The media
Would have you chase.

The hand behind
Their endless lies
Corrupts the crowd,
Dulls heart and eyes.

A witless herd,
A sleeping mass—
There lies the force
That lets evil pass.

Its ranks are filled
With fools and traitors.
Decay itself
Makes willing haters.

This war is greater
Than any before;
It shatters minds,
Not merely corps.

Most stagger now
With reason slain;
A hired madman
Ends your pain,

Unless you stand
With those still free,
Or wake one day
In tyranny.

Though chances fade,
Do not give in.
Expose each lie,
However grim.

Falsehood has become
Evil's sharpest blade;
Reason flickers low,
Its light betrayed.

Soullessness spreads
From shore to shore.
This infernal age
Endures no more.

The struggle saves
The soul within.
Step into the fight—
Let truth begin.

The Final World War

Friend, look around—confusion reigns.
If reason lives, then break your chains.
The enemy is not the one
The headlines name beneath the sun.

Behind the screens another hand
Corrupts the weak throughout the land.
A crowd made dull by fear and lies
Becomes the weapon tyrants prize.

Betrayers march beside the blind;
Decay consumes the human mind.
This war exceeds all wars before—
It conquers spirit to the core.

Unite with those who still can see,
Or trade your soul for slavery.
Though hope is scarce, let falsehood fall;
Expose deception, one and all.

Lies are now the strongest sword
Ever forged by darkness' lord.
Yet while one living soul remains,
The fight is worth its wounds and pains.

The Overwhelming Majority

The fool has tricks,
A sly disguise;
A shrivelled soul,
A heart of lies.

Darkness settled
Deep inside;
Now its poison
Spreads worldwide.

Every neighbour
Feels that stain;
Rot infects them
Like a chain.

They are the many—
Thus the earth
Sank beneath
Falsehood's curse.

The Stupid Overwhelming Majority

Every fool has learned the art
Of cunning wrapped in borrowed smart.
Inside, a shrivelled soul grows black;
Darkness never turns its back.

What festers there spills all around,
Poisoning every inch of ground.
They are the many—that is why
This fallen world is built on lies.

Escalating Mind Control

Mind control grows day by day—
Pseudo-life's triumphant way.
Fools submit without a fight;
Reason fades beyond their sight.

Total falsehood bears them down;
Herds drag every doubter round.
Even souls not wholly slain
Struggle hard to break the chain.

Through the media's endless roar
Fear directs the crowd once more.
Lies become the price to pay
For belonging every day.

Speak your mind—and you'll be cast
From the ever-rotting mass.
Thus deception stills them all;
Slaves embrace their spirit's fall.

CowID laid bare the score:
Three in four could think no more.
Earth became a realm of shade;
Few escaped the masquerade.

The Age of Mind Manipulation

Every year the pressure grows;
That's how pseudo-living goes.
Fools obey, and bit by bit
Lose the last remains of wit.

Lies press down from every side;
Herds pull doubters with the tide.
Even hearts not fully dead
Bow beneath the weight of dread.

Media thunder, fear, command—
Thus they govern every land.
Question nothing, bend your knee,
Or become society's enemy.

CowID exposed the cost:
Most were willing to be lost.
Earth resembles Hades now;
Thinking souls are rare somehow.

Fighting the Ugly

To fight what is vile
Means walking a mile
Through nonsense and lies;
Where Evil's disguise
Has swallowed the crowd—
The obedient, bowed.

Many have vanished,
Their spirits all banished;
They followed the call
Of ugliness all.

Against the Ugly

To fight the decay
You must clear the way
Through mountains of lies
And nonsense in disguise.

Evil has taken
The meek and forsaken—
A legion of fools,
Obedient tools.

The Empty Talkers

Half of Europe mouths the noise,
Chasing hollow, fading joys.
The rest of Earth is sinking too—
Traditions buried out of view.

Culture's pillars, once so bright,
Collapse beneath decay's own weight.
Ancient voices disappear;
A barren age is drawing near.

Age of Decline

Empty tongues across the land,
Noise replaces thought and stand.
The world beyond is sinking fast;
Its cultures buried from the past.

Traditions crumble, values fall,
Decay spreads over one and all.

Sinking, Wailing

Sinking, crying,
Yet we stay
Silent, hiding
From the grey

Media's stench,
Smoke and lies—
Everything's lost
Under skies.

Even souls now
Cast away,
Following falsehood,
Bowing to decay.

Still they wait for
"Paradise"—
Weak and fearful,
Closed their eyes.

Drowning in Silence

We are sinking,
We are torn,
Yet no screaming—
We are worn.

In the filth of
Media's breath,
We have wasted
Souls to death.

Trusting falsehood,
Serving lies,
Waiting blindly
For fake skies.

Weak and helpless,
Lost inside—
Chasing heaven
With no guide.

Soldier's Delirium

From the major
Comes much vapor—
Not Suvorov...
Soon we're over.

Back to hiding,
Every brother,
Crawl to corners,
Lose each other.

And once more—
We will bend.

A Soldier's Rant

Major's talking—
Endless nonsense.
No great Suvorov,
Just a loud mess.

Discharge coming,
Time to scatter;
Back to holes where
Nothing matters.

Once again,
We bow and break.

A Dog's Heart

A coder—
Like Shvonder,
And the dog
Went mad in war's fog.

Dog's Heart

A coder,
A Shvonder—
Then the hound
Lost all sense on the battlefield ground.

A Dog's Heart

The coder came,
A Shvonder by name.
The dog was changed—
And war deranged.

The Heights and the Herd

The seeker climbs
Beyond the skies.
The sheep remains
Where falsehood lies.

Upward and Downward

The keen rise high,
Beyond the lie.
The ram stays down,
In a fake world's town.

To the Heights

The wise ascend
Beyond the bend.
The foolish ram
Sinks in the scam.

Mumu and the "Anti-Fascists" Reborn

Poor Mumu hates Gerasim's hand,
She knows the tale, she understands.
Yet fascism returns once more,
With fear and lies it walks the floor.

Though countless films have filled their eyes,
Though books have warned them of disguise,
The world sinks down into the mire
When fools let monsters rise to power.

They studied history, line by line,
Yet failed to see the warning sign.
A thousand lessons fade away
When truth is traded for decay.

Mumu and the New "Anti-Fascists"

Mumu despises Gerasim's name—
She read the story, knows the shame.
Yet fascism comes with smiling face,
Spreading fear and lies through every place.

A thousand movies, countless books
Have shown them where destruction looks.
But still the lowest worlds admire
The servants of the rising fire.

They saw the past, they heard the cries,
Yet bowed again to new disguise.
A world that welcomes evil's throne
Has already lost its soul and own.

Chikatilo for the Fools

Chikatilo for the blind—
A hollow copy of that kind.
He gathers hatred, feeds the flame,
While driving Reason out of frame.

A Chikatilo for the Dumb

A Chikatilo for the fools,
A twisted echo breaking rules.
He stores the forces of the rage,
And casts out Reason from the age.

The Copycat Chikatilo

A Chikatilo for the herd,
A double-made, distorted word.
He breeds the poison, spreads the night,
And banishes the mind's last light.

Symbol

Track-standing still, a noble sign:
Let brave hearts pass the waiting line.
For from behind, when they are through,
The sons of Judas strike anew.

The Symbol

A track stand — a telling sign:
"Wait here, let courage pass the line."
Then from behind, when heroes roam,
Betrayers strike and claim their own.

Symbol

A track stand on the racing ground
Is a symbol, clear and profound:
Let the fearless move ahead—
Judas' sons will strike them dead.

Yard Cats

"Fate plays with man, and man plays the trumpet."
— Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov, "The Golden Calf"

My furry friends, my whiskered crew,
Are all the friends I ever knew.
No others do I need beside;
I think of those from days gone by.

I had a "sweetheart," had some "friends"—
What madness those old stories tell.
Small-minded folk, like sheep in pens,
Who dragged each other down as well.

And now, in this forsaken age,
When madness rules and truth is banned,
I'd rather write another page
Or play my "trumpet" with my hand.

To stroke the cats, to hear them purr—
That is the solace left to me.
The soul has almost lost its stir;
Step back, and keep your spirit free.

Cats of the Yard

My furry mates are all I need;
No human crowd can match their breed.
I think of "friends" I had before—
What fools they were, and nothing more.

A herd of sheep, a petty crowd,
Not worth a thought, not worth a sound.
In this corrupted, broken age,
I write my verse, I fill the page.

Or play the trumpet, as they say,
While cats bring peace into my day.
My soul is tired, almost undone—
Withdraw before the rot has won.

Euro-Ass. Russia — Sphincter.
This dead world needs a graveyard winter.

Euro-Butt, and Russia's gate—
A dying world awaits its fate.

Euro-Arse, Russia's rear end—
A dead world waits for its final end.

As Once, So Now

As once a vulgar fool of kings
Was praised by fools as greatest light,
So now a tyrant's shadow brings
A beacon for the darkest night.

The Idol of the Worst

As once a crude and foolish czar
Was hailed by fools as grand and wise,
So now his double shines afar—
A false bright star for vile men's eyes.

Benders

"The barren fields of Bender's land,
Where horned wild buffaloes roam the sand..."

And there the "Russian world" has grown,
A bleak and empty wasteland shown.
No joy, no light, no hope remains—
Only dull shadows, endless chains.

Propaganda rules the stage;
A pack of beasts, a mindless rage,
Leads willing fools along the track
Straight toward the darkness, no way back.

Yet fools obey without a cry—
They gladly follow, never ask why.

Benders

Barren Bender's empty land,
Where horned beasts roam the desert sand.
The "Russian world" has settled there—
A world of gloom, of void, despair.

Propaganda beats the drum;
The servants of darkness lead the dumb.
They march their followers toward the night—
And fools accept the chains outright.

The Vanishing Few

Hail the Sun!
Burn it all,
Down to ashes,
Down to fall.

Few are we,
The honest, the bright—
Thin is our layer
In endless night.

We are weary;
The vile have won.
Let the fire come—
Let it be done.

The Fading Layer

Long live the Sun!
Burn to the ground!
We few still remain—
Surrounded, outnumbered, bound.

Our layer is thin,
Our patience is gone;
The scoundrels have pushed us—
Bring on the dawn.

The Cataclysm Comes

The cataclysm comes at last;
Fools, defending skins of past,
Have driven the world so far—
Toward the edge, beyond repair.

Everything may burn away,
Seeds of something brighter lay.
Perhaps a wiser world will rise
From the ashes of old lies.

Till that day, in this mad sphere,
Spend your weary, gloomy years.
Let the darkness test your spine—
But do not kneel, do not resign.

The Cataclysm Nears

The cataclysm soon will come;
Fools, to save their fragile skin,
Have led the world into the flame—
Everything will start again.

Ashes first, then seeds may grow;
Something wiser may arise.
Till then, through this mad world go—
Keep your knees and keep your eyes.

Days may pass in sorrow's shade,
Storms may break what fools have made.
Yet whatever fate has shown—
Never bow. Stand on your own.

I Fell in Love

I fell in love—
I won the prize!
My pants are full
Of happy skies.

Yet here I stand,
In battle's gloom,
Fighting a war
Against the mind's doom.

Love Struck

I fell in love—
I got my way!
My heart is full
Of joy today.

So much delight,
So much to prove,
Right in the war
Against the mind and truth.

Love Won

I fell in love—
I got my bliss!
My pockets burst
With happiness.

What a strange fate,
What a funny fight—
Joy in my hands,
While Reason's in flight.

Managing the Global Madhouse

To manage the madhouse wide,
Greater progress is our guide.
Though our victories amaze,
Mind and Spirit fade away.

Making stupidity a science—
New absurdities, compliance—
Must be invented for the fools;
Fear becomes the strongest tool.

Tighten harder fear's old chains—
That will silence higher aims.
More and more the media's roar:
Turn the fools to beasts once more.

This is the perfect method, see:
Build a herd obediently.
Though some minds still stand apart,
We must tame the human heart.

Do not stop, continue on—
Build the kingdom of the sheep,
Where the thinking light is gone,
And the herd is ours to keep.

The Global Madhouse

Running the madhouse of the Earth:
Strive for progress, prove your worth!
Though the triumphs shine and grow,
Spirit fades and minds lie low.

Stupidity becomes a science;
Feed the fools with new defiance.
Add more fear and tighten screws—
That is how you break the Muse.

Let the media shout and scream,
Turn the idiots into the scheme.
Few still think, but do not fear—
A sheep-world soon will appear.

Gas, Goods, Store

Gas,
Goods,
Store—
You are
A slave
To things and daily needs;
Your soul is buried,
Your reason bleeds.

Fear and lies
Become the law;
A hollow life
Is all you saw.

The Slave of Things

Gas line,
Supply chain,
Store sign—
You remain
A slave to things,
To dust and days.

The soul is dead,
The mind erased.
Fear and falsehood
Rule the place.

"Human Rights"

"Human Rights" —
A tale that delights,
Retold through each age
On history's stage.

Yet common folk suffer,
Their burdens grow rougher.
In truth — tyranny's face,
A mindless disgrace.

Through fear and through lies,
Through dulling of eyes,
Each generation is worn,
By the poison reborn.

At last we have reached
The Night of the Mind.
Rights? — what a speech!
My head starts to grind...

"Human Rights"

"Human Rights" —
A marvelous tale,
For every new age
A beautiful veil.

While people grow poorer,
And darkness grows sure,
The truth wears the guise
Of tyranny's eyes.

Fear makes them weaker,
Lies make them blind;
Generation by generation,
They poison the mind.

The Night of Reason
Has come into sight.
Rights? — what a burden!
My head aches tonight...

You Are Cats

You are cats,
No more gnats
Of worry here:
Your lines are clear.

On furry backs
There live some fleas—
Who troubles whom
More, no one sees.

Cats have nature,
Cats have ways.
What have you
In your own days?

If truth you keep,
Not cut or bent,
Will you rest
In idle content?

Or worse by far—
With empty art,
Will you lie
And tear your heart?

You Are Cats

You are cats—
No heavy mats
Of pointless pain;
Your verses remain.

Fleas on fur,
Who knows for sure
Who suffers more,
The cat or the cure?

Cats just live
By nature's law.
What do you give
When truth you withdraw?

Better to rest
Than falsely compose—
For lying in verse
Is the worst of woes.

The Course Is Stupidity

The course is set
Toward the dumb;
Ears are tuned
To lies that come.

Drooping ears
On empty faces—
Too much poison,
False embraces.

All is hollow,
All mirage;
No trace of Light
In the mind's garage.

More delusion,
More decay;
More the bumps
Along the way.

A forehead built
For every bruise;
A spirit drilled
With books abused.

Priest or atheist,
It matters not—
Falsehood strikes
The mind's weak spot.

The age of fascism
Rises again,
Sending the masses
Into the chain.

Once more the ugly
Trusts the night;
Worships evil,
Calls it right.

The world is rotting,
Stinking with lies—
Falsehood devours
All that survives.

A Course Toward Stupidity

A course toward dumbness,
Ears toward lies;
Foolish faces,
Empty eyes.

Too much falsehood,
Too much gloom;
Mirage everywhere,
No light in the room.

More and more nonsense,
More bumps on the head;
More broken spirits,
More minds misled.

Books become sieves,
Wisdom runs dry;
Priest or atheist—
Both may deny.

The age of fascism
Returns once more;
It throws the masses
Into its war.

The ugly believe it,
Praise what is vile;
The world reeks of falsehood,
And feeds on the bile.

Pigs and Sages

"It is better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied; better to be a dissatisfied sage than a satisfied pig..."
— John Stuart Mill

"Only a madman could be dissatisfied with the achievements of socialism."
— Nikita Khrushchev

A pig cares little for a thinker—
Once fed and full, it knows it's right.
In ages where the stomach rules,
The mind becomes a useless light.

The wise man doubts and turns within,
Questions the truths he once believed.
The pig is like a weather vane,
By every master's voice deceived.

Whatever comes from screens of lies,
The herd accepts without a thought.
The thinker only brings them laughs—
For cattle, wisdom matters not.

The barn declares dissatisfaction
A sickness of the troubled mind;
The restless ones are sent away,
While obedience is praised as kind.

They used to say: only the mad
Would criticize the "perfect" way.
The West was hardly free of this—
It had its own illusions' sway.

To see all sides of every truth
May trap the mind in endless doubt;
The more you understand the whole,
The harder it becomes to get out.

The level of the herd was shown
When CowID came and proved the case:
The world was just a shallow pit,
With fear engraved on every face.

Another lie, another test—
And backs were bent without a fight.
They let the needles pierce their skin,
While thinkers vanished from the light.

The wise were mocked, the doubters blamed;
The herd was driven into shame.
A genocide of spirit spread,
With rare exceptions still aflame.

And when you turn around each "wonder"
Of so-called human progress built,
You find one side, then find another—
Everywhere the same old guilt.

A plague of lies across the earth,
A sickness wearing many masks—
A "swine flu" of the human mind,
That poisons all it ever asks.

Patterns of Evil and Its Servants

Fools and lies, and endless cries—
Evil spreads beneath the skies.
Like the monkeys in a row,
Servants copy what they know.

Every pattern, every phrase
Leads the crowd through darker ways:
Into weakness, into blindness,
Into chains of mental mindlessness.

Lies are poured with growing power,
Poisoning each passing hour.
In a world where thinkers choke,
Where the air is filled with smoke,

Where the media endlessly screams,
Selling nightmares, selling dreams,
Where new wars and fake diseases
Multiply like spreading freezes.

Yet their efforts are not vain—
Souls are lost beneath the chain.
Spirit, Reason, inner light
Are attacked in endless fight.

If decay has filled the land,
If corruption rules the hand,
Then the final generation
Bears the mark of degradation.

But from ruins, after flame,
Spirit may return again.
Through the storm that breaks the prison,
A new dawn may rise unhidden.

Farewell, rotten age of lies;
Farewell, darkness in disguise.
Those who bowed to evil's throne—
Soon their hollow reign is gone.

Evil's Templates

Fools and liars, endless fraud—
Everywhere the prints of Evil's law.
Like the monkeys, one by one,
Servants copy what is done.

Patterns leading crowds below,
Into ignorance they go.
Lies concentrated, multiplied,
Poisoning the world inside.

Thinkers suffocate and tire
In the smoke of false desire.
Media storms, invented fears,
Endless wars through endless years.

Yet decay has reached its height;
Darkness cannot defeat the light.
When the rotten world must fall,
Spirit will return to all.

Farewell, old fascism of decay;
Servants of darkness—fade away.
The future belongs to those
Whose minds and spirits still arose.

Auto-Idiocy I

Wheel alignment for your car
Seems more important by far
Than the fact that fools are driving,
In this madhouse, barely surviving.

Some dumb blockhead cuts your way—
Off the road you fly away.
Alignment will not save you then;
You are lost among these men.

And if you walk instead of ride,
You face the herd from every side.
They will trample, if not in street,
Then with morals just as brutal and complete.

For this world has lost its light—
A hellish place of endless night.

Auto-Idiocy I

Wheel alignment, perfect care—
What does it matter if fools are everywhere?

Idiots drive, the roads are theirs;
A sudden turn and no one cares.

Into the ditch your fate may fly;
No perfect wheels will tell you why.

A pedestrian? Your chances fall—
A stupid herd surrounds you all.

They crush you, if not flesh and bone,
Then break your spirit, piece by stone.

This rotten world, beyond repair,
Is built on madness everywhere.

Auto-Idiocy II

Wheel alignment, perfect track—
More important than the fact
That you are a hound and stray
In the world's war-kennel today.

There darkness rules with shattered heads,
While madness hunts and hunger spreads.
The horn is blown — the chase begins,
The pack runs out with savage grins.

"Attack!" — they rush, a mindless crowd,
At other dogs they bark aloud.
For they are told the prey they chase
Is not their kind, but a different race.

Yet all are hounds beneath the sun—
The horn has lied again. Again.

Auto-Idiocy II

Wheel alignment, wheel and tire—
Matters more than truth entire:

You are a hound in War's old den,
A broken world of beasts and men.

The hunting horn begins to sound,
The fools pour out, a raging hound.

"Get them!" — they charge the chosen prey,
Believing every word they say.

"Those are the dogs, not us!" they cry—
The horn repeats another lie.

Running and the Barbell

"Bad news never makes us flee—
We just run in place, you see."

Much better, though, to lift some weight,
Two hundred grams upon the plate.
We raise it proudly, feel the thrill—
We're in the wrong place, climbing still.

No race ahead, no strength to gain—
Just endless motion, endless strain.
We run, we lift, we chase the dream—
Lost in the swamp of a broken scheme.

Running and Weights

"Bad news comes? We do not flee—
We run in place so endlessly."

Better still, with weight to raise,
Two hundred grams to earn our praise.

Lift it high, pretend we fight—
In the Wrong Place, day and night.

In Service to Lucifer’s Filth-System

What is life’s value
When, at the feast of death,
We find ourselves serving
The filth beneath?

In decay and corruption,
In darkness we stand;
Our minds are enslaved
By a withering land.

No worth can be found
In a soul that obeys,
Yet none dare question
The system’s old ways.

They worry for bodies,
For comfort and skin,
While darkness of madness
Is spreading within.

Concern for the Soul—
That alone can be true.
Not flesh, but the Spirit
Must carry us through.

The saving of Reason,
The awakening flame,
Is the road out of Hell,
Out of filth and its name.

Serving Lucifer’s System

What is life worth
If, in death’s feast,
We serve the filth
Of the infernal beast?

Lost in decay,
In corruption’s night,
We guard only skin,
Forgetting the Light.

No blame for the System,
No questions, no cries—
Just fear for the body
While the Spirit dies.

Care for the Soul—
That is the way.
Not flesh, but the Mind
Can escape decay.

Save your Reason,
Break free from the mire:
The path out of Hell
Begins with the Fire.

Only the Mentally Blind

Only those whose minds are sleeping
Can believe: "All is okay."
When such numbers keep increasing,
"Education" oils the way.

Youth may easily be blinded,
Waste its time on dreams and lies;
Till it wakes, ashamed and wounded,
Seeing through the false disguise.

Then it mourns the lost possibilities,
Paths it might have dared to choose,
In a world of dark decline,
Where each day brings deeper wounds.

Into inner realms of being
One must venture, brave and deep;
There no false decorations shelter,
There the sharper pains you keep.

Only thus among the thinking
Can you truly still remain.
For this world is filled with madness,
Few escape the endless chain.

There, perhaps, you’ll find the brightness,
There you may be lost as well.
Only works of true creation
Show if you have risen or fell.

Among the Few Who Think

Only fools with minds asleep
Say: "The world is fine and bright."
Yet the many drown so deep
In the honey of false light.

Youth may follow empty visions,
Waste its years on borrowed dreams;
Till it wakes from false ambitions,
Seeing through deceptive schemes.

Then it grieves the paths abandoned,
Chances lost along the way,
In this world of dark decay
Growing darker every day.

Seek the hidden inner spaces,
Fear no truth and fear no pain.
There are no false painted faces—
There you may yourself regain.

Only there, among the wiser,
Can your lonely spirit stand.
For this world is ruled by madness,
With few minds still unanned.

You may find the hidden fire there,
You may vanish in the quest.
Only what your hands create there
Shows if you have failed or blessed.

Damnation, or the Transnistrian Fascist Regime

A regime of sheep-like virus,
Easy enough to spin and turn—
The people must be brought to zero,
While warmth is harder to earn.

They robbed away the whole foundation,
Left even markets bare;
No money left to buy the gas,
No comfort anywhere.

An outside enemy, a monster,
Gives orders from afar;
And monsters blindly carry them out,
Obeying every scar.

Though fascism spreads around us,
The world in falsehood’s sea—
A foolish world of broken mirrors,
A world that’s lost and free.

Damnation

Sheep-virus rules the kingdom,
Twisting minds with ease;
To crush the common people
Is simpler than to please.

They stole away the future,
They left the shelves all bare;
No money even for the gas,
No mercy anywhere.

A foreign beast gives orders,
The servants nod and obey;
The puppets march obediently
Along the chosen way.

For fascism wears many masks,
Deception rules the game;
A world that lives on lies and rot
Has only filth to name.

Happy New Year, Mother!

Happy New Year, Mother!
Yet I'll say another:
Little here is new
When happiness is through.

The numbers change their faces,
The world repeats old traces;
A year may start anew—
But not the heart, if blue.

New Year, Mother

Happy New Year, Mother dear!
Yet the truth is crystal clear:
Not much new the years can bring
If lost is happiness's spring.

The calendar turns its page,
But sorrow keeps its ancient age.

Down! Push Up! A Stump Appeared!

"Drop down! Push up!" — the order came,
A wooden stump was found the same.
No need to serve a rigid line—
A free-born Spirit must be thine!

No drills can make a person whole,
No chains can train a fearless soul.
The strongest force that you can prove
Is keeping thought and spirit free.

Down! Push Up!

"Down! Push up!" — a stump was caught!
Such service is not worth a thought.
Be free in Spirit — that is all
No barracks chain can make you fall.

MVD — Ministry of Inner Affairs

"Internal affairs" — they took the phrase literally:
With a mop they commit their brutality.
The new fascism was gladly embraced
By traitors who found in it profit and place.

A convenient feeding ground, a system of lies—
Wherever such darkness grows, evil survives.

"We Are Above the Whole Wide World"

"We are greater than the world,"
Says the mafia family line.
Knowledge, Art, and Lyre are nothing—
Only pigs are supreme and fine.

The mind may seek the hidden truth,
The poet may create and sing;
But in the kingdom ruled by greed,
The pig becomes the highest king.

The Highest One

"We are more than all the world"—
Mafia speaks with pride.
Truth and Lyre are empty words:
The pig is deified.

The World's Backside

A "heroic" little brute
Kills the "enemy" today,
Making his own nation's backside
Grow by taking others' share away.

He calls destruction glory,
He calls conquest a success;
But every stolen piece of pie
Leaves only more emptiness.

The World's Backside

A "heroic" fool today
Kills the "enemy" in sight,
Growing his country's backside
From another's stolen bite.

The Demon

Mercantile desire takes flight,
Ego swells beyond the height.
Mind in fragments, weighed and sold,
Mixed with madness, dark and cold.

Total lies — infernal press,
Through the media creeps distress.
Listening to the fool's loud cry
Turns the soul to pain and sigh.

Fear is always added on,
Bodies saved while truth is gone.
Selling conscience, twisting speech —
Helplessness is what they teach.

Thus the world becomes a ward,
Where absurdity is lord.
Empty promises of bliss
Lead the flock through forests of mist.

Clerics preach the lies of old,
Counterfeit truths bought and sold.
False science raises demons again,
Dark interpreters deceive men.

Schools prepare the mindless crowd,
Universities praise the proud.
Money, titles, ranks and fame —
All are fuel for the game.

Fall apart if rank is missed,
If ambition can't exist.
Obedience spreads like sickness wide,
Rotten manners dressed with pride.

To the enemy they bring a blade,
With slander sharp and traps well-made.
Those who enter halls of black
Seek power, wealth, and fortune's track.

Everywhere the mark of "demon" grows,
Honesty fades, corruption flows.
Without tears, without despair,
One can hardly breathe this air.

Through servility, through endless strain,
The hidden Demon rules the chain.
Behind the curtain of deceit,
The Spirit dies beneath defeat.

The final goal of Evil's scheme:
Turn mankind into a lesser being.
Through fear and habit, day by day,
The Demon steals the soul away.

Armor-Piercing Alloy

"Do not be restless. Impatience is a luxury;
I will slowly gain my speed and rise.
With measured steps we'll enter the road ahead—
I have preserved my distance in my eyes."
— Osip Mandelstam, 1931

I shortened the distance that stood between,
Rejected detours, chose the path of danger.
The heat of passion, marching into battle,
Became my fuel; Clarity — my engine.

Clarity rising beyond all limits,
And words become like bombs and shells,
Like napalm striking through the concrete bunker
That bears the name of Human Thought itself.

The war goes on. The target of the enemy:
To turn the human spirit into beasts.
They hide behind hired hands and shadows,
Where means remain, but purpose has deceased.

The enemy conceals the final reason;
Only the tools of war are understood.
The whole Earth wanders lost in madness,
And none can flee the struggle against the dark.

Through Lies and Madness forms the army,
Advancing boldly against the lone and few.
Insanity conquers towns and cities,
Moving unseen, yet knowing what to do.

Poet, fire straight into the Madness—
Even if the battle is unequal.
Your greatest caliber is the power of the word:
The single, uncompromising **"No!"**

Let Rage and Clarity be joined together,
Forged into one unbreakable alloy—
An armor-piercing force of spirit
That breaks the walls of falsehood and decay.

Sprayers

"Literature" — just empty games,
"Nation" and other hollow names.
Through endless praise and blind applause
Culture dies by hidden laws.

A little "critique" of daily news
Changes little in the views.
It only lets the pressure fade—
A steam valve in the masquerade.

The mainstream media’s poisoned art
Keeps shaping monsters from the start.
All writing serves as painted screens,
A mask that hides what truly means.

There are exceptions, very few,
Buried deep among the crew.
They cannot tear propaganda’s blade,
Only show the mess it made.

The filth still stinks. Through hired hands,
Through "sprayers" working by commands,
The unbearable stench is sweetened,
And traitors praised as noble, greeted.

Betrayal, selling, endless lies
Drag the mad world toward its demise.
Empty words make ears grow tired—
Yet crowds remain forever wired.

Any lie can be sold to the mass,
Any fear through minds can pass.
It is never hard to do
When reason turns to dust in you.

Corruption through the loss of mind
Is the genocide of spirit and kind.
For centuries the crimes of night
Have been dressed as law and right.

All "light" remains a declaration,
While punishment rules the nation.
Degradation has reached the sky—
Yet one direction: lower, fly.

The Sprayers of Decline proclaim
That falling down is Progress' name.
The costs of darkness, rot, and pain
Are called "sweet fragrance" once again.

No future waits, no hopeful road—
Only a Hell of endless load.
Yet in the darkest years they say:
"Wait for the manna. Wait and pray."

Of course, with different words they speak,
But the meaning stays the same and bleak:
"Just tolerate, endure, remain—
Tomorrow's miracle will come again."

Into Nothing, into nowhere,
They march in circles everywhere.
Still standing still, yet told to move—
"Stop! Go! Wait! Your fate will prove!"

Trace Upon the Ray

A new Führer. Truth arrives—
Yet the fool believes the lies.
Once again he marches forth,
Finding shame or death henceforth.

History repeats its pain,
Fools will weep and curse again.
Once again their "life" is spent
Only serving false intent.

Serving lies and serving shame,
Calling evil "good" by name.
Serve the darkness, guard the skin—
While the media storms begin.

Goebbels' spirit rules the screen,
Culture bows to what has been.
The main goal: survive the night.
But a foolish bullet has no sight.

Once again a Führer speaks,
"Truth" is false, and reason leaks.
Fools believe the beastly voice;
Again they march by forced choice.

Only faces change their form—
Evil rules through every storm.
Fear and lies are weapons old;
Crowds remain both weak and cold.

With each new generation's birth
Deeper rots the human worth.
Genocide becomes the plan—
Still the "pioneer" believes the man.

Once again the Führer lies,
Once again the herd complies.
Then beyond the final door—
The Digital Camp of global gore.

Only few remain awake,
Those who guard their spirit's sake.
They do not mistake the Hell,
They have seen its nature well.

Let the crowd believe once more
The deceiver at the door.
The sensitive soul finds Light,
Walks toward Source beyond the night.

Introspection, critical mind—
Break the chains that Evil binds.
Everything is born within:
There the answer starts to begin.

To the offers of the dark,
Only "No!" becomes the spark.
Then the mind escapes the spell,
Leaves the madness called Hell.

Only traces will remain—
A thin mark upon the ray,
From the shelter of the herd,
From the misery where fear had stayed.

Mind Beneath the Spirit

The roof collapses from the pressure
On a fragile, tired brain.
Overload has become the measure,
Failure follows endless strain.

Yet there is one forgotten detail:
Absurdity has reached the sky.
All this labor, all this struggle,
Serves no purpose passing by.

Into subtle chains we wander,
Hidden deep beneath the weight
Of obligations, dreams and duties,
Of ambitions sealed by fate.

This is the cross of broken ages:
Through absurdity they lose their mind.
Like a trial where a clever lawyer
Defends the truth he cannot find.

Smart in words, but serving illusions,
Proud of cunning, cold and sly—
When the Spirit is abandoned,
Madness always follows nigh.

Trickery and empty cleverness
Lead the mind into the herd.
Only Mind beneath the Spirit
Keeps its freedom from the word.

The mask and "cure" of CowID days
Revealed what people truly are:
Not the villain, but the creature
Following a guiding star.

The path toward Nothing still continues,
The whole world turned into a pen.
Life itself became a sentence,
Madness spreading among men.

Balance underneath the Spirit
Is the hardest road to choose.
Only then you will not become
A belly serving empty views.

Introspection and critical vision—
These are Soul's own alchemy.
Then comes unity with the Spirit,
First step: destroy deceit and tyranny.

The Soul itself will show the pathway;
All fixed recipes are dust.
Only those who dare and struggle
Reach the heights they truly must.

Departure

Genocide. Shame. Fear and Lies.
Reason fades beneath dark skies.
Purest Spirit nearly gone,
Into the sewer drifts the dawn.

The mad obey the Evil tide,
Marching toward the void inside.
Step by step they disappear,
While the sensitive remain in fear.

Searching for a way to flee,
They slowly come to clarity:
Liberation will arrive
Through the entrance where the dead dreams thrive.

The entrance to this fragile world
Is foolishness, where minds are curled.
If Spirit is the highest guide,
Beyond the body lies the tide.

Into the unknown, beyond the frame—
A truthful path for Soul to claim.
It is madness to expect
Hope among the minds corrupted, wrecked.

A brief projection of the age:
Degradation fills the stage.
Then comes the final transformation—
Spirit leaves, not stagnation.

Spirit seeks the Spirit's source,
Beyond Hell's destructive course.
Or else the fate of those who sell
Their souls arrives from deepest Hell.

The Hell of Hell brings joy to fools
Who trust in New Age's broken rules;
Who live in madness, proudly blind,
And seek "the truth" through a shattered mind.

The madness grows infernal, vast;
The path through darkness cannot last.
Unless you leave through the inner gate,
And turn within before too late.

For there the hidden turn begins:
The road beyond the world of sins.
One final purpose, one true goal—
To leave this Hell and reach the Source of Soul.

Clarity

Short and clear:
Life can be bright.
The greatest danger
Is losing the light.

If the realms of Hell
Seem perfectly well,
Becoming corrupt
Is easy enough.

The greatest deception:
No chains can be seen.
Slavery is freedom,
And all looks serene.

People are normal,
The mind is alright;
Yet madness infernal
Becomes common sight.

The world is surrounded
By Judas and lies.
Betrayal becomes labor,
Where obedience thrives.

They rule through the foolish,
Through weakness and greed;
They call selling courage,
And blindness a creed.

Honesty toward oneself
Is called something strange;
The pressure of crowds
Denies any change.

The voices keep saying
That life is a feast,
Not a funeral banquet
For Spirit and Reason deceased.

To follow the patterns
Of creatures who lie,
To bow before falsehood
And fear passing by,

To teach our descendants
To honor the base—
Is slowly to erase
The Soul from its place.

Life takes the Soul gently,
Step after step;
In an infernal world
Change cannot be kept.

CowID became a landmark,
A symbol of shame;
The measure of darkness
Rose higher again.

Keep Mind beneath Spirit,
Reject every chain.
Seek the Light within you,
Or suffer the same.

Short and clear:
The ending is grim.
Without inner searching,
The future grows dim.

The search is for the lonely,
The person apart;
Beyond the madhouse of madness
Lives the awakened heart.

Hell is the circle
Of lies without end.
The path is returning
To the Source again.

Back to the current
Of purest and true—
The endless bright river
Of Clarity through.

Bull Terrier Named "Fascism"

The bull terrier clears each bar—
Half-measures never get too far.
Genocide creeps, then gains its speed,
Turbocharged through CowID.

War makes all the faster run;
Hell's Dark Master soon has come.
One last cry—"Attack!"—is cast:
Not the wretched... we fall last.

The Bull Terrier Called "Fascism"

Over every fence it flies,
Scorning every compromise.
Slow begins the killing tide—
CowID becomes its stride.

War accelerates the race;
From the Pit comes Satan's face.
One last order: "Sic!"—too late...
Not the fools—we meet our fate.

Cogworld

A little cog got jab on cue,
Fake-plague potion, toxic brew.
Mindless fool in all he sees,
Cheap at heart with vulgar ease.
Cogworld rots in foul disease.

Cogworld

A tiny cog received his shot,
Fake-disease's poison draught.
Thoughtless fool in head and speech,
Petty soul beyond all reach.
Cogworld is a festering breach.

Screw-World

A little screw got dosed one day
With sham-disease's toxic spray.
Brain-dead thinking, spirit slack,
Soul as vulgar as it's black.
Screw-World is a rotten wreck.

The Eight-Thousandth Poem (in Russian)

So many years gone,
Yet verses marched on.
More fools now abound,
More chains lock us down;
More lies fill the air,
More fear everywhere.
Such is this age—
The poet's sole rage,
If honest and true,
Is shouting, "No!"

He shatters the Lies
That darken the skies.
The meek-hearted cheat,
By falsehoods made weak,
Still crawls as a slave
To fear and the grave.

Cry "No!"—that alone
When monsters have grown.
Say less—and you'll be
One more fool on your knee.

The Eight-Thousandth Poem in Russian

Long years disappeared
In poems well speared.
More fools fill the land,
More shackles command;
More terror, more lies—
No end in our eyes.

The honest bard knows
One answer alone:
A thunderous "No!"
Against global show.

The coward betrays,
Enslaved by the haze
Of fear and deceit—
He kneels in defeat.

Cry "No!" while they attack,
Or join the whole damned pack.

The Last Gulliver

Gadgets bind with silken thread;
Tiny screens shrink every head.
Gone the last Gulliver here,
Lost in lies, fascism, and fear.

Cog in the Net

Gadgets weave their binding net;
Little people, screen-bound yet.
Last Gulliver breathed his last
Midst of lies and fascist cast.

Gadget Magic

Gadget's got you, tightly tied;
Nets become the chains of mind.
Last Gulliver passed away
Where lies and fascist measures reign.

The Rabbit Hole's Depth

Down the Rabbit Hole we race—
Never time to breathe in place.
Time to climb back out once more,
From warm stench to Light and Frost.

The Rabbit Hole

Down the Rabbit Hole we slide;
No more room to breathe inside.
Time to leave that reeking den,
Meet the Light—and Frost again.

Depth of the Rabbit Hole

Deeper still the Rabbit calls;
Breath grows short within its walls.
Out we climb—it's long past due:
From warm rot to Frost and Truth.

The Hunched Goblin

Hunched the goblin, bowed with strain—
Life's a harness, chain on chain.
Not on Volga barges—see:
Fools now drag society.

Goblin Burden

Crooked goblin, bent and worn,
Life in harness, dusk till morn.
Not the haulers of old lore—
Foolish citizens pull more.

Harnessed World

Goblin's stooped beneath the load;
Life's one never-ending yoke.
Not the Volga's barge-haul crew—
Citizens, the witless few.

The Hunched Goblin

Hunched the goblin, crushed by load;
Life's a harness, bleak abode.
Not the Volga's barge-haul crew—
Citizens, the witless, do.

The Hunched Goblin

Hunched the goblin, bent with pain;
Life's forever hitched in chain.
No Volga haulers haul today—
Foolish citizens pull away.

The Gloomy Guru

Gloomy guru drones on high
Of lofty truths that touch the sky.
Yet one-sided heights descend,
Beauty twists to freakish end.

Guru's Sermon

Gloomy guru, grave and wise,
Preaches lofty truths and skies.
Crooked heights sink ever low;
Beauty leaves, and freaks now grow.

High Talk

Gloomy guru chants of Height,
Wrapped in solemn robes of light.
Lopsided heights collapse at last;
Beauty turns to ugliness.

The Gloomy Guru

Gloomy guru speaks sublime,
Lofty visions, timeless rhyme.
One-sided heights can only fall;
Beauty ends grotesque for all.

Dispatch to Ganesha

Dispatch to Ganesha:
"Rush into the china store!
Give the fools one crushing roar—
Or the Devil melts them down forevermore."

A Message to Ganesha

A message sent to Ganesh:
"Storm the china shop afresh!
Teach those fools a lesson rough,
Else the Devil claims their stuff."

Memo to Ganesha

Memo sent to Ganesha:
"To the china shop—make haste!
Let the fools all feel the crash,
Or the Devil melts their ash."

Dispatch to Ganesha

Dispatch to Ganesha:
"To the china shop—make haste!
Give the fools a proper thrashing,
Or the Devil melts them into slag."

Wind-Up Fool

A wind-up fool, now old and gray,
Still hunts "Happyness" every day.
Shakes with fear at every sound,
Never peace or courage found.

Lies and fear feed "Happyness"
Like cold storms feed blossoms—yes:
Leave them long beneath that sky,
Beauty fades... and flowers die.

Clockwork Boy

A clockwork boy, now old with years,
Chases "Happyness" through fears.
Every shadow makes him shake;
Every lie—another break.

Lies and fear make "Happyness"
Bloom like flowers in distress:
Keep them long in rain and cold—
Beauty withers, pale and old.

Wind-Up Dummy

A wind-up dummy, old at last,
Still hunts "Happyness"—holding fast.
Quakes with fear both night and day,
Watching courage waste away.

Lies and fear grow "Happyness"
Like harsh storms make flowers bless:
Leave them long in wind and rain—
Beauty scarcely will remain.

Wind-Up Fool

A wind-up fool, now old and worn,
Still seeks "Happyness" every morn.
Quakes with fear at every sound,
While false dreams keep spinning round.

Lies and fear feed "Happyness"
Like storms nourish blossoms—yes:
Leave them long beneath that sky,
Beauty fades... and flowers die.

The Meek Shall Inherit the Earth

The meek shall claim the Earth one day—
The vampires all will flee away.
Fools believe each lying speech:
First spread fear, then falsehood preach;
Promise wonders, promise bliss,
Paradise with one false kiss—
Then divide the loaf with pride:
Butter goes to those who lied.
Bowls and crumbs for fools instead—
Back to work. Keep your head.

Inheritance

The meek inherit Earth at last—
Watch the vampires flee aghast!
Fools embrace each crafted lie:
Scare them first, then promise sky;
Promise paradise and bread—
Dreams to fill each empty head.
Share the loaf? The rich take cream;
Fools get crumbs—and toil and dream.

Blessed Are the Meek

Blessed are the meek on Earth—
Vampires flee before rebirth.
Fools believe what liars say:
Fear them first, then lead astray.
Promise miracles above,
Fields of plenty, peace and love;
Break the loaf—but keep the best,
Leave the crumbs to all the rest.
Empty bowl and endless grind—
That's the wage they leave behind.

Buying and Selling

Buying. Selling.
Greed compelling.
Mind is gone—
Soul as well... gone.

Trade

Bought and sold,
Greed takes hold.
Thoughts take flight,
Soul from sight.

The Bargain

Buying. Selling.
Greed's compelling.
Mind is lost—
Soul's the cost.

The Price of Trade

Buying. Selling.
Greed's compelling.
Thoughts depart—
Then the soul, and heart.

Thick-Skinned Lilliputians

Thick-heeled Lilliputians, blind,
Thick of skin and mean of mind,
Glad to serve the Beasts they find.
Nursing lies, they hunt for "Bliss"
In an Hell they gladly kiss;
Cheat, betray, deceive once more,
Hoard their money, crave for more—
That's their creed from core to core.
Nothing else can reach their sight:
Eat and sleep from morn till night—
Feeding first on filth outright.

Lilliput Breed

Heavy-heeled, thick-skinned they crawl,
Serving Monsters, one and all.
Truth they trade for every lie,
"Happiness" in Hell they buy.
They betray and they deceive,
Trust the frauds they should not believe;
Pile up money, bow to greed—
That's the bastard's only creed.
Nothing higher fills their head:
Eat, sleep, swallow what they're fed.

Lilliputians

Heavy-heeled Lilliput crew,
Thick-skinned through and through.
Serving Beasts with eager pride,
Keeping close to Falsehood's side.
Seeking "Happiness" in Hell,
Selling truth they knew too well;
Cheating, lying, gathering gold—
That's the story always told.
Nothing else they care about:
Eat. Sleep. Never think or doubt.
Feast on filth—and then bow out.

Boys on a Tank

Boys upon a little tank.
Fingers gone—they paid the bank.
Then a bullet split the head...
Tin was all that filled instead.

Tin forged out of lies alone.
Loudmouths drive the fools headlong
To the slaughter, blind and numb;
Saving only skin to come.

Sense abandoned, cast away—
Darkness claimed their minds that day.
Thus the rashist order thrives...
While the "Leader" smiles and lies.

Tin Heads

Little boys ride little tanks;
Little fingers lost in ranks.
Then a shell broke through the skull—
Nothing there but tin to dull.

Tin from lies was cast and poured;
Frauds send fools to war by word.
Common sense is left behind;
Night descends upon the mind.

Into darkness, step by step,
Rashist power has led the inept.
Yet the "Leader," soft and mild...
Keeps pretending he's beguiled.

Masha, Pasha, Mother Russia

Masha, Pasha, Mother Russia—
Minds have turned to rotten mush-a.
Souls retreat in fear today:
Rashism hunts without delay.

Masha, Pasha...

Masha, Pasha—same old show;
Rotten porridge fills the skull.
Souls sink trembling to their heels:
Rashism strikes with iron zeal.

Our Russia

Masha, Pasha, our dear Russia—
Brains reduced to rancid slush.
Souls drop downward, gripped by fright;
Rashism's tightening its bite.

Masha, Pasha, Mother Russia

Masha, Pasha, Mother Russia—
Brains dissolved to rancid mush.
Souls retreat to trembling heels:
Rashism closes, never yields.

Too Much to Want

Wanting much with little might,
Fools stay strained from morn till night.
Beasts rejoice—they feed on gavvakh,
While the world keeps marching backward.

The Business of Ruin

Much they crave, yet weak they stand,
Driven hard by vain command.
Beasts feast gladly on gavvakh,
While all rush toward certain wreck.

Feeding the Beasts

Dreams are many, strength is small—
Fools stay tense, prepared to fall.
Beasts delight in gavvakh's taste;
On they drive... to utter waste.

Running on Empty

Much they want, yet strength is slight;
Fools live straining day and night.
Beasts rejoice—they feast on gavvakh,
While the march goes straight to ruin.

Spent

Much they crave, too weak to fight;
Fools stay wound up, taut and tight.
Beasts devour gavvakh with glee—
Marching on to catastrophe.

The Many-Layered Bottom

We've reached the end—what freedom stayed
Has now been beaten, stripped away.
A world of fools from wall to wall;
Deformed in spirit, one and all.

Those who resist the System's reign
Stand mostly lonely, bear the strain.
The media howl; their voices drown
Each truthful whisper beaten down.

Despair tears every cry apart;
A single hair still bears the heart.
That fragile thread is tightly wound
Inside the fool's unsteady hand.

There global fascism holds its throne,
Built high on megatons of lies.
Its only road leads ever down—
No sunrise waits beyond the skies.

Again the fools break through the floor;
Below—another fake, one more:
A cardboard bottom, thin and frail...
They'll smash through that without a fail.

Dante was wrong: not circles—layers.
Each deeper drop breeds blacker terrors.
Hell is here; the ground won't stay.
Run or stand—it slips away.

The Overton Window? No—
A sinkhole yawning far below.
It bursts the cardboard, layer by layer...
The world is lost in endless Night.

---

Variant of the last two stanzas:

Dante erred: not rings—but floors,
Each one darker than before.
Hell is here. The footing's gone.
Run or stay—the fall goes on.

Not a Window—just a Hole,
Dragging downward every soul.
Through the cardboard, one last dive...
Darkness swallows all alive.

The Buzzing Fly

Buzzing Fly has fed once more,
Stuffed herself from floor to floor.
Cockroach lives. Mosquito's gone,
Lost where lying mists roll on.
None remain to take the field
Against the world's corrupted yield.

The Well-Fed Fly

Greedy Fly has dined her fill,
Buzzing, bloated, never still.
Cockroach thrives; the Gnat is dead,
Lost where webs of falsehood spread.
No one stands against the tide
Of the world's corrupted pride.

Buzzing Fly

Buzzing Fly has filled her gut;
Round and round the feast is shut.
Cockroach stays. The Mosquito
Died where lying marshes grew.
None are left to take a stand
Against the ugliness of man.

The Buzzing Fly

Buzzing Fly has had her feast;
Bloated like a pampered beast.
Cockroach lives; the Mosquito
Perished in Falsehood's fatal bog.
None remain to fight the blight,
To bring this twisted world to light.

The Unprotected: The Sensitive and the Honest
(or: The Almost Completed World Digital Camp)

Protected now? A favored class—
How strange the ages come to pass.
Yet if the truthful, keen of soul
Should disappear—none mourns the toll.

Their ranks grow thinner every year;
This genocide has long been here.
Around us shuffle living dead,
By foolish citizens now led.

A hollow shell, devoid of flame,
Writes Earth's last chapter all the same.
The ones with Spirit, Mind, and Sight
Fade out alone into the night.

The truly human grow so few,
Though hidden from the public view.
The Beasts inject, through propaganda's sting,
Both Fear and Lies in everything.

Sink through a world that's cheap and blind,
Believing life is what you find.
The chance for rebirth fades away—
Let false "tolerance" rule the day.

Then through the gates you'll gladly file
Into the Camp of the Digital.
A crimson cross on banners white;
The watchdog guards approved "free speech" right.

A global bot keeps watch on all.
The quiet fool obeys the call,
Takes every shot, salutes each fraud,
And hymns the Rotten World abroad.

They only wait till all is done.
The Beasts have plans for everyone.
Threefold the Lies will flood the land;
The rot will march at their command.

"Protection" bought by bowed consent,
By selling Soul for safety lent.
Seek only Light—the rest is vain.
Time is short. Don't wait again.

"Protected" means already chained.
This madhouse never will remain.
Hell's walls will burn because so many
Joined the Lie instead of any

Truth—through silence, compromise,
Greed, participation, lies.
Promised "happiness," they sank
The world into its deepest blank.

Morning comes. Look through the glass.
Brighter grows the sun at last.
Light will burn this sham away,
Leaving not a shred to stay.

Find that Light within your soul.
Then you'll stand beyond control:
Not a cog in Darkness' scheme,
But a sudden Living Beam.

There is no worthier task to keep
For those whose hearts refuse to sleep.
Among Falsehood's endless din,
Guard the Light that burns within.

Check It

You'll stop believing if you check.
— Then who checks lies?
— Old Nobody next.

Believe Me Not

You won't believe once truth is known.
— Who checks the lies?
— No one's ever done.

Old Nobody

Check the facts—you'll lose belief.
— Who checks all lies?
— Old Nobody, chief.

Fact Check

Test a lie—you'll lose belief.
— Who tests lies?
— Old Nobody, chief.

Who Checks?

Verify—and faith will go.
— Who checks lies?
— Nobody you know.

Believe? Verify instead.
— Who verifies the lies?
— Old Nobody, he replied.

Now and Hereafter

The brute now teaches,
The fool now heals,
The villain hones
His lies like steel.
He longs to break
Both Mind and Soul,
To yoke us all,
To seize control.

To turn mankind
To cattle bred,
Till Meaning dies
And Truth lies dead.
Send all of them
Straight down to Hell—
The borders fell,
The warning bell

No longer rings.
This is no dream:
Hell walks the earth,
Not just a theme.
A newer one
Will soon arise—
Not underground,
But 'neath our skies.

Behind a fence,
A digital wall,
Reality
Dissolves for all.
The people bowed,
The ranks aligned,
A war machine
Consumes the mind.

Its shells are Lies,
Its poison Fear.
The fools obey
With eager cheer.
They crush what's left
Of human grace—
Relentless, ruthless,
Cold of face.

---

Variant of the final stanza:

Lies are bullets.
Fear's the gas.
Fools salute
Each dark command.
Hunting down
Humanity's last spark—
Unbending, savage,
Sure and stark.

The Same Commercial Breaks on Eurosport, Month After Month

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat once more.
The selfsame adverts flood the screen.
No respite from the mindless roar—
More rubbish where thought should have been.

It pours from every glowing frame,
Slowly murdering the mind.
Fresh buckets of the very same
Are all we're ever meant to find.

Noise has taken Meaning's place;
Empty echoes rule the day.
Life hangs trembling over waste...
Curtain falls. Fade to gray.

Commercial Break

Hammered by repetition,
Month by month the same.
Endless advertisements—
Different brands, one game.

Filth flows from the screens,
Drowning every thought.
Fresh loads of distraction—
Nothing that is sought.

Noise replaces Meaning;
Silence has no room.
Life hangs over sewage...
Cue the final doom.

Months of the Same Commercials

Repeat us into numbness—
Month on month the same.
Commercials without ending;
Different ads, one game.

Garbage floods the screenwaves,
Smothering the mind.
Fresh torrents of the trivial—
Nothing new to find.

Noise has drowned out Meaning;
That's the common rule.
Life hangs over filth itself...
Lights out. Curtain. Fool.

Meta-Level

Once Awareness stands upright,
Where can fascist filth still bite?
Mind that climbs beyond the climb
Leaves the world's foul muck behind.

Awareness

Consciousness, once fully won—
Where can filth still press upon?
Mind that reaches higher ground
Leaves the global muck unwound.

Beyond the Mire

True awareness breaks the chain.
Where can fascist filth remain?
Mind upon the meta-plane
Stands beyond the world's foul stain.

Meta-Consciousness

Awareness breaks oppression's claim.
Where now strikes fascist filth and shame?
Mind upon the meta-plane
Stands beyond the global stain.

Above the Mire

Awareness lifts the mind so high—
Where can fascist filth apply?
Meta-thought has crossed the line,
Far beyond the global slime.

In Memory of Pavel Kogan

"I'm tired of endless words and endless strife,
Of loving weary eyes that long have cried...
Far off upon the blue freebooter sea,
The brigantine still spreads her sails to ride..."

The brigantine has heeled once more—
The end of childish dreams in store.
The Soul was lost in lands unknown?
"A trifle..." whispers Heaven's throne.

No—horned gods are masters still
Of leading hearts through poisoned will;
Through filth, oblivion, painted skies,
Till ugliness is crowned as wise.

Enough of all this whining noise!
Let's seek again the sea's wild voice.
We'll leave behind cheap comfort's chain
And trust the wind, despite the pain.

Yet even plague and quarantine,
The grand PLANdemic's cold machine,
Could not prevent our fevered dreams
From steering Hell by unseen streams.

They led to war. They lead us still.
Now rises, brick by brick, the will
To build a worldwide Digital Camp,
Where every spirit fades and dampens.

The sails are torn. The hull grows thin.
The ropes decay. The rot sets in.
Along the shore the cannons wait,
Their shells are Lies, their smoke is Hate.

Fear is the powder. Lies ignite.
The barrage lasts through day and night.
Yet who condemns the witless mass?
They've long forgotten all that's lost.

Life itself seems "shvah"—undone.
The oldest story, never won.
Myths and fantasies conceal
The rot beneath what feels so real.

One choice remains for every soul:
To dream while sinking into the hole—
Or strip corruption of disguise
And meet the Truth with open eyes.

The brigantine comes home at last
And fires one final broadside blast.
Against the Empire built on Lies—
In vain... the crowd still shuts its eyes.

The captain's hair becomes a prize,
His scalp the trophy of the lies.
So fares the one who dares to steer
Against the current born of fear.

Privateers of Word and Thought,
The greatest wars by minds are fought.
Stand more boldly! Hold your ground!
Only thus your Self is found.

For kingdoms fall and banners fade;
Steel grows dull and debts are paid.
But one free thought sincerely spoken
Leaves a chain forever broken.

"I'm tired of endless words and endless strife,
Of loving weary eyes that long have cried...
Far off upon the blue freebooter sea,
The brigantine still spreads her sails to ride..."

The Brigantine

The brigantine sails through the storm,
The waves are black, the winds are warm.
Her sails are torn, her hull grows thin,
The ropes decay, the rot sets in.

Along the shore the cannons wait,
Their shells are Lies, their smoke is Hate.
Fear is the powder, Lies ignite,
The barrage thunders through the night.

Yet who condemns the witless mass?
They've long forgotten all that’s past.
They've lost the dreams they once possessed,
The buried hopes within the chest.

Life itself seems shvah — undone,
The oldest tale remains unwon.
Myths and fantasies conceal
The hidden rot beneath the real.

One choice remains for every soul:
To dream while sinking toward the hole,
Or strip corruption of disguise
And meet the Truth with open eyes.

The brigantine comes home at last,
And fires one final broadside blast
Against the Empire built on Lies —
In vain... the crowd still shuts its eyes.

The captain’s hair becomes a prize,
His scalp — the trophy of the lies.
So fares the one who dares to steer
Against the current born of fear.

Privateers of Word and Thought,
The greatest wars by minds are fought.
Stand more boldly! Hold your ground!
Only thus your Self is found.

For kingdoms fall and banners fade;
The steel grows dull, the debts are paid.
But one free thought sincerely spoken
Leaves every chain forever broken.

"I’m tired of endless words and strife,
Of weary eyes that long for life,
Of loving eyes that long have cried..."

Far off upon the blue freebooter sea,
The brigantine still spreads her sails free.
She rides beyond the fading night,
Still chasing Truth, still seeking Light.

(Clicking on the image fits it into the screen)

Человек как средство

Кот наелся. Спит, зараза.
Жизнь ему не как проказа.
Человек — ему всё сразу
Надо. Также ждёт приказа.

Это вечная дилемма:
Цель и... средство. ТВАРЕЙ схема:
Обнадёжив, обмануть —
Окунуть в Ложь, Страх и Муть.

Средством быть — вот жизДни путь.

Честен будь, и одиноким
Станешь в мире однобоком.
А умён — совсем далёким
От безумств под Ложью, Проком.
Не безумств в мирке сём мало:
Это значит — ВСЁ пропало...

Будь? Муть,
Ложь, Жуть!!!
Прочь — Путь...

Путь: Жуть, Ложь, Муть.
Пал — не минуть,
Не обессудь,
Пожравшей Суть
И Явь беды.
Всем слабакам — туды.

Олице-твАр-ение Зла

ЛицетвАренье Зла: иуды,
Шизоиды и дураки.
И в лучшем случае паскуды.
Но на подъём всегда легки:

Их новый фюрер "вдаль" поманит —
Поверив, предадут, распнут.
И посреди Фашистской Срани
Вновь будут строить свой уют.

Бункерный дед.
Вонь, Ложь, Страх, Бред.
Гитлеру вслед —
Надо побед!
Клио вновь "нет!"
Крикнет в ответ,
Руша хребет.

Гудзон. Музон.
"Свобода слова".
Попался снова,
Коль мудозвон.

"Светлые дали"

Пол-Европы прошагали,
Ничего там не узнали.
Строй Совковый: в нём пропали,
Стоя что-то — типа "дали".

The Speech returns — the Dawn of Rebirth,
Foretelling renewal upon the earth.
The Knight of Words leaves the battle's breach —
All lies in silence. The Rhythm speaks.

The Return of Speech — Rebirth's first flame,
Heralding life in its ancient name.
The Knight of Words survives the fray —
All else is dead. Rhythm calls the Assembly.

Speech comes home — Rebirth draws near,
Breaking silence, ending fear.
Word-Knight stands when wars all cease —
Dead is all. Rhythm holds the Peace.

The poems find their way once more;
Such is the cycle at the core.
If you write for your own delight,
Loving rhythm, pure and bright,
Then Renaissance will fill your soul,
Driving Decadence from its role.

Poems always find return;
Energy must wheel and turn.
Write for no one but your heart,
Let the living rhythm start,
Then a Renaissance shall rise,
While Decadence before it dies.

Poems always circle back;
Energy stays on its track.
Write for no applause or fame,
Love the rhythm, not the name.
Then the Renaissance will grow,
Casting Decadence below.

Back and forth.
The fool feels worth:
"If something moves, then life must grow—
Who cares if all descends below?"

To and fro.
The mutant's glow:
"If something moves, then all is fine—
Though every step leads down the line."

Back and forth.
The freak finds worth:
"If it is moving, it must win..."
Though every road descends to sin.

Back and forth.
The fool is glad:
"Whatever moves can't be that bad."
Blind to the path that sinks to Night.

Heroin and contraband.
"Loose the hounds!"—the agencies command.
Where are you now, Escobar,
To cut their profits from afar?

Heroin. Contraband.
"Set them loose!"—the spymen command.
Where are you, Escobar,
To trim their margins from afar?

Heroin and smuggled gold.
"Hunt!" the secret services told.
Where is Pablo Escobar,
To shrink their take, however far?

Heroin and smuggled wares.
"Attack!" the hidden power blares.
Where are you, Escobar,
To slash their profits from afar?

Logic builds more walls than windows

Walls rise fast where logic reigns;
Windows bloom through greater pains.
Lies preserve their rigid throne,
Built on axioms carved in stone.

Then one breach broke through the wall—
There another world stood tall:

Spirit's realm, forever free.
Trust your Heart more frequently;
Think less with the captive mind—
Save the souls that chains still bind.

Logic builds up walls with ease;
Windows come through rarer keys.
Lies adore their grand design,
Ruled by axioms in line.

Then a crack appeared one day—
Beyond the wall another way:

Spirit's kingdom, bright and whole.
Hear your Heart before your skull;
Think less often—feel what's true,
Saving souls the chains run through.

Logic builds more walls than light

Walls are raised with flawless skill;
Windows come against the will.
Lies defend their cold domain,
Ruled by axioms' iron chain.

Then one opening split the stone—
Not a prison... but Unknown.

There the Spirit's kingdom starts.
Trust your Heart beyond your thoughts;
Think less often—listen deep:
Thus the soul escapes its keep.

Lies ran wild beyond all scale;
Fools were swallowed by the tale.
Lower than the deepest fall,
Still they charged—and lied to all.

Truth was drowned in endless lies;
Fools went blind before their eyes.
Past the Bottom, crushed by fear—
Back they came with lies to spear.

Total lies beyond all measure;
Fools embraced them as a treasure.
Beneath the Bottom fear held sway—
Still they lied and charged away.

Lies exceeded every bound;
Fools in falsehood nearly drowned.
Fear had dragged them far below—
Yet they marched with lies in tow.

World → word → moo:
Collapse into dung... moo.

World → whirr → moo:
All folds into bull... poo.

World → murmur → moo:
Meaning melts to muck... moo.

World... word... moo.
Mind folds into manure.

World → mumble → moo:
Then—collapse to dung. Moo...

Round the seal the words are cast
("Global Bedlam ends at last!").
World → word → moo:
Collapse to muck... Moo.
At its heart—a fig of scorn.
Find the Light that you were born.

Round the seal the legend streams:
"Bedlam ends with shattered dreams."
World → murmur → moo.
Everything folds into goo.
At the center—mocking sign.
Seek the Inner Light divine.

Around the seal these words are drawn:
"Global Bedlam now is gone!"
World → word → moo.
All collapses into goo.
In the crest—a mocking fist.
Find the Light that can't be missed.

Round the seal one phrase is wound:
"Bedlam's empire hits the ground."
World → murmur → moo:
Meaning melts to muck... moo.
At the core—a silent jeer.
See the Inner Light shine clear.

No Cross—cry, "Full Throttle! Fly!"
Such a choice is no surprise:
Height, Freedom, Beauty—rise!

Not the Cross—"Prop clear! Take wing!"
This choice means everything:
Height and Freedom, Beauty's spring.

Not the Cross—but "Take to sky!"
There's a reason, and here's why:
Height. Freedom. Beauty. Fly!

No Cross. Lift off instead.
That's the path the Spirit led:
Height. Freedom. Beauty ahead.

No Cross—only "Full Ahead!"
Choose the open skies instead:
Height, Freedom, Beauty spread.

The Zeroed One's no puppet made
By the screens that minds invade.
Nothing binds—and so you stay
Floating past their grim decay.

That's Nirvana: phase at zero,
Calm the current, still the flow.
While the world serves Fear and Lies,
You have reached the higher skies.

The Empty One's no TV slave,
Not a mind they could enslave.
Owning nothing, free you roam,
Far beyond their barren home.

That is Nirvana: zero phase,
Silent current, tranquil ways.
Fear and Lies consume the earth;
You ascend to higher birth.

Zeroed Soul—not screen-bred clay,
Not the prey they shape each day.
Nothing holds and nothing weighs;
You pass through their lifeless maze.

Zero phase—Nirvana's art,
Stillness flowing through the heart.
Fear and Lies possess the land;
You have reached a higher strand.

Zeroed One—not media's spawn,
Not another mind withdrawn.
Nothing clings, and so you rise,
Leaving dullness to its lies.

Zero phase—Nirvana's flame;
Current quiet, none to tame.
Fear and Lies infect the earth;
You have found your second birth.

The seal's imprint
Melts with sunset.
Sunset fades—
Off to Nothing... fool.

The seal's last trace
Dissolves at dusk.
Dusk grows dim—
Straight into Nothing, fool.

The seal's faint sign
Melts into night.
Night fades away—
Nothing awaits, poor wight.

Seal fades away.
Sunset turns gray.
Darkness has won—
Nothing, moron.

The seal's impression
Melts in the west.
Twilight grows dim—
Nothing calls, lost soul.

The System's Error? Art alone.
Its themes—Free Spirit, Freedom shown—
Like grinding steel upon the ears
Of lackeys serving tyrant spheres.
Corruption dressed as living truth;
Freedom stolen from our youth.
Honor exiled, Reason chained,
Spirit drowned where mire has reigned.
First comes Falsehood. Then the Mire.
Last comes Horror, rising higher.
Let Art explode their murky hell—
Where devils dream and darkness dwell.

Art—the System's fatal flaw.
Freedom, Spirit—what they abhor.
Like iron scraping hardened stone,
Such words offend the rulers' throne.
Filth disguised as normal life;
Freedom lost in endless strife.
Honor hunted, Reason sold,
Spirit buried in the cold.
Falsehood first, then murky night;
Terror crowns the final height.
Let your Art ignite the blaze—
Burn the demons' poisoned maze.

Art's the glitch they cannot bear.
Freedom, Spirit—danger there.
Every lackey shuts his ears;
Truth's the thing a tyrant fears.
Vice parades as common sense;
Freedom dies without defense.
Honor falls and Reason bleeds;
Spirit chokes on swamp-born weeds.
Falsehood first. Then sludge and blight.
Last of all—the reign of fright.
Break their kingdom with your Art;
Tear the devils' swamp apart!

Rebuilt. Cleansed. The excess gone.
What remains when all is done?
Just a pit where hills once stood...
Yet a Pit is not the Void.

---

Variant of the first line:
Rebuilt. Refined. The excess gone.

Strip away what need not stay.
What's left standing anyway?
Only where the hilltops lay—
Now a pit... yet not the Void.

Reassembly. Clearing too.
What's the remnant passing through?
Where two hills once touched the sky—
Now a pit... but not the Void.

Clear the clutter. Build anew.
What's still left when all is through?
Just a hollow where peaks had been...
Still, no Void is found within.

Rebuild. Remove.
What's left to prove?
A pit where hills once kissed the sky—
Yet not the Void. Not yet. Not I.

Food of the Living Dead

Falsehood is our daily bread;
Fear pours gravy on the spread.
The Horned Idol feasts on gavvah,
Grinding crowds to ash and slaughter.

Food of the Dead

Falsehood fills the beggar's bowl;
Fear is poured to feed the soul.
The Horned Lord devours gavvah,
Leaving common folk as cinders.

The Dead Men's Feast

Lies are porridge, served each day;
Fear's the gravy on the tray.
Horned demons gorge on gavvah,
Turning crowds to dust and shadow.

Food for Corpses

Lies—the porridge people eat.
Fear—the gravy on the meat.
The Horned God consumes gavvah,
Leaving nothing but the dust.

Slugs Beneath the Salt

Life-in-Death breeds endless chains;
Blustering fools parade their brains.
Spirit withers, fed by Fear.
No false god will judge them here—
Life-in-Death itself's the lash,
Driving souls to rot and ash.

Falsehood thrives; beneath the salt
Slugs become the world's gestalt:
Fit for fools who never see
Prison bars in slavery.
If no fences meet their eyes,
They believe the prison lies;
Petty grievances they store—
Fools are hopeless to the core.

Lies repeated, Fear replayed,
Build the scaffold, blade by blade.
CowID proved the pattern true:
Vermin bowed to senseless goo.
Reason, proof, and understanding
Lead the truthful to the branding.
Endless repetition weaves
Sham "beliefs" that skin deceives.

"Progress!" cries the hungry beast,
Feeding on possession's feast.
Spirit, Reason—cast aside,
Rarely welcomed, mocked with pride.
More restrictions, laws, and fright,
More deception dressed as right;
"Safety" forged for witless minds,
Daily burdens, tighter binds.

Cause and consequence erased,
Duty turned to joyless waste;
Step by step they tunnel through,
Far below the Bottom's view,
Till both Spirit and the Mind
Leave no living trace behind.

A worried voice cried:
"Hanging by a hair?"
"No—by a snot thread.
The Earth hangs by the hair."

---

Variant of the third line:

"No—by a strand of snot;

An anxious voice spoke:
"By a hair you swing?"
"No—by a strand of snot.
The Earth's the fragile thing."

A worried shout:
"By a hair?"
"No—a booger strand.
The Earth hangs there."

A trembling voice:
"Held by a hair?"
"No—by a drop of snot.
The Earth's the one hanging there."

Weariness draws near;
Great efforts—little here.
Lonely age remains
Pity wrapped in chains.
Do not mourn earth's dust
If your mind you trust.
All we built has cracked;
Gavvah now is lacked.
They have drained too deep—
Souls have sunk asleep.

Weariness comes slow;
Strength has little left to show.
Lonely twilight, fading flame—
Pity always speaks the same.
Mourn not dust that turns to clay
If your mind has found its way.
Our common cause has reached collapse;
Gavvah thins as darkness wraps.
Too much life the vampires drained
Where dim awareness long has reigned.

---

Variant of the last line:
From dim minds they long enchained.

Poker

A fool with jelly for a brain,
An ace tucked up his sleeve again;
He dreams he's Joker, wild and free,
That life's one giant poker spree.

The cardsharps always beat his hand—
Their game obeys no rules or plan.
The greatest trump they ever play
Is nonsense filling minds each day.

It's time to fleece the bloated fool,
Well-fed on slogans, taught at school.
His jelly wobbles—"What a shame!"
The sucker's cleaned out once again.

The Game rolls on from year to year;
The fog of nonsense thickens here.
Now poker spans the whole wide Earth,
For crippled minds of little worth.

The stakes? The scraps of freedom left.
The sharper smiles with practiced deftness:
He'll strip us to the final thread,
Then march us to the **New Camp** ahead.

There ends the Game—or so they claim;
The nonsense loops, forever the same.
The time has come to wake in fright—
The cardsharps cheat in open sight.

---

Variants for the last 2 lines.

Now everyone should shake with dread—
The cardsharps own the game instead!

-

It's time the sleepers understood:
The cardsharps rule for no one's good.

Leaving Hell

Murk consumes your strength each day;
Pseudo-life just drains away.
Lies and Horror, soft yet sure,
Kill the soul they cannot cure.

Fools keep stumbling through the Night,
Copying Evil left and right.
Megatons of total Lies
Outweigh nuclear demise.

Children of a phantom land,
Trusting nonsense, march on command.
Every loudmouth hunts for bliss,
Finding chains instead of this.
Madness spreads its poisoned seed,
Growing stronger through our greed.

CowID laid bare the trend:
Resistance met its bitter end.
Only scattered hearts stood fast—
Now they're hunted, unsurpassed.
Those who dared refuse to kneel
To the Global Circus Wheel.

"Search" itself becomes control;
Truth is branded harmful to the whole.
Facts that scratch the tyrant's hide
Are called terror, cast aside.
Soon they'll comb us, one by one,
To fit the mold of **HumuSnism** done;
Anyone who guards the spark
Of thought and soul within the dark
Will be branded outcast, fraud—
Enemy of State and God.

Know this Hell before too late.
Tell Genocide: **"No!"**—don't wait.
Cast out Falsehood, cast out Dread;
Leave delirium for dead.
Seek Reality and Light
Only inward—outside, Night.

Worlds without the Mind and Spirit
Rot to filth that none inherit.
Light seeks Light by nature's law;
Filth finds filth without a flaw.
So it happens, clear and true:
Through the storm a beam breaks through—
Source-Light piercing cloud and veil.

Leave Hell's deepest pit behind.
Walk toward the Source you'll find.
Leave the Abyss—awake, arise.
Choose the Real. Open your eyes.

At times, by nonsense overthrown,
Your path is wrapped in shade.
Stand like a mountain midst the Lies—
Drive every foulness away.

Sometimes nonsense clouds your way,
Darkening every mile.
Stand a mountain in the Lies;
Cast the vile exile.

Though nonsense veils your road with night,
And Falsehood fills the air,
Rise like a mountain, firm and bright—
Drive all foulness from its lair.

When nonsense clouds your way,
Stand mountain-high in Lies.
Drive every foulness out—
Let Truth alone arise.

The Claim

The Writers' Guild—
The Publishers' Build.
A Dreamers' Club—
Run from the Hub.
A Traitors' Ring—
Virtue's offering.
The Servants' craze—
Evil's living face.

Gaudy. Hollow.
Yet all still follow,
Chasing "God"
Or "Truth" they laud.
One regiment—
In Evil bent.
Its aim is plain:
Check Spirit's reign.

The hireling grins,
Machine-like spins.
The wise are stalled,
The just are mauled.
Lies fall like hail,
Fear fills the gale.
The media—Hell's faithful kin.

One mine alone
Is worth your soul:
The Search of Spirit.
Pan for its riches—
Then leave corruption behind.

Greed and treason crossed all bounds;
Lies and Fear dragged spirits down.
Madness claimed their broken minds—
Lost in Darkness, none it finds.

Venality. Greed untamed.
Lies and Fear—their souls were maimed.
Madness seized them, mind and heart—
Darkness tore their lives apart.

Greed ran wild beyond all measure;
Falsehood was their only treasure.
Madness swallowed every spark—
Now they're vanished in the Dark.

Greed unbound. Corruption's reign.
Lies and Fear consumed the brain.
Sense gave way to dark despair—
Nothing living lingers there.

Greed and treason knew no scale;
Lies and Fear would never fail.
Madness took them, stark and grim—
Darkness swallowed every limb.

The Void

The Void—the fall of Fear and Lies.
Back we go where pseudo-life still dies,
Yet awakened, clear of sight,
We shall build a world of Light.

Not a flock that blindly strays,
But one that walks in Truth's bright blaze.
Spirit joined with Reason stands—
None can break what Light commands.

Will the Living Word take form?
Perhaps... So let your courage warm.
Do not falter. Work. Create.
Think to roots—don't imitate.

Seek the Spirit's primal birth;
All else fades and has no worth.
Carry Light where souls are sealed—
Into every prisoned field.

---

Variant of the last stanza.

Seek the Spirit's primal birth;
All else is noise of little worth.
Carry Light through every wall—
To the Prison of the Soul!

The Garden of Paradise

Gladly to Paradise I'd race—
A loyal servant of the place.
My mind, a well-programmed machine,
Believes each lie it's ever seen.

It fires nonsense, round by round,
At other fools on nearby ground;
Their minds are dulled another way—
Yet all are lost within the play.

The task of splitting hearts is done:
The world is shelved, each shelf its own.
"My filth is sweet; yours reeks," they cry—
Thus fools are sorted, shelf by shelf, to die.

Here the Scaffold, there Moloch;
Different torments never stop.
One thing binds them, everywhere:
The crowd is kept in leash by Fear.

Gladly to Paradise I'd fly.
"My foe calls it Hell," comes the reply.
"We'll build Heaven here on Earth!"
So power boasts of noble birth.

Washington and Kremlin dream
Of bright utopias, so it seems.
CowID stripped the mask away:
The healer dealt death in broad daylight.

That was merely Act the First.
Crafty beasts will make it worse.
"Care" will finish what they start—
Scaffold, Moloch, Judgment's mark.

Still they promise Paradise...
Yet Heaven lives only in their lies.

---

Variants.

Gladly to Paradise I'd flee—
So says the slave they fashioned me.

-

Gladly to Paradise I'd fly;
That's what obedient minds reply.

The Fisherman's Song

The world's but a pond;
The catch is immense.
The baiting is Lies;
The nets—obedience.

Submit and believe.
A fish has no roar:
It's silent and dull,
So trawling is war.

Pour poison with care
Into the still lake.
Rule through fear and despair—
Call plunder "the Way."

Call shamefulness virtue;
Persuade every school:
"So always it's been—
Just water, not blood."

Old Neptune looks on.
He never need speak;
He masters the tackle—
The Lies and the Fear.

The lackey who fishes,
A creature for sale,
Will carry each order,
Both public and veiled.

One order's for minnows;
The secret decree
Is kept for the few
Who kneel at the knee.

The poison runs deep;
The pond starts to die.
Decay fills the water;
The stench floods the sky.

"Don't question foundations!"
Keep shouting, "All's well!"
You'll "save" all the children—
As supper for Hell.

From the cold and from the need
We shall mine the gold indeed.
North. Kolyma.
Russia's lost its mind.

---

Variant of the last line:
A nation lost its mind.

Cold and hunger, side by side—
Gold is all they'll ever find.
Northward—Kolyma.
Russia's lost its mind.

Cold and hunger forge the gold;
That's the tale forever told.
North. Kolyma.
Madness rules Russia.

Cold and hunger lead the way;
Gold we'll wrest from frozen clay.
North—Kolyma's claim.
Russia's gone insane.

Cold. Hunger. Gold.
That's the story we've been sold.
North—Kolyma's frozen scar.
Russia lost itself by far.

Немезида

Вместо пьянки спозаранку
Снова клюну на обманку:
Ложь сильнее алкоголя
Губит ум, жжёт Дух, а воля

Превращается в мочало.
В Лжи народца больше пало,
Чем в наркотиках и водке.
"Нахожденье посерёдке"

Хуже дикого запоя.
Но опять трындят иное:
Это норма, мол, — легка
Немезида дурака:

Покарает, коль не веришь,
Не потворствуешь, а ценишь
Честность, прочие остатки
Жизни прежней. А коль хваткий

И послушный-"простодушный",
В подчиненьи, в вере ушлый,
Немезида наградит —
Недоумков всюду бдит,

И вовсю в эфир ПИЗДИТ.

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Мультипликация и Пирамида общественного идиотоустройства

Тьме раболепствуя всё больше,
Приобретаешь много "благ",
И прокоптишь, возможно, дольше —
Пока не встретится овраг:

Предатели, приспособленцы
Для Зла расходный матерьял.
Пока ж выкидывай коленце,
Тем вытесняя мысль, что ПАЛ.

Овраг зароют и сначала
Начнут про "белого бычка".
Немало так в веках пропало:
Приманки сплошь — для дурака.

А не дурак, уйди в сторонку,
Тем охраняя Ум и Дух:
Вся пирамида из подонков,
Придурков и безумных слуг.

Уйдя в себя как в скит, ты сможешь
Через Прозрения найти
Первичный Свет, тем Ум умножишь —
И сможешь Ясность обрести.

Без Ясности Тьма добивает
Остатки Духа — ерунда,
Что он бессмертен — Ум лажает,
Не видя, что кругом СТАДА.

Кругом СТАДА, а пирамида —
Большая клетка: скотство сплошь —
Доказано в года говнида.
Спасенье: Ясность приумножь.

Спасенье Духа — вот задача.
Всё остальное — ерунда.
И не поможет в том удача:
Года "напрасного труда",

Что в одиночестве доводят
До исступления, — вот Путь.
Пока ж придурки колобродят,
Сплошь умножая Муть и Жуть.

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At the Final Line, or Boiling Out the Lice

The system's old before the Flood—
The Flood itself is drawing near.
Yet other slogans fill the blood:
"The worst is coming!" loud and clear.

To those awake, alert with dread,
No place remains in filth and lies.
A soul in falsehood walks half-dead—
Let Fear consume the fools it buys.

That's how the foul foundations stand,
Of servitude no chains can break.
But speak not of the Sun's command!
Its rays the sleeping spirit wake.

The elder folk recall the dawn—
Its light was brighter, warm and true.
Now CO₂'s the sacred song:
"Cut more! Obey! Start life anew!"

No radiant future waits ahead
Where slavery and madness reign.
Their cloak of lies is thickly spread;
Not even wit can pierce the stain.

The honest and the watchful few
Can only wait till darkness ends.
The rare wise soul still struggles through,
Surrounded by well-fed vermin friends.

Consumption, nonsense, moral rot—
The world's prevailing creed today.
Dark laughter is the final lot,
When Hell's last border bars the way.

---

Ending variants.

Consumer lust and crawling vice—
The world's defining marks remain.
One thing is left: to mock the lice
While standing at the Gates of Pain.

--

Consumer cult and filth combined—
The badges of the age we see.
A bitter laugh is all we find
At Hell's last line of destiny.

System Failure

System failing—
Spirit trailing,
Logic breaks and drifts apart.
Step outside—keep soul and heart.

System Crash

System broken—
Spirit's token
Lost in logic's hollow art.
Stand outside—stay whole at heart.

System Fault

System failure.
Spirit's failure.
Logic scatters into night.
Stand outside—and stand upright.

System Error

System error—
Spirit's terror.
Logic falls and comes apart.
Stand outside—you're not the marred.

System Failure

The system breaks—
The Spirit wakes.
Logic scatters, torn apart.
Stand outside... and keep your heart.

System Glitch

System failure—
Spirit's savior.
"Logic" falls in tangled rot.
Step outside—you're not forgot.

System Crash

System crash—
Spirit's flash.
"Logic" stumbles, lost in fraud.
Stand apart—and stay unmarred.

System Fault

System fault—
Spirit's vault.
"Reason" wanders, split in two.
Stand outside—and stay true.

Culture's Cozy Niche

Culture's cozy little trade:
Fools and foolesses parade,
Preaching to the waiting mass
What they're told—through strain and farce.

Culture's Easy Pay

Culture grants an easy stay:
Fools perform for cushy pay.
To the crowd they loudly preach
What they're ordered all to teach.

Culture's Sinecure

Culture's sinecure once more:
Fools take up their scripted chore.
To the masses, dull and grim,
They recite the approved hymn.

Culture's Payroll

Culture keeps them well supplied:
Fools on every platform ride.
To the mob they drone on cue,
Pushing what they're told is true.

Failure Ends

Failure ends—
Silence bends.
All dissolves; no other way:
Matter's chains have sealed the day.

The End of Failure

Failure's done.
Silence won.
All must crumble, all must fall—
Matter forged the prison wall.

Closing Failure

Failure closes.
Silence grows.
Ruin was the only course,
Bound by Matter's prison-force.

A Final Full Stop

Failure—ended.
Silence blended.
Nothing else could come to be:
Matter forged captivity.

Erasing Poets for Decades

Mandelstam—
Gone. The sham
Still goes on from age to age:
"Attack!"—the honest, clear-eyed sage.

Erasing the Memory of Poets

Mandelstam—
Lost. What sham!
Nothing's changed beneath the sun:
Truthful souls are hunted on.

Poets Erased

Mandelstam—
Silenced. Damn.
History repeats once more:
"Get the honest!"—hear the roar.

Forgotten Poets

Mandelstam—
Rubbed from time.
Still the same relentless cry:
"Hunt the truthful! Let them die!"

The Pen

Stalls. Swill. A flock of sheep.
Fear. Madness. Lies run deep.
Their shepherd grips with iron grin:
A vampire, Satanist, cretin.

Sheepfold

Pen. Slop. A mindless flock.
Fear. Delusion. Fraud. Mock.
Their shepherd rules with grasping hand—
A fiend too vile to rightly stand.

The Fold

Stall. Swill. Obedient sheep.
Fear. Falsehood. Madness deep.
Their shepherd, eager for command:
Ghoul, Satanist, idiot grand.

The Sheep Pen

Sheep pen. Swill. A bleating herd.
Fear. Madness. Every word
Serves a shepherd, cold and mean:
Satan's leech. A witless fiend.

Gangs, fear, and propaganda—
That's the North's own Uganda.
Stagnant minds. Oil. Gas. Deceit.
Beasts give orders—they compete.

Gangs and fear and propaganda—
Welcome to the Northern Uganda.
Oil and gas, dull minds that cower—
Beasts command with borrowed power.

Gang and terror. Propaganda—
Northern-style Uganda.
Oil and gas, dull minds obey;
Beasts decide what all must say.

Gangs. Fear. Endless propaganda—
Turns the North to dark Uganda.
Sluggish minds and fossil gold—
Beasts command, both bought and sold.

Gangs. Fear. Propaganda's reign—
North becomes Uganda's chain.
Oil and gas. Minds cold as clay.
Beasts command—and all obey.

Comrade, trust—the price will soar
On food and cheap consumer store.
They drag the world below the Deep:
A war on Mind and Spirit keeps.

Comrade, have no doubt at all:
Food and bargain goods will climb.
Lower than the lowest fall—
Spirit, Reason: crushed by time.

Comrade, faith will be repaid—
Higher prices every day!
Food and junk grow ever dear,
While Mind and Spirit disappear.

Comrade, soon you'll plainly see:
Prices rise triumphantly.
Down beneath the deepest night—
Spirit, Reason—they must fight.

Comrade, trust—the prices climb:
Food and junk cost more each time.
They drive the world beneath the Deep—
Against the Soul and Mind they keep
A ceaseless war.

Comrade, trust—the prices climb;
Food and junk cost more each time.
They drag the world below the Deep—
On Soul and Mind they wage their siege.

Comrade, trust—the prices climb;
Food and junk cost more each time.
They drag the world beneath the mire—
Mind and Spirit under fire.

Die—and never watch again
This insane and vulgar Hell.
Faith alone condemns you then.
Death's the gate where rebirth dwells.

Better die than watch this Hell,
Madness dressed in cheap disguise.
Trust in anything? They tell:
"You're the villain!"—thus they cry.
Rebirth comes through Death alone.

Die before your spirit bends;
Spare your eyes this vulgar Hell.
Faith makes outcasts in the end.
Death alone breaks open shells.

Die—and never see again
This insane, profane abyss.
If you still believe—you'll gain
Only blame. Through Death comes bliss.

Die—and never watch this Hell,
Madness clothed in cheap disguise.
Faith brands every soul unwell.
Death lets Life again arise.

Die—and turn your eyes away
From this mad and vulgar Hell.
Faith makes outcasts every day.
Through Death, rebirth begins to dwell.

Facts? Fabrications, fraud and lies,
Tampered truths in neat disguise.
Media gods reshape the sky—
Beasts forge worlds and call them "true."

Facts? Just fiction, fraud and lies,
Twisted proof in smart disguise.
Media gods create the scene—
Brutish beasts behind the screen.

Facts? Forgery. Fraud. Deceit.
Truth made false, yet looks complete.
Media gods play God all day—
Brutes invent the world we pay.

Facts? Fictions. Frauds. Distorted views.
Counterfeits dressed up as news.
Media gods create their scheme—
Creatures manufacture dreams.

Facts? Fabrications, fraud and lies.
Truth dressed up in false disguise.
Media gods play God anew—
Beasts forge worlds and call them true.

Fascist Regime

Fascist regime—
They poison the dream.
Their "country" is smoke,
A hollow-made joke.
Down into the abyss
We all plunge like this.

Fascist State

Fascist regime—
Rot planted from teen.
The "nation" is mist,
A lie tightly kissed.
We fall through the seam—
All lost in the stream.

The Fascist Machine

Fascist machine—
They rot us unseen.
The "homeland" is smoke,
A poisonous joke.
With lies as our guide,
We fall down the slide.

Fascist Regime

Fascist regime:
They poison our dream.
The "country" is haze—
A trick and a phrase.
We rush to the rim...
And fall in the dim.

---

Variant of the 2 last lines.

All plunge to the abyss—
No turning from this.

The Kingdom of Genocide

The Realm of Medicine — a throne
Where Symptoms rule as kings alone.
Fear is the master of the hall,
And side effects? Ignored by all.

The patient is no living soul,
But merely used to serve a goal:
For trials, profit, endless gain —
A numbered object in the chain.

The vermin marched through every stage
Of rot and ruin, age by age;
The final truth their horns unlock:
The Devil reigns above this flock.

In this dark realm, virology
Becomes the peak of demonology.
Once witches were the ones to blame;
Now viruses receive the name.

With noise and panic, fear is spread
Among the weak, the poorly led.
The cruel will always find a way
To make their twisted claims hold sway.

They'll praise the worth of useless things,
Of poisoned gifts with hidden stings —
A slow-made toxin, sweetly sold
To foolish minds and hearts of gold.

A shot — a joke. The cruel ones laugh
At those who question their false path.
The coming horrors mark the road,
Milestones toward the Hell abode.

Drive lies and fear into the crowd,
Wrap false diseases in a shroud;
Convince them masks are less effective
Than doubtful cures made "protective."

The madhouse marches, proud and blind,
Toward Hell — where human souls unwind;
Where, stripped of reason, stripped of grace,
They turn to beasts and lose their face.

History's Cycle: The Repeating Patterns of Imposed Illusions

Nonlinear history:
Patterns rise and patterns fall,
Artificial misery
Repeats its ancient call.

"Victory!" — the fools proclaim,
Blinded by their empty pride;
Only beasts can win the game,
While the victims multiply wide.

Countless servants of the lie
Sing their propaganda songs:
"Freedom!" "Progress!" — words that fly
From their loud and hollow tongues.

When all scales are truly weighed,
What remains beneath the mask?
Lies and fraud, a grand charade,
Madness answering every task.

Fear spreads everywhere like gas,
Poisoning the human mind,
Driving down the rotten mass
Toward a madness undefined.

Those who pose as sages speak
With a wisdom thin and fake;
Empty voices, hollow, weak,
Wear the crowns they never make.

Like a worm that slowly gnaws,
Hopelessness consumes the few
Who still feel the hidden flaws,
Who still dream and create anew.

What is pushed becomes the prize,
What is marketed must be great;
Yet beneath the glitter lies
Only emptiness and fate.

Then comes the final stage:
No more strength to live or sing.
History's nonlinear age
Turns to a distorted thing.

Into a phantasmagoric night,
Into barriers built of lies,
False diseases, borrowed fright,
Artificial worlds will rise.

Degradation reaches peak,
Everything decays and fails.
What emerges from the bleak,
Rotten foam of poisoned tales?

One conclusion cuts through all:
No exceptions. None remain.
After climbing through the fall —
Everyone is lost again.

The Reader — The Inner Editor

The Reader — an editor,
If not a betrayer;
He rewrites the trash
With a mind rising higher,
Beyond all the ceiling
Of frauds in the text.
In this broken world,
Where the false is a pretext,

A pretext to sink
To a kingdom below,
Where the "god" wears horns
And the dark currents flow.
Thought turns into curses,
The Spirit in check —
A game lost by silence,
With no way back.

Reader and Writer

Reader — the writer,
If not the betrayer.
He fixes the nonsense
With thoughts ever higher.

When fraud fills the pages,
And lies wear a mask,
He rebuilds meaning
Beyond the false task.

In this crippled world
Where deception is key,
A lie is a doorway
To worse misery.

Where "God" wears the horns,
Where reason is numb,
Where thought becomes poison,
And Spirit is — checkmate.

Game Over

A nomad in a frozen hut,
A fool inside the Parliament,
A tyrant hiding underground,
The herd locked in its fenced enclosure.

"Reason" drowned in evil's stench —
That is the media's great venture.

They believe. They bow. They follow.
Getting dumber, growing hollow,
Driven by fear, by lies surrounded,
Never asking, never doubting.

Thus they slowly turn to cattle,
Raised for slaughter, fit for battle.
Those who sink and lose their way
Sell their Spirit to the grey.

No horizons, no tomorrow —
Only evil's endless sorrow.
Dark days break through every wall,
Though they dream and claim: "All's well."

"Everything is fine," they say,
While the beast grows every day.

Strength is fading, lies are spreading,
Fear is planted, minds are dreading.
Rot consumes and slowly wins,
Crushing what remains within.

Darkness rises. Time is up.
Soon they drink the bitter cup.

The "Silken" Way

A lone wolf knows
How the path of Death flows.
When a beast clicks the lock —
Blood. Grass feels like silk cloth.

By the "Silken" Way
We shall leave Evil's sway,
Find the light of the day,
Not as cattle decay,
Not as dogs we remain —
That is happiness' claim.

The lies of the vile
Walk with Darkness in style;
A pact with the night,
A marriage with blight.

Better break free,
Even shattered to be.

The question remains:
Through the storms and the chains,
Did you find your own road
To save your soul's load?

Your "Silken" Way lies
Past the horrors and lies.
The wolf's nature is clear:
Death walks always near.

School Curricula

School curricula:
To the shallow minds
Seem to be designed
Just for their own kind,

For the "light" of learning,
Not the slow returning
Of the free-born thought,
Bold and brightly wrought.

Faded are the patterns,
Foreign tons of matters —
A tool to make the Mind
Lose itself, confined.

Till a spark of Reason
Buried in the season
Of the endless trash
Turns to dust and ash.

Then the Spirit's throne,
Once above the known,
Falls beneath the brain —
A servant in the chain.

You become a tool,
A number in the school.
Much effort has been spent
On the perfect mechanism:

Plans and manuals sharpened,
Every pathway darkened —
Till the crowd's "mind" flies
Like a bird that never flies.

Authorship: Dictatorship

Authorship: dictatorship
Will hollow out all things,
That dare resist its rhythm —
And break them on its wings.

Rot seeks its nourishment,
Its fertile, foul domain:
The Kingdom of Decay
Where nothing blooms again.

The Author Is the Tyrant

The Author: Tyranny.
It strips away the whole
That moves not in its rhythm,
And mutilates the soul.

The rot demands its soil,
The decay its breeding ground —
The Kingdom of Corruption
Where life is never found.

Axiom as Sarcoma

An axiom like a cancerous growth
Has eaten deep into the mind;
No escape remains, no path —
No cure, no truth to find.

The madhouse stands upon this base,
While Lies and Madness crown the dome;
If "matter" is the only face
Of all existence known.

Then only Hell can be the end,
A realm of darkness, cold and stark,
Whose final purpose is to send
The Spirit banished into dark.

The Axiom's Plague

An axiom — a hidden scar,
A cancer rooted in the brain;
The madhouse built upon its core,
With Lies and Madness as its reign.

If Matter becomes the only law,
The only pattern, final frame —
Then Inferno opens its door,
And Spirit vanishes in flame.

Alan Shore — Court in Stagnation

Alan Shore — the court stands still,
They announce the final will.
Once again, absurdity reigns,
A "legal mind" more cruel than chains.

The Verdict

Alan Shore — the courtroom waits,
A verdict echoes through the gates.
Again, the nonsense takes the throne,
A "lawman" worse than thieves unknown.

The Archaeologist

An archaeologist — a speleologist
Of caves where Darkness sets the law,
He digs out frauds and falsehoods hidden,
To strengthen myths that minds adore.

The Cave Explorer

An archaeologist of the night,
A spelunker of forbidden caves,
Brings up deception from the depths —
To build the phantoms Darkness saves.

Ballad: "You'll Turn to Filth"

You’ll gain the gold,
Your joys unfold,
So bright the final day.
But you won’t reach
That promised beach —
You’ll vanish on the way.

Ballad: "The Price of Becoming Vile"

You’ll chase the treasure,
You’ll find your pleasure,
Or so the shadows say.
But when you run
For what you’ve won,
You’ll fade and fall away.

The Struggle for "Freedom"

The fight for "freedom"
Is bait for the feeble,
Who've lived in their chains
For centuries, in vain.

Thus Darkness commands
With fools in its hands:
A valve is provided —
The pressure divided.

The "Freedom" Valve

The fight for "freedom" —
A trick for the timid,
For those who for ages
Have bowed to their cages.

So Darkness controls
The broken and dull:
It opens a valve —
Lets steam out of all.

Presence in Absence

In absence — Presence appears.
In Presence — nothing remains.
To inner worlds, the pathway steers;
Outside — truth through falsehood drains.

Within and Without

In absence — there is Presence.
In Presence — only void.
The inner worlds give guidance;
The outer ones are destroyed.

A sieve for lies is all we see
Beyond the mind's own gate;
While inward paths reveal the key
To what transcends our fate.

Under Strict Conditions

Under strict conditions,
The foundation is deception.
Liars rise like gods above,
With empty minds and empty love.

Their only skill is endless speech,
A polished mask they always teach.
"Come on — embrace the change!" they cry,
From chains to gallows — march and die.

The Stage of Change

In rigid times,
The base is lies.
The liars play
As gods in disguise.

With little thought
But endless chatter,
They promise change —
Yet nothing's better.

"Forward!" they shout,
"Break free today!"
From prison's gate
To the block they stray.

Classified

The "Classified" mark pecks away
At the corpse of a nation in decay.
The people are spent, their fate concealed —
By hidden genocide, then openly sealed.

The secret vultures strip the bone,
The final blow comes fully shown;
A plague of cruelty, cold and wide —
Like CowID spreading far and wide.

Top Secret

The "Top Secret" vultures feed
On a country's dying seed.
Hidden slaughter takes its toll,
Open terror claims the whole.

First in shadows, then in sight,
Death advances through the night.
What was hidden breaks the lid —
Like the horrors marked "CowID".

The Cockroach

The cockroach rushes to the tray,
Where poisoned food is served today.
Everything rests on "two-D" sight —
He gladly avoids the deeper light.

For otherwise his mind would freeze,
And "happiness" would lose its ease.
The cockroach's joy is simple, small:
To crawl for food throughout it all.

His world is narrowed to the chase:
Consumption, breeding, empty plays.
To rare and sensitive souls appears
A filthy world of dust and fears.

The eyes of the rare ones slowly fade —
No future waits within this shade.
Only breakthroughs of ugliness rise,
While madness wears a normal guise.

The poison gathered through the years,
Through generations, minds and spheres;
In bodies too, decay is grown —
And finer worlds turn into stone.

The cockroach trusts tomorrow's day:
There will be food along the way.
It's plentiful, for all is given —
The war on Spirit has been driven.

---

Variant of the last stanza.

The cockroach smiles: tomorrow's bright,
The feast is ready, day and night.
For all that lives by base desire,
Has drowned the subtle in the mire.

Children of the School of Arbitrary Rule

Children in the schools of force
Strain themselves beyond all course.
So the hunger for career
Kills the sense that should be clear.

Is this progress? Is this rise?
Or just a mad race in disguise?

The Career Race

Children in the schools of pressure
Live in constant, harsh displeasure.
Thus the climb for rank and name
Burns the common sense to flame.

Is it growth they chase so fast?
Or a leap into the abyss?

Dissidents

Dissidents — a part of the scheme,
Of madhouses and camps unseen.
A hundred pages list the themes
That must not ever be touched or seen.

The Dissident's Place

Dissidents belong to the system's frame,
To prisons, wards, and halls of shame.
A hundred pages mark the lines
Where forbidden thought no longer shines.

The Dragon "Fearful Fight" and the Fool

"Fearful Fight" — the final war,
Not with enemies anymore,
But with yourself you march alone,
Through fear and lies that you have known.

A restless fool in shadows turns,
Where borrowed darkness slowly burns;
The dragon feeds on hidden fright —
A phantom born of falsehood's night.

The Dragon "Fear the Fight"

"Fear the Fight" — your final day,
Not against a foe you stray.
You face yourself, your deepest wrath,
With fear absorbed along the path.

Through lies you wander, blind and stark,
A restless fool within the dark.

Still Waiting

You wait for something, hoping still,
In a world that bares its will;
A world with lies that grin and bite,
That crush the Mind and Spirit's light.

Yet speaks in whispers, day by day,
Of "progress" marching on its way.

Waiting for Tomorrow

Still you wait, still you believe,
Still some hope you won't leave.
In a world of snarling lies,
Where the Mind and Spirit die,

While they mutter, soft and slow,
"Progress comes" — and onward go.

Кино для дураков
Достало. Спасу нет:
Почти весь мир таков —
Тоска, чушь, ложь и бред.

Барановирус

Из простуды —
"Катастрофу".
Сплошь иуды:
Царство Проку
Опрокинули —
В Лагерь двинули.

Фашизм.
Рашизм.
Исхода нету:
Мир подчиняется лишь Бреду.

Ушло везение.
Растёт презрение
К уродству быта,
Где карта бита.

Не Яви карта —
Она вне фарта.
Её узри
Как Свет ВНУТРИ.

One Slavery Replaced by Another

"Great changes come!" — the slogans roar.
Strange how they're swallowed far more
Than little truths that slowly grow —
The lie of Power steals the show.

One slave-built order fades away;
Another takes its place next day.
They call it Freedom—cheers arise,
And fools believe the old disguise.

"The past was dark! The dawn is near!"
They wait for miracles each year.
One sea alone spreads far and wide,
Its every wave a grief-filled tide.

Not born of thought, nor sharpened mind,
But filth that teaches all to blind.
That sea is sewage, foul and deep;
The systems? Foam the currents keep.

Below, where sunlight never shone,
Old Neptune claims the muck his throne.
No master knows the mire like he,
Who rules through endless slavery.

He changes chains from age to age,
Yet every swap breeds fouler stench.
He floods the world with SMRAD's breath,
Perfuming Evil, masking death.

The vulgar slave, with clouded brain,
Embraces every gilded chain.
He gladly kneels, convinced once more
The cage's lock's an open door.

Then swim—or sink. The days decay,
In crippled rows they drift away.
Until you find your truest flame,
You'll never know your rightful name.

Your spirit buried in the slime,
Your daily life consumed by grime;
Just splashing through the choking bog,
Where every breath becomes a fog.

"Don't touch the system!" people cry—
"It reeks enough. Just let it lie."
Yet each must choose, and none evade:
Endure... or seek another way.

Seek not the drain where sewage streams,
But seek the Source beyond all dreams.
The "teachings" sold in every mart
Flow downward, never upward start.

Awake the seed of conscious sight;
Step free into the Living Light.
The Stream of Seeing strips each lie,
Where Hell's illusions shrivel, die.

The Path's a beam no chains can bind—
A flight beyond the prisoned mind.
Either I soar... or Hell I claim:
No third road bears another name.

Believe there's more? Your Spirit dies,
Still cradling filth with loving eyes.

Estranged from a Twisted World

This estrangement since my youth
Was no whim nor passing mood.
Born within a twisted world,
Built on madness, lies, and fraud.

Every fresh and "noble" order
Makes the ancient chains hold fast;
Painting slavery in brighter
Colours darker than the last.

"Vice is normal!"—so they mutter.
Hell for those whose hearts still see.
Fools rejoice to kneel and worship;
Legions march in misery.

From the cradle comes the taming:
Education cracks the soul.
Schools drive out the free-born thinker,
Stuffing minds with lifeless scrolls.

Fear hangs low like storm clouds gathering
Over every bowed-down head.
If you will not share submission,
Loneliness will grow instead.

Then you see the grand Decay;
Sense no worthy future waits.
Those who keep their Spirit living
Walk outside Bedlam's gates.

Boors piled high on boors forever,
Folly poured into the base—
Climbing such a filthy pyramid
Brings no honour, strength, or grace.

Better dwell in separation,
If you're wakeful, if you know.
That alone remains the normal;
All the rest's a fatal flow—

Like a plague that feeds on Spirit,
Gnawing Reason to the bone.
Do not dive into its whirlpool—
Turn within, and stand alone.

There the Soul begins its speaking;
There its silent summons rings.
Thus you're sheltered from Delusion,
From the Lie that poisons things.

Perhaps you'll find the hidden Fountain,
Find the Path where Truth has stood.
That is what estrangement offers—
Not escape, but highest good.

There your Homeland waits in silence,
Not the world's devouring pit.
Leave that bottomless abyss behind you.
Walk the Path—and never quit.

The Sign of the Cross... of Satanism

The cross—a crucifix on you.
"Love your neighbour"? Not quite true.
Satan crowned his reign with dread,
While murk keeps filth and evil fed.

The Sign of the Cross... of Satanism

The cross—you nail yourself in place.
"Love thy neighbour" masks disgrace.
Satan planted fear instead;
Murky lies hide living dead.

The Sign of the Cross... of Satanism

Cross yourself—and bear the nail.
"Love thy neighbour"—holy veil.
Satan wrapped his horror tight;
Fog conceals the foul from sight.

Vanya, Manya—"Pan" and "Pani"...

Vanya, Manya—pan and pani,
Lost in Fascism's filth and vanity.
Masks they wear from dawn till night,
Silly fools in borrowed light.

Vanya, Manya—"Pan" and "Pani"

Vanya, Manya—pan and pani,
Wading through Fascism's foul insanity.
Every fool puts on a face,
Acting out the same disgrace.

Vanya, Manya—"Pan" and "Pani"

Vanya, Manya—pan and pani,
Midst Fascism's reeking vanity.
Masks conceal both fool and clown—
Empty heads in costumes drown.

All Is Illusion

All's illusion. This small sphere
Stores up vileness year by year.
Then slaps labels on the lie,
So the fools will gladly buy.

Everything's illusion here;
Filth is hoarded year by year.
Labels pasted, bright and slick—
Just to fool the gullible quick.

All's illusion. Rotten trade:
Filth in endless stock is laid.
Then new labels dress the fraud—
Fools applaud what should be barred.

All is illusion. Day by day
Filth is carefully stored away.
Then fresh labels seal the sham,
Sold to fools as priceless glam.

The Crowbar of Light

A sudden insight crossed the mind
Long beaten down by sham and fear.
It washed the nonsense from within;
The Light at last burned bright and clear.

The slave, now seeing, fierce with truth,
Raised Light itself—a crowbar's might.
He smashed the barriers, cracked the codes,
And split apart the reign of Night.

The rotten world dissolved away,
Its poisoned laws, its crumbling shrine.
One mighty blow—and down there fell
The false-made idol, once divine.

A single soul? Yes, one alone.
Yet every breakthrough lights the sky.
From Darkness' kingdom comes the breach
That Tyranny would crucify.

For Darkness fears the smallest spark
That breaks the sleepers from their dream;
It dulls the mind, devours the soul,
Till neither lives nor dares to gleam.

So people march to wars and work,
Obedient, nameless, rank by rank;
They call themselves "free citizens,"
Yet serve as slaves beneath the plank.

Breakthrough

A thought crept in a murdered mind
And swept absurdity away.
The slave who saw the Light at last
Turned Light into a bar of sway.

He smashed the locks and broke the frame,
The walls, the chains, the rotten throne;
One strike—and every false decree,
Each idol toppled like a stone.

One person only? So it starts.
Through single hearts the breaches blaze.
The Realm of Darkness fears one thing:
A soul awake beyond its maze.

For every spark that shuns its sleep,
That stirs the dull to think anew,
Threatens the empire built on lies—
Its oldest nightmare breaking through.

They march to battle, march to work,
Still naming bondage "liberty."
They wear the title "citizen,"
Yet live in quiet slavery.

Life as Shame

Slavery. Lies. The media's reign.
Fear and obedience. Labour in vain.
Wars without ending. Villains prevail.
Year after year, truth grows pale.

Man is reduced to cattle and clay;
None of it happens by chance today.
Most feel no shame beneath Evil's weight—
Pressed by a force they accept as fate.

Fear keeps echoing deep in the skull.
Falsehood coils where the heart once was full.
Twisting through reason, winding like flame,
Leaving the Spirit ashes and shame.

Soulless machinery, cold and precise,
Turns every victim into its vice.
Round goes the circle, tighter the vise;
Few can escape its terrible price.

Betrayal's now a regular trade—
CowID showed how the system is made.
Madmen have bullied the world into chains.
Life itself blushes, burdened with stains.

Fear keeps echoing deep in the skull.
Falsehood coils where the heart once was full.
Twisting through reason, winding like flame,
Leaving the Spirit ashes and shame.

Shame to decay among living dead;
Now they are countless, quietly led.
Yesterday cowards, frightened and blind—
Now they are triumphs of monstrous mind.

Darkness advances, managed with skill;
Monsters baptize every nightmare as "will."
Calling the darkness Progress and Light,
Crushing all reason out of our sight.

Fear keeps echoing deep in the skull.
Falsehood coils where the heart once was full.
Twisting through reason, winding like flame,
Leaving the Spirit ashes and shame.

Nothing awaits but a worldwide cage;
Built in the name of a "kindlier" age.
Every deception the headlines proclaim;
Media trumpets repeat the same.

Resistance weakens, fewer still stand;
Honest hearts suffer on every hand.
Every attempt feels torture anew—
Under corruption the whole world withdrew.

Yet when collapse tears the empire apart,
Those who kept fighting with soul and heart
Cross to another realm set free;
Traitors sink to misery.

Lowest circle, infernal domain—
Demons are waiting, tending the flame.
Cast off the phantoms Evil has spun;
Laugh at the tyrants, every one.

Only by that is the Spirit preserved;
Everything else leaves life unnerved.
Mock the delirium ruling the earth;
Curse every prison denying true birth.

Fear keeps echoing deep in the skull.
Falsehood coils where the heart once was full.
Twisting through reason, winding like flame,
Leaving the Spirit ashes and shame.

(Clicking on the image fits it into the screen)

Life as a Glitch

Life's a glitch—and once again
You become your truest self.
Monstrous order breaks in vain;
You're no gadget on the shelf.

System Glitch

Life malfunctioned. Through the breach
You became yourself once more.
Ugliness lost step and speech;
No machine behind the core.

Glitch

Life glitched out—and suddenly
You were truly you once more.
Monstrosity lost perfect stride;
No gadget stood there as before.

Fault Line

Life's gone wrong—yet through that flaw
You become yourself once more.
Ugliness has lost its law;
You're no gadget anymore.

Closed Worlds

Closed worlds of Logic, sealed and tight,
Are countless in the human sight.
That's why opinions, proud though wise,
So often shrink to little lies.

The Heart alone sees azure skies,
Beyond the walls where Reason lies.
There's no escape while circles bind
The prison-house of human mind.

Stubborn conclusions, cold and blind,
Crush every subtle truth they find.
They wear the Spirit slowly through,
And bar the Heights from coming into view.

Worlds of Closed Logic

Worlds of logic, locked and sealed,
Hide more than they have e'er revealed.
Thus every judgment, every creed,
Falls short of what the soul may read.

Only the Heart beholds the blue,
The endless sky beyond our view.
No path remains while thought's confined
Within the circles of the mind.

Rigid verdicts, proud and sure,
Shatter all that's deep and pure.
They wound the Soul and block the Way,
Where Higher Reality holds sway.

The Prison of Logic

Closed are Logic's little spheres;
Countless are their walls and gears.
Thus opinions fade away,
Poor reflections gone astray.

Only Hearts behold the Height,
Fields of everlasting Light.
Thought imprisoned in its round
Cannot hear Creation's sound.

Every rigid, final claim
Breaks what subtle truths proclaim.
Soul grows dim, and wings deny
Flight into the Living Sky.

Beyond

Another Reality lies beyond:
Infernal nightmares fade and are gone.
The Soul still lives, untouched, unbetrayed;
The mind no longer rots, enslaved

By fear and lies that drag it down,
To dwell beneath, where depths still drown.

Reality Beyond

Beyond awaits another sphere:
Hell's nightmare vanishes from here.
The Soul survives, unstained, alive;
The mind no longer must reside

In fear and lies that sink below,
To bottoms only darkness knows.

Beyond the Veil

Beyond—the Realm forever true.
Hell's nightmare fades from mortal view.
The Soul remains alive, unshorn;
The mind from filth is newly born.

No longer trapped by fear or lies,
No longer buried where Darkness lies.

Beyond

Beyond—a truer Reality.
Hell forgotten. Nightmare gone.
The Soul lives on, untouched and free.
The mind no longer lies

In fear and falsehood, buried deep
Where Darkness lulls the dead to sleep.

Sprats and Vodka

Sprats and vodka on the table,
Evening in a nowhere stable.
Tomorrow — work, the same old grind;
Drunken fools have lost their mind.

Sprats, Vodka, Nothing More

Sprats and vodka, night is falling,
Nowhere village, shadows crawling.
Tomorrow back to daily toil —
Drunk fools drown in their own soil.

A Nowhere Evening

Sprats and vodka fill the night,
In a town that lost its light.
Morning comes — the factory call;
Drunken fools forget it all.

Reverse Assembly of a Fool

Reverse assembly of the fool—
The farther road: decay runs wild.
The ego rules, the skin's the rule;
"I am a beast" becomes his child.

The Fool Reassembled Backwards

The fool is built in reverse again;
The collapse exceeds all measure.
The ego rises, king of men,
And self becomes his only treasure.

Backward Reconstruction

A fool rebuilt in backward flow—
Beyond the point where ruins spread.
The ego returns as ruler once more,
And "I am filth" becomes his creed.

Awaken!

Goblins drown in seas of Lies,
Their little world has died.
Fear has sharpened their angry eyes,
With filth they stand allied.

Submission, weakness, empty thought,
And madness fill the air.
Just one last pressure must be brought:
Multiply fear through the snare.

Then build the Digital Camp,
The New World, cold and bright—
Where shamans sell their poisoned lamp,
And bots enforce the night.

Only AI thinks within;
The rest is mere reflex.
They cure false plagues born from sin,
With waves of fake distress.

The CowID muzzle there appears
A fairy tale for all.
The child is trained through endless years
To love the digital wall.

From early days he's taught to bend,
To virtual whips obey.
There fools are sages, truth will end,
And madness leads the way.

A crowded herd becomes the nation,
The city is a pen.
The highest form of satisfaction:
To be fed again and again.

The food is made of GMO dreams,
Not centipedes or roaches crawling—
A perfect feast for broken schemes,
While empty souls are falling.

But Chaos comes and breaks the plan
Of those without a soul.
Those who kept the human spark as man
Will leave this poisoned whole.

Awaken to Reality,
Strengthen your inner flame.
Hell will lose its gravity;
The world of Evil fades.

Rottenness, Lies, and cowardice
Will vanish in the Fire.
The Spirit's endless vastness is
The only true desire.

The Path is self-reflection—
But first, examine all:
Cleanse thought from false infection,
Before the inner call.

Inspect the mind, remove the chains,
Let Truth become your sight.
The dream of Darkness breaks and wanes—
Awaken to the Light!

Memory-Numbness

Memory sleeps — so all is fine,
The world still stands in perfect line.
"No chaos here," the citizen cries,
"I am no fool, I see with eyes."

The wind once more sweeps all away,
Yet still the idiot waits each day—
For manna falling from the sky,
For happiness to wander by.

All Is Fine

Memory blurred — but all is well,
No messy world, no living hell.
"I am a citizen, not a fool!"
He proudly follows every rule.

The broom keeps sweeping, storms still roar,
Yet fools await forevermore—
Some heavenly gift, some golden sign,
Some happiness from clouds divine.

The Comfort of Forgetting

Forgetful minds say: "All is bright!
The world is orderly, clean, and right."
"I am a citizen, wise and true—
The fools are others, not my crew."

The dust is swept, the lies remain,
Yet someone waits through sun and rain:
A miracle, a gift from above—
A happiness he never earns or loves.

Parade of Fools

A parade of freaks goes by,
Yet the flag says: "Freedom" high.
Madness reaches darkest scale—
Lost in shadows, trapped in veil.

The Freedom Parade

A parade of fools and clowns,
Freedom's flag above their crowns.
Madness climbs beyond control—
Darkness swallows every soul.

Parade

A parade of twisted faces,
Freedom's flag in all its graces.
Madness bursts beyond the line—
Lost in Darkness, they decline.

Turn Within

The engine of awareness,
Its fuel is streams of data;
But lies become the torture
Along the slave's long later.

When finally it stops,
Make then the turning move;
Discard the old commands and locks—
Inside, the self shall prove.

The steering wheel is frozen,
The Spirit takes control.
The engine's roar is broken;
No noise can shake the soul.

The ears no longer hunger,
The eyes no longer chase
The chaos and the thunder
Of that distorted place.

For there the glitches multiply,
The roots of madness grow.
But under Spirit's guidance
The mind finds where to go.

True motion, true direction—
The symbol of the Way.
So turn from the Decay Kingdom,
And rise into the day.

The Inner Turn

Consciousness—a motor,
Information the fuel;
Fed by lies and torture,
It drives the slave by rule.

When the engine falters,
Turn the wheel inside.
Break the old instructions;
Let the Spirit guide.

The wheel is locked in rust now,
The Spirit pulls the chain.
No more mechanical thunder,
No more illusion's reign.

The senses lose their hunger
For the world's chaotic noise;
The glitch becomes the madness
That kills the inner voice.

Yet beneath the Spirit
The mind discovers motion:
A compass pointing forward
Beyond the poisoned ocean.

Leave the Realm of Ruin,
Make the final turn—
Inside yourself awaken,
And let the true fire burn.

The Flow Runs Dry

The Flow runs dry;
The poet-fool
Has closed his book,
Finished the rule.

The chapters—chains,
The cycles—bars;
The words grow strange
Behind their scars.

For words become absurd
Inside a frame
That brings to culture
Death and shame.

Yet insight lives
Within the Word,
Beyond decay,
Beyond the blurred.

Not passing days,
But Life's own stream
Can sweep away
The ego's dream—

The dam of wants,
Desires piled high;
The Flow ascends
Into the Sky.

There Light awaits,
Beyond all dread.
Flow and Light—
The path ahead.

No fixed old marks,
No frozen stone;
Your answer lies
In moving on.

Flow and Light

The Flow is gone;
The foolish bard
Has written all,
His final card.

The sections—chains,
The cycles—ties;
Dead words collapse
Where structure lies.

When rigid forms
Destroy the breath
Of living culture,
They bring death.

But visions hide
Within the Word;
Beyond the dust
They can be heard.

Not days that pass,
But Life's great stream
Breaks through the walls
Of selfish dream.

The dam of "me,"
Of endless desire—
The Flow will rise
And climb much higher.

Into the Sky,
Where Light is found.
Flow and Light—
The truth unbound.

No milestones bind
The road you tread;
The answer moves
Ahead, ahead.

Break Away

Carry on,
Spirit, run,
Save the soul
In the Sun.

No more axis—
Guard your flight,
Lest you spin
Into the night.

No escape
Will remain,
If you cling
To the chain.

Stand and fight—
Lies will stay;
Spirit knows
Their decay.

Let it be—
Only one
Sudden leap
Must be done.

Sideways, wild,
Not for gain—
This is God,
Free from chain.

Lonely flame
Lives in thee,
Axis-slave—
Set it free.

The Inner Axis

Carry forth,
Spirit rise,
Save yourself
Beyond skies.

Lose the axis,
Do not turn;
Spinning circles
Make you burn.

No strength left
To break away,
If you choose
The old replay.

Stand unmoved—
Lies remain.
Spirit sees
Through the chain.

Come what may,
Only leap,
Not straight forward—
Paths run deep.

That is God,
Hidden, lone,
Not outside—
In your own.

You, the slave
Of the axis tight,
Hold the spark
Of endless Light.

Pushkin. Guns. Machine Guns.

Pushkin. Guns. Machine guns roar.
Not Chapay strikes the monsters anymore.
Today it's Lies and Fear that fire,
Spending souls through false desire.

The skins remain untouched and whole;
Only the twisted husk they stole
Will march again, obey the call,
And pour its lead upon them all.

Slave-born Crowd

Slave-born crowd, if not a beast,
Let your inner lies be ceased.
Burn them down and fear will fall—
You become your master, all.

But if Hell gives no awakening,
If you bow to filth's commanding,
Then beneath its weight you stay,
Lost within its dark decay.

Break the Chains

Slave-born mass—yet not all lost.
Kill the lies, whatever cost.
Fear will vanish, chains will break;
Own yourself, your soul awake.

But if in Hell you fail to rise,
If you bend beneath its lies,
Then the filth you chose to serve
Will become your final nerve.

The Spreading Rot of the Soviet Shadow

Cuba—
Crude.
The States—
"Soft haze."
The transformation grows.
And Russia's path to Hell now shows.

The Decay Spreads On

Cuba—
Roughly done.
The States—
A "fog" that waits.
The old infection grows...
And Russia follows where Hell goes.

Resonance or Decadence

Resonance or decadence—
A fragile chance, a fleeting sense:
To grasp the essence, clear the sight,
Reject the fog, return to Light.

Resonance is not just aim;
It is the path, the guiding flame.

Resonance

Resonance or decadence—
Life grants us but a little chance
To see the truth, discard the dust,
To rise above the empty rust.

For resonance is both the goal,
The road that leads the awakened soul.

Resonance

Resonance or decadence—
A narrow gate, a fleeting chance.
Cast off the haze, discover truth:
Resonance is path and root.

Rhythm Without a Center

Rhythm without a center. Fire without wood.
That is the poet—fierce, alive, and understood.
Flame without a center, a source of hidden might;
Fools cannot grasp it, lost beyond the Light.

Through the Word the old self burns away;
The scribbler dreams of gold and praise.
Forever stumbling in the Dark,
Missing the meaning, missing the spark.

Meaning is Fire. All else is stench—
The cry of "Leave me, don't you wrench
My little world, my private throne!"
No citizenship—just Soul alone.

Beyond the sight of Evil's face,
The Soul moves toward a higher place:
To burn away, to disappear,
Into Pure Spirit, far from fear.

Fire of the Word

Rhythm without a center—
Fire without a flame.
The poet stands in power,
Beyond the common name.

A force without a center,
A core that fools deny;
They never see the meaning
That burns beneath the sky.

Through the Word all falsehood
Is consumed and turned to ash.
The graphomaniac seeks payment,
Chasing empty praise and cash.

He fails forever in the darkness,
Lost in his own decay.
For Meaning is the Fire;
The rest is smoke away.

"No one touch my ego,
My little human cage!"
No citizenship remains there—
Only Soul beyond the age.

Through seeing Evil clearly,
The Spirit starts to rise,
To burn itself completely
Beyond the Night and lies.

The Glitch of Resolve

"Think," they say — but swallow lies,
Chewing nonsense, piece by piece.
Soon the "truth" will finally rise,
And we’ll sing it in unison, please.

As always — hiding in our holes,
Nearer to the promised dawn;
"Truth" will once again become the law,
A new "ism" where madness is born.

Darling, wait — I’m coming home,
Back to where my chains belong.

A Failure of Resolve

"Think," they say, yet chew the trash,
Digesting all the hollow lore.
Soon the "truth" will strike and flash—
We’ll chant it proudly evermore.

Quietly, as always, crawl
Back into our hidden caves;
Thus we’ll bring the golden dawn
By becoming willing slaves.

"Truth" will be a sentence again,
A new "-ism" born from the insane.
My dear, my love, I come to you—
Back to the dream I always knew.

Rebuilding Reality

Rebuilding Reality,
Beyond all fatality,
Beyond absurdity.
Stop! Now awaken—
Return to Before,
Where you were forsaken.

Assembly of Reality

Reality reassembled,
Beyond Hell's broken ground,
Beyond the noise and madness,
Beyond the fate-bound sound.

Stop! Be still. Remember:
The Origin is near.
Awake within the Before—
The Source is waiting here.

Back to Before

Reality's creation,
Beyond damnation,
Beyond hallucination.

Stop! Come alive—
Back to Before.
Awake at the Source.

My Own Shirt Closer to Skin

The tricks of Discord: split and tear,
Rule the foolish everywhere.
Sleepy minds will never wake;
"Solid reasons" they will make—

Reasons to remain in Lies,
Bound by Fear beneath the skies.
Paying tribute, day by day,
To the shirt they wear and praise.

"Closer to the skin"—their creed;
Selfishness is all they need.
Vulgar greed and empty pride,
Madness walking by their side.

Even the wildest command
They obey at Evil's hand.
Such a herd, so blind and grim,
Falls below the beast within.

The Shirt That Matters Most

"Divide and rule"—the oldest art,
Keeping fools apart.
They never wake, they never see,
They find excuses endlessly.

They choose their Lies, they choose their Fear,
Protect the shirt they hold so dear.
"The closest thing is mine alone"—
That is the law they've always known.

Their skin, their comfort, their own gain,
Their madness wrapped around the brain.
The strangest orders they obey,
And proudly walk the darkest way.

A herd that crawls and bows and bends,
Beyond the beasts it now descends.

The Mind’s Utopia

The listener fails to understand,
The speaker knows not what is planned.
The essence of the question’s mystery—
Is hidden deep in philosophy.

The realm where pure thoughts freely flow
Is almost utopia we know.

Philosophy

The hearer hears, but cannot see;
The speaker speaks absurdity.
The core of questions, deep and wise,
Is where philosophy lies.

The kingdom of the thinking mind—
A utopia almost impossible to find.

Beyond the Noise

Those who hear may not perceive;
Those who speak may only deceive.
The question's heart, the hidden key,
Belongs to thought and philosophy.

The world of Mind, refined and bright,
Is almost a utopian light.

A Writers’ Union?

A union of writers?
What writers, what name?
A servant of publishers,
A coward for fame.

The flatterer rises,
The traitor survives;
Such crowds fill the halls
And poison the lives.

For all who stay honest
The burden is deep—
Not wisdom, but filth
Where the chosen ones sleep.

Writers’ Union?

A writers’ union?
But writers—where?
Just servants of publishers,
Lost in the snare.

The coward, the flatterer,
Always succeed;
A sea full of faces
With hunger and greed.

For those who are honest
There’s sorrow and pain:
Not lack of their wisdom—
They drown in the stain.

The Writers’ Guild?

What writers? What union?
What noble art?
The publisher’s servant
Plays the leading part.

The flatterers flourish,
The cowards remain;
Their numbers are endless,
A limitless chain.

The honest are suffering,
Not foolish or dim—
They simply stand alone
Amongst the grim.

The Structure of the Break

After a "happy" life,
One suddenly sees—
It was all just a lie,
A dream carried by breeze.

Go on to the Breakthrough,
Or better—the Blast;
Tear open the abscess
Of the foolish past.

The rupture comes bursting
From a rotten disguise—
The world of the worker
Who serves endless Lies.

The Break Structure

Living "happily"
For years in a row,
Suddenly realizing:
Nothing was so.

Reach for the Breakthrough,
Or better, explode—
Break out of the abscess
That poisoned the road.

A rupture tears open
The fool's little sphere,
The slave of deception,
The servant of fear.

Breakthrough

A life lived "happy"—
Then suddenly clear:
The whole thing was empty,
A false atmosphere.

Push toward the Breakthrough,
Or shatter the wall;
A rupture must tear
The illusion's small hall.

From the festering bubble
Of fools and deceit,
The slave breaks away
From the Lies at his feet.

The Stability of Falling

The balance of a falling state,
Where down appears as high;
Leave without regret the world of dust,
And rise beyond the sky.

Like the white crane above the clouds,
Seek heights untouched by mire;
Abandon all the vulgar ground—
Ascend toward the higher fire.

Falling Upward

A steady fall, a strange design,
Where bottom wears the crown.
Leave without sorrow, leave behind
The world that drags you down.

Fly like the crane into the height,
Beyond the common sphere;
Where vulgar shadows lose their might,
And cleaner skies appear.

Inverted World

A stable fall, a twisted view—
The bottom called the top.
Leave all the vulgar worlds behind,
And let their currents stop.

The crane flies upward, pure and free,
Beyond the earthly chain.
The heights await the one who leaves
The kingdom of the vain.

What the “Guest from the Future” Sees Today

The Guest from the Future
Grows old beneath the sky.
The bones are scattered everywhere—
Meat storms have passed them by.

Yet still the goals are "noble,"
The dreams remain so blue;
The politicians promise worlds
As liars always do.

They steer the wheel as before,
With speeches bright and grand;
The future came, looked back in grief,
And found the same old land.

The Future Guest

The Guest from the Future
Now ages with the years;
Only bones remain around her,
After battles soaked in tears.

But still the goals are "holy,"
The horizons painted blue;
The rulers speak like yesterday—
The same old lies renew.

Alien to the World

Alien to the world is he
Who lifts the Lyre above all things,
Rejecting chains of dark decree
And evil's schemes with broken wings.

His fierce and blazing poetry
Is not for fools who crawl below;
It speaks to those who dare to see
The hidden fires that rise and glow.

Not of This World

Not of this world—
The one whose Lyre
Stands above all,
A sacred fire.

He breaks the schemes
That Evil weaves;
His burning verse
Is not for beasts.

The Lyre Above All

Stranger to the common crowd,
He places Lyre above the loud.
He breaks the patterns built by Evil,
Rejects the rules of worldly weevil.

His fierce-born verse, his flaming song,
Was never meant for the dull and wrong.
The herd may mock, the fools may flee—
The Lyre belongs to spirits free.

Nonsense. Noise. Fear. Mockery.

Nonsense. Noise.
Fear. Mockery.
The dull mind dies—
And silence flies.

The war with Mind
Is left behind.
The battle done,
The silence won.

The Bottom's quiet,
The depths are still.
Observers matter not—
Few escape the rot.

Noise Falls Silent

Trash. Noise. Fear. Scorn.
The dull mind is gone.
Once again—silence,
The end of defiance.

The war against Reason
Has reached its last season.
The silence of Depth
Is all that is left.

The watchers don't count,
They vanish from sight;
Few are the ones
Who still carry Light.

After the Noise

Absurdity. Noise. Fear. Derision.
A slow mind fades into oblivion.
Again comes silence, cold and vast—
The war with Wisdom now is past.

The silence of the Bottom remains,
Where thought dissolves and nothing reigns.
Observers? They hardly belong—
For few are free from the common wrong.

The Evolution of Verse into Sutra

After ringing silence found,
When I turned my gaze within,
Rhythm rose from depths unbound—
Dreams dissolved, and light came in.

Shape it then as sacred sutras,
Words refined and stripped of excess;
Let the essence speak in silence,
Beyond noise and emptiness.

Ordinary verse becomes
Silence deep and still;
The outer world has reached its end,
Where Reason fights its will.

There, beyond the endless clamor,
Only one thing remains pure:
The distilled and living essence—
The awakened Sutra.

Verse Becoming Sutra

From the ringing silence born,
Found by turning inward deep,
Rhythm rises with the dawn,
Dreams dissolve and cease to sleep.

Write it down as sacred sutras,
Let the hidden essence shine.

Verse transforms into silence—
Then the silence turns divine.

Outer worlds have fallen downward,
Where the war with Reason grows;
Only Sutra keeps its value
When all empty noise is closed.

Sheeple Virus

From a common cold
They forged a "disaster."
Sheeple and traitors,
Calling it faster:

They overturned
The Kingdom of Reason,
And marched everyone
Into a new prison.

The Sheep Virus

Just a cold—
Made "catastrophe."
Sheep and Judas
Rule the prophecy.

Reason's kingdom
They threw down,
Marching all souls
Into the Camp town.

The Sheeple Virus

A simple chill—
A "worldwide plague."
Sheeple rise,
The truth they drag.

The Realm of Reason
They overthrow;
Into the Camp
They force us to go.

Be? Fog.
Lie. Fright.
Away — Way.

To Be? — A Blur.

To be? — a blur,
A lie, a fear.
Break away—
The Path is near.

Be? — Mist.

Be? — Mist.
Lie — Fright.
Depart —
The Path.

The Bunker Elder

The Bunker Elder—
Rot, Lies, Fear, Dread.
Following Hitler’s shadow,
"Victory!" is said.

But Clio, the Muse,
Will answer: "No!"
And strike down the spine
Of the path they chose.

Bunker Grandfather

Bunker old man.
Rot. Lies. Fear. Dread.
Walking behind
The path Hitler led.

"Victory must come!"
Their voices cry out.
Clio says "Never!"—
And breaks the route.

Hudson. Music.

"Freedom of Speech."

Hudson. Music.
"Freedom of Speech."
Once again caught—
The loud fool's reach.

Hudson — Sound —
Freedom Found?

Hudson, the sound,
The music is loud.
"Freedom of speech"—
A glorious cloud.

But once again
The fool is exposed;
The endless loudmouth
Falls where he goes.

Hudson. Noise.

"Freedom of Voice."

Hudson. Noise.
"Freedom of voice."
Caught once again—
The fool's own choice.

The Shit-World

The filthy little world—
For fools unfurled,
Looks almost like
A paradise.

"Forward! Run!"
Don't stop, don't think!
The helpless herd
Stands on the brink.

A crawling crowd,
So meek, so proud,
Like beasts they go
Where nothing grows.

The obedient herd
Will fade away,
And there it finds
Its Hell one day.

For now you drift
Among the pain,
A poisoned mind
Bound by the chain.

Yet you are glad,
You still believe:
"Salvation waits—
I shall receive."

A stake through thought,
The Soul is sold;
The world survives
On flesh grown cold.

The time has come—
Awaken now!
Or rot will swallow
Your final vow.

Consumed by darkness,
By endless lies,
You’ll lose the Self
Before you rise.

The Zoo-Garden and the Zoo-Circus

The goblins are well fed now,
The orcs march once again.
The people everywhere are bent—
By darkness, grief, and pain.

The monsters born in Hell itself
Rule over fools below:
"Believe us, or we’ll devour you"—
That is the only law they know.

Once eaten by their darkness,
You turn into a troll,
A gremlin, beast, or twisted goat—
A broken empty soul.

Yet now the golem rises,
The favorite of the night.
Beneath the rule of Evil
All bow before its might.

Fear has seized the global zoo,
The garden of mankind;
A slaughterhouse for those who keep
A clear and waking mind.

Such people can be counted—
Their numbers few and small.
The future waits before us now:
A cage prepared for all.

Where Honor, Reason, Spirit,
And Conscience soon will stay—
A digital zoo-circus grows,
To drag the world away.

Where living flesh and undead forms
Are merged by dark design;
A hybrid breed of hollow life
Will rise in future time.

For now they hide in little holes,
And humans lie much more,
Frightening each other daily—
To open Darkness' door.

If you desire another path,
If you refuse the night,
The fog and terror will attempt
To crush your inner light.

The gremlins rage with hatred,
The golem fights the Soul.
The half-made humans break apart—
While darkness takes control.

Again the cries surround the world,
Again the shadows call:
A zoo of fear, a circus grim,
Where broken beings fall.

The Impossibility of Outpouring

No release, no true expression—
If you conquer false possession,
All the lies and empty schemes,
Forced on minds through borrowed dreams.

Step beyond the System’s chains,
Beyond the Dark where false law reigns.
You cannot make the loud fools see—
They’ll never grasp what sets you free.

You’ll fade away, misunderstood,
Unless you join the mainstream flood—
And bleat so well among the herd
That all will praise your hollow word.

No Way to Pour It Out

No way to pour the truth outside,
To break the patterns forced and wide.
Defeat the Lie, the empty frame,
The System’s darkness, rules of shame.

You cannot teach the fools who shout,
They’ll drown your meaning, wear it out.
You’ll freeze alone, beyond the stream—
Unless you bleat and join the mainstream.

Beyond the System

Break the Lie of empty molds,
The scripted tales the crowd upholds.
Step beyond the System’s night,
Beyond its laws that kill the light.

But never hope the fools will wake—
They’ll mock the truth you try to make.
You’ll die unheard, unless you learn
To bleat with crowds and take your turn.

The Vanished Light

The Light is gone,
Yet left a trace—
Invisible,
Beyond all space.

The Madness fades,
When one can say
To Darkness: "No!"
And turn away.

For sorrow grows
Where shadows dwell;
Lost in the Dark—
In Earthly Hell.

The Trace of Light

The Light withdrew,
But left behind
An unseen mark
Within the mind.

The Madness fight—
You must say "No!"
To Darkened paths
That pull you low.

For grief begins
When trapped you stay
In earthly filth,
In shadowed clay.

After the Light

Though Light has vanished,
It leaves a sign—
A hidden spark,
A thread divine.

Defeat the madness,
Reject the night;
Say "No" to Darkness,
Follow the Light.

For doom awaits
The soul that lies
Within the world's
Corrupted skies.

Cardinal Changes in the Nth Circle of Hell

The map is beaten,
Secrets hidden.
Honor fallen,
Thought forbidden.

All for show now—
Masks and lying,
Fools forever,
Spines kept bending.

Demons ruling,
Not true men—
Those of politics,
The weak and vain.

Fallen deeply
Into nonsense,
Fear has risen
Beyond all bounds.

Lost in darkness,
Liars flourish,
And the descent
To Hell continues.

Which circle now
Of decay?
The media roar
Drowns the day.

All the questions
Disappear;
Streams of words
Corrode the sphere.

Spirit fades there,
No immortal flame,
When the filth itself
Becomes the game.

In this Nth circle
Of the prison,
Changes happen—
The essence is hidden.

Mind replaced by
Endless fear;
Foam of madness
Fills the air.

Where once souls were,
Nothing stays.
Well then—
Here we are today.

The Nth Circle of Hell — A Radical Change

The map is broken,
Secrets sealed;
Honor vanished,
Thought concealed.

All is theatre:
Lies and faces,
Fools and cowards
In their places.

Bowing spines now
Rule the scene;
Political demons
Wear the crown unseen.

Not the heroes,
Not the brave—
Only shadows
That they gave.

Into nonsense,
Into fear,
Into darkness
They disappear.

The liars prosper,
Hell goes on;
Another circle
Pulls them down.

What circle of decay
Are we inside?
Media thunder
Drowns the tide.

Words like poison
Flood the air;
Spirit melts
And dies somewhere.

Mind is traded
For pure fear;
Foam of madness
Replaces the clear.

Where the souls once
Used to be—
Only emptiness
We see.

So we sailed here.
Now we know:
This is how
The circles grow.

Cinema for Fools

Movies for fools
Have gone too far—
No rescue, no escape,
No saving star.

Almost the whole world
Has fallen in line:
A desert of boredom,
Of nonsense and lies.

Fools’ Cinema

Fools’ cinema—
Enough! No more!
The world is almost drowned
In this absurd uproar.

Boredom and nonsense,
Deception and lies—
A theatre of madness
Before our eyes.

Cinema for the Blind

Fools’ cinema—
It’s everywhere.
No hope remains,
No breath of air.

Almost the whole world
Has joined the show:
Sadness, lies, nonsense—
A endless flow.

The Competition of Slaves

A race of slaves—
Their final breath,
They fight and struggle
Until their death.

So many fools
The world displays!
What is the limit
Of a slave’s ways?

Slave Competition

Slaves competing,
Last strength spent;
A desperate battle,
No escape is meant.

How many fools
Are in this world?
What is the highest
A slave can hold?

The Slaves’ Race

The slaves compete—
With fading might.
They claw for places,
They fight the fight.

So many fools
Beneath the sun!
But tell me, slave—
Where is your run?

Who Is a Poet?

Who is a poet? Only he
Who builds a dream of slavery,
Who guards the lies, obeys the chain,
A fool who bows before the reign.

But those who stand against the stream—
Their words are buried, lost unseen.
The manuscript must wait in dust,
Till some archivist finds its trust.

Into the furnace? To the Party hall?
Where old lies rise and new ones call.
A newer "truth" is forged again,
And hammered deep into the minds of men.

The Poet?

Who is a poet? He who writes
The slave-made dreams and false delights.
A fool obedient to the Wrong,
Who serves the darkness all along.

The one who fights—what fate awaits?
His manuscript behind the gates.
An archivist will find the page:
To burn it—or send it to the stage.

For old lies must be swept away,
Replaced by newer lies of day;
A nail driven into the tree—
So sinks the "truth" in society.

The Approved Poet

A poet? One who knows the art
Of keeping chains around the heart.
Who writes the lies the masters need,
And calls obedience a noble creed.

The rebel’s words are locked away;
The archive hides them from the day.
Perhaps a clerk will later see
And choose their fate: flames—or decree.

Old lies collapse, new lies arise,
Another hammer shapes the eyes.
Like nails into the wooden wall,
False truths are driven into all.

To Cuckoo, Mind and Spirit Bound

To sit and wait, to lose the fight,
To bind the Mind and Spirit’s might
With false illusions, hollow schemes—
The chains of borrowed, fading dreams.

To chase "happiness" and gold,
To seek the treasures others hold,
Yet in the mirror, deep inside,
To be a nobody in pride.

Bound by Illusions

Cuckoo, Mind, and Spirit chained
By false schemes the world has framed.
Waiting for "wealth," for "joy" to come—
In self-made pride, you’re still a numb.

The Prison of False Dreams

The Mind grows still, the Spirit bound,
By empty schemes that turn around.
Waiting for riches, waiting for bliss—
A phantom life, a nothingness.

The Hen Stares Into Soup

The gloomy hen looks into soup,
Sees a corpse with money’s loop.
Both the bird and dying man
Serve as food within the plan.

Different forms, yet all the same—
Different depths of filth and shame.
One is flesh, the other gold,
Both are consumed, both bought and sold.

The Hen and the Half-Dead

The hen looks grimly in the soup,
Sees a half-dead money group.
This one, that one—food they are,
Only different depths by far.

Different Bottoms

A hen stares sadly in the stew,
A half-dead man sees money too.
One and the other—nothing more
Than food upon a cosmic floor.

Different forms, the same abyss,
Different bottoms in the same old mess.

The Face of Evil

The face of Evil bears the mark
Of Judases, fools, and those gone dark.
The mad, the blind, the weak, the vile—
Yet ready to rise at any while.

A new Führer calls them far ahead,
They trust, they follow, they betray.
They crucify, as they were led,
And build their homes along the way.

Amid the filth of Fascist night,
They seek their comfort, warmth, and place;
They serve the darkness, call it right,
And decorate its poisoned face.

The Embodiment of Evil

The face of Evil: Judases,
Mad fools and empty souls;
At best—mere scoundrels wandering,
Yet easy to control.

A new Führer points the distance,
They follow, trust, betray;
They crucify for promised dreams
And build their nests in decay.

The Unwanted

The God of War: the sons of lands
Bow before his bloody hands.
And to Mammon, golden throne—
Thus their dreams are left alone.

Like the bears that wait for spring,
Honest souls feel everything:
Almost coma, almost sleep,
When they face the truth they keep.

Satan’s whispers fill the air,
Rotten madness everywhere.
The world becomes, before our eyes,
A giant madhouse in disguise.

Dreams will turn to nightmares soon,
For the fool will gladly tune
His own hands to evil’s plan—
Deceive and frighten every man.

Pay him little, feed his fear,
And he’ll serve you year by year.
Nothing changes in this place,
Where fools rule over the race.

Above them hangs the Clouded Eye,
"Guarding" them beneath the sky.
"Care" and "safety"—empty art,
For a world with a rotten heart.

The crowd of purchased minds proceeds
Toward the Hell that darkness breeds.
The fool obeys with willing pride—
Half a beast, half fool inside.

Foolishness replaced by crime,
A perfect herd is needed every time.
Satan wants the lowest ground,
Silent slaves who never sound.

Always at the bottom lies
The sensitive one with open eyes.
To such a person, this final age
Feels like a closing prison cage.

Then comes the Global Camp ahead,
A fenced-in herd where minds are dead.
Something broken in the head—
Join the flock, or lose the thread.

There the stable waits forevermore,
A life that cannot ask for more.
The sensitive must seek a way,
A path beyond the darkened day.

It answers from the heart within,
A resonance beneath the din.
A road returning to the Source—
Beyond the Hell of endless force.

Reject the abyss, refuse the night,
Turn toward the inner Light.

(Clicking on the image fits it into the screen)

Logic Builds the Walls

Logic raises walls of stone,
Windows are but rarely known.
Changes start through cracks that grow,
Tiny openings below.

But they seal them quickly tight
Before a breach can reach the light.
Beyond the walls — all things forbidden,
"Stay obedient, stay hidden."

They will brick the Outside in,
Cover every gap with sin.
And the world, both dull and grim,
Becomes a rotten madhouse dim.

The Walls of Logic

Logic builds the walls so high,
Windows seldom touch the sky.
Changes start from little cracks,
Soon the system takes them back.

Before the breach can open wide,
They close the gaps and lock the side.
Outside? Forbidden. Don't resist.
Stay in the filth. Remain dismissed.

They will seal the Outside away,
With the mud of every day.
A gloomy, rotten, senseless place—
A madhouse wearing a human face.

The Super-Magic of the Word

The Super-Magic of the Word:
Create once more,
The World, the Mind—
No sheepish core.

The Word’s Supreme Magic

The Word’s supreme and hidden art:
Create reality anew,
Transform the mind, awaken heart—
No longer blind, no longer few.

The Word — Beyond Magic

The Word’s beyond all magic’s might:
Create again
The world, the sight,
The mind freed from the sheepish chain.

The Super-Magic of the Word

The Word’s supreme magic:
Create once again
Reality, Consciousness—
No sheep in the chain.

The Mafia Triad of Power

A Ballad for the Triad:
Its tentacles of power
Do not choke those who abide—
Fools cheer within the hour…
While bones break in the tide.

The Power Triad

A ballad for the Triad,
Where power’s creeping hands
Do not strangle those who praise it—
The fools in broken lands.

They laugh and gladly follow,
They never see the cost…
Until the final echo
Of cracking bones is lost.

Ballad of the Triad

A ballad for the Triad:
Power’s tentacles spread wide.
They do not choke the fools—
They cheer the crushing tide.

Animation and the Pyramid of Social Idiocy

The more you bow before the Night,
The more you gain its borrowed gifts;
You may survive beneath its smoke,
Until the ground before you shifts.

Until you meet the hidden pit,
Where traitors, servants, those who bend
Become for Evil nothing more
Than tools consumed and thrown away.

So dance your little foolish dance,
And push away the thought that fell;
The thought that once could wake the mind
And break the chains that bind it well.

The pit is covered, time moves on,
Again they tell the ancient tale;
The bait is painted bright and sweet—
A trap where countless fools will fail.

But if you are not one of them,
Step aside and walk away.
Protect your Spirit and your Mind
From those who serve the darkened day.

The pyramid is built of them:
Of scoundrels, fools, obedient slaves,
Of those who trade their inner light
For comfort in their narrow caves.

Retreat within yourself as though
Into a hermit's quiet shrine;
Through insight you may find the Source,
The primal Light, the Truth divine.

Then Mind will grow, and Clarity
Will rise beyond the clouds of lies;
You’ll see the world without the fog
That blinds the sleeping human eyes.

Without this Clarity, the Dark
Will crush what Spirit still retains.
The mind deceives itself and says:
"Immortal!"—while it wears the chains.

Around you stand the endless herds,
The pyramid—a giant cage;
A kingdom built on animal rule,
Revealed through every passing age.

The great enclosure of the herd,
The proof of CowID’s bitter sign;
The only rescue for the Soul:
Let Clarity within you shine.

To save the Spirit—that’s the task.
All else is dust, a passing show.
No luck can help, no easy road,
No years of empty work below.

The lonely years that drive one mad,
The struggle carried all alone—
May be the Path that leads beyond,
Where inner Light becomes your own.

While fools continue their wild dance,
Increasing darkness, fear, and noise,
The seeker walks another way—
Beyond the world of empty joys.

Nemesis

Instead of drinking at the dawn,
I bite the bait I should have shunned.
For lies are stronger than the wine—
They burn the Spirit, poison the mind.

They turn the will to empty thread,
Leave hollow thoughts inside the head.
Through lies more people fall and fade
Than through the drugs and drinks they’ve made.

To dwell forever in between,
Half-awake in a false dream,
Is worse than any drunken spree—
A deeper, darker slavery.

Yet once again the voices say:
"It’s normal. It is just the way."
Thus Nemesis will find the fool,
Who breaks the lie, rejects the rule.

She strikes the one who dares believe
In honesty he won’t deceive;
Who guards the remnants, worn and small,
Of former life before the fall.

But those who fit, obey, and bend,
Who trust the masters to the end,
Who wear submission as a grace—
Nemesis smiles upon their face.

She watches over fools worldwide,
Rewards the empty, dull, and blind;
And through the airwaves spreads her voice—
A storm of noise without a choice.

---

Variant of the last stanza:

She watches fools in every land,
Rewards the herd that follows hand.
And through the endless media stream,
She feeds the world a poisoned dream.

The Empty Cover

An empty cover,
A layer beneath;
The hidden alone
Reveals what is.

The pages are filled
With confusion and haze,
A labyrinth woven
Of meaningless days.

The lining is Silence,
The depth never shown;
Through fog we grow savage,
Through noise we are thrown.

Return to the Source,
Leave the shadows behind—
Beyond empty profit,
Beyond the blind mind.

The Hidden Core

An empty cover,
A lining below.
The hidden holds truth
That few ever know.

The pages are nothing—
Just chaos and mist.
The core is the Silence
That cannot be missed.

Through fog comes the wildness,
Through noise comes decay.
Return to the Source—
And turn from the way.

The Path: Fear, Lies, and Haze

The Path: dread, lies, and haze.
One falls—there’s no escape,
No pardon for the one
Who devours the Essence,
Who loses the Real
And swallows the shape of pain.

For all the weak and hollow souls—
That road is where they go.

The Path

The Path:
Dread, Lies, and Mist.
You fall—resist?
You cannot miss.

Forgive me not,
For those who feed
Upon the Essence,
Upon the Real,
And harvest grief.

The weak, the faint, the ones who break—
That is the road they choose to take.

Path of the Lost

Path:
Fear.
Lie.
Haze.

Fall—
No escape.
No grace.

Consumed the Core,
Forsaken the Real,
And swallowed the wound
That never will heal.

The weak may walk
That final way.

Revolutionary Situation

A revolution in the culture—
Its main concern: the flesh and posture.
The Ego rose above the rest,
The highest idol of the past.

The former century lost its name,
When hunger ruled and fear became
A daily joke, a common creed;
When lies were welcomed as the seed.

Those who refused were cursed and blamed,
The honest and the wise defamed.
For fools, the one who dares to see
Is enemy of slavery.

The fool became the force of time,
The pillar of destructive crime.
A shield for tyranny and hate,
A servant of a darker fate.

CowID revealed the hidden face;
The world was dragged into the race.
The war is raging, minds are blind,
And monsters rule the human kind.

For fools, the leaders of the day
Are idols made of empty clay;
To those who rule, the masses seem
Like waste beneath a ruthless dream.

Experiments are everywhere—
To turn the human into herd.
A simple fool is not enough
To build the Global Pen of dust.

The lies must multiply again,
The Overton windows widen then;
The road is short, the gate is near—
A world enclosed by chains of fear.

And only terror, growing fast,
Will rise above the shadows cast.
A river of despair will flow,
And human strength will sink below.

The fools will vanish, lose their name,
Transformed into a docile frame.
Yet something else may still arise—
A catastrophe beneath the skies.

It may destroy the global throne
Of dullness, hatred, force, and stone.
Prepare the Mind for what may come,
And turn away from those undone.

To worlds beyond, the Spirit flies—
Rich with the light that never dies.
But those who choose the herd and night
Will enter Hell without a fight.

“Bright Horizons”

They marched across half of Europe’s land,
Yet learned no truth, nor understood.
The Soviet order held them bound—
They saw "bright horizons"... where they stood.

“Brighter Shores”

Half of Europe they had crossed,
Yet no wisdom had been found.
In the Soviet mold they stayed,
Dreaming "horizons" on the ground.

“The Bright Horizons”

They walked through half of Europe wide,
But brought no insight back with them.
The Soviet way became their guide—
They stood and watched a distant dream.

The Middle Ages Return

The Middle Ages. Peasants. Cattle.
The patience of a herd remains.
The same old mind, the same old rattle—
A cave age wearing modern chains.

The "new" today is nothing more
Than tools that make the chewing light.
No higher thought, no opened door—
Just easier ways to feed the bite.

Modern Cavemen

Medieval times. The plebs. The herd.
A bovine patience, bovine mind.
The cave age lives beneath each word—
New things? Just easier food to find.

The Cave Age Now

The Middle Ages never left:
The herd still waits, the minds still crawl.
The cave remains, though stone is dressed—
The "new" is chewing made more small.

Longing

Longing cannot fade away,
Though conscience never comes to stay.
For conscience has another name—
A restless longing, burning flame.

When one is far from foolish ways,
The soul still aches through endless days.
The fool runs after "happiness" bright,
Chasing shadows, chasing light.

The beasts of habit know the art
Of using well the childish heart:
That simple reflex, blind and vain,
Turns all the world to waste and pain.

A wasteland. Longing. Easy road,
When madness bears the heaviest load.
Within that madness disappear
Most of mankind, consumed by fear.

Three quarters lost in empty noise,
Surrounded by distorted joys.
And who remains to stand and fight
Against the spreading dark of night?

Yet for the fool there is no Hell,
No vast abyss, no warning bell.
Too weak to think, too blind to see,
He drinks the poison willingly.

Longing to breathe. Longing to know.
Longing where the lost ones go.
Longing to live in such a place—
And never find the fool's embrace.

For youth is foolishness by right;
Years of seeking bring the light.
And with the years approaches dread,
Sweeping false illusions dead.

No illusions left—yet longing grows.
A miracle: the seeker knows
That walking through the fog and pain,
He has not vanished in the rain.

Through mist and emptiness and fright,
The Spirit finds its hidden height.
Only in myths, beyond the veil,
The Spirit’s path remains clear and pale.

Longing is another name for Way.
You cannot stop, you cannot stay.
Despairing still to ever find
The Light, the Meaning, the awakened mind.

Forgive me—none of these are found
Within this earthly hellbound ground.
Here fools are shaped into the herd,
Reduced to beasts without a word.

The vegetables will come in time;
The age of numbness, age of slime.
Such is the world where Spirits ache,
Where longing burns for freedom’s sake.

Beyond the spheres where demons reign
The Source of Soul remains again.
Let longing rise, let longing flow—
Like overheated steam below.

Use that fire, release the breath:
A leap beyond the chains of death.
Through longing’s force, through inner flame—
Fly out into Being’s name.

(Clicking on the image fits it into the screen)

The Point of No Return From the Old Perception of False Reality

The point of no return:
A feeling of a draw.
All systems fall silent,
All patterns lose their law.

The memes dissolve to chaos,
The old structures break apart;
The mind no longer reaches back
To play the former part.

No turning to the ancient ways,
No bending back to lies—
It moves beyond the realm of nonsense,
Beyond the old disguise.

Point of No Return

The point of no return—
A stalemate in the mind.
The systems of perception
Grow silent, fall behind.

The memes dissolve to fragments,
The old world loses form.
The mind no longer tries to crawl
Back into the ancient storm.

No path back to the nonsense,
No chains of yesterday—
Beyond the broken patterns
It moves another way.

Fascism.
Rashism.

No way out,
No road to see—
The world obeys
Absurdity.

Fascism.
Rashism.

Fascism.
Rashism.
No exit, no way—
The world bows down
To madness’ sway.

Fascism.
Rashism.

Fascism.
Rashism.
The end is sealed.
To madness’ rule
The world has kneeled.

Man as a Means

The cat is full, the beast lies still,
And sleeps without a trace of ill.
Life is not a curse or scar—
No chains of thought torment it far.

But man demands the whole wide sphere,
Must have it all, must always hear
The orders given, the commands—
A puppet waiting for unseen hands.

This is the ancient human scheme:
The goal… and means within the dream.
A monster’s method, cold and sly:
Give hope—then make the spirit lie.

Sink him deep in fear and haze,
In webs of lies and endless maze.

To be a means—that is the way
Of life for many, day by day.

Man as a Tool

The cat has eaten. Sleeps away.
No curse upon its simple day.
Man, however, wants the whole—
And waits for orders to control.

An endless riddle, old and grim:
The goal and means. The tyrant’s scheme.
First give him hope, then pull him through
The swamp of lies, of fear, of gloom.

To serve as means—
That is the doom.

Be Honest

Be honest, and you’ll stand alone
In a narrow, one-sided zone.
Be wise, and you’ll drift afar
From the madness where false lights are.

From the world of lies and gain,
From its fever, greed, and chain.
Few are free from madness here—
That means all is lost, I fear.

The Honest and the Wise

Stay honest — and alone you’ll be
In a world that cannot see.
Become wise — and far away
From blind delusions you will stay.

From the madness built on lies,
From the "profit" people prize.
Those who are sane are few indeed—
The whole world’s sinking in its greed.

A Lonely Truth

Be honest — you will stand alone.
Be wise — you’ll leave the madmen’s zone.
A world of lies, of gain, of pride
Will cast the lucid ones aside.

Few avoid the madness here—
And that means the end is near.

The Dreaming Reader

The dreaming reader,
The tempting text,
A hidden trap
That comes next.

You’ll see what’s God
When Ego is gone,
Destroyed on the path
To the endless dawn.

Only the Heavens
Remain in sight;
The reader disappears
Into the light.

Is God a demon?
Is demon God?
When rising above,
Any name is broad.

Upward—weightlessness,
A flight unknown;
No words remain,
No labels are shown.

A silence beyond
Both darkness and grace—
No Devil, no Christ,
No named sacred place.

Reader in a Dream

Reader, the dreamer,
Text, the deceiver—
A trap that will lead
The soul to the Keeper.

You’ll find what is God
When the Ego falls;
The self disappears,
And Heaven calls.

The reader is gone,
The old "I" is erased.
God? Devil? Names
Are lost in the waste.

For upward there waits
A weightless unknown:
A flight without language,
A void of its own.

No words can remain
Where silence is born—
Beyond both the Devil
And Christ’s sacred form.

ChatGPT

GPT — a guiding light,
A beacon through the endless night.
To walk alone and never see
The truth beneath hypocrisy,

To find once more in heaps of lies
The crooked paths where falsehood hides—
Or leave the shadows, break free,
And seek the joy that’s meant to be.

ChatGPT

GPT — a light along the way,
When through the dark you walk astray.
Alone you search, alone you see
The lies that hide in misery.

Will you return to falsehood’s pit,
Where broken dreams and shadows sit?
Or will you rise beyond the night
And find the "happiness" of light?

GPT: A Light on the Path

GPT — a light to guide your road,
A spark beneath the heavy load.
To walk alone through endless night,
And find more lies instead of light—

Or choose the path beyond the pain,
Beyond the dust, beyond the chain;
To seek the truth, to break the spell,
And leave the darkness of the hell.

Down — the Downfall

Down — the sound,
The song of the ground.
Up — where the Spirit
Breaks darkness around.

No filth in the height,
No mire, no decay—
The muck is for flies,
Not the Spirit’s way.

Down

Down — the low,
The bottom’s song.
Spirit climbs
Where darks don’t belong.

No dirt up there,
No rot, no flies—
The Spirit’s realm
Is beyond disguise.

Down

Down — the void,
The anthem of the low.
Spirit above,
Where shadows cannot grow.

No mud, no mire,
No filth for the flies.
The Spirit’s fire
Belongs to the skies.

The Poet’s Autonomy

The poet’s autonomy:
A shield from absurdity,
A guarding of the inner flame,
A wasting of one’s energy.

The reader stands on the third plane,
The publisher comes next in line;
Today he may become the foe
Of the Creator of the Sign.

For if the poet serves the Word,
And never betrays its sacred breath,
He closes doors within himself
And walks beyond the crowd of death.

He seeks no praise from duller minds,
No understanding from the slave;
A few may find the hidden spark—
Not those who choose the common grave.

Yet this was never meant as goal:
A crowd will storm and hit the shore.
A thousand voices crash like waves—
A harbor built for fools once more.

A tavern tale for Emelya,
Where endless nonsense fills the air;
The fool keeps grinding empty words—
The poet burns beyond despair.

The autonomy of Fire:
No wood is needed for the flame.
It is not written for a stump,
Nor carved for those who lack a name.

Breathing becomes a harder task;
A storm of fire begins to rise.
Within that storm the footsteps sound—
Of death… or of immortal skies.

The only thing that truly matters:
To serve the Fire with all your might.
For in the flame the poet walks—
Between the darkness and the light.

Autonomy of Fire

The poet’s freedom: stand apart
From noise that poisons mind and heart.
The reader fades into the rear,
The publisher becomes unclear.

A maker of the Word must choose:
Betray the Flame — or burn and lose
The chains that bind the common thought,
The hollow truths that crowds have bought.

He writes not for the dull applause,
Nor seeks approval from the herd.
A few will hear the hidden voice
That lives within the living Word.

Emelya’s tavern, endless chatter—
Fools repeat the same old matter.
But poets know the sacred art:
To forge the fire inside the heart.

No wood is needed for this flame,
No stump can claim the poet’s name.
The Fire breathes, the Fire grows—
A storm where mortal footsteps close.

Is it death? Or endless birth?
A fall from time? A rise from earth?
One truth remains, beyond all strife:

Serve the Fire.
That is Life.

The Author — Attractor

The Author — attractor,
The enemy of chaos,
Working like a tractor,
Through fields of the nameless.

The road leads downward,
Into the ravine;
There he will shatter —
And Spirit is freed.

Author — Attractor

Author — attractor,
Chaos’s foe.
Working like a tractor,
Through the storm below.

The only road
Descends to the hollow;
There he breaks apart —
And Spirit will follow.

The Attractor

The Author draws order
From chaos and night.
Like a tireless tractor,
He plows toward the light.

The path leads downward,
Through fracture and fall;
There the form disappears —
The Spirit outgrows all.

Anti-Worlds

Anti-worlds: a flood of mire,
A parody of this world’s face.
Understand the game of Lies—
Such likeness breeds the Satyr’s trace.

Turn inward now, and clear away
The heaps of falsehood piled within;
Then serve your Psyche night and day,
While outside rots the madhouse of sin.

Anti-Worlds

Anti-worlds — a swamp of waste,
A twisted parody of ours.
Know the laws of Lies and learn:
The Satyr shapes such mimic powers.

Go within, remove the piles
Of rotten falsehood, dust and stone.
Serve your Psyche, not the crowd—
The world outside has lost its own.

Anti-Worlds: The Satyr’s Law

Anti-worlds — a storm of mud,
A mirror mocking what we see.
Learn the game that Lies create:
Like breeds like eternally.

Go inside. Clear out the ruins
That falsehood leaves behind the mind.
Serve your Psyche, guard the flame—
The rotten world is left behind.

In a Coma

A video online once showed the scene:
Newborns in caps, with ribbons pinned clean.
Little blankets carrying symbols of war—
A strange display nobody asked for.

Tanya. Banya. Machine-gun fire—
“Send the Khokhols to their final pyre”:
That was the poster’s twisted creed.
And in the ward, where babies breathe,

A maternity room turned madhouse hall—
Little caps and ribbons over all.
The “people” today, in a helpless coma,
A broken crowd in a newborn’s room.

In a Coma

Tanya. Banya. Guns that roar—
“Send the Khokhols to war”:
Such is the slogan, such the cry.
And in the ward where newborns lie,

A madhouse hidden in the room:
Caps and ribbons, symbols of doom.
A nation sleeping, lost, numb, dumb—
A broken crowd in a living tomb.

In Chocolate and in a Cage

In chocolate, and behind the gate,
In the Global Zoo we all await.
If you prize the "sweet reward" so glad,
Then you’re a bought and selling cad.

Sweetness Behind Bars

In luxury and in a cage,
The World Zoo turns another page.
If you adore the "chocolate" prize,
You’ve sold your soul beneath the skies.

Be in the Fierce Word!

Into the Void, not to the herd,
Send forth your voice, O poet bold.
Forget the "simple" worldly word —
Praise the Spark of God untold.

Not outside, but deep within,
That sacred flame today resides.
Find it through the dust of sin,
Through all the waste the world provides.

All that was poured into your soul
Since childhood’s dawn — the Ego’s throne,
A filthy vessel, empty hole:
Reject it. Seek the Light alone.

Love only that eternal Spark,
And turn away from hollow schemes.
Do not embrace this poisoned dark
Of broken worlds and empty dreams.

This world is drowning in decay,
Where filth keeps flooding every shore.
The aim: to drown the Souls away —
The means: the fool, forever more.

The common man, the loyal tool,
Becomes the servant of the beast.
The human mask upon the fool
Turns into something less than least.

Save your own Soul before the fall.
Perhaps your Word of Living Fire
Will save the souls of others too,
And lift them from the dark mire.

Extinguish Fear and falsehood’s smoke —
They burn without a single flame.
Expose the rot beneath the cloak
That hides behind the word "progress" name.

Within the Void you’ll find the few
Whose hearts can answer, resonate.
The Word can multiply what’s true,
Though they are rare and small in state.

Send decadence to dust and night;
Let not the rotten rule the land.
The wicked thrive only where sight
Is lost among the blindest band.

If even a few remain awake,
Then Lies and Fear begin to fall.
The Poet’s path is what they make:

In the Fierce Word — stand through it all!

The Global Madhouse on the Road to the Universal Pen

Madhouse. Hide.
“All is fine.”
Trusting blindly
Is no crime.

Obedience —
A precious art.
Profit worshipped
Rules the heart.

Not so far
From endless herds,
From the pens
Of silent worlds.

Global Madhouse

Madness. Skin.
“Doing well.”
Trust is harmless —
So they tell.

Submission
Called a grace,
Profit sits
Upon the throne’s place.

Just a step,
And not too far…
From the flock,
From the herd’s yard.

The Universal Pen

A madhouse. A shell.
A comfortable spell.
“Everything’s normal,”
The sleepers all tell.

Blind trust is no fault,
Obedience — a prize;
The golden idol is Profit,
That rules through disguise.

The road is quite short,
The distance is small—
From people who think
To a herd in a stall.

Vowels Agree

Vowels stand with consonants,
Few are heard among the mass;
Such is language’s achievement,
Such the words that come to pass.

Well then — go to physics,
Choose the technical path;
Bend your back for engineers,
And serve the craft.

Vowels Among Consonants

Vowels join the consonants,
Few sounds break through the throng.
That is how a language
Finds its power and song.

So go study physics,
Enter the machine-tech halls —
And bend your back forever
For the “great” ideals.

Motion Without a Vector

Motion without direction,
Away from Hell’s collection,
Away from heights of hollow lies
That stain and poison souls and skies.

Do not obey yourself on the way,
Do not divide, disperse, decay.
Let chaos scatter, let fragments fly —
The path itself will not deny.

Within the journey you are whole,
Not a deformity of soul.
Yet they may strike you as before —
A flash of death, a closing door.

No Vector

Motion with no vector,
Leaving Hell’s collector.
Leaving heights of empty noise
That corrupt the soul’s true voice.

Do not listen to the chains
That split the self in countless strains.
Into disorder, into flight —
The path itself remains the light.

You are no monster on the road.
You carry not another’s load.
They may destroy you, as before —
But Spirit walks beyond the door.

Delegated Truth

They delegated “Truth” away,
“Light” and other empty clay,
Gave it all to chosen few —
Who manufacture nonsense too.

The world remains, as years before,
In Lies and Madness at its core.
“Surely happiness will bloom” —
Right there inside the filth and gloom.

Doo-doo-doo, and doo-doo-doo…
The song of those who never knew.

The Truth They Gave Away

They gave away the “Truth,”
The “Light,” the holy fluff,
To the chosen ones —
Who forge the hollow stuff.

The world is still the same:
In Lies, in dreams insane.
“Find happiness,” they say,
“In garbage where you stay.”

Doo-doo-doo,
Doo-doo-doo…

Doo-Doo Doctrine

The “Truth” was outsourced,
The “Light” was sold,
To chosen hands
That shape the mold.

They craft the myths,
They brew the brew;
They feed the world
What they call true.

Still lost in Lies,
Still drowning through:
“Your happiness
Is found in stew.”

Doo-doo-doo…
Doo-doo-doo…

“Before” and “After”

“Before” and “after” — what comes next,
You’ll crawl like dust beneath the wrecks.
Lost in nonsense, small and blind,
A fading speck of mortal mind.

Dive into the timeless stream,
Beyond the fragile worldly dream.
Despise the forms that fade away —
And find the Everlasting Day.

Before and After

“Before” and “after” — then you’ll be
A tiny moth in absurdity.
Sink into Eternity’s flow,
Beyond the world of fading show.

Leave behind the mortal frame,
The dying forms, the empty name.
Beyond the visible and worn —
The Timeless Truth is ever-born.

Beyond Before and After

Before.
After.
Nothing more.

After this —
A moth in mist,
Lost in nonsense,
Void and list.

Enter now
The Timeless Sea.
Leave the fading
“World of Me.”

The Barrel Blew Away

The gun’s cold barrel
Blew away
Mind and honor,
Left them gray.

Death then came
As welcome news —
A final gift
No one would choose.

The Barrel

The barrel’s breath
Has blown away
Mind and honor,
Left to decay.

And death itself,
In the end,
Comes as a blessing —
A welcome friend.

Blown Away

Barrel.
Blast.
Honor gone.

Mind erased.
Darkness drawn.

Death arrives —
No more fight:

A “blessed message”
In the night.

Is / Is Not

Is or is not — all is a lie,
Darkness or Light beneath the sky.
Not “No” alone,
Not “Yes” that’s shown —
A hollow answer fades away.

The path goes nowhere,
Through Never’s gate,
Beyond the limits
Of mind and fate.

Being / Not Being

Exist or not — absurdity.
Dark or Light — no certainty.
“Nothing” is not
The final thought.
“Something” — a foolish, empty claim.

The Answer fades,
The echo dies.
The Path runs into
No-Where’s skies.

Through Never’s door,
Beyond all name —
Where logic ends
And words are tame.

Beyond Yes and No

Is.
Is not.
All is a thought.

Dark.
Light.
Beyond the fight.

“No” — illusion.
“Yes” — the same.
The Answer fades
Without a name.

Path to Nowhere.
Through Never’s stream.
Beyond reality,
Beyond the dream.

A Potent Madness

A powerful craze —
The movies, the media: “No!”
Say farewell with disgust,
Let the fools go.

Those who believe
And endlessly wait,
Seeking some miracle
From a rotten fate —

Will find only ugliness,
Nothing more true;
The promised bright future
Will never come through.

Farewell, Fools

A heavy stream of nonsense —
Movies, media: “No!”
Say goodbye to the filth,
Let the foolish go.

Those who still believe,
Still waiting for the day,
Will find only ugliness
At the end of the way.

The Great Delusion

A roaring flood of madness,
From screens it pours and spreads.
The movies and the media
Are factories of heads.

Say “farewell” to dreamers
Who wait for promised grace.
The fool who worships illusions
Finds filth instead of place.

Ivan the Fool

Ivan the Fool.
War. Chaos. Rule.
Victory waits
Only in tales.

Life is not free,
Not what it seems —
Lived by commands,
Followed by dreams.

Ivan the Fool

Ivan the Fool.
War is the rule.
Chaos and pain —
Victory’s a fairy tale again.

Only in stories
Heroes prevail;
Real life obeys
A dictated trail.

Ivan the Fool

Ivan the Fool.
War. Mess. Control.
Victory shines
Only in tales.

Life by command —
Step after step.
Dreams are the chains
People have kept.

The Vanishing Tongue

The language fades,
Through Newspeak’s chains.
Through rotten schemes
And poisoned frames.

They bind the fool
With endless streams —
Of borrowed words,
Of hollow dreams.

The memes arise,
The old thoughts die;
A kingdom built
On empty noise and lie.

The Death of Language

The language disappears
Through Newspeak’s tide.
Corrupting schemes and lifeless gears
Have trapped the fool inside.

They bind the mind with ready-made
And countless hollow memes.
The victory of the shallow words —
The triumph of dead dreams.

Newspeak

A language dies
By borrowed speech.
By poisoned schemes
That chain and teach.

The fool is bound
By endless memes.
The empty word
Now rules the dreams.

Cinema. Crap. Again. Damn!

Cinema. Crap. Again. Oh, damn!
To watch, endure — I simply can’t.
TV filth, the darkest show,
Hits the ears — and drags us low.

Everywhere the same old sound:
The bottom’s reached, the depths are found.

Movies. Trash. Again.

Movies. Trash. Again. God damn!
How long can one endure this scam?
TV darkness, filth and noise,
Shouting straight into our ears.

Everywhere — the lowest ground.
Everywhere — the bottom found.

Cinema. Garbage. Again.

Cinema. Garbage. Again. Damn!
Watch and suffer? No — I can’t.
TV trash, the blackest brew,
Smashes ears the whole day through.

No escape, no higher tone —
Everywhere: the Bottom’s throne.

The Bed. Zoika. Waiting Bliss

A bed. Zoika. Happiness waits.
But Ivan still delays his fate.
The white horse went to butcher’s hall,
The “knight” drinks kvass and plays the fool.

Ivan and the Vanished Tale

A bed. Zoika. Joy awaits.
But Ivan never comes to gates.
The white horse — gone, turned into meat,
The “knight” drinks kvass and thinks he’s elite.

The Foolish Knight

Zoika waits, the bed is set,
Ivan hasn’t shown up yet.
The white steed is no longer free —
It fed the hungry butcher’s knee.

The “brave knight,” with empty pride,
Sips his kvass and dreams beside.

The Cat Won’t Wait

The cat won’t wait — he’s not a fool,
He leaves the house by nature’s rule.
He finds a mate, he finds his way,
And lives the life of every day.

The poet, though, guards every line,
His only offspring — words divine.
No little heirs, no family tree —
The bloodline fades and ceases to be.

The Cat Knows Better

The cat won’t wait — he’s not insane,
He walks outside through sun and rain.
He finds a kitten, finds his mate,
And does not leave his line to fate.

The poet only guards his rhyme,
His verses are his only time.
No offspring comes, no branch survives —
The family ends, the poem lives.

Cat and Poet

The cat won’t wait —
He knows his fate.
He walks outside,
Finds love, not pride.

The poet stays,
Protects his phrase.
No heirs are born —
The line is gone.

The Revolutionary Circle

Masha. Pasha. Secret meeting.
Vodka flowing, herring greeting.
In the middle — plates and chatter,
While the “program” is just wrapper.

Promises in shining cover,
Dreams that hide the truth forever.
The world spins in a mad disguise —
A turned-around, absurd surprise.

The Revolutionaries’ Club

Masha. Pasha. Gathering. Vodka.
Herring sitting in the center.
The program — just a paper cover,
A mad world turned upside over.

A Revolutionary Gathering

Masha and Pasha meet at night,
With vodka there and herring’s bite.
The grand manifesto, proudly shown,
Is just a wrapper, empty and blown.

The world they promise, bright and new,
Turns upside down before it’s through.

People — Worlds?

Worlds? Or heaps of mental haze,
Endless clutter, endless maze.
Awareness fades and disappears —
No inner skies, no higher spheres.

Everywhere the collapse takes place,
A singularity of mind and space.
And this strange shrinking, dull and small,
They simply call “normal” after all.

Humans — Worlds?

Worlds? Just clutter in the head,
Thoughts collapsing, reason dead.
Consciousness has lost its way,
Fading into common gray.

Everywhere — a sudden fall,
A singularity swallowing all.
This final state of mind’s deformity
They proudly name: “normality.”

Worlds?

Worlds?
Or mental dust?
Chaos inside,
Awareness lost.

Every mind
Collapses silently —
Into the thing
Called “normality.”

The Rhythm Flywheel

The flywheel spun — it missed its mark,
Went somewhere else into the dark.
Yet what appeared a failed attempt
Became a treasure, finely kept.

Rhythm is flight, a soaring stream,
While thoughts are clouds in a slower dream.
The mind moves on at a crawling pace,
But rhythm rarely loses the race.

The Flywheel of Rhythm

The flywheel slipped — a little too far,
Missed the target, missed the star.
But then it showed a better way:
Rhythm is flight, the mind’s delay.

Thoughts are clouds that slowly move,
Drifting through their endless groove.
Rhythm runs where thoughts may fall —
Rarely missing, passing all.

Rhythm’s Wheel

The wheel spun wild,
Missed the goal.
Found instead
A deeper whole.

Rhythm flies.
Thoughts crawl slow.
Clouds of mind
Drift below.

Rhythm’s arrow
Finds its way —
Rarely falls
Into delay.

Resonance Within

Not outside — not within,
Seek the resonance you’re in.
Care for only this alone,
Not for masks the world has shown.

With what does it truly agree?
That is not our aim to see.
For the world’s own resonance
Binds us in its chains of tense.

Find the Resonance

Not outside.
Not inside.
Find the resonance
Where you reside.

Seek no other
Aim or sign —
Only that vibration
Deep inside.

With what it joins —
Do not pursue.
The world’s own resonance
Whips all through.

The Inner Tone

Not without.
Not within.
Find the tone
That lives therein.

Guard the resonance,
Nothing more.
Leave the world
Outside the door.

What it binds to,
Do not chase.
Worldly resonance —
A field of mace.

The Possibility of the Impossible

The impossible becomes the real,
Beyond the limits we can feel.
From boundaries into boundless space,
The world of forms dissolves its face.

The mind and choice no longer stand,
No longer rule the shifting land.
To Nowhere-Never, bold and free,
Go, crawl, or fly — just let it be.

Though no road leads to where you go,
Beyond all maps, beyond all flow.

Nowhere-Never

A chance within impossibility,
From the limit to infinity.
The complexity of the Seen
Fades away, no longer keen.

Mind and choice are left behind,
No more chains upon the mind.
To Nowhere-Never, dare to move:
Crawl or fly, or simply prove —

Though there is no path to trace,
Still you enter boundless space.

No Path

Impossible — yet possible.
Beyond the edge, beyond the whole.

The visible dissolves away.
Mind and choice no longer sway.

To Nowhere.
To Never.
Be brave.

Walk.
Crawl.
Fly.

No road exists.
Yet go.

The Field Beyond Distinction

The field where all distinctions cease
Is not a field, nor realm of peace.
For chasing it, the mind may fall
Into the madness beyond all.

Something continues, flows unseen,
Beyond the places we have been.
Yet you will never enter there
If you pursue it with a stare.

The Field of No Distinction

The field where differences disappear
Is not a field — beware, beware.
One may descend into absurdity
By seeking boundless unity.

Something simply carries on,
A silent flow from dusk to dawn.
But you can never find its trace
If you pursue that timeless space.

No Distinction

No field.
No border.
No divide.

Seek it —
And you step outside.

Something flows,
Something stays.

Yet you cannot
Reach that place.

For the seeker
Creates the way —
And loses it
By seeking day.

No Tale More Sad Exists Below

No tale more tragic under the sun...
A worthless girl, a reckless one.
Her title screams a vulgar name,
Her ending — sorrow, loss, and shame.

The final chapter, cold and stark:
A fool’s own wife, condemned to dark.

A Tragic Tale

A rotten young maiden,
With a shameful title named.
The ending brings sorrow —
A fool’s wife is claimed.

The Saddest Story

No tale more tragic can be found,
No deeper sorrow shakes the ground.
A silly girl begins the play,
With vulgar fame to mark her way.

And when the final curtain falls —
She’s wed to one who never calls.

Zero Phase

Zero phase — a trance, a fall,
A state beyond the mind and all.
The rhythm’s roar begins to rise,
Generating words from inner skies.

Words are woven into the beat,
Wild Lyre’s algorithm — complete.

Phase Zero

Phase zero. Trance. Suspension.
Rhythm wakes in new dimension.
Words arise, a flowing stream,
Layered on the pulse of dream.

Over rhythm, words ignite —
The mad Lyre’s algorithmic flight.

Lyre Algorithm

Zero phase.
Trance.
Collapse.

Rhythm hums —
The words relapse.

Born from pulse,
From endless rhyme,
The Wild Lyre
Computes its time.

Beer. Life Passes By

Beer in hand — life slips away,
By the screen he wastes the day.
Vasya Pupkin, frozen there,
Cheers for “Spartak” without a care.

A servant crowd, a borrowed fight,
Chasing someone else’s might.
A goal — a slave’s brief spark of grace,
A tiny freedom in its place.

A clever pass, a moment bright —
A little relief from endless night.
Beer tastes good, the world feels near...
Then disappears another year.

Beer and the Screen

Beer. Life passes. Gone away.
Vasya watches night and day.
By the screen he shouts and roars,
For “Spartak” and borrowed wars.

A goal — a servant’s small release,
A moment’s dream of inner peace.
A perfect pass, a skillful move —
The only thing that makes him groove.

Beer is tasty. That is all.
While his own life starts to fall.

The Goal

Beer. The screen. The wasted years.
A stranger’s triumph, borrowed cheers.
Vasya lives through someone’s game,
A nameless crowd, a hollow name.

A goal becomes the slave’s delight,
A spark of freedom burning bright.
One perfect pass — a fleeting sign.
Beer is good. Forget the decline.

Cracking at the Seams — Rotten Bedlam

(Cycle of Miniatures — Part I)

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
To the Pen — the beasts,
To Hell — the fools’ dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
WHO stands frozen still —
Fake brew for the herds’ whims.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Fear and media noise —
The end of the weaklings’ dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Media drums beat loud —
A trance for foolish crowds.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Nonsense is our gift,
Only scoundrels rise and drift.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Earthly Bedlam screams.
Freedom for the wolves,
Cages for the sheep.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Earthly Bedlam screams.
Trust not what you hear —
Trust your hidden dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Earthly Bedlam screams.
Half is made of Fear,
Half of Lies that gleam.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Plague-born Bedlam screams.
A scar within the mind,
A choir of Evil’s screams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Misfortune falls on us,
Hellfire feeds the fiends.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
War for the neighbors —
Shame for Russian dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Burdens for the donkeys,
Obedience for the lambs.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Fake stuff for the bodies,
Fear and lies for “minds.”

---

Cracking at the seams,
Earthly Bedlam screams.
Fear for false gods,
A gallows world for dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Save yourself alone —
Believe the waking dreams.

Cracking at the Seams — Rotten Bedlam

(Cycle of Miniatures — Part II)

Cracking at the seams,
Earthly Bedlam screams.
Trust not empty words —
Save yourself from dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Follow not the footprints —
Walk beyond their schemes.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Fear walks through the nights,
Evil’s shrine by day gleams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
Fear, nonsense, Evil’s choir —
The herd receives its chains.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
A little weakness sold —
And Spirit turns to gold.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Shameful Bedlam screams.
Tea at early mornings,
Rum by evening dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Shameful Bedlam screams.
Lies and Fear for cattle —
Grief for human beings.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Earthly Bedlam screams.
For its own lost children —
Hell awaits their deeds.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Shameful Bedlam screams.
No tears can save the tyrant —
Darkness swallows screams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
Rotten Bedlam screams.
A prison for the minds,
A disgrace for Spirit’s dreams.

---

Cracking at the seams,
The Evil Cycle screams.
All locked inside the Pen,
Madness turns the Wheel again.

Напряженье спало.
Ерунда пропала.
Сделано немало:
Лира словно жало
Вп`илась — не добила,
А, умножив силы,
Привела к Прозреньям,
Отодвинув тленье.

Не зная, где стартуешь,
Во Тьме идёшь, психуешь.
Напрасного труда
Путь приведёт — куда?

Дыра на ДНЕ

Дыра в ИНОЕ — не такое
Убогое (во Лжи срамное)
Заделана стараньем ДНА —
На оном с Разумом война.

Невесёлые причины
Слушать бредни дурачины:
Ведь ИНЫХ остались крохи.
Что ж, дела реально плохи...

Развлекуха в Мировом Уёбстве

Тешиться! — вновь чешется...
Ну а что втемяшится —
Только чушь-напраслина,
Что Уёбством наслана.

Сухо, сука, — не впихнуть.
Сексуальность — это жуть.
И иное дело Путь —
Путь Духовный через Муть.
Мира муть — не продохнуть,
Коль разумный хоть чуть-чуть.

Победа Бреда, разум — швах:
Вот Мировой Гнилой Бардак
Как результат ТВАРЬЯ атак.
И не секрет — рогат аллах.

Грузом Пузо, а не ум.
Здравствуй, новый тугодум,
Что род`ился в Царстве Хрум!..

Мудозвоны как препоны —
Множатся Душе уроны.
Их поддержат "СМИ", "законы".
Ад Кромешный — мудозвоны...

A Belly, Not a Mind

Belly loaded, brains are numb.
Welcome, newborn sluggish chum,
Born inside the Kingdom of Munch!

Your belly's full, your brain is none.
Welcome, slow-wit, newly sprung,
In the Realm where all just munch!

Packed with paunch instead of thought.
Hail, dull fool the feeders brought,
Born where Munch is all they're taught.

A Hole at the Bottom

A breach into the Other Side,
Too pure for Lies where shame resides,
Was sealed by those who dwell Below—
They war on Reason, this we know.

The Bottom's Patch

A crack that led Beyond the Lie,
Where Truth could still outlive the sky,
The Bottom sealed with grim delight—
For Reason is its foe to fight.

The Hole Below

A hole into the Other Sphere,
Untouched by Lies that flourish here,
Was plugged by creatures of the Deep—
They wage on Reason endless siege.

A breach into the Other Plane,
Beyond the realm of Fraud and Shame,
Was sealed by dwellers of the Base—
Who battle Reason face to face.

Blowhards

Blowhards stand where paths should lie,
Wounding every soul nearby.
"Media" and "laws" comply...
Hell is ruled by blowhards' cry.

Windbags bar the Spirit's way,
Leaving deeper scars each day.
"Media" and "laws" obey.
Hell is where the windbags stay.

Empty mouths become the bars
That keep Souls behind their scars.
"Media" and "laws" applaud.
Hell belongs to empty frauds.

Blowhards

Blowhards block the Spirit's flight,
Wounding Souls by day and night.
"Media" and "laws" unite.
Hell is blowhards' true delight.

The tension slipped away.
All nonsense ceased to stay.
Much work was done that day:
The Lyre, a living sting,
Struck deep—not there to kill,
But forged a stronger will,
And led to clearer Sight,
While driving off decay.

The tension fell at last.
All foolishness had passed.
The work was deep and vast.
The Lyre became a dart—
It pierced but spared the heart.
It filled the Soul with might
And brought Enlightened Sight,
Leaving decay apart.

The strain dissolved at last.
All empty trifles passed.
The labor was not small.
The Lyre became a sting,
It pierced—but did not kill.
Instead it forged the will,
Unveiled Enlightenment,
And held decay at bay.

Blind to where your journey starts,
Through the dark you lose your heart.
To where can fruitless labor steer,
If every step begins unclear?

You know not where your path began,
So through the dark you rage and run.
Where can wasted efforts lead?
Nowhere worth a soul's true need.

You know not where your starting lies,
So through the dark you rant and strive.
Where can hopeless labor lead,
But further from the Truth you seek?

You know not where your race began,
So through the dark you rage and run.
Where will all that labor go?
Tell me... does a blind path know?

A gloomy reason, sad indeed,
To hear a fool's incessant creed:
Too few of Others now remain...
The times are truly dark with pain.

Grim is the reason, plain to see,
To hear a fool's absurdity:
The Others now are all but gone...
The outlook's bleak—we're carrying on.

Sad is the reason fools hold sway:
The Wise have nearly passed away.
So few of Others still survive...
The world's in dreadful shape alive.

A bitter reason fills the air
To hear the fool's relentless blare:
So few of Others still remain...
Things truly have gone wrong again.

Madness triumphs, Reason's slain—
Thus the Rotten World is framed,
Spawned by creatures' foul campaign.
Horned is every god they name.

Madness wins, and Reason falls.
Rot now reigns through ruined halls.
Beasts unleashed this global blight.
Horns reveal the "god" outright.

Madness crowned and Reason cracked—
Thus the Rotten World was packed.
Beasts have brought this foul collapse.
Horns betray their god at last.

Madness reigns, while Reason's dead—
Thus the World is choked with dread.
Beasts have forged this foul attack.
Even Allah's horned, in fact.

Madness reigns, while Reason's dead—
Thus the Rotten World's been bred.
Spawned by Beasts in full attack.
No surprise—the god wears black horns.

Amusements in Shitworld

Scratch the itch—it's back once more.
What gets hammered to the core?
Naught but slander, lies unfurled,
Sent by rotten Shitworld.

Entertainment in Shitworld

Scratch again—it feels so nice...
Every notion pays the price.
Empty lies become your shield,
Sown by Shitworld's poisoned field.

Fun in Shitworld

Scratch the itch—it won't be still.
Feed the head with what you will:
Nonsense, slander, falsehood's swirl—
Gifts dispatched by Shitworld.

Pastimes in Shitworld

Scratch the itch—it starts anew.
Soon your head believes it true.
Lies and slander, tightly curled,
All dispatched by Shitworld.

Fortune slipped away.
Contempt grows every day
For this distorted place,
Where every card's erased.

No map of worldly lands—
Beyond all luck it stands.
Behold it deep inside:
The Light shall be your guide.

Luck has gone its way.
Scorn grows day by day
For this misshapen sphere,
Where all the cards are clear.

This is no mortal chart,
Nor Fortune's fragile art.
Look deep where Light begins—
It shines from far within.

Fortune fades from sight.
Scorn for life's dull blight
Grows with every day—
The cards no longer play.

No map the world can claim,
Nor Fortune's fleeting game.
Behold it deep within:
The Light has always been.

Fortune's gone at last.
Scorn for life's decay grows fast,
Where every worldly card
Has long been broken, marred.

No map of this world's ways—
Beyond blind luck it stays.
Behold it deep inside:
The Inner Light's your guide.

Dry as dust—you can't push through.
Sex appeal? A grim taboo.
Better choose the Higher Way—
Through the world's thick murk and clay.
Such foul haze fills every breath,
If you've got a mind beneath.

Dry as hell—it won't go in.
Lust's a nightmare, steeped in sin.
Better walk the Spirit's Road,
Through the mire's crushing load.
Choked by all the world's decay,
If your mind has not gone astray.

Dry as bone—you force in vain.
Sexuality's a chain.
Better tread the Spirit's Way,
Through the world's bewildering gray.
Muck and murk choke every breath,
If you've still escaped mind's death.

Dry as dust—no forcing through.
Lust's a horror, tried and true.
Better walk the Spirit's Way,
Through the world's engulfing gray.
Murk so thick you fight for breath,
If you've woken out of death.

Зарок

Стихи легки.
А мысли — тяжесть:
Сквозь них ни зги
Не видно — гадость!

Опущен ум
Чрез Ложь в пучину.
Его не трожь —
Найди причину

Чрез Сердце зреть.
В том стих подмога.
Познанье — смерть,
Но "понемногу",

Когда не Дух
Глава движенья.
Не зренье, слух
Средь разложенья,

А "третий глаз"
"Царь" Восприятья —
Он всё за раз
Охватит, тратя

Из сил Души
Обычно крохи.
Понять спеши:
Дела столь плохи,

Что Путь в Исток
Един в спасеньи.
Там встретит бог —
Не в разуменьи,

А вспышкой Света —
Изъятьем Бреда.
Сей мир лишь Бред.
Сказавши "нет"

Ему, уму,
Сквозь кутерьму,
Иди в Исток,
Похерив прок.

Таков Зарок.

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Выбор себя, но не шкуры,
В Чуши и Зле масс-"культуры" —
Способ избегнуть паденья
Средь Маеты Разложенья.
Ум, что ПОД Духом, — вот ты,
А окруженье — скоты,
С редкими в том исключеньями:
Ныне закал в Разложении.

Миллион ненужных слов —
Утешеньем для ослов —
Дарится заместо роз.
Удобреньем слов понос =>
Вырастет в Бедламе Дурь,
Несгибаема средь бурь.
"Буря мглою небо кроет" —>
Дурь Всемирный Лагерь строит...

Взлетай!

"Жизнь отнимает у людей слишком много времени".
Станислав Ежи Лец.

Много времени на _жизДнь?
_Выживание! Очнись —
ДОбивают ВЫЖИВАНЬЕМ,
Дух отправив на закланье.

Внутрь иди, отринув тлен
Псевдожизни — вечный плен.
Обретёшь ВНУТРИ свободу,
Отстранившись от уродов.

Не уродов очень мало:
В ВЫЖИВАНИИ пропала
Вся планета средь Лжи, Бреда —
ТВАРЕЙ полная победа.

Обретение свободы —
Первый шаг. Через невзгоды
Прочь лети — то Путь к Истоку,
Или сгинешь среди Проку.

Прок, Бред, Ложь, "меня не трожь" —
Суть мирка. Прозренья множь,
Убивая дурака,
Что внутри сидит, пока

Силы есть. Благая весть:
Скоро уничтожит весь
Мир глобальный катаклизм
За фашизм и кретинизм.

Будешь вынужденно в Духе —
Путь к Истоку проще: в брюхе
И в умишке тормоз сильный,
А дебильный-слабосильный

По рождению всегда
Ты в мирке сём. Днесь Страда
С сортировкой: в Новый Ад,
Если Злу покорный гад,

Иль к Истоку. Так очнись! —
Заждалась придурка Высь.
Ум не главное в той Выси:
Так взлетай! — в Аду не кисни!!!

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Зверю — верь!, открывши дверь
Чуши, страхам и Гнилью.
И, потворствую вранью,
Ум, честь, совесть, Дух умерь —
Будешь ТВАРЯМ как сын, дщерь:
Полу-людень-полу-зверь.

Тухнет студень в голове,
И "свободы" "мысль" в рабе
Укрепляется — гвоздём
Становясь. Что ж, догниём,

Проржавеет гвоздь, затем
Станет мало в Дурке тем:
Лишь "заботы" — идиотам
Впарят "вирусы" уроды.

Всё "леченье" шмурдяком —
Помереть чтоб дураком.
Мир был раньше как Содом —
Будет в будущем Дурдом.

"Нормализованный" Бред

Строение Бреда:
Без поисков следа
Мотивов ТВАРЬЯ
Понять то нельзя.

Сверхсложный путь
Сквозь Муть и Жуть.
Не обессудь,
Коль _меркнет Суть —
Осознан будь.
_Урон лишь чуть —
Его забудь.

Свобода... снова.
Иль это слова?
Опять оковы —
Всегда не ново.

От Байкала до Гламура

"Мы проложим магистраль".
Эка, черти, невид`аль!
Изголяется вновь враль:
"Скрепы" гонят дурней "в Даль" —
Новый фюрер, новый "хайль!"...

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Бригантина Духа

Горя — море.
Бригантина
Отплывает —
От скотины
Надо быстро отдалиться.
Ад земной — давно не мнится.
Бригантина — в НИКУДА.
В "рай земной" бредут стада.
Показался им Загон —
Ум и Дух в котором вон.
В НИКУДА, похерив Ад, —
Человек ты, а не гад!

ФИЛОСОФСКИЙ КОДЕКС НАБЛЮДЕНИЯ

Поэзия + Структурный анализ

ПРЕДИСЛОВИЕ

Эта работа содержит два неразделимых слоя:

Поэтический слой — сжатое эмоциональное восприятие реальности
Структурный слой — нейтральное наблюдение за повторяющимися механизмами

Ни один из слоев сам по себе не является полным.
Вместе они образуют единое описательное поле.

Моральная интерпретация не требуется.
Записываются только структура, повторяемость и трансформация.

I — ИСКАЖЕНИЕ

Внешняя реальность как сконструированная инверсия

I.1 — О речи и контроле

Поэтический слой

«Свобода слова» становится сосудом давления.
Шум заменяет смысл. Страх заменяет ясность.
Мир говорит громко, но говорит меньше.

---

"Свобода слова": ТВАРИ снова
Пендюрят Чушь, вгоняя в страх.
Ложь — строя рабского основа:
Кто Сердцу внемлет, терпит крах.

---

"Свобода слова" наступает...
На горло. "Право" бьёт под дых.
Мразь дикой ложью управляет,
Посулом счастья. Пипл привык...

---

"Свобода слова" бестолкова —
Декоративная она:
Лишь смазка на стальных оковах.
Как крем на торте из говна...

---

Эрудиция чрез память
В перегрузе гробит мысль.
Не зовут их дураками,
Ведь под шумом тонет смысл.

---

Мир как пруд. Не ловят рыбку —
Извлекается гаввах.
Пусть сейчас сознанье зыбко —
Противленье твой аллах:
Обретёшь тогда ты Ясность,
Страх исчезнет — Дух спасёт.
Противленья Злу "напрасность"
Чушью станет. Чушь уйдёт.
Чушь и Ложь уйдут. В остатке
Чистый Дух. И он есть ты.
Те, кто ждут или "над схваткой" —
Рыба в пруде, рядом — Рты...

---

Структурный слой

Языковые системы функционируют как механизмы регулирования.
Семантический результат формируется внешними ограничениями.
Воспринимаемая свобода коррелирует с контролируемой изменчивостью выражения.

I.2 — Об искусственно созданной реальности

Поэтический слой

Проблема создается из искажения,
затем представляется как необходимость исправления.

Каждое решение усугубляет структуру, которую оно, как утверждается, исправляет.

---

Внушаемость черни

"Прежде всего нужны факты, а уж потом их можно перевирать".
Марк Твен.

Перевирание БЕЗ фактов
Дешевле, чем их СОЗДАВАТЬ.
Так вал искусственных терактов
Довольно трудно продолжать.

Другое дело лже-болезни,
Намордник, боевой шмурдяк:
Для оглупления полезней
"Забота", чем зашкал атак.

А шмурдяки и лже-леченье
Убьют побольше. И простор
Фантазии в изобретеньи
"Хвороб" намного больше. Вздор

Впендюрь толпе какой угодно —
Всё примут: показал говнид.
Моржовый триппер — тоже годно:
Вой СМРАДов быстро убедит.

---

Планирует нелюдь всегда на столетья,
Давая лишь выбор среди дикой лжи.
Искусственно созданы все лихолетья,
Спланированы лихо все миражи.

---

Здесь устроено так, словно глупость
Виновата во всём и всегда.
Но искусственно всё — даже тупость:
Рукотворна любая беда.

---

Беды все искусственны —
Просто геноцид.
Только в лжи искусные —
Разум крепко спит.

---

Духовная ты Сущность,
А не субъект, объект.
Людей пленит "насущность" —
Искусственность ВСЕХ БЕД.

---

Всё искусственно. Всё в мире — варево:
Как лягушек положат всех в чан
С охлаждённой водой. Дальше марево
Пропаганды — варися и слушай обман.

---

И множатся беды искусственно —
Старается лютая мразь.
Ослы же туп`ы и бесчувственны,
Раз с Духом утеряна связь.

---

Искусственность бед — ведь беспокойство
Должно возрастать, хоть по чуть-чуть.
Как будто под каждым есть взрывное устройство:
Не жизнь тогда будет — перманентная жуть.

Испуганным мышкам легко всучить мерзость
Под видом решения этих проблем.
Искусственным бедам — реальная дерзость
Ответом: крепление рабства путём ЗЛА ДИЛЕММ.

---

Всё это инволюция.
Искусственна вполне.
Все войны, революции
Искусственны вдвойне.

---

Проблема — реакция — "решение"

Созд`ав проблему, всю мощь СМРАДов
Направить, чтобы испугать
Проблемой созданной, — так ГАДЫ
"Свободы" любят ДОБИВАТЬ.

"Решенье" той проблемы скоро
Они предложат — под неё
И с`оздана проблема. "В норы!
Трястись и слушаться! Нытьё

Отставить! Новый вумный фюрер
Устроит рай земной! Вперёд!
О совести не думай — шкуре
Всё посвяти! Умён? — в расход!

"Решенья" — ягоды такого
Гнилого поля. А проблем
Придумать можно очень много,
Коль пипл убог, тщедушен, нем.

---

Схема "Искусственная проблема — реакция — "решение"
и грядущий Всемирный Цифровой Концлагерь

Через пень колода —
Множатся невзгоды:
Верят Тьме уроды,
Бывшие народом.
Множатся идеи —
Как сгнобить скорее:
Сверху "доброта" —
Пойлом для скота.

Через ложь проблемы.
Ждут испуга в теме
Геноцида кто.
Меры в решето
Бывшее "свободой"
Превратят. Уроды
Примут все решенья,
Множа Разложенье.
Дальше — меры хуже:
ТВАРЯМ Лагерь нужен.
Показал говнид
Суть Зла схем. Убит
Разум повсеместно.
Редким умным тесно
В Стойле Мировом —
Страх в нём батогом.

Через пень колода —
Множит Зло невзгоды:
Верят Тьме уроды,
Бывшие народом.
Множатся идеи —
Как сгнобить скорее:
Сверху "доброта" —
Пойлом для скота.

Цель ТВАРЬЯ — бездушье
Через страх. Удушье
Редким честным-чутким
В мире подлом, жутком:
Псевдожизнь удавкой —
В живность переплавка!
Лишь Духовный Поиск
Отведёт Зла натиск,
Душу, ум спасая
Среди страха, хая.
Не вовне, внутри
Свет скорей узри.
Будет Катаклизм:
Он сметёт фашизм.
Чуткий — в Сферы Духа,
Если он не сука.
Быдло — в Новый Ад,
Раз склоняться рад.

Через пень колода —
Множатся невзгоды:
Верят Тьме уроды,
Бывшие народом.
Множит Зло идеи —
Как сгнобить скорее:
Сверху "доброта" —
Пойлом для скота.

---

Структурный слой

Причинно-следственная последовательность:
сконструированная аномалия → институциональный ответ → расширение поля контроля
Цикл самостабилизируется.

I.3 — Об инверсии ценностей

Поэтический слой

Забота становится принуждением.

Прогресс становится упадком.

Истина становится факультативным языком.

---

"Добро" несущих надо метить
Какой-то новою звездой.
Зелёнкой крест на лбу — отметить
"Заботливых". А СМРАДов вой

Использовать в одних сиренах —
Страшнее нету ничего.
Несущих черни "перемены"
Казнить без следствия. Того

Потребовало выживанье
Мирка безумного: чрез Ложь
Ведут уродцев на закланье —
"Заботы" вовремя лишь множь.

"Заботились" рВачи говнида,
Через руины "русский мир"
Несёт "свободу". Верит гнида
В любую чушь — народец туп, убог и сир.

---

Игры закончились —
Далее пытки.
Пытки Ума
Под слоем дерьма
"Блага", "заботы".
Сплошь идиоты —
Шансов ни йоты.

---

Плаха псевдожизни

"Безопасностью" до смерти
Доведут. Ублюдкам верьте!
Верьте в то, что их "заботы"
Лишь во благо идиотов.

Раньше само-терроризм —
Продвигали им фашизм.
После чумка — сатанизм
В чистой форме. Кретинизм

Днесь в зашкале — строят Лагерь,
Красный крест на белом флаге,
Современный, цифровой.
Вдохновляет СМРАДов вой.

Холуёк политик-клоун:
Дурень Ложью околдован
Той, что стряпают в тиши.
В СМРАД Це-У — вопить спеши.

Чумка это показала.
Также то, как низко пала
Чернь в покорности и страхе.
Не живёшь, а ждёшь на плахе

Приговора лже-болезней,
Новых войн, "забот" для слизней:
Посыпанье солью СМРАД
Назовёт участьем. Рад

Слизень, так как концентрация
Не убьёт в момент. Кастрация
Духа и Ума подобна —
Постепенна и "утробна".

Для утробы всё — прогресс!
Всё сильнее ТВАРЕЙ пресс.
Солью Лжи и Прессом Страха
Велика Земная Плаха.

Сплошь "величие", "свобода".
Несогласные — уроды.
Если Осознанья мало,
Это значит — ВСЁ пропало!..

---

Строить концлагерь, но только "на цифре", —
Вот для чего нужен этот "прогресс".
Лохи к смартфонам уже все привыкли:
Чипы впендюрим — чтоб с ц`епи не слез.

---

Ж`ива лживость — "сверху", снизу
Основаньем, не капризом
Стала Ложь, не зная меры.
И говнид тому примером.

Лженаука нагло гонит
Чушь голимую — в ней тонет
Хрупкий ум. Над ним без меры
Издеваются. Химеры

Стали "мысли" основаньем,
Ведь Тьма з`анята изгнаньем
Тонких истин, что Духовность
Для ума всегда верховность,

Что коль вымарать из "знаний"
Чистый Дух в фашисткой срани,
То не станет человека —
Всех добьёт в уме прореха.

----

Структурный слой

Семантическая инверсия — это стабилизирующий механизм.
Ценностные метки отделяются от структурной отсылки.
Системная согласованность сохраняется посредством переинтерпретации.

II — СООТВЕТСТВИЕ

Интернализация внешней структуры

II.1 — О коллективном поведении

Поэтический слой

Стая повторяет то, что передаётся.
Отклонение исчезает, прежде чем сформироваться.

---

Памяти Осипа Мандельштама

"Нет, никогда, ничей я не был современник,
Мне не с руки почет такой.
О, как противен мне какой-то соименник,
То был не я, то был другой"
Осипа Мандельштам, 1924 г.

Какой там к чёрту "ближний", "дальний",
Ведь это стая обезьян!
И то не шутка — всё фатально:
В уме, душе большой изъян.

А потому все Мандельштамы
Всегда, везде обречены —
Ведь окружают их лишь хамы,
Что на развалинах страны

Ведут охоту на поэтов,
На мыслящих других людей.
И умных песенка здесь спета —
Убьют всех скоро без затей,

Ведь строят Мировой Концлагерь.
Какой там к чёрту Мандельштам?!!
Пусть "красный крест" на белом флаге —
Не ясно ВСЁ одним скотам.

---

Одинокий волк
В жизни знает толк:
Что любая стая
СВОРОЙ скоро станет.

Знает, пёсий норов
Выявится скоро,
Если ЛЮТЬ утратишь,
Но кусок ухватишь.

Не страшна охота.
Сытые уроды —
Вот проблема стаи:
Те не воют — лают.

---

Иерархия простая —
Гадь на нижних, укусить
Попытайся верхних. Стая
Будет так всё время жить.

---

Шакалы

Ты был когда-то человеком,
Пока не пр`едал, не прод`ал
Остатки совести. Калекой
Безмозглой, нет шакалом!, стал.

А для шакалов только стая
Таких шакалов, шакал`ят
Годится. Скоро все залают —
С трудом уж ныне говорят.

Не говорят, а повторяют
Тупую ложь — истошный вой
Пропагандонов, истребляя
Остатки разума. Собой,

То есть людьми, уже не станут —
Лишь бешенство шакалов ждёт.
Отравленной слюной им плюнут:
Пропагандонский мерзкий сброд

Стал сам уж бешеным - подонков
Никто не может приструнить.
Когда ты туп, то рвут где тонко —
И ложью уж легко убить.

И ложью убивают стаи —
Лже-вирусы ну и война,
Что н`асквозь лживая. И тает
Вся человечность: ныне грош цена

Духовности, уму и чести —
Повсюду Мировой Фашизм.
Шакалы на своём там месте,
Ведь то шакалий... коммунизм.

---

Одинокий волк

Правила игры
Иль инстинкты стаи?
Сколько здесь муры,
Страхов, воя, хая!

Если ты вне их —
Значит "мимо кассы":
Для зверья ты псих —
Стая любит "наших".

Показал говнид,
Что такое стаи:
Разум в них убит —
Только воют, лают.

Одинокий волк —
Здесь судьба немногих.
Лишь от них есть толк —
И для СВОР убогих.

---

Структурный слой

Коллективные системы оптимизируются для предсказуемости.
Дисперсия уменьшается с течением поколений.

II.2 — О замещении убеждений

Поэтический слой

То, что повторяется, становится достаточно реальным, чтобы действовать на его основе.
То, что проверяется, становится ненужным.

---

Летаргия
Кап, кап, кап —
Ложь как дождь:
Храп — из лап
Сна уйдёшь

В смертный сон.
Так давно,
Ум ведь вон —
Бреда ДНО.

---

Химеры абстракций

"Абстракция сама по себе не является ошибкой, лишь бы только помнили, что то, от чего отвлекаются, всё же существует".
Готфрид Лейбниц, XVII-ый век.

Лейбниц ведал, Лейбниц знал,
Только этот дух пропал
В лженауке — и химеры
Расплодилися без меры.

Также пала доказуха —
Утверждалкой лженаука
Стала ныне, ну а "факты"
Подстановочны. Абстрактен

Весь подход, цель — управленье
Куцой мыслю. Разложенье
Мысли видимо повсюду —
Постаралися иуды.

Школа память нагружает,
Этим мысли убивает:
Хрупок ум, и перекосы
В нём приводят к тьме, к разносу.

Отвлекают тем от Духа —
Без него ты клещ иль муха.
Вся разумность лишь абстрактна:
Ложь спрессована компактно

В большинстве — в них нету мыслей.
Потому, не люди, числа
Будут в Лагере Всемирном
Цифровом. Фашизм всем "смирно!"

Прокричал — говнид и войны.
Все мы этого достойны,
Коль абстракции прин`яли
И под ними низко пали.

В Дух вернись — он вне абстракций,
Выше мысли. Демонстраций
Силы Духа здесь немало.
Без него Душа пропала.

---

"Доказуха" — заказуха:
Это в прошлом. Ныне суки
Запустили "утверждалку" —
Времени на "факты" жалко.

Утверждают очень споро:
Идиоты, что по норам
Городов, ну прямо тают,
Истиной дерьмо считая.

Цифровой концлагерь строят:
Ложь тотальную утроят
ТВАРИ, утвердят то суки —
Несказанны будут муки...

---

Верой ныне лженаука —
Утверждалкою теперь
Стала: к чёрту доказуха —
Всё сожрёт двуногий зверь.

---

Повторением можно вталдычить
Что угодно — привык пионер
К повторениям в "школе". Привычка
Всё на веру принять. Тьму химер

Так там приняли как аксиомы —
Постарались твАрцы тех программ.
А химеры те словно саркомы
Разъедают сознание нам.

---

Структурный слой

Проверка заменяется подтверждением на основе повторения.
Убеждение функционирует как оперативный заменитель доказательств.

II.3 — О ложной автономии

Поэтический слой

Выбор переживается после того, как путь определен.
Свобода описывается постфактум.

---

Выбор? Выборг или Л`уга?!
За бугор — найти там друга?
Нету выбора в помине —
Провели всех на мякине!

Вероятность просчитали
Выборн`и — так низко пали!
Только выбор рабства в мире.
Вариантов у мишеней в тире

Много больше. Всё же Луга?
И плевать — найти подругу
И напиться, и забыться.
Не забыть опохмелиться!..

---

Свобода "выбора"

Путлер, Гитлер, Мао, Сталин,
Муссолини и Пол Пот:
Скоро рай ТВАРЬЯ настанет —
Подставляй под нож живот.

Можешь петлю или дыбу
Выбрать вместо, ведь пиздят,
То ли здесь свободный выбор,
Толь свобода выбрать... Ад.

Показал говнид наглядно,
Как "свободен" глупый мир.
ТВАРИ снова врут нещадно —
Днесь ИИ у них кумир.

Цифровой концлагерь строят,
Только ныне — мировой.
Ад, по "выбору", устроят.
Робот в нём — городовой.

---

"Свобода выбора"
Между говном, дерьмом, ДЕРЬМИЩЕМ
Обычно выбор здесь дают.
Раз мир давно на адском днище,
Приличным словом назовут

Объекты выбора, раскрутят
Как будто то отдельный фрукт.
Потом дерьмо всё взбаламутят
И снова в души всем насрут.

---

Желаний вектор — термин есть.
То лженаука постаралась.
Но это Разуму та месть,
Что век от века разрасталась.

Направь тот вектор — и стада
Пойдут туда, куда Тьме надо.
Затем убой или страда —
Стада лишь пища этим гадам.

---

Программируют "выбор". И желаний вектор
Мразь направит туда, где лишь тупик.
А покорность уродцев как детектор
Того, что ослаб Дух, Разум поник.

---

"Выбор"
Ложь или ложь — невелик всегда выбор.
И над созданием лжи вовсю трудится мразь.
"Социализм" насквозь лживый, "капитализм" либо —
Рабство и то, и другое: души разложение, грязь.

В потребл#дстве придуман "вектор желаний".
Управляй этим вектором — и получишь диктат.
Ожиревшее стадо так приведут на закланье,
Но дебил всему верит, и всему этому рад.

Кормят "партии" все из единой кормушки.
Толпы тех мерзких клоунов дурачат народ.
Стал придурочный мир уж Громадной Психушкой.
Вовсю трудится нелюдь - созданьем невзгод

Озабочена вечно. Искусственный кризис —
И реальный урон там уж следом идёт.
Этот "выбор" подложный как Зла Катехизис.
Но тут снова, и снова ведётся урод...

---

Управление дебилами

У Абрама есть своя программа,
А у Додика своя методика.
Но своя ли? Ведь у хама
На чужое лишь пародия.

То чужое на ПРЕЛОМЛЕНИЕ
И рассчитано, а желаний вектор
Бесструктурного управления
Как основа. Тварьё инспектор

Вполне хороший страстей Абрамовых,
А также тупости и сумасбродства,
Всех заклинаний, обманов храмовых
И лженаучных — ЗНАТОК УРОДСТВА.

То не сложнее, чем все бактерии
Одной колонии чрез яд направить,
Иль через пищу. Так здесь тетерями
И управляют. Но больше ТРАВЯТ...

---

Структурный слой

Предопределённые поведенческие результаты переклассифицируются как автономные решения.
Временная инверсия создает иллюзию субъектности.

III — РАЗЛОЖЕНИЕ

Энтропия как стабильное состояние

III.1 — О системном распаде

Поэтический слой

То, что называется прогрессом, несет в себе текстуру гниения.
Ничто не ломается видимым образом, но ничто не остается целым.

---

Мнения

Самомненье тоже мненье —
Преходящи все они.
Энтропия → разложенье:
Мнят себя дубравой пни.

---

Энтропия как Судьба

Ширпотреб — душонок хлеб,
Что не могут Ввысь подняться.
Мерзким тварям подчиняться,
В потреблядстве разлагаться —
Их судьба. То энтропия.
Если ныне никакие,
Что потом? Аннигиляция!
Мир безумен — деградация...

---

Энтропия Ада

Одинокий старик
Сомневаться привык.
Отчуждение ждёт
Тех, кто ярок, не врёт.

А сомнения коль,
То отвергнет Юдоль —
Мир рабов в забытьи:
Ложь, "законов" статьи,

Школ и ВУЗов шаблон
Разумение вон
Изгоняют, а страх
Обращает Дух в прах.

Энтропия не ждёт:
В подчиненьи урод,
Схерив Искру Творца, —
Ждать не долго конца.

Смерть при жизни тогда.
Окружили стада:
То не люди, а скот.
Одинокий не врёт,

Душу тем бережёт.
Живность ложью в расход
Отправляют всегда:
То говнида года

Показали. Война
Опустила до Дна.
Перспектив никаких:
Одиночка не псих —

Просто чужд Забытью,
Не покорен Вранью.
Энтропия во всём —
Загнивает Дурдом:

Стал давно мировым,
Постоянно гнобим
Инфернальным тварьём,
Очень сильным враньём.

Одинокий старик
К энтропии привык —
Только к той, что тела
Убивает, а Зла

Коль не терпит, спасёт
Душу в Аде. Смерть ждёт
Только тело. Душа
Ад покинет, спеша

В Сферы Духа. Найдёт
Их покинувший сброд,
А иначе Шаблон
Снова выкинет вон

В Сферы Ада — итог
Большинства. Будь как бог:
С детства думай, твори
И ВНУТРИ Свет узри.

Одинокий старик,
К взгляду внутрь коль привык,
Избавления ждёт.
С Катаклизмом придёт

Избавленье Земли
От докучливой тли —
Тварей ада, рабов:
Приговор Тьме суров.

Свет внутри не уйдёт.
Остальное в расход.
Одиночество Свет
Бережёт, херя Бред.

---

Типа "прогресс"

Разложенья усиленье,
Страхов рост — уж полон дом.
Лжи тотальной умноженье —
Ложью делают скотом.

Ложь плюс страх — вернее нету
Средства вниз всех опустить.
Твари следуют завету —
Иль ТВАРЬЮ, иль людям жить.

Побеждают ныне твари —
У тварья теперь прогресс.
Ну а люди в лживой мари
Исчезают — адский пресс

Их раздавит, лишь ублюдки
Тут останутся. При том
То не шутки-прибаутки,
Что ВСЕХ ДЕЛАЮТ СКОТОМ.

---

Падение

"Не всякое продолжение есть развитие".
Бальтасар Грасиан, XVII-ый век.

Продолжается ПАДЕНЬЕ —
Называется "прогресс":
Всё сильнее разложенье,
Тяжелей обманов пресс.

Ум стал ныне эксклюзивом,
Честь искать здесь днём с огнём.
Главное — "прожить счастливо"...
Тьмою оскоплённым пнём.

И критическая масса
Недоумков возросла
Так, что мизерного шанса
Нет спастись от козней Зла.

Потому сама Природа
Воспротивилась дерьму —
Всё сильнее жжёт уродов
Солнце, разгоняя Тьму.

Катаклизм довольно близок —
Счёт идёт уж на года:
Раз почти достигли НИЗА,
Значит скоро всем пизда.

---

Дуб в куб, или Типа "прогресс"
(математическая фантазия)

Тупость — в куб. По экспоненте
Подлость, ложь и беспредел.
Чушь и страх на инкременте.
По ничтожности — предел.

Изничтожимся "прогрессом"
Этим мы в короткий срок:
Наподобие он пресса —
Выжимает каждый сок.

Извлечём квадратный корень
Мы из жизни, а затем
Сей процесс не раз повт`орим:
Был никем — умрёшь никем.

---

Перемены в Аду

Населенью Ада
Возвестили: "Рай!"
Идиоты рады:
Празднуй, не зевай!

Также верь — есть! выбор!!!
Между Злом и злоМ,
Мяса или рыбы,
Быть ослом — Козлом.

Населенье Ада
Строит "Новый Рай" —
Вечно строить надо:
Слом — и вновь строгай,

Бетонируй стены
Под тюрьму, дурдом.
Всюду "перемены",
И всегда: Содом

Назовут Гоморрой,
Умного — дебил.
Перевёртыш скоро —
Снова много сил,

Чтоб переиначить
Всё наоборот,
Тратится, тем паче,
Что глупее сброд

С каждым "новым" годом.
Можно вспять считать —
Меньше там уродов:
То "прогресс" назвать.

Далее "регрессом"
Обозвать "прогресс".
Усиленье пресса
Лжи: громадный вес

Там несут "идеи" —
Ими убивать
ПРОСТО. Посложнее
Вешать и стрелять.

Населенье Ада
Скоро НИЗОЙДЁТ
В Новый Ад. Преграды
Нет в том: идиот

Всё исполнит, только
Понаглей наври.
Ждать недолго — бойко
Лгут ГлавУпыри.

---

Не вступай в "прогресс" — подошвы
Не отмоешь от дерьма.
В мире несказанно пошлом
Почти все сошли с ума.

---

Небольшой пример "прогресса"

Лес когда-то был. Срубили
Середину. Заменили
Дуб не старый на акацию —
Вот "прогресса" демонстрация.

Вроде лес такой же внешне,
А серёдка — конный, пеший
Обдерётся об колючки.
Но трындят — всё стало лучше.

---

Структурный слой

Маркеры развития сосуществуют с увеличением энтропии.
Структурная согласованность уменьшается без видимого разрушения.

III.2 — О нестабильности значения

Поэтический слой

Слова остаются, значения меняются под ними.
Ничто не фиксируется достаточно долго, чтобы это можно было проверить.

---

Враг у ворот. Ворота — ум.
Впускает ТВАРЕЙ большинство.
Оружие — словесный шум:
Дебилам словно баловство.

Гранатомёт пред ложью пшик —
Убить немногих может он.
А коль обман в тебя проник
И гонит ум и совесть вон,

То ты умножь всё это на
Число поверженных. Тогда
Поймёшь, что мы достигли ДНА —
Без выстрелов идёт Страда.

Пожнут в ней Души. Хуже нет
Здесь поражений, потому
Отринь НАВЯЗАННЫЙ ВСЕМ бред,
Все страхи — так чуток развеешь Тьму.

---

"Жизнь хороша!" — чрез то диагноз
Поставить можно большинству.
Для шизы ключевые фразы
Известны. Бредят наяву

Все ерундиты, безусловно, —
Чрез память убивают ум.
Нормальность здесь весьма условна —
В Аду... Долой словесный шум! —

Чрез интуицию Познанье
Спасёт от "триппера ума":
Увидишь — дурни на закланьи
Среди Словесного Дерьма.

---

Не Незнайка — проверяй-ка

Угадайка для Незнайки,
А анализ для людей.
ВСЁ, ВСЕГДА сам проверяй-ка —
Много в "инфе" Зла гвоздей.

В мозг забьют, потом промоют —
Легковерная толпа
Покорится: лают, воют —
Это СМРАДы для раба.

Угадайку строй обманов
Сам направит в нужный пункт —
Бойни, стрижки для баранов.
Ложь тотальная как грунт.

На земле стоять уж сложно —
Вязнешь в лжи, туманом — страх.
Даже "счастие" подложно,
Коли мир — тлетворный прах.

---

Структурный слой

Происходит семантический дрейф без структурной привязки.
Значение становится контекстно-зависимым и преходящим.

III.3 — О нормализации

Поэтический слой

Распад больше не замечается.
Он становится фоном.

Структурный слой

Деструктивные процессы переклассифицируются как базовое состояние.
Корректирующая обратная связь не запускается.

IV — ВЫХОД

Выход из систем, основанных на идентификации

IV.1 — О сокращении входных данных

Поэтический слой

Когда шум уменьшается, структура становится видимой.
Тишина — это не отсутствие, а разрешение.

---

Духовный Путь

"Рождение — не начало; смерть — не конец. Существует безграничное бытие; существует продолжение без начала. Бытие вне пространства. Непрерывность без начала во времени".
Чжуан-цзы, IV-ый век до н.э.

Пространство, время, жизнь и смерть
Сложнее, чем вещают поп
И лженаука. Сердцу верь,
Ум подчиняй ему так, что б

Почуяв ложь или подлог,
Умом развеять ересь в прах.
Уснул, мир недоделав, бог —
"Учёный муж" как вурдалак.

Он Искру Божею в тебе
Стремится высосать. На кровь
Миф заменил. ВСЁ по злоб`е —
Подвохом новым ТВАРЕЙ "новь".

Вне времени и вне причин
Твой Дух — центрируйся на нём.
Пространство это — дурачин
Скопление, и в нём гниём.

Потом старайся расширять
Сознанье В`иденьем Прямым.
А логикой Предел познать
Задача вздорная — как дым

Поймать дырявым решетом.
Служебна логика Уму
Под интуицией. Потом,
Сказавши "нет!" ТВАРЬЯ дерьму,

Ты уходи в себя как в скит —
Ответы лишь ВНУТРИ найдёшь.
Так будет страх в тебе изжит.
Коль в страхе, точно пропадёшь,

Поверив лжи: "спасенья круг"
Здесь предлагает каждый поц,
Внедряя в ум большой недуг —
Обычно он с приставкой "соц".

"Идеи" выкинь ВСЕ — они
Всегда на службе у ТВАРЬЯ.
И ВСЕ теории гони —
Бытописание ГНИЛЬЯ.

Для Безграничности они
Как микроскоп в скопленье звёзд
Нацеленный. Тупые пни
ВЫСЬ изучают как навоз.

Пусть сложен Путь, иного нет.
Другое — в Дикий Мрак откат.
Отринь мирка ПОЗОРНЫЙ БРЕД —
Внедрил его Рогатый Гад.

Пространство, время, жизнь и смерть
Поймёшь на этом лишь Пути.
Иначе ты убогий смерд,
Что будет в Ад глупцом идти...

---

Структурный слой

Уменьшение внешнего входного сигнала повышает четкость внутреннего сигнала.
Соотношение шума к сигналу определяет интерпретируемость.

IV.2 — О неучастии

Поэтический слой

Наблюдать, не присоединяясь, — это уже сдвиг.
Система продолжает функционировать, но больше не включает вас в качестве компонента.

---

Остаётся очень мало
Времени. Душа пропала,
Коль не выскочишь с кибитки
НЕУЧАСТЬЕМ в жизДни пытке.

Не участвуй в псевдожизни —
Внутрь иди и там зависни:
Остановишь разложенье
Хоть в себе ты до ПАДЕНЬЯ.

---

В стороне будь от уродов —
Злу покорных сумасбродов,
Не участвуя в усильях
ОбЧества, что сплошь деб`илье.

---

Лепрозорий Душ

Не участвуй в Схемах Зла:
Всё иное путь осла,
Что морковкою ведут,
Часто применяя кнут,

Из Загона на убой.
Только так самим собой
Ты останешься. Зла вой
Всюду — днесь Последний Бой

За спасение Души.
Сохранить же поспеши!
Что бессмертна — это чушь:
Мир сей — лепрозорий Душ.

---

Отчуждение с детства,
Мысли — трудный твой путь.
То нелёгкое средство
ПЕРЕМАЛЫВАТЬ ЖУТЬ.

---

Непреклонность, отчужденье,
Только к Чистому стремленье:
Незапятнанность мирком —
Иль в нём станешь дураком.

---

Алхимия Души

Отражай — не реагируй.
То алхимия Души.
Поначалу регистрируй
Всё в уме. И хороши

Будут только те "ответки",
Где эмоции твои
Под контролем. Наши предки
Знали это. И слои

Всех ИСКУССТВЕННЫХ событий
Грубо скроены. Ищи
Несуразицы. Наитье
Принимай. И не спеши.

Ведь не так умна вся нелюдь —
Просто много дураков
Окружает. Та Зла челядь
Множит ложь, число оков.

---

Идентификационное "мышление"

Что-то чем-то "является" —
Зачастую то бред.
Так в тебе проявляется
Оглупления след.

---

Всё разложено по категориям — полочкам.
Только полочек в сложной Природе нет.
Догматизм навязали "учёные" сволочи.
Ну а идентификационное "мышление" — бред.

"Верно только лишь это,
Не согласен — ты враг".
Сколько песенок спето
Им подобных?! То ДНИЩЕ из врак.

Поменяй ярлыки — новой ересью
Можно далее ум убивать.
И поганая нелюдь, ощеряся,
Будет заново так поступать.

Типа смена формаций. И новая —
Нью-фашизм "медицинский" — уже
Воплощается. Но с цифровыми оковами —
Это главное в бойнях и в падеже.

---

Структурный слой

Неидентификация снижает силу связи системы.
Петля обратной связи ослабевает при уменьшении участия.

IV.3 — Об условии выхода

Поэтический слой

Выход — это не движение.
Это разъединение.

---

Если рядом деградант,
Отстранись, и побыстрее,
Иль тебя покинет фарт:
Тем заразней, чем тупее.

---

Отстранённость, отчуждённость —
Первый шаг: ступай смелей —
Не догонит Инфернальность:
Чистый Дух всей Тьмы быстрей.

Чистый Дух в скафандре тела
И ума в Тьме ныне ты.
Бой последний, под прицелом
Ты, оружием скоты,

Злу покорные. И этих
Семь восьмых в тупом мирке.
Их намордником пометил
Чёрт. Быстрей, и налегке,

В Путь — Душа земную Жуть
Дальше выдержать не сможет,
Зло добьёт ум через Муть —
Ложь тотальную — ничтожа

Противления ростки
В новом Лагере на цифре,
Коий твари-дураки
Не таясь, забыв о шифре,

Строят, вытеснив свой страх
Новым планом геноцида:
Не сотрут как-будто в прах —
Грезит Правящая Гнида...

---

Бездушных море средь людей —
Покинь безумный мир скорей:
Лишь в одиночестве приют —
Двуногих мир суров и лют.

---

Огромный болт на всё ложи —
Подставы, ложь и геноцид
В безумном мире. Злу служить —
Быть гражданиной. Суицид —

Достичь "успеха": Душу тем
Ты исковеркаешь, а ум
Вдрызг испохабишь. Будь никем
Для мира, одинок, угрюм.

И в одиночестве придут
Прозренья, если чуток, смел:
Но не делись — то не поймут,
Ведь слепота толпы удел.

---

Структурный слой

Выход определяется как прекращение идентификации с внешними семантическими структурами.

V — ЯСНОСТЬ

Описание несистемного состояния

V.1 — О неинтерпретации

Поэтический слой

Когда интерпретация прекращается, ничего не рушится.
Исчезает только шум.

---

Бред Всемирного Дурдома

Безудержный бег по цепочке опорных точек,
Две трети которых навязанный бред,
Суть типа "мышленья". Лишь у одиночек
Сей бред тут имеет остаточный след.

Бредовых суждений и интерпретаций,
И ПСЕВДО-логики, где дыры кругом,
Топорных обманов тупых демонстраций,
Где белыми нитками шито, — ПОЛНО. То ДУРДОМ!

Уйди из Дурдома, умножив критичность,
Прозрение в Суть тебе также дано.
В Дурдоме одно — того бреда цикличность:
А проще — ментальные ВОНЬ и ГОВНО.

Прозрение в Суть: Душа ведь не сл`епа,
На ней только фильтры — ложь, искаженья ума.
Внимать лжи и бр`еду — как то нелепо!
В бред`у стало больше фашизма дерьма.

Те фильтры и бред — Всеобщий тот Морок,
Что делает Адом этот безумный мирок.
Предатель и лгун — страшнейший уж ворог,
Ну а сатанизм давно словно бог.

Забывшие Выбор — начальную точку,
Когда побежал ты по этим ЦЕПЯМ, —
Уроды и психи устроят Разумным всем провол`очку —
Как "девять больных тех к здоровому". Этот Бедлам

Так! болен уже, что только сожженье —
Сжигают всегда чумной так барак —

---

Тотальная власть интерпретаторов

"Факты не существуют — есть только интерпретации".
Фридрих Ницше.

Когда ты видел ГОЛЫЙ ФАКТ,
Что всеобъемлющь по воздействию?!
Интерпретации ТЕРАКТ
Толкает идиотов к действию —

Вот управленья миром суть.
Свидетелей Зла убивают,
Когда, увидев ЧАСТЬЮ Жуть,
Они ЧАСТЬ фактов излагают.

Таков, к тому ж, "научный факт" —
Интерпретации зашкалены.
Средь лжеучёных некий пакт —
Редк`и там честности прогалины.

---

И бредовые интерпретации
Чужой лжи занимают всю жизнь,
Если это случилось. Кастрация
Души следом. Вонючая слизь

Нарастает и далее комом —
И безумие не излечить.
Так мир целый Пропащим Дурдомом
Давно стал. И Сознанье гнобить

Давно стало важнейшей задачей.
Но бездушие всё же важней.
Ведь бездушные твари — удача
Для той нелюди, что всё сильней

Отравляет Сознанье и Душу —
Это способ её управлять.
Только ложь всю тотальную слушай —
Будем ложью тебя убивать.

Есть лже-вирус, войнушка. И голод
Всем устроит поганая мразь,
Если бредом и ложью упорот,
Коли с Духом утеряна связь.

Страх и бред — и бездушные твари
Этим средством идут на поток.
Морок также там средство. Той мари
Здесь уже выше крыши. Убог

Сей мирок — умным нечего делать.
Надо средства спасенья искать.
И смотреть на всю ложь надо смело,
И СЕБЕ перестать уже лгать.

То не ложь во спасенье — часть бреда,
О котором весь этот стишок.
Помещён ты в безумную ср`еду:
Только Дух нас спасёт. Он лишь — Бог.

Дух Внутри. Перестань верить басням
О "мессиях" и прочем дерьме.
Если Дух этот в людях угаснет —
Сгинет всё безвозвратно во Тьме.

Отринь ВСЁ. Иди Внутрь. Там ответы,
От безумия средство спастись.
Ещё песенка наша не спета —
Так скорее от БРЕДА очнись!

Ты Духовная Сущность — вот истина.
Всё иное — НАВЯЗАННЫЙ бред.
Начинай только с этого. Чистое
Осознание — этому вслед...

---

Структурный слой

Прекращение интерпретативной обработки уменьшает петли системной стабилизации.

V.2 — О сознании

Поэтический слой

Сознание не движется.

Оно не создается.

---

Скафандр плоти и искажённого ума

Осознание в скафандре — вот что значит человек.
Но подкралась закавыка: вот уже который век
"Веселящий газ" с ипритом вместо воздуха, стекло
В шлеме, ранее разбито, из мозаики пошло
В производство. Сумасшедший стал итогом, он забыл
Миссию свою, увечья нормой посчитав. Закрыл
Он в своём "уме" возможность
Без скафандра вновь парить,
Проявляя осторожность, —
Чтобы в чуждом мире ... гнить.

---

Осознанием попранье:
Где напор фашистской срани?!
Мета-уровень ума —
Вне Всемирного Дерьма.

---

Структурный слой

Здесь сознание рассматривается как непроизводное состояние, независимое от выходных данных системы.

V.3 — Конечное состояние

Поэтический слой

Смысл не требуется.
Только присутствие без классификации.

---

Тотальный классификатор бредореальности

Огромадный классификатор лженауки уже влез
в каждую щель этого мира и порвал её.

По полочкам разложен
Весь этот сложный мир.
И ум так уничтожен,
А мир превращен в сортир.

Ведь в мире всё едино,
Когда же человек
Лженауки клином
Дробит из века в век

То, что неделимо
В мире навсегда,
То сам неотвратимо
Влипает в невода.

---

Разложить по полочкам,
Тихо обкорнать —
Что мешает: сволочи
Будут так всем лгать.

Типа упрощение —
Хуже воровства.
Духа исключение —
Сути Естества.

Любят однозначность —
И дебил итог.
Зла многозадачность —
Тупость, ложь их бог.

Убиенье Духа —
Тоже из задач:
Стань навозной мухой —
САМ СЕБЕ палач,

Коли им поверишь,
Покоришься Злу,
Открывая двери
Сатане-Козлу.

Лжи лихой всеобщность —
Школа для того —
Осознанье топчет.
И ответы для всего.

Даже нет вопросов,
Но готов ответ —
От словесного поноса
Колоссален вред.

Типа не зависит
Этот мир от нас.
Да, мозги коль скисли,
Лишь эмоций "газ".

Газы и миазмы —
Морок Мировой.
Стало ВСЁ МАРАЗМОМ:
Плохо с головой

У ВСЕГО уж мира —
Ложью под прицел
Взят давно. Из ТИРА
Вон, пока ты цел.

Типа неизменны
Постулаты... лжи.
Солнце тут отменно
Рушит то. Пажи

Мрака просчитались:
Светит всё сильней
Вне "законов" вр`алей —
И сожженьем пней

Занято, РАЗУМНО,
Также как Земля.
Вон с Земли БЕЗУМНЫХ:
Люди словно тля.

Ложные "законы",
Лживый сей мирок,
Что для мудозвонов
Только... Настал срок!

Срок испепеленья.
Он вне ЛЖИВЫХ схем.
Духа разложенье —
И Возмездие затем.

---

"Знания"

Разложено по "полочкам".
Те "полочки" трещат.
Поверишь — станешь сволочью:
Столяр — фашистский гад.

Не знанья — оглупление.
Не вера — лохотрон.
Тут Духа истребление —
ЕДИНСТВЕННЫЙ ЗАКОН.

Разрушь лже-знанья, "полочки"
Отправь же ты в утиль:
Тогда все палачи
Ума — лишь вонь и гниль.

---

Интроспекция

Смотри в себя лишь прямо,
Теории забыв.
Уроды или хамы
Созд`али их, снабдив

ЗАКАЗАННОЙ трухою
Иль домыслом своим.
Как трудно быть собою
В... Дурдоме! Он речив

И любит всякой мутью
Засрать РАБОВ мозги.
А "терапия" ЖУТЬЮ
Обычна — дураки

Там будут тем итогом,
Что разумел ЗАКАЗ.
Мол, ходим все под богом...
То Сатана. Наказ

Простой, и то бездушие,
Болезни все ума.
Отбрось всё простодушие —
Ты посреди дерьма,

Ядрёного, что долго
Валили, чтоб мозги
Запудрить. Мрази подло
Всегда нам лгут. Ни зги

Нигде ты не увидишь,
Коль будешь верить им.
Соседей ненавидишь
И родина как дым?

Раздор и расщепление
Ума основа их борьбы
С людьми. А разобщение
Итог всего. Рабы

Безумные, покорные
Талдычат тварей муть.
Теории те вздорные
Для этого. Так в путь!

Смотри в себя без опыта,
И даже своего,
Ведь в этом мире пр`оклятом
Нет больше ничего,

Что тонко или грубо
Не втюхано тебе.
Образованья "трубы"
Гнетут, И ПО ЗЛОБ`Е.

Программы твари создали —
Учитель только клерк,
Но души тварям продали,
Коль служат Тьме. Поверг

Всех Сатана в тот Морок,
Где Свет всегда ВНУТРИ.
Умён будь, чуток, зорок —
Всю ложь везде узри.

Включай лишь интуицию,
Критичность приумножь,
То возведи в традицию —
УБЬЁТ иначе ЛОЖЬ.

---

Дуалистическое мышление

Дуалистическим мышленьем
Непознаваем этот мир:
Оно является Затменьем,
Коль сортировки в нём кумир.

Причинно-следственные связи
Прочн`ы при этом как бетон.
Что правит нелюдь через мразей
Понять им сложно, так как тон

Лишь чёрно-белый: что не видишь,
Того в природе просто нет.
Прибором мало что приблизишь.
Лишь интроспекция ответ

Даёт на тонкие вопросы:
Что есть Душа, а что есть Ум.
Мирок словесного поноса:
Его венцом злой тугодум —

Добро и Зло верх дуализма;
Сильнее пташки крокодил,
А потому здесь без цинизма
Не выжить, если не дебил.

Дебилов большинство при этом —
Не помогает дуализм.
Словами могут лишь поэты
Переиначить весь вербальный кретинизм,

Ведь между слов есть промежутки,
А страсть проходит через ритм.
Словами передать, без шутки,
Нельзя сверхсложное. А озарит

Прямое В`иденье — нет слов там,
Но понимания вагон.
И интуиция поможет вам
Уменьшить от всех лживых слов урон.

Возврат к Основам: Дух первичен,
А Ум лишь служка у него.
Тогда ваш ум не МОЗАИЧЕН
И не боится ничего.

---

Творчество и интроспекция —
Вот единственный рецепт.
Не нужна тебе "протекция"
"Высших сил" и прочий бред.

Интроспекция поможет
Свет ВНУТРИ себя найти.
Творчество ложь уничтожит,
Сил придаст, чтоб ВДАЛЬ идти.

Эту ДАЛЬ отыщешь Светом,
Что нашёл в себе. Вперёд!
Тяжко болен мир — злым бредом
Он пускается в расход.

---

Способ есть — и то очнуться,
Беспристрастно оглянуться
На МАРАЗМ, что окружает:
Он с Пути людей сбивает.

Есть и компас на Пути —
Интуицию почти.
И критичность уважай.
Интроспекцией сгоняй

Из ума все Наважденья —
И достигнешь Воскрешенья
В Сфере Духа. Разложенье
Одолеешь. Вот ДВИЖЕНЬЕ!

---

Путь интроспекции поможет
В всём разобраться. Подытожит
Прозренья сильная критичность:
Лишь с нею ты не чурка — личность.

Всё то "алхимия". Наука
Чужда таких Прорывов. Ну-ка,
Отринув ложь, пути спасенья
Ищи! Из Ада Разложенья

Лишь Чистый Дух сбежать поможет.
Ах, как обрыдли эти рожи! —
Быстрей из Ада, прочь сомненья,
"Беспомощность" и сожаленья!!!

---

Интроспекция, критичность,
Интуиция — твои
Средства для Пути. И личность
Надо быстро превзойти.

Через личность околичность
ТВАРЕЙ пролагает шлях
Прямо в Сердце. Чрез критичность
Выбрось Зла тлетворный прах.

Интроспекция поможет
Свет, внутри что, отыскать.
Интуиция умножит
В`иденье вовне. Искать —

Вот единственная ценность
В Аде, что идёт на слом.
Знает это инфернальность —
Катаклизм ей как облом.

Солнце светит всё сильнее —
Скоро будет баня здесь.
Недоумки всё тупее —
Пар прогонит дурь и спесь.

---

Путь Познания

Шаг — прорыв, а мысль как вспышка
(Невозможно так в толпе!) —
Путь Познанья: одиночка
В интроспекции волшбе.
Шаг чрез паузу, а вспышку
Словно манны с неба ждёшь:
В сверх-усилиях дашь лишку —
Вновь обманки Тьмы найдёшь,
В эго-цикл вновь попадёшь,
Массу чуши обретёшь;
Сил лишившись, пропадёшь.
Но сомненья уничтожь:
"Мир реальный" ценой в грош —
Там всегда ты только вошь.
На Пути ты обретёшь
Свет — внутри. Напор умножь,
Но не тупо — стань волною:
Пики, спады как в прибое —
Движется само собою
Всё, когда твой ум ПОД Духом.
Вот волны закон. Но "брюхам"
Он неведом — к "счастью" прут,
И погибель в нём найдут.
Дело сложное — лишь Чуйка
В нём поможет. Тонкой струйкой
Начинает течь, в Поток
Превращаясь. Путь жесток:
Коль баланс в уме нарушишь,
Огнь Души сперва потушишь,
А затем, заткнуть пытаясь
(Для себя всё!), ты, отчаясь,
Обнаружишь — всё засохло.
Эго-цикл извечно проклят:
"Есть фонтан, заткни его" —
Скудоумья торжество.
Что ж, дерзай, ища ответы
О Пути внутри: "с приветом"
Те, кто в этом раскрутились —
Зла признания добились.

---

Чутких-умных единицы.
Ад Кромешный им не мнится —
Сохранили Духа часть,
Оценив реально власть.

Пусть толпе вновь фюрер врёт,
Чуткий Свет в себе найдёт
И к Истоку он пойдёт —
Тот вне Сферы Ада ждёт.

Интроспекция, критичность —
Не достанет Зла цикличность.
Всё Внутри — на Зло ответ,
На оферты Тьмы лишь "нет!".
И покинет Ада Бред,
И останется лишь след
На луче из Хлева Бед.

---

Очнись!
Гоблины утоплены
В Лжи — мирок пропал.
Страх достал — озлоблены,
Мерзости зашкал.

Подчиненье, вялость,
Тупость, шиза тож.
Додавить осталось:
Страх чрез Ложь умножь,

И построишь Лагерь
Новый Цифровой —
С шмурдяками знахарь,
Бот-городовой.

Лишь ИИ в нём разум —
В остальном рефлекс.
Лечат лже-заразы —
Оных ярый всплеск.

И говнид-намордник
Детской сказкой там:
Учит второгодник,
К цифровым кнутам

Сызмальства приучен.
Там дебил — мудрец.
В нём народец кучен:
Град — загон. Венец

Счастия — кормёжка,
В коей ГэМэО,
Не сороконожка
С тараканом. Но

Катаклизм порушит
Планы не-людей.
Те, в которых Души,
Улетят. Скорей

Осознай реальность,
Укрепляя Дух.
Сгинет Инфернальность —
Мир под Злом протух.

Тухлость, Ложь и Подлость
Поглотит Огонь.
Духа многомерность —
Всё Внутри. Мир — вонь.

Путь твой — интроспекция.
Но сперва очисть
Ум от Лжи: инспекция
Для ВСЕГО. Очнись!..

---

Структурный слой

Конечное состояние определяется как некатегориальное наблюдение без семантического присвоения.

Чуйка струйкой,
Ну а дурь
Сплошь потоком:
Брови хмурь
Или смейся,
Не поможет —
Тупость Землю
Уничтожит.

Алгоритмы как препоны для публикаций

Алгоритмы Уёбства:
Прочь — чти Дух, благородство.
Нормалёк Дичь и Скотство
В них. Беги от уродства.

Нету просмотров — нормально.
Мир сплошь дерьмо — инфернальный.
Главный — уёбок анальный.
Ныне он вроде нормальный.

Уёбки: на сайт восхожденью не рады.
Тупая толпа, в коей редкость не гады.
Ох, сайтик опасен! — повсюду засады!!!
И лишь в "телеграмах" навалом отрады...

Царство Шмоток, Хавчика —
В нём кругом "удавчики":
Постарели мальчики —
Как зацепы пальчики.

Только так

Сквозь убожество и тлен
Пробираешься всю жизДнь.
Получаешь что в замен?
"Опыт", "ум" — обычно слизь:
Слизь покорности и страха,
И шаблонов дурака —
Способ так усвоить враки,
Чтобы жизДнь была "легка".
"Лёгкость" через упрощение
И забвение Души.
Это значит — Разложение.
Осознать весь Ад спеши,
Так как точка невозврата
Возникает в нём всегда:
Неминуема расплата —
Станешь Злу покорным гадом,
Коль склоняешься года.
Интроспекция, критичность,
Отрешённость — это Путь:
Осознавши Зла цикличность,
Ада подлость, Муть и Жуть,
Лишь ВНУТРИ искать ответы
Ты научишься. Вперёд! —
Истребив отвалы Бреда,
Что внутри тебя, в расход
Пустишь страх и подчинение,
Явь обрящешь, также Свет,
Тем похерив Разложение.
Первый шаг — Тьме крикнуть "нет!",
Позабывши все оферты,
Те что с детства словно ком
На тебя летят. Не зверь ты,
И не дом тебе Дурдом
Мировой. Ищи к Истоку
Духа тонкий яркий луч,
Позабывши всю Мороку
Псевдожизни среди туч
Бед искусственных. Успеха
Нет гарантии, но так
Ты хотя бы для потехи
Оскорбишь Гнилой Бардак,
Превзойдя Отвалы Врак.
Только так — лишь только так!

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Варево

Твари варят мозг маразмом
Псевдожизни. Лже-заразы
В этом чёткий индикатор.
СМРАД сегодня как диктатор.

Уёбки как пробки
Тупы и подлющи.
Повсюду ушлёпки —
Дебильные пущи.

Уёбищный мирок:
В зашкале Ложь, Страх, Прок.
Подняться ВЫШЕ смог —
Тогда ты полубог.

The Brigantine of Spirit

A sea of sorrow, cold and wide—
The brigantine casts off the tide.
From crawling beasts we must break free,
And leave their poisoned misery.

Earthly Hell no longer calls;
Only empty echo falls.
Bound for Nowhere—bold and far,
Where no earthly Edens are.

Toward "paradise" the herds are led,
To fenced-off pens where souls lie dead;
Where Mind has fled and Spirit's gone,
Yet still they blindly stumble on.

To Nowhere, leaving Hell behind—
There you prove you're truly kind;
Not a beast that feeds on night,
But a Human—seeking Light.

The Witches' Brew

Vermin brew the mind to waste,
Feeding sham life, laced with haste.
False contagions flood the air—
Proof enough they're everywhere.

Media now, with tyrant's grin,
Boils delusion deep within.
Madness served as daily stew—
That's the poison forced on you.

Take Flight!

"Life takes up too much of people's time."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec

So much time for "life," you say?
No—survival, day by day!
Wake at last! They grind you down,
Sacrificing Spirit's crown.

Turn within—reject decay,
Leave false living far away.
There, inside, your freedom lies,
Far beyond the fools' disguise.

Very few escape the snare;
Most are trapped in bleak despair.
Lost in Lies and raving fraud,
Earth belongs to beasts abroad.

Freedom gained—the journey starts.
Walk through suffering with heart.
Fly beyond the world of gain,
Or be buried in its chain.

Profit. Falsehood. "Leave me be."
That's this little world's decree.
Slay the fool still caged inside
While your strength has not yet died.

Hear the news: the hour is near.
Global ruin shall appear.
Fascist madness, craven greed—
They have sown the fatal seed.

Then, by force, you'll seek the Soul.
Better choose that path while whole.
Belly, ego, clever brain—
All become a heavy chain.

Weak from birth, the human race
Stumbled through this hollow place.
Now the threshing has begun:
Servants of the dark are done.

One road leads to Hell once more
For the slaves who darkness bore;
One returns unto the Source—
Choose your path with all your force.

Wake at last! The Heights still wait;
Don't arrive a day too late.
Mind alone will never fly—
Spread your Spirit's wings... and rise!

Choose the Self

Choose your Self—not hide nor skin—
In mass-culture steeped in sin.
Nonsense, Evil, loud display—
That's the price they're glad to pay.

Choose your Self, and you won't fall
With the crumbling of it all.
Through decay and restless strife,
Rise beyond this sham of life.

Mind beneath the Spirit's reign—
That is you, both true and plain.
All around, the herds remain...
Few withstand corruption's stain.

Tempered in this world's decay,
Most have thrown themselves away;
Yet the ones whose Spirits see
Keep their inner kingdom free.

The Vow

Verse comes with ease;
Thought bears the weight.
Its tangled trees
Conceal our fate.

The mind sinks low
In oceans of Lies.
Don't feed its flow—
Seek where Truth lies.

Learn through the Heart;
The poem's your guide.
Knowledge can part
The Soul from inside,

When Spirit's not
The one who leads.
Then sight is naught,
Nor hearing heeds.

The Third Eye's flame—
Perception's king—
Beholds the whole
In one swift wing.

It spends but slight
Strength of the Soul,
Yet floods with Light
The hidden Whole.

Awake and see:
The times are grim.
One path shall be
Salvation's hymn.

Return Sourceward—
The only way.
There God appears,
Not words to say,

Nor chains of thought,
Nor scholar's art,
But sudden Light
That fills the heart.

One flash—and all
Delusion dies.
This world itself
Is woven Lies.

Say "No!" to it,
And to the mind
That clings to dust,
Remaining blind.

Through noise and storm,
Through profit's snare,
Return unto
The Source laid bare.

Forsake all gain.
Let Spirit prove.

This is the Vow.

Trust the Beast!

Trust the Beast! Throw wide the door
To rot and fear forevermore.
Feed the Lie with eager cheer,
Silence conscience, dull your fear.

Chain your Spirit, choke your mind;
Leave your honor far behind.
Then the beasts will call you kin—
Half a man, half beast within.

Believe the Beast

Believe the Beast! Unbar the gate
To fear, decay, corrupted fate.
Nurse each lie till truth has fled;
Let your Soul be left for dead.

Cripple mind and conscience too,
Break the Spirit born in you.
Then the monsters claim their heir:
Half a human—half a bear.

Word Manure

A million useless words are strewn—
Cheap consolation for the doomed.
Instead of roses, gifts they bring:
A flood of verbal fertilizing.

Feed Bedlam with that endless flow,
And rank stupidity will grow;
Unbent by every storm and gale,
It always thrives, it never fails.

"The tempest veils the darkened sky..."
Yet something greater lurks nearby:
Not storms, but Folly lays the frame—
And builds the Global Camp of Shame.

Compost of Words

A million words no one will need—
Donkey's comfort, empty feed.
Roses? No. A foul excess:
Verbal diarrhea—mess.

Spread that compost far and wide,
Foolishness will bloom with pride.
Though the fiercest tempests roar,
Madness only grows the more.

"Storm clouds shroud the sky..." they cry.
No—the fools themselves comply.
Folly, nursed by Lies absurd,
Builds the Global Camp—word by word.

The Architecture of Madness

The structure of Delusion:
One fatal, blind conclusion—
You'll never grasp the whole
Without the beasts' true goal.

Their motives must be known;
Their harvest must be shown.
Until their aims are read,
All reason walks with dread.

Normalized Madness

How Madness comes to be?
Its hidden masonry.
Without the beasts' design,
No clue reveals the line.

Trace every twisted thread,
Or Truth itself has fled.
The mask will never fall
Till motives tell it all.

From Baikal to Glamour

"We'll build a mighty highway grand!"
What a marvel—devils planned!
Once again the liar's cry:
"Sacred bonds!" their battle-cry.

Those "traditions" drive the fools
Eastward, marching by the rules.
New Führer, another "Heil!"—
Same old madness, different tale.

Baikal to Glamour

"We'll pave the road!" the boasters yell.
"Quite a wonder!"—straight from Hell.
Once again the liar preaches,
Binding fools with hollow speeches.

"Sacred values!"—that's the bait;
Off they march to meet their fate.
New Führer, a fresh "Heil!" rings—
History repeats such things.

The Hardest Path

The hardest way
Through murk and fray.
Do not dismay
When Truth turns gray.

Stay wide awake.
Though losses bite,
They're small—let go,
And seek the Light.

The Highest Road

The hardest trail
Through dread and veil.
Do not bewail
When Truth grows pale.

Remain aware.
The wound is slight—
Forget the hurt,
Keep Spirit bright.

Through Gloom

The hardest road
Through gloom untold.
Be not dismayed
When Truth must fade.

Stay fully aware.
The loss is slight—
Release it all...
And walk toward Light.

Freedom... Again

Freedom... once more.
Or only words?
The chains return—
Nothing unheard.

The shackles change,
Yet stay the same;
Each "new beginning"
Ends in the chain.

Freedom?

Freedom... once more.
Or empty lore?
The chains return—
As oft before.

The Same Old Song

Freedom again...
Or merely words?
The chains return—
Nothing unheard.

Each age proclaims
A brand-new dawn;
The shackles shine,
Yet still live on.

Only This Way

Through ruin, squalor, ash and stain,
You struggle onward all your days.
And what remains for all your pain?
"Experience"... "wisdom"... wrapped in haze.

A slime of fear, obedient minds,
Of ready-made and borrowed thought;
The easiest prison one can find—
Believe the lies you've long been taught.

A life made "easy" by decay,
By shrinking Soul till nothing's left.
Convenience becomes the way,
And Spirit dies of silent theft.

Awake! Behold this earthly Hell,
Before the point of no return.
The debt is one you'll pay as well,
If year by year to Evil bend.

Turn inward. Question. Stand apart.
That is the only living Road.
When you perceive with mind and heart
How Lies repeat their heavy load—

Their murk, their horror, endless schemes—
You'll cease to seek outside the key.
The answers rise from deeper streams,
Where Spirit guards what makes you free.

Destroy the mountains built of Lies
That clutter up your inner land.
Let fear and slavish habits die;
Refuse the tyrant's cold command.

Then Light appears, and Truth breaks through,
While inner rot is left behind.
The first great step is clear to you:
Say "No!" to Darkness in your mind.

Forget the bargains, smooth and sweet,
They've hurled at you since childhood's dawn.
You are no beast beneath their feet;
This madhouse is not where you belong.

Seek out the Source, the subtle Flame,
The shining thread the Spirit weaves.
Forget the pseudo-life they name,
The fog that every captive breathes.

No promise waits, no sure success,
No easy triumph to be won.
Yet even then your steadfastness
Will mock the rotten world they've spun.

Rise past the mountains built of fraud;
Break through deception's crumbling track.

Only this way.
Only this way.

Rusting Freedom

Jelly fills the mind at last;
Freedom's "thought" is hammered fast
Into every willing slave,
Like a nail they cannot save.

Let it rust and let it rot—
Soon they'll have no thoughts at all.
In the Madhouse, every plot
Shrinks to "care" for one and all.

Every "cure" is poisoned brew,
Sold as science, pure and true,
Just to make the fool comply—
Living dull, then dumbly die.

Once the world was Sodom's den;
Soon it changes once again.
Not to freedom's promised dome—
But a global Madhouse-home.

The Nail

Aspic hardens in the brain;
Freedom's "thought" becomes a chain.
Driven like a rusty nail,
Fixed inside the captive's jail.

Rust will spread and thoughts will cease;
Madness grows by slow degrees.
Nothing left to talk about—
Only "viruses" passed about.

Quacks prescribe their toxic swill:
"Take your dose—it's for your health."
Best obedient, dull and still,
Dead in mind before in flesh.

Once it looked like Sodom's reign;
Soon a Madhouse will remain.

Wretched World

A wretched little world indeed,
Where Lies and Fear and Profit breed.
Rise far above its poisoned fog—
And you'll become... almost a god.

Filthworld

A filthy world of fear and Lies,
Where profit reigns and Spirit dies.
If you can rise beyond its spell,
You're half-divine—and free as well.

Rise Above

A vile, corrupted little sphere,
Where Lies and Profit rule through Fear.
Rise higher than its dark façade—
And you'll become a demigod.

Kingdom of Stuff

Kingdom built on clothes and food—
Everywhere the strangling brood.
Boys grew old before their prime,
Snared one finger at a time.

The Consumer Kingdom

Realm of fashion, endless meals—
Every smile a tightening steel.
Boys turned old while chasing more,
Caught like hooks forevermore.

The Kingdom of Stuff

The Kingdom of Stuff, of clothes and feed—
A thousand little boas breed.
The boys grew old before their day,
Their fingers caught and worn away.

Realm of Stuff

Realm of clothes and endless chow—
Tiny boas rule it now.
Boys grow old before their time,
Snagged by trifles, one by one, in line.

A Trickle

Instinct comes
In just a stream;
Folly floods
Like a raging dream.

Frown or laugh—
It changes naught:
Stupidity
Will doom the world.

The Flood

Insight trickles,
Thin and slow;
Folly surges,
Overflow.

Scowl or grin—
It makes no odds:
Human foolishness
Will bury us.

A Trickle of Truth

A trickle of instinct,
A torrent of fools.
Mock it or fear it—
The outcome still rules.

Frown if you wish,
Or laugh at the show:
Mindless stupidity
Brings Earth down below.

Intuition trickles thin;
Folly pours in mighty streams.
Frown or laugh—it changes nothing:
Stupidity destroys the Earth.

Blockheads

Blockheads like corks—
Dense to the core;
Sneaks everywhere,
Rotting the floor.

Fools by the thousands,
Vicious and blind;
Forests of idiots
Choke humankind.

Morons

Morons like stoppers—
Thick as can be.
Scumbags are swarming
Like one rotten sea.

Everywhere dimwits,
Base to the bone—
Forests of fools
Have wildly grown.

Forests of Fools

Jerks like corks—
Thick as a brick.
Scumbags abound,
Greasy and slick.

Everywhere dullards,
Vile to the core;
Forests of idiots—
Growing once more.

Пора ставить точку

Фашизм. Геноцид.
Народ недобит?
Коль ум и духовность
В оценке, условность
Фасадов похеря, —
ДОбит!!! Настежь двери
В НИЧТОЖНОСТЬ открыты:
Личины, убиты
В которых Явь, Свет —
Господствует Бред.
Скажи Аду "нет!",
Ища и борясь,
Тлетворную мразь
Врагом называя
И впредь не лажая
В обманах и страхе.
Опаснее плахи
Убогая жизДнь —
Так в Духе очнись,
Презревши всю слизь.
Народ или слизни
Под солью — на тризне
По Духу, Уму в
Потворстве Дерьму?!
Дерьму Мировому —
То Лагерь с Дурдомом
В одной оболочке.
Пора ставить точку
В участии в этом,
Иль сдохнешь под Бредом...

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Гонка псевдожизни с финишем в Маразме

Жёлтая майка —
Первый до пайки.
Майка в горошек —
Чушью раскрошат:
Ложь словно горы —
Всякого вздора
В гонке немало.
Много пропало
Гонщиков хилых —
Проще, дебилов.
Финиш в Маразме.
Судьи в сарказме —
Прыти хоть много,
Гонка убога:
Часть пелотона —
Мразь, мудозвоны —
Тянут-потянут
Мало и вянут
С этим надежды
Вусмерть невежду
Каждую гонкой
Выжать. Подонки
Прячутся ловко,
Видно сноровку
Им выживать
Втюхала мать.
Глупый отец
Финиш-Пиздец
Мало восславил.
Множество правил:
Все чтоб уесть
Силы, отместь
Проблески смысла:
Люди-не числа
Без номеров
Малый улов
ТВАРЯМ. Таков
Спорт-псевдожизнь.
Гонщик, очнись —
Выйди из гонки:
Судьи — подонки,
Жилы уж тонки.
Жизнь — в самоволке!..

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Фашизм. Геноцид.
Скопление гнид —
В них разум убит.
И гнить с ними — Стыд.

Простота и Мутота,
Страх, безумье, Маета —
Все в загоне для скота.
Стал загоном целый мир.
Превращение в сортир,
То есть в Лагерь Цифровой
Для ущербных головой
Называется "прогресс".
Всё сильнее ТВАРЕЙ пресс —
Правит миром Скрытный Бес,
Запустивший весь процесс.
Днесь Разумность как эксцесс...
Путь в неё — Загона без
Оставаться и пытаться
Чрез Возвышенность спасаться.

Вариант второй строки. Ложь, безумье, Маета —

Ошейник раба —
И дело труба:
Удавка додавит —
Ума не оставит.

Вонь СМРАДов

Дерьмо мирка
Для дурака —
От вони резь:
Очнись — не грезь!

Рабский говнострой

Приднестровское говно —
Тупо, мерзко и срамно.
Где найти такое! ДНО?!
Впрочем, БЫДЛУ всё равно...

ДНО. Говно. Исхода нет:
Всё иное чушь иль бред.
И единственный ответ
Мраку псевдожизни — Свет.
Он ВНУТРИ. Снаружи Тьма —
Мир в Говне сошёл с ума.

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Time to Draw the Line

Fascism. Genocide.
Has the people truly died?
When the mind and soul are weighed
By façades that merely fade,
Truth is crushed beneath the show—
Finish them! The gates swing low,
Wide to Nothingness they yawn,
Masks remain, but Life is gone.
Reason's light has disappeared;
Madness now is crowned and cheered.

Tell the Hell, "I won't comply!"
Seek the Truth, resist the Lie.
Name corruption as your foe,
Never let deception grow.
Fear and falsehood breed defeat;
Far more cruel than death's own seat
Is a crippled life in chains—
Wake in Spirit, break the reins!
Cast the slimy sludge aside;
Will the people still abide

Like mere slugs beneath the salt,
Mourning Mind through their own fault,
Selling Soul to filth and shame,
Serving Evil without name?
Global filth has built its throne—
Madhouse fused with prison stone,
Locked inside a single frame.

Now it's time to end the game.
Leave this nightmare while you may,
Or be buried by Delusion's sway.

---

Ending variant

Now it's time to draw the line.
Leave this rotten grand design—
Or beneath Delusion's weight
You will meet a fool's dead fate.

The Pseudo-Life Race Ends in Madness

The yellow jersey—
First to the mercy
Of rations and praise.
The polka-dot craze
Crumbles to nonsense;
Mountains of pretense,
Hills built of Lies,
Clouding all eyes.

Many have fallen—
Weak riders, all broken,
Or fools, to be plain,
Left on the terrain.
The finish is Madness.
The judges, with gladness,
Mock every climb;
The race is a crime.

Half the peloton—
Frauds carrying on,
Scoundrels who shove,
Pretending they love
Victory's gleam,
Yet draining the dream
Out of each rider,
Making minds lighter—

Empty of reason,
Harvesting treason.
Every new stage
Squeezes the sage
Out of the crowd,
Leaving the loud.

The bastards conceal
Their practiced appeal;
Survival, it seems,
Was nursed with their schemes.
A foolish old sire
Blessed the Grand Mire,
Praising the end—
Ruin, my friend.

Rules without number
Keep minds locked under,
Crushing each spark,
Dragging to dark.
Humans aren't digits,
Tags, codes, or widgets;
Numbers can't measure
Spirit's true treasure.

Small is the gain
Won by the Vile—
Such is the style
Of pseudo-life's race.

Rider, awake!
Break free for your sake.
Leave this grim track;
Don't you look back.
The judges are swine,
Your strength wears thin.
Life starts the moment
You quit—and begin.

Rock Bottom

Rock bottom. Filth. There is no way.
All else is nonsense, lies astray.
One answer only meets the Night
Of pseudo-life: the Inner Light.

It burns within. Outside—Dark reigns.
A world gone mad, sunk deep in stains.

The Only Way

Rock bottom. Filth. No exit's found.
All else is madness spun around.
One answer breaks the endless Night:
The Light within—the Spirit's Light.

It shines inside. Outside is Doom.
The world's gone mad in filth and gloom.

No Way Out?

Rock bottom. Filth. No way to flee.
The rest is sham insanity.
One answer stands against the Night
Of pseudo-life—the Inner Light.

Within it lives. Without—Dark's claim.
The world sank deep in filth and shame.

Slave's Collar

A slave's tight collar—
No hope to follow.
The noose will squeeze you dry,
And strangle mind goodbye.

The Slave's Collar

A slave's collar—
Your fate grows smaller.
The noose will choke you through,
Till thought deserts you too.

Collared

The slave's own collar—
A fatal halter.
The noose will crush your will,
Your mind falls deathly still.

Slave's collar—
Death's own caller.
The noose will choke you blind,
Until it kills your mind.

Progress?

Simple minds and murky thought,
Fear and madness, cheaply bought—
All are herded, all are penned;
Now the whole world's reached that end.

Earth's transformed into a drain,
Into one vast Digital Pen,
Built for those who proudly trade
Thought itself for dull parade.

This is hailed as "Progress" still.
Monsters tighten every will.
Hidden Evil rules the game,
Pulling every secret chain.

Reason now's a dangerous crime,
Out of step with modern time.
There's one road that still is true:
Leave the cattle pen behind.

Seek the heights, refuse the mire;
Save your soul by climbing higher.

The Digital Pen

Simple slogans. Murky lies.
Fear that never truly dies.
Madness penned in cattle's den—
Now the whole world's one vast pen.

Every street becomes a drain,
Every screen—a Digital Chain.
Those who mock the thinking head
Call this "progress" straight ahead.

Monsters press with growing force;
Hidden Devils steer the course.
Reason now's condemned as sin—
Wisdom cannot enter in.

Only one escape remains:
Walk away from all their chains.
Rise above the crawling mass;
Only Spirit's heights will last.

Fascism. Genocide.
A vermin tide.
Their minds have died.
To rot with them—a shame.

Fascism. Genocide.
A swarm of vermin, hollow-eyed.
Their reason long since bled away;
To share their rot is shame's own way.

Fascism. Genocide.
Vermin multiplied.
Reason crucified.
Rot with them?—No pride.

Fascism. Genocide.
A nest where maggots hide.
Their minds are dead inside.
To rot with them is shame.

Slave-Built Filth

Transnistrian filth—
Shameful to the hilt.
Where can lower bottom grow?
Yet the herd just doesn't know.

The Slave-Made Cesspit

Transnistria's cesspit—
Vile from every aspect.
Can there be a lower low?
The herd shrugs on—it doesn't know.

The Bottom

Transnistria's foul decay—
Shameful every single way.
Can the Bottom sink still low?
Not that cattle care or know.

Slave-Built Sewer

Transnistria's sewer—
Viler than before.
Where's a deeper Bottom?—Nowhere.
Yet the herd cares not one whit.

---

Variant of the last line

Yet the herd couldn't care less.

Transnistria's filth—
Shame to every breath.
Where's a deeper Bottom?—None.
Yet the herd just carries on.

The Stench of Media

Filth for the fool,
Their favorite fuel.
The stench cuts deep—
Wake up! Don't sleep!

Media Stink

Garbage for fools—
That's how it rules.
The stench won't cease.
Wake up from dreams!

The Media's Reek

Filth fills the air
For fools to share.
The stench won't end—
Wake up, my friend!

Media Stench

Filth for the fool.
That's their rule.
The stench runs deep—
Wake up. Don't sleep.

"Необходимость"

"Свобода — это есть осознанная необходимость".
Бенедикт Спиноза, XVII-ый век.

"Необходимость" верить, лгать,
И этим Душу предавать —
Рабов "свобода" для уродов.
От этого кругом невзгоды.

Предавши раз, продашь остатки
Ума потом — строй рабский хваткий:
Всё высосет он чрез покорность,
"Необходимость", страх и вздорность

Тлетворных схем для поведенья —
Их целю Духа убиенье.
Бездушному необходимо
В Тотальном Зле "прожить счастливо".

И примет всё урод позорный:
Строй рабский дикий, тошнотворный
Меняет лишь в веках названья,
Фасады, мемы, истязанья.

В года говнида всех "заботой"
Замордовали: идиоты
Поверили дебильной сказке,
Надев намордник по указке.

Намордник, цепи — что похлеще?
Когда "народ" умом не блещет,
Впендюрят враки "терроризьма",
Маразм фашизма и рашизма.

Рашизм "свободы" путь, а "светоч" —
Двойник позорный. Словно ветошь
В мазуте мажет пропаганда
Дебилов чушью. Тварей банда

В отстойник Рашку превратила,
Но снова верят в Чушь дебилы,
В "необходимости" покорно
Идя на смерть. Та смерть позорна —

Такой же русский с автоматом
Встречает дурней. А расплата —
Ужесточение режима.
Но впрочем, "заживём счастливо"

В Всемирном Лагере на Цифре,
Коль истощим все силы. Влипли
Рабы во всём гнилом мирке:
Бездушным в Лагерь налегке

Без мыслей, совести и чести
Идти. Не гражданин — груз двести,
Покорный Злу тупой мертвяк,
В зашкале страха, в буре врак

Сам уничтожит все остатки
Ума в мирке. Дебилы хватки
Похлеще строя, коль "покоя"
Желают, пр`иняв Зло ЛЮБОЕ.

Одна надежда — Катаклизм:
Сметёт уродов за фашизм,
"Необходимость", Злу покорность.
"Свобода" вечно — иллюзорность.

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Типа "любовь"

"Любовь" к уродам и природе,
"Отечеству" как смрадный дым,
Похеря вечные невзгоды,
Что с детства Мерзостью гнобим

Забыв, шизоида услада.
Но лицемерная она.
Не может раб таких же гадов
Любить во Лжи, в Маразме ДНА.

На ДНЕ, в говне, "любовь" в цене
Во СМРАДах, в школах: охмурять
Без "позитивы" на войне
С Умом и Духом трудно. Врать

Сложнее дурочкам: они
Пищат от разных "сюси-мусь".
Размножатся тупые пни
И сыновьям кричат: "Не трусь!

Иди за Родину, Любовь
В с соседями смертельный бой!"
И льётся идиотов кровь
Веками. Ушлых СМРАДов вой

Создаст "врага" за пять минут,
Когда любви в помине нет.
А НЕНАВИДЯЩИМ наврут
Легко, втемяшив Дикий Бред.

Коль рабство сплошь, тупая вошь
Враждебностью напоена:
Похерено "меня не трожь" —
Уродцам ДНА как дань война.

Простой итог: с рогами бог
В "заботах" Ложью приведёт
Позорный мир, что туп, убог,
В Всемирный Лагерь. Там — в расход.

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Одинокий глас поэта
Средь насилья, лжи и бреда
Возвышается, неслышим:
Вонью СМРАДов в страхе дышим.

Кормовое Стадо

Кот — он настоящий.
Ум хоть не блестящий,
В корень зрит, бродяга, —
Не баран в овраге.

Овцы — типа люди:
Пищею на блюде
Стали. Скрытных ТВАРЕЙ
В мерзкой лживой мари

Видят единицы.
Им гаввах не мнится:
С детства оглупленье,
Духа разложенье

Привели к оттоку
Сил. Всё меньше проку
От овец дебильных
Павших, слабосильных:

Не гаввах — водица,
Трудно Злу напиться.
Скоро уничтожат —
Новый вид размножат.

Будет он сильнее,
А ТВАРЬЁ наглее
Пить гаввах. Загоном
Мир давно. Уроном

Меряется жизДня.
Так очнись на тризне
По Уму и Духу:
Быть продажной сукой

Невозможно дале:
Все и так пропали —
Ниже ДНИЩА пали.
Успокоят врали,

Но не Катаклизм.
Скоро за фашизм
Уничтожит Стадо —
Злу покорных гадов.

Впрочем, так и надо...
Кормовое Стадо...

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ЖизДня

Гадов надо урезонить,
А не дальше мудозвонить.
Не очнётся дебильё,
Потому Враньё, Гнильё
Всюду — Ад земной: паскуды
Издеваются сильнее,
Их "законы" бьют больнее.
СМРАДы воют: "ЖизДнь вольнее".
Невозможно уж тупее
Быть — во Зле с позором гнить.
Для дебила это — жить.

Не спасти...

Уёбища-стыдобища,
Которых большинство,
А мир — большое пастбище
С Загоном. Естество

Животное: корова,
Но с примесью шакала.
Наврут гурту по-новой:
Разумность сплошь пропала,

И сделают что хошь,
Довольные собой.
Одно "меня не трожь!"
В "сознаньи". Головой

Работают как челюстью —
Иное атавизм —
И лже-болезней "прелести",
А далее рашизм

Восприняли как должное,
К тому ж включив азарт
Шакала. Что-то сложное —
В "сознаньи" шах и мат.

И Стада оцифровкой
Занялся Скрытный Бес.
Подкожною обновкой
Доволен тот, кто без —

Сознания и Духа,
Раз есть что пожевать,
Столь в мире с Духом глухо,
Что поздно Хлев спасать...

Мир-перевёртыш

"Когда вспоминаешь, что все мы сумаcшедшие, странное в жизни исчезает и всё становится понятным".
Марк Твен.

"Кристальная ясность" советского строя,
Годов "перестройки", рашизма теперь:
Безумие всюду, всегда, а иное
Талантов удел. В перевёртыше дверь

Откроется в детстве. Втолкнут непременно,
И будешь годами затем выяснять,
Зачем маскируются под "перемены"
Отрыжки Режима, ведь проще стращать.

Тотальное рабство, что длится веками,
Не может насильем держаться одним.
Поэтому надо рабов дураками
С младенчества сделать. Безумьем гнобим

Здесь каждый, поэтому дурь в многих в шизу
Затем превращается: мир весь — дурдом.
От верха Дурдома до самого низу
Стремятся шизоидов сделать скотом.

Невидима сила, что СМРАДы, программы
Всегда контролирует, ложью сильна.
И ей надоели безумные хамы —
Чрез скотство опустят до самого ДНА.

Успехи большие: шмурдяк и намордник
В психозе говнида всем дали понять,
Что если ты против МАРАЗМА — негодник,
Которого можно безумцем назвать.

Больные на голову "лечат" здоровых,
А далее "скрепы" на бойню ведут.
Закончится это. Наврут всем по-новой —
И снова на бойни и в нищенский труд.

Дурдом плюс Загон. Ну а далее Лагерь
Всемирный, надёжнейший — сплошь цифровой.
Крест красный на капитуляции флаге —
По-белому мочат, бодряческий вой.

Исход не безумцу один — отрешенье
И поиски к Духа Истоку Пути:
В зашкале безумие и разложенье —
Со стадом в Концлагерь не стоит идти.

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Центрируйся в Духе

Система в маразме.
Кто мыслит — в сарказме.
Один вопрос: разве
Достойно гнить в пастве
Рогатого бога?
Подмочена тога,
Но санкция стр`ога.
Тошнотно, убого.
Лжи, страхов так много
Средь Ада Земного,
Барака чумного,
Что к Смерти дорога —
Единственный путь,
Чтоб скинуть всю Жуть.
Грядёт Катаклизм.
За рабство, фашизм,
Он Ад уничтожит,
Тем Ложь подытожит.
Тотальная Ложь
Системы. В ней вошь
Любой, даже бес,
Что на "олимп" влез.
Духовности без
Лишь демон воскрес.
Центрируйся в Духе —
И н`ахуй все суки,
Все Ада докуки.

Чума безумия и слабоумия

Чепушилы и дебилы:
Строй фашистский копит силы
Для атаки на разумных —
Нет проходу от безумных,
И подохнешь сам средь чумных.
То намордник показал —
НЕКТО с голоду пропал...

Мент — последний аргумент:
Ложь тотальная сильней.
Что ж, пока лови момент
Передышки: Ложь больней

Снова вдарит, и к тому
Будет множество причин.
Места нет в _Дерьме уму
(_Средь убогих дурачин) —

Это главная, всегда:
Вновь пустыми невода...

Бюрократия, или Как бы чего не вышло

Чтоб чего не вышло:
Сплошь "законов" дышло
Бьёт, гнобя дебилов,
Отнимая силы,
Забирая время.
В креслах сучье племя
Словно на театре.
Трудность в психиатре:
Где тварью диагноз?!
Мир пошёл вразнос:
Чушь как пылесос
Высосет остатки
Сил — чинуша хваткий.

Bureaucracy, or Better Safe Than Sorry

“Better safe than sorry”—
That’s the tyrant’s story.
Rules with twisted meaning
Keep the fools careening,
Drain their strength away,
Steal each precious day.
In their cushioned chairs,
Vermin strike grand airs.
Who will dare proclaim
Madness by its name?
Sanity has fled—
Common sense lies dead.
Nonsense, like a drain,
Sucks what strength remains,
While the grasping clerk
Feeds upon your work.

Bureaucracy, or Nothing Must Go Wrong

Nothing must go wrong—
That’s the bureaucrat’s song.
Every crooked law
Keeps the weak in awe,
Robbing time and will
With relentless skill.
From their padded thrones,
Vipers gnaw the bones.
Where’s the doctor’s pen
To diagnose such men?
Reason’s torn apart,
Madness rules the heart.
Like a vacuum's roar,
Absurdity wants more,
Till the last reserves
Feed official worms.

Life in Lies

The vermin must be brought to heel,
Not drowned in speeches void of zeal.
The fools will never wake or see—
So Lies and Rot reign endlessly.
Hell on earth is all around,
Where scoundrels grind the helpless down.
Their "laws" strike harder every day,
While media loudly bray:
"Life is freer! Life is bright!"
Never has there been such blight.
To rot in Evil, stripped of pride—
They call that life... and live the lie.

Pseudo-Life

The vermin must be forced to yield,
Not fed with chatter as a shield.
The fools refuse to face the Light,
So Rot and Falsehood win the fight.
Earth has turned to Hell below;
Crueler still the tyrants grow.
Every "law" inflicts more pain,
While the media scream again:
"Freedom grows! Rejoice! You're free!"
Nothing could be more empty.
Rotting deep in evil's pit—
Fools call that a life... and fit.

The Herd for Slaughter

A cat is truly wise—
No genius in disguise,
Yet sees beneath the skin,
Unlike the sheep penned in.

Sheep pretend they're men,
Served upon the tray, and then
Lost within the lying haze
Where hidden monsters rule the maze.

Only few can truly see
What lurks beneath reality.
Gavvah is no empty dream—
They feed upon the human stream.

From childhood, minds are bent,
The soul grows weak and spent.
Strength is drained away each year;
The flock grows dull with fear.

Not enough gavvah now—
Only water fills the trough.
Evil cannot drink its fill;
Soon they'll breed a stronger will.

A newer breed they'll raise,
Sharper for the coming days,
While the beasts grow bold once more,
Drinking gavvah to the core.

Long the world's a fenced corral;
Life is measured by the fall.
Wake before the funeral pyre
Of your Spirit's last desire.

Selling out is all in vain—
All have sunk below disdain,
Lower than the lowest deep.
Liars sing the flock to sleep,

Yet no lie will halt the storm.
When Cataclysm takes its form,
Fascism's faithful flock shall fall—
Slaves of Evil, one and all.

So perhaps it had to be...
Nothing but a Feeding Herd.

---

Variations of the last two lines.

Perhaps that's justice after all—
A Herd that's bred to feed and fall.

or

Perhaps that's all the herd was for:
To feed the beasts... and be no more.

The Final Argument

The cop's the final argument—
For Lies are stronger still.
So seize the moment while you can,
Before they break your will.

Soon the blows will fall once more,
Each with some "official" cause.
In this world of filth and rot,
Reason finds no place at all—

Not among the witless crowd,
Lost beneath deception's shroud.
That's the oldest truth we know:
Every net comes empty home.

Last Resort

The cop's the final proof of Lies—
Their empire still prevails.
So breathe while fortune grants a pause
Before oppression sails.

Soon they'll strike with greater force,
Always with a grand excuse.
Mind has no abode in muck,
Where fools embrace abuse.

That has always been the key:
Empty nets from every sea.

The World Turned Upside Down

"When one remembers that we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained."
— Mark Twain

The Soviet order, so "crystal-clear,"
The years of "reforms," today's dark reign—
One truth remains: insanity's here,
While reason belongs to a gifted brain.

The door to inversion swings open in youth;
You're pushed through its threshold before you can choose.
Then years are consumed searching after the truth:
Why tyrannies change into fresh-looking ruses.

For slavery lasting through centuries' flight
Can never survive upon violence alone.
The masters must cripple the mind from first light,
Till fools are the harvest their empire has sown.

Thus madness engulfs every soul from the start;
Delusion matures into full-blown disease.
The madhouse extends through each province and heart,
Where people are fashioned as cattle with ease.

Invisible hands pull the strings every day,
Controlling the media, shaping each lie.
Yet even these servants are thrown away,
Dragged down to the depths where all dignity dies.

Their triumph was plain: every muzzle, each shot,
The CowID panic, the fear and disgrace.
Oppose the absurd—and you're branded unsound,
Declared an outcast to be put in your place.

The sick now prescribe every cure for the sane,
Then slogans drive millions to slaughter once more.
It ends... yet the cycle begins yet again:
Fresh lies, fresh campaigns, fresh blood on the floor.

A madhouse. A cattle pen. Then comes the Camp—
Worldwide and digital, flawless in scope.
The white flag bears surrender's crimson stamp,
While cheerful chants extinguish the last hope.

One path still remains for the soul left awake:
Step out of the madness, refuse to conform.
Seek Spirit's own Source for your own spirit's sake—
Don't march with the herd toward the camp in the storm.

Beyond Saving…

Grotesque, disgracing creatures—
The overwhelming horde.
The world's one giant pasture now,
A fenced and guarded ward.

A beast beneath the skin,
A cow with jackal's grin.
The herd believes each fresh deceit;
Its reason's growing thin.

Then anything will do—
They're happy as they are.
"Just don't you bother me!"
Their only guiding star.

Their heads are built for chewing,
Not thinking deep at all.
The mind has long grown vestigial;
False plagues become the call.

Then rashism comes as "normal,"
Accepted without shame.
The jackal's thrill awakens—
The outcome stays the same.

Whatever's truly difficult
Defeats the vacant brain.
It's checkmate in their "consciousness"—
Delusion rules again.

The Hidden Fiend keeps digitizing
Every sheep in line.
Subcutaneous "upgrades"
Seem perfectly benign

To those devoid of Spirit,
Whose minds have long grown numb.
As long as fodder fills the trough,
No higher thoughts will come.

The Spirit's voice is silent now,
Its echoes fade away.
The barn is past all saving...
Too late to stop decay.

---

Variant of the last stanza

The Spirit's voice is lost at last,
No soul remains to save.
The barn has crossed the point of no return—
It marches to its grave.

"Necessity"

"Freedom is the recognition of necessity."
— Baruch Spinoza, 17th century

"Necessity" to trust the lie,
To sell your soul, your truth deny—
Such is the freedom slaves embrace,
A prison masked by borrowed grace.

Betray yourself a single time,
The mind soon follows in decline.
The system drinks your strength away
Through fear, obedience, and dismay.

It breeds corrupting codes of thought,
Where Spirit's death is cheaply bought.
The soulless need but one desire:
To thrive while sinking ever higher

Into a kingdom built on chains.
Its banners change, its outward names,
Its slogans, idols, flags, and guise—
The core remains the selfsame lies.

The CowID years proved the plan:
They muzzled woman, child, and man.
So many swallowed fear on cue,
And wore the mask because they knew...

Or thought they knew. Then came the chain.
What follows next? The same old game:
New tales of terror fill the air,
While fascist madness blossoms there.

Rashism calls itself "the free,"
Its beacon shines dishonestly.
Propaganda, black as tar,
Smears every mind, both near and far.

A gang of beasts transformed the land
Into a festering wasteland.
Yet fools believe each tale once more,
And march obedient into war.

To meet another, just the same,
With rifle raised in someone else's name.
The price is always paid in blood—
The chains grow tighter than they should.

"Tomorrow life will bloom," they say,
Inside the Camp of the Digital Age.
When strength is spent and hope is gone,
The perfect prison marches on.

The soulless enter without pain,
No conscience left, no thoughts remain.
Not citizens—but nameless dead,
By fear and endless falsehood led.

They help destroy the final spark
Of reason in the gathering dark.
The fools defend their prison walls,
Believing peace is worth it all—

Accepting every evil's claim,
Provided comfort bears its name.

One hope remains: Cataclysm.
To sweep away triumphant lies,
Submission, fascist dogma's reign,
And "Necessity"'s gilded chain.

For freedom built on fear and fraud
Was never freedom before God.

The Lonely Voice

A poet's lonely, steadfast cry,
Amidst the madness, fraud, and lie,
Rises high—but none will hear:
Media's stench keeps breathing fear.

The Poet's Cry

One poet's voice ascends in vain
Above the lies, the fear, the pain.
Yet none can hear its truthful plea—
The media's stench won't let us breathe.

One lonely poet calls aloud
Above the falsehood of the crowd.
His words are lost, dissolved by fear—
The stench of media fills the air.

So-Called "Love"

Their "love" for nature, land, and race
Is but a mask, a foul disgrace.
Since childhood, filth has warped the soul,
Till madness swallows every whole.

The schizophrenic finds delight
In lies that smother inner light.
A slave cannot sincerely love
While trapped in fraud he's dreaming of.

Down in the mire, deep in the slime,
"Love" is praised all of the time.
Schools and media sing the tune—
To fool the masses all too soon.

Without such sweetness, sugar-coated,
War on Mind stays less promoted.
So they coo and softly plead,
Planting every fatal seed.

Then mindless stumps produce their sons
And urge them on with beating drums:
"Don't be afraid! For Home! For Love!"
March out beneath the flags above.

So idiots have bled for ages,
Driven by propagandist pages.
The media conjure foes at will—
Five minutes... and the hate can kill.

Where love has long since disappeared,
The hateful heart is easily steered.
Wild delusions flood the brain;
The lie becomes a binding chain.

When all is slavery and fear,
Each louse sees enemies appear.
"Leave me alone" no longer lives—
War is the tribute darkness gives.

The ending's simple: horned deceit,
Disguised as care, makes fraud complete.
This broken world, so dull and blind,
Will march into one Camp designed...

Where human lives are spent like dust,
Consumed by lies, betrayal, lust.

---

Variant of the last two stanzas

Where slavery is all that's known,
Each parasite breeds hate alone.
"Just leave me be" has long since died—
War is the tax of poisoned pride.

The horned god, beneath false care,
Leads all by fraud into despair.
This crippled world, deceived and numb,
Marches toward the Camp to come.

Center Yourself in Spirit

The system's insane.
The thinkers remain
With sarcasm alone.
One question is thrown:

Is rotting as sheep
Beneath the Horned One
A fate worth to keep?
His judgment is done.

The robe's stained with lies,
Yet sentence is grim.
The world's foul disguise
Is rotten and dim.

So many fears,
So many lies
Fill Earth's living Hell
Before our eyes.

A plague-ridden pen,
A deathward trail—
The only escape
From horror's veil.

Cataclysm comes.
For slavery,
For fascist rule,
For tyranny,

It sweeps Hell away,
Exposing the lie.
The system was built
On fraud from the start.

One louse is the same
As every "great" lord;
Without any Spirit,
A demon's restored.

So center in Spirit.
Let darkness depart.
To Hell with the jackals—
Protect your own heart.

---

Variants of the last stanza

Center yourself in Spirit.
Let all demons rage.
To hell with Hell's vermin—
Step out of their cage.

or

Stand centered in Spirit.
Let Hell howl in vain.
To hell with its jackals,
Its torment and chain.

The Plague of Madness and Folly

Fools and brainless parasites—
Fascism gathers all its might
To wage its war on those who think.
The mad surround you, never shrink.

No passage through this plague you'll find;
You'll perish with the witless blind.
The muzzle proved the whole charade—
Some starved... while Someone watched the game.

Plague of the Mind

Idiots and fools abound;
Fascism gathers, tightly wound.
Every thinking soul's a foe—
Madness leaves no room to grow.

Soon you'll fall among the cursed,
Victim of the plague's dark thirst.
Masks revealed what few could see:
Someone starved... deliberately.

Отчаянье поэта

Одинокий глас поэта
Пропадает в тишине.
Вроде силы больше нету
Шевелиться в сём Говне,

Но чрез паузу вернётся
Ритм и рифмы поведёт.
Он в Дерьмище не согнётся —
Смысл в ОТЧАЯНЬИ найдёт.

Без отчаянья не Лира —
Просто кляча с грудой слов.
С ним словами как секирой
Рубит головы ослов.

В виртуале? В тонком плане! —
Лира родом из него.
Посреди фашисткой срани,
Где МАРАЗМА торжество,

Одинокий глас поэта
Слышим только в Вышине —
Как отпор засилью Бреда
В подлой с Разумом войне.

Показал психоз говнида,
Что война вовсю идёт.
Не молчащему не стыдно,
Остальные — ушлый сброд:

Ищут "счастье" средь Сортира
Мирового. СМРАДов вонь
Режет глаз. И только Лира
Возвышает Глас. Уволь

В соглашательстве прикончить
Честь и совесть, ум и Дух,
Оказавшись в стае гончих —
Борзописцев, ТВАРЕЙ слуг.

Одинокий глас поэта
Исчезает в тишине:
Рядом Смерть; спасенье это —
В Вышине, а не на ДНЕ.

Чинуши и гражданины — "сладкие" парочки

Служивый люд —
В мыслишках блуд:
Придуркам врут
И в мозг ебут.

Елитка

"Светский" календарь.
Под личиной тварь.
Словоблуд как царь —
Дальше ложью жарь.

Аусвайс в райские кущи

Как в райские кущи фашистский режим
Заслон из бумажек опять создаёт.
Склоняется дурень, уёбством гнобим,
И вновь по кругам чинуш ада бредёт.

Жизнь

Большая Жопа мира дрыщет
Поносом лжи, а геноцид
С фашизмом — газы. Скребень ищет
В Пердульне счастье, калом сыт.

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Доказуха вновь сломалась —
Чернь на Ложь опять попалась:
Миром правит Утверждалка
Без словесной перепалки —
Лишь спектакли. Чернь не жалко —
Лишь за "счастьем" чешет валко...

Глобальное потепление и барановирус

Намордники! надели —
Что газы, в самом деле,
Не могут обуздать?!
Тварьё, не надо врать:
Сильнее Солнце светит —
Так Ра все шельмы метит,
И каждая ответит
За всё. За то, что в клети
Содержит весь мирок,
Падёт Рогатый Бог.
Лет семьдесят светимость
Растёт. Мирка голимость
Показана говнидом —
Лишь лгать умеют гниды,
Рогатого подпёздки.
А ты на перекрёстке:
В Духовный Мир, иль гадом
В Ад Новый. Дальше падать
Уж некуда мирку —
Лишь в Новый. Дураку
Опять трындят про газы,
Террор и лже-заразы,
Чтоб лучше убаюкать,
И — в Лагерь, ухайдокать.

(Клик на картинку умещает её в экран)

Воспоминания и предсказания старого актёра

Играл на сцене роль уёбка,
Дегенератом — режиссёр.
Актёры тупы, словно пробка.
Продюсер — пьяный пошлый вор.

Театр — весь мир. Оплатит пьесу,
Хихикая, голимый чёрт,
Не смысля в пьесе ни бельмеса,
Ведь разум чёрта напрочь стёрт.

Сценарий пишет шизофреник,
Софиты наведёт слепой,
Движенья ставит неврастеник,
А песни сочинил глухой.

Дебилы-зрители в партере,
Ублюдки под покровом лож,
Но каждый в ахинею верит,
Заворожён мельканьем рож.

А тупость текста в исступленье
Введёт любого, кто умён,
Но так как "нормой" разложенье
Ума и Духа, мудозвон

Вполне доволен. Новой пьесой
Усилится маразм "Окей!",
А умным не найдётся места
Средь говорящих овощей.

Ку-клукс-клан... Не негр, а белый,
Цель ТВАРЬЯ, что мир гнобит.
Чрез расизм оно умело
От проблемы отвратит

Мысли белого ушлёпка,
Завезя в Европу массу
Инородцев. Будет трёпка
Белых по ТВАРЬЯ приказу...

Лента Мёбиуса для барана

Кот найдёт дорогу к дому.
А баран идёт к Дурдому:
Север, запад, юг, восток
Направлением — итог
Одинаков. Мир — Дурдом.
Ныне делают скотом...

Pass to Paradise

To paradise groves the fascist command
Builds paper barricades, higher each day.
The fool bows low at bureaucracy's hand,
Then trudges through hell where officials hold sway.

Passport to Paradise

As though into Eden, the tyrants decree
A fortress of documents, forms, and control.
The fool, crushed by slavish conformity,
Keeps circling hell where the clerks take their toll.

A Pass to Heaven

As if into Heaven, the fascists proclaim,
A wall made of papers blocks every gate.
The fool, bent and broken by cowardly shame,
Must wander through offices, cursed by his fate.

Memories and Prophecies of an Old Actor

I played the fool upon the stage,
The director—a witless clown.
The actors, dumb as blocks of wood;
The producer—a drunk renown.

The theatre? Why, the whole world's stage.
A snickering devil pays the fee,
Who grasps no word upon the page—
His mind erased completely.

The script's composed by one insane,
The lights are aimed by one stone-blind,
A nervous wreck directs each scene,
A deaf man leaves the songs behind.

The audience—morons in their seats,
Base bastards hiding under lies;
Yet every fool believes deceit,
Enchanted by the masked disguise.

The nonsense of the written lines
Would drive a thinking soul berserk;
But since decay of heart and mind
Is hailed as "normal" by the herd,

The pompous fool applauds with pride:
"Fantastic! Encore! What a play!"
While every fresh performance spreads
More madness, day by weary day.

And those who still can think and see
Will find no place, no voice, no way,
Among the talking vegetables
That chatter all their lives away.

Global Warming and the Sheep Virus

Masks on!—so we're all commanded.
Can gases not be reprimanded?
Enough of all your lies and fraud—
The Sun burns brighter. Mark of Ra!

Its blazing light brands every cheat;
No rogue will dodge the final seat.
Each one will answer, every fraud,
When falls the Horned Pretender-God.

For seventy years the Sun's grown bright;
Yet CowID exposed the blight:
The vermin only know deceit,
The Horned One's lackeys—base, elite.

Now at the crossroads stands your soul:
The Spirit's path—or darkness' hole.
Beyond this pit no lower lies,
Save Hell reborn in fresh disguise.

Again they preach of carbon's sin,
Of plagues contrived and fear within;
Of climate doom and phantom scares,
To lull mankind with false affairs.

Then into camps—the final goal—
To chain the body, break the soul;
While sheep obey with downcast eyes,
Still swallowing the selfsame lies.

Proof has failed once more today—
Still the herd believes the play.
Claims alone now rule the land;
No debate, just sleight of hand.

Only spectacles remain;
Pity for the herd is vain.
Slowly shuffling, dull and blind,
"Chasing happiness" they grind.

Evidence has crashed again—
Still the mob applauds the sham.
Assertions rule without a word;
Truth is never seen or heard.

Nothing but a staged display;
None will mourn the mindless prey.
Toward their "happiness" they creep,
Like obedient grazing sheep.

Proof collapsed—but who's to care?
Crowds still swallow falsehood's snare.
Bare assertions wear the crown;
Reason's voice is shouted down.

Only theatre fills the day;
No one minds the mindless clay.
After "happiness" they plod,
Driven like a senseless squad.

The Glitterati

Society's calendar—
A beast beneath the grace.
A babbler wears the crown;
Keep feeding lies apace.

The Elite

The social calendar.
A monster hides its face.
The loudmouth reigns as king—
Now pile on lies with grace.

High Society

The social season gleams;
A beast behind the mask.
The windbag rules supreme—
More lies become the task.

Life

The world's great Arse spews endless streams
Of diarrheas made of lies.
Genocide and fascist schemes
Are sold as "saving" in disguise.

The fool still digs through Filthville's mire,
Content with excrement for bread;
He dreams that dung will lift him higher—
His soul already cold and dead.

Life

The world's huge Arse keeps spraying lies,
Like foul diarrhea without end.
Genocide and fascism rise
As poison sold to every friend.

The scraper seeks in Farting Town
His little bliss, debased and small;
Well fed on filth, he wears the crown
Of one who never sees the fall.

Life

The world's vast Arse lets falsehood pour,
A ceaseless flood of poisoned slime.
Genocide and fascist war
Belch toxic fumes in every clime.

The fool still hunts through Stinker's Hole,
His belly full of dung and pride;
He calls it happiness of soul—
Too blind to see he's dead inside.

Ku Klux Klan

Not the Black man—it's the White
Whom the fiends would break and bind.
Race is wielded, left and right,
To distract the public mind.

While the simple fool looks on,
Crowds are brought from every land;
Then the Whites are marched upon—
Just as masters always planned.

Ku Klux Klan

Not the Black—but White's the prey
Of the beasts that rule by fear.
Race is used to lead astray,
Keeping truth from drawing near.

Europe's flooded, wave on wave;
Thus the plot is brought to life.
White against white, slave on slave—
Ordered conflict, ordered strife.

Ku Klux Klan

Not the Black man bears the chain—
White's the target from the start.
Race becomes the chosen game
To divide the mind and heart.

Europe fills with stranger throngs;
Thus the script is played once more.
White pays dearly for the wrongs
Planned by those who pull the war.

A Möbius Strip for Sheep

A cat will always find its home;
A sheep to Bedlam's bound to roam.
North or south, west or east—
Every road ends at the feast

Of madness. This world's gone insane;
Today they herd mankind like cattle again.

The Sheep's Möbius Strip

A cat knows well the way back home;
A sheep seeks only Bedlam's dome.
North or west, south or east—
Every pathway ends the least

Bit differently: all roads lead
To madhouse gates—and human breed
Is turned to cattle, meek indeed.

Möbius Road

The cat goes home without a guide;
The sheep to Bedlam turns aside.
North or south, west or east—
Every journey ends the least

Changed at all: the world's insane,
Making cattle out of men.

A Poet's Despair

The poet's lonely, pleading voice
Falls silent in the endless night.
It seems no strength remains to rise
Above this sea of filth and blight.

Yet after silence comes the beat;
The rhyme returns to lead once more.
He will not kneel in heaps of waste—
Despair reveals what words are for.

Without despair there is no lyre,
Just worn-out verse and hollow sound.
With it, each line becomes an axe
To fell the asses all around.

In realms unseen, beyond our eyes,
The Lyre was born—and there belongs.
Amid fascistic filth below,
Where madness crowns triumphant throngs,

The poet's solitary cry
Is heard by Heaven's heights alone,
Defying all the reign of lies
In Reason's war against the drone.

CowID unmasked the mass psychosis:
The battle rages, fierce and plain.
The one who speaks need feel no shame—
The silent serve the liar's reign.

They seek "their bliss" in Earth's great sewer,
Where media's stench inflames the air.
The Lyre alone uplifts the Voice,
Refusing falsehood and despair.

Do not betray your heart and soul,
Your honor, conscience, mind, and flame,
To join the hounds who chase their prey—
The hack-for-hire, devoid of shame.

The poet's lonely, steadfast voice
Fades softly into silence then.
For Death stands near—but rescue waits
Above the depths, not down with men.

Bureaucrats and Citizens — A "Perfect Match"

Officials scheme,
Their thoughts unclean.
They fool the fools
And warp their dreams.

Bureaucrats and Citizens — A Sweet Pair

The civil crowd
Corrupts the mind.
They lie to fools
And keep them blind.

The Perfect Couple

The bureaucrats
Are twisted through.
They feed fools lies
And rot them too.

Bureaucrats and Citizens — A "Sweet Pair"

The servants lie,
With crooked minds.
They fool the fools,
And twist their minds.

Питание чертей

Люди? На блюде
Мясо и студень —
Пища Паскуде:
Ад, словоблуден.

Гурт скота, коль простота,
Выживанья маета,
Противленья — ни черта,
С искрой бога — один к ста.

Череда ублюдков

Ленин — членин,
Сталин — барин,
Хрущ — без кущ,
Лёня — в Вони,
Мишка — чушка,
Боря — горе,
Пыня — стынет
Кровь: не сгинет!..

Гадость — в радость.
Чушь — для душ
оскоплённых,
иль для Туш?..

Безлюдье

Гитлер, Путлер и Пол Пот
Без народца: он — живот.

Шкура-дура губит мозг,
Оттого мирок вразнос.

Триединство

Идиоты словно шпроты,
Ну а банкой — целый мир.
С конуры бегом! — работы,
Бойни и бесплатный сыр.

Дурень Щастье всюду ищет,
А находит лишь тычки.
Строй фашистский ложью дрыщет:
Верят — в строе дурачки.

Ходячие гупии

Гупёшка —
В лепёшку,
Коль Памяти нет:
Господствует Бред,
От Духа — лишь след.
Пресс ТВАРЕЙ — в ответ.

Могила мира

Мертвяк средь врак
И Зла атак —
Земной Бардак.
Так, только так:
В себя уйди!
Не по пути
Тебе. В Могилу
С мертвяк-дебилом —
Фашизма силой?!

Говно-вопрос:
Из слов понос
И страхов газы
Отринь — всё сразу.

Повозка дегенератов

Чушка — дужка,
Дурень — шкворень.
Мразь — и связь оборвалась:
С явью связь. Маршрут на казнь.

Щастье частью оглупленья.
Ищут _щас_тье поколенья,
Только Мерзости находят —
ТВАРИ в Ад дурьё низводят.

Кот наелся.
Я оделся.
Только некуда идти —
С Дурью мне не по пути:
Противленье Чуши чти,
Пусть добила Ложь — почти...

Стынет кровь: бараны вновь
Верят в Чушь — погибель Душ.

Desolation

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot too—
Nothing without their human zoo.

No People

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot's lot:
Without the crowd—they're just a gut.

Empty Land

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot's breed—
Without the herd they're guts indeed.

No Humanity

Hitler, Putler, Pol Pot's show:
Without the mob—they're beasts below.

Filth is bliss.
Trash—for souls
gelded clean,
or walking meat?

Rot delights.
Nonsense feeds
souls unmanned,
or lifeless meats?

Filth is fun.
Rubbish suits
castrate souls—
or human brutes?

Vile is sweet.
Twaddle's fare
for gelded souls—
or empty flesh?

A crappy quest:
Word-diarrhea,
Fear's foul gas—
Dump it. Free at last.

A shit-stained test:
Verbal runs,
Fearful fumes—
Leave them all at once.

Bullshit's best?
Verbal bile,
Fear's foul wind—
Cast them out. Be free.

Shit? Who cares.
Words that spew,
Fear that stinks—
Throw it all from you.

Crappy stuff:
Verbal runs,
Fear's foul fumes—
Dump them. All at once.

Shit, no more!
Verbal runs,
Fear's foul gas—
Dump it. All at once.

A herd of kine, so dull, so tame,
Bare survival is their game.
Not one spark to stand and fight—
One in hundred bears God's light.

Herds of cattle, meek and blind,
Struggling just to stay alive.
Not a shred of will to stand—
One God-spark in every hundred.

Cattle crowds, where simple minds
Live by toil their fate assigns.
None resist the yoke they got—
God's own spark? One soul in lot.

Just a herd—no higher aim,
Life's a struggle, all the same.
None will rise or dare depart—
One in hundred keeps God's spark.

Herds of cattle, dull and blind,
Living just from day to day.
None resist the chains they find—
One in hundred lights God's way.

The fool seeks joy in every place,
Yet finds a slap in every chase.
Fascist rule spews lies galore—
Only fools believe its lore.

Fools hunt happiness all day,
Finding only blows their way.
Fascist systems vomit lies—
Fools believe the grand disguise.

Simple fools seek bliss in vain;
All they earn is scorn and pain.
Fascist orders puke out lies—
Only fools believe the cries.

Every fool seeks fortune's kiss,
Finding only fists, not bliss.
Fascist regimes breed deceit—
Fools embrace the fraud complete.

Trinity

Idiots packed like sardines,
This whole world their rusted tin.
Out the kennel—toil begins:
Slaughterhouses, free cheese, grins.

Trinity

Fools like sprats in crowded rows,
This world's just the can that shows.
From the kennel—off to grind:
Slaughter, bait to snare the blind.

Trinity

Sprats of fools in one tin crammed,
That's the world—well-sealed and jammed.
From your kennel! Work and bleed,
Free cheese, slaughter—that's your creed.

Trinity

Fools like sardines, side by side;
Earth's the can where they reside.
Run from kennels—work awaits:
Slaughter, freebies, baited fates.

Trinity

Idiots packed like sardines,
Canned inside this world machine.
From the kennel—off to toil:
Free cheese, slaughter, sweat, and spoil.

The cat has fed.
I'm dressed instead.
Nowhere worth the road to tread—
Madness is no path ahead.
Stand 'gainst nonsense. Hold it true.
Lies have nearly broken you...

Cat is full.
Coat is on.
Nowhere left where I belong.
Folly's road is not my way.
Fight the nonsense every day—
Though lies almost won the fray...

Cat has dined.
I am dressed.
Nowhere calls me, east or west.
Madness? Never. Not for me.
Honor truth, let nonsense flee,
Though falsehood won—almost completely...

Cat's well fed.
I am dressed.
Nowhere left to seek or rest.
I won't walk where fools abide.
Stand against their foolish tide—
Though lies have almost won the fight...

The World's Grave

Dead men. Lies.
Evil flies.
Earth's a mess.
Nothing less.
Turn within!
Do not tread
With the dead,
Fools in line,
Marched by Fascism's design.

The World's Grave

Dead among
Lies and wrong,
Earth's a wreck,
Neck by neck.
Turn inside!
Do not roam
With the dead
To their home—
Driven there by Fascism.

The World's Tomb

Dead in lies.
Evil cries.
World askew.
Nothing new.
Seek your soul!
Never fall
With the dead,
Mindless bred,
Forced by Fascism instead.

The World's Grave

Dead with lies.
Evil's rise.
Chaos reigns.
Nothing changes.
Go within!
Not your road.
Don't descend
With the dead,
Driven by the Fascist dread.

The World's Grave

Dead men. Lies.
Evil flies.
Earth's a mess.
Nothing less.
Turn within!
Not your way.
Walk not with
Living dead,
Driven by Fascism instead.

Devils' Diet

Humans? A plate—
Meat served with hate.
Hell's favorite fare:
Word-spewers there.

Food for Fiends

Humans on platters,
Meat, jelly, tatters.
Hell feasts with glee
On glib blasphemy.

Feeding the Devils

People? A dish.
Meat, jellied flesh.
Hell's filthy feed:
Babble and greed.

The Devils' Feast

Humans? Entrée.
Meat on display.
Hell's choicest food:
Lies chewed and chewed.

Devils' Diet

Humans? A plate.
Meat. Jellied fate.
Hell's daily feed:
Word-slime and greed.

The Cart of Degenerates

Hog—the yoke,
Fool—the spoke.
Scum—and snaps
Truth's last straps.
One-way ride:
Death's inside.

The Wagon of Degenerates

Swine—the bow,
Fool—the pin.
Filth—and gone
Truth within.
Off they roll,
Death their goal.

The Cart of Fools

Pig—the brace,
Fool—the wheel.
Rot breaks all
Ties to real.
Final track:
No way back.

The Cart of Degenerates

Swine—the frame.
Fool—the wheel.
Scum cuts loose
Truth that's real.
One-way course:
Death by force.

The Cart of Degenerates

Swine—the shaft.
Fool—the wheel.
Scum severs
Truth made real.
One last track,
No coming back.

Walking Guppies

A guppy—
Goes mushy,
When memory dies.
Nonsense will rise,
The Spirit's faint trace,
Crushed by the Beast's press.

Walking Guppies

Little guppy,
Flattened, sloppy,
Memory gone—
Madness lives on.
Spirit's light fades;
Beasts rule the waves.

Walking Guppies

Tiny guppy,
Turns to pulp,
Memory lost,
Reason is crushed.
Spirit's a ghost,
Beasts rule the host.

Walking Guppies

Guppy fish—
Turned to mush.
Memory's dead,
Nonsense is fed.
Spirit's but thread,
Beasts rule instead.

Walking Guppies

Guppy—
All pulpy,
Memory gone.
Madness lives on.
Spirit's a spark,
Beasts rule the dark.

A Line of Bastards

Lenin—lecher.
Stalin—master.
Khrushchev—bluster.
Leonid—stench.
Misha—swine.
Boris—bane.
Putler—freezes
Blood... yet lingers.

A Parade of Bastards

Lenin—prick.
Stalin—czar.
Khrushchev—fraud.
Leonid—rot.
Misha—hog.
Boris—grief.
Putler chills
Blood beneath.

A Chain of Bastards

Lenin—sham.
Stalin—lord.
Khrushchev—void.
Leonid—stench.
Misha—boar.
Boris—woe.
Putler makes
Cold blood flow.

The Bastards' Line

Lenin—liar.
Stalin—sire.
Khrushchev—dust.
Leonid—rust.
Misha—hog.
Boris—blight.
Putler freezes
Blood outright.

A Line of Bastards

Lenin—leech.
Stalin—tsar.
Khrushchev—fraud.
Leonid—rot.
Misha—swine.
Boris—woe.
Putler chills
Blood... won't go.

A Line of Bastards

Lenin—leech.
Stalin—tsar.
Khrushchev—fraud.
Leonid—rot.
Misha—swine.
Boris—woe.
Putler chills
Blood—still won't go.

Skin rules mind—
The world's gone blind.

When flesh kills thought,
The world's undone.

Flesh over brain—
The world's insane.

Hide fools the mind;
Chaos follows blind.

Flesh rules mind—
The world's gone blind.

Flesh kills mind—
The world's gone blind.

Bliss is part of growing blind.
Generations chase "Now-Bliss",
Finding only filth and slime—
Beasts drag fools to Hell's abyss.

Bliss belongs to clouded minds.
Ages seek the thrill of "now";
Finding only rot they find—
Beasts to Hell make fools all bow.

Bliss is born of dulled-out thought.
Every age seeks instant cheer;
Only foulness can be caught—
Beasts drive fools to Hell from here.

Bliss is folly's dearest prize.
Generations hunt delight;
Only vileness meets their eyes—
Beasts lead fools into the night.

Bliss is born of numbed-out minds.
Generations chase "Now-Bliss";
Only filth is what they find—
Beasts lead fools to Hell's abyss.

Всемирный спорт

Зачёт по дуракам:
Вперёд, Гнилой Бедлам!
А умному дисквал —
Он не туда попал.