Disgrace in Full
Is it not already clear
That life’s a stain, disgrace profound?
Relentless, vile, and always near,
Its filth surrounds us, all around.
Only eyes, by lies betrayed,
Fail to see this shameful plight.
Through disgrace, the world decayed
Turns us into empty night.
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Leave the Race
The start? Then STOP!
Step off the track.
Why chase and claw,
If soul you lack?
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The Webs Unraveled
The webs have spun
Their doubtful friends and hollow play.
Lost is the one
You were, amid their games' array.
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A "Middle" Education
A “middle” education—
A dumbing-down for all.
The last rise to elevation,
Ignoring old fools’ fall.
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Satan and His Flock
Frightened fools: beware! —
With each “new” year they rot,
Duller minds, greed laid bare,
Bowing to the Goat of Blot.
Culture’s death, despair—
And hence, our cursed lot.
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The shackles of gadgets
A gadget weaves, like nylon thread,
At home to rot, its purpose dead,
Forgetting joys of face-to-face,
And leaving hearts in empty space.
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Not love, but bubbling blood
Bill and Merry—love’s not here:
Just young blood, so bright, so clear,
It bubbles up and quickly steals,
Distracting mind, breaking wheels.
From the pressing question’s course:
How words, like curses, bring remorse,
And lead the crowd down into Night—
To serve the Darkness, hide from Light.
Through Love, the World is known to see—
A way to lift it from the spree
Of filth and fear, and bring it bright,
Destroying folly, bringing Light.
Folly and fear—programmed mind,
Not politicians, but the ones behind—
The lackeys of the Devil's plan,
Sons of a foolish, broken land.
They feed us lies, they feed us strife,
Destroying us, they end our life.
The world’s decay—its final bell.
Meet it clean, with Spirit well...
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So many idiots...
There are many fools, of every kind.
And few wiseacre, with honest mind.
And like a job betrayal has become —
To be a fool and sell your soul at price of gum.
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The Overton Windows
Closing the door, the Horned God
Opens the window wide,
In genocide, he's firm and odd—
And Overton’s gap will guide.
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Religious Urges
For "transcendent beauty" strive,
Prepare your mind, and soul align...
Ugh! Once more, the crosses thrive,
Priests like carcasses, they pine.
And fools, the flock—so blind, so lost,
Buying "eternity" for mere obedience.
It's false faiths—don’t you dare cross,
Or face a blow for your "impudence"...
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Don’t Believe in Spiritual Nonsense!
Does the Wheel of Samsara teach?
It kills the Spirit, don’t you know!
Trust the Soul, it’s far more rich—
And you’ll see where Hell's depths go.
Hell’s experience—decay,
From teachings, only empty sound.
With each new age, the Spirit fades,
Its strength diminished, nearly drowned.
Now it's here: "No second year,"
Don’t wait—Cataclysm’s near.
It’ll sweep away the slaves and fools,
Who worship schools of the lowly tier.
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The Trap of Pseudo-Linear Time
Tick and tock: if you're a fool,
You've fallen into the trap,
Time's not linear, it's a map
Of chaos hiding in the rule.
Listen to your heart alone,
It’s the only guide to see,
Smash the lies with clarity,
Break the chains of "linearity".
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Samizdat
He breaks on immortality,
The poet dives to Hell anew.
Why strive for truth or clarity
When few the soulful lines pursue?
If verses blaze with raw intensity,
Or prose escapes the common sphere,
They rarely pierce the world's insensitivity,
A realm of greed and shallow cheer.
No "literary" grand progression,
Just darkness, silenced by a press—
The SMRAD* churns out its procession
Of noise, deceit, and vile excess.
They amplify the base, the sordid,
And bury sparks of daring thought.
No space for Brightness—Truth’s aborted,
While filth and flattery are sought.
The masses, dull, demand their poison:
"Samizdat? Why, such dreams are fraught!"
And yet, within its fragile cloister,
How much has vanished, left to rot.
For ages now, the game’s been halted,
The world put firmly on mute gears:
Not Stenka here, but bloated, faulted
Gargantua commands their cheers.
Notes:
SMRAD—Resources of Mass Advertising, Agitation, and Disinformation.
Stenka—Stenka (Stepan) Razin, a Russian historical figure.
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The Right Questions
"Any question can be answered, if it's asked the right way."
—Plato
Few dare to ask the questions true,
Amid the lies that flood the view.
With twisted tales, they boldly boast,
And leave the mind a hollow ghost.
They kill all reason, slyly shove
An answer first, then claim it’s love.
Yet what they feed is poison, dread,
A world insane, where truth is dead.
Madness grows — a circus grim,
Each generation dull and dim.
Their dream: to turn the world to swine,
A genocide by dark design.
In shadows deep, they plot, they scheme,
CowID stands as their wicked dream.
Yet some, who think and ask their own,
Stand tall where light of truth has shone.
But beasts still rule with iron hand,
Spreading fear across the land.
Decay, submission — reason dies.
Fascism reigns, beneath dark skies.
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Horror
Hark! Nonsense gathers in a swarm,
More fearsome than a wolf’s dark charm.
It births the dull, a mindless breed,
On ruins of their souls, indeed.
A total plunge to ignorance,
Where heresy gains dominance.
A fascist world, infernal, bleak,
Turns every fool into the weak.
The steps of devolution lead
This world into Hell's depths with speed.
Resolutions come on time,
And tyranny still rules the Down "climb".
The puppet master—screens prevail,
Dictating lies that never fail.
Hell unleashed, a Beast in reign,
Guides nonsense with a ruthless chain.
Fear and nonsense walk as one,
Heresy fears its work undone.
The world, in truth, becomes a cell,
Grinding hope to dust in Hell.
All resistance swept away,
A Digital Camp takes its sway.
Decay so vast needs no patrol,
When rot consumes the human soul.
A warden’s watch is obsolete,
The Camp now stretches street to street.
This world’s become a feeble by head,
With homes as cages yet unsaid.
The lessons learned from Pol Pot’s hand—
They'll drag the fools from flats—they’ve planned.
But for now, these finite minds,
Chase their pleasures—time confined...
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The Final Drop
When you're so close, the end's in sight,
Yet pain turns steps to endless night—
Then push yourself, give all you've got,
And squeeze out every final drop.
In battles fierce, where odds betray,
Persistence paves the victor’s way.
When nothing’s left, no strength remains,
It’s that last drop that breaks the chains.
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The Chainsaw
The chainsaw of family life — the wife,
Her fuel? The mother-in-law, in strife.
And on nonsense, blood will spill anew —
A fool loves stereotypes that he knew.
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The Yo-Yo Generation
A million wants, a thousand dreams,
But never trials, so it seems.
They crave it all without the fight—
The yo-yo jumps, a fleeting flight.
A world of toys, so sweet, so plain,
Where simple minds bring little pain.
And who’s the hand that pulls the string?
They hardly care about the thing.
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Expanding Perception
The prison of sight—
A cursed, narrow blight.
A world confined,
Where thought is blind;
The soul stands lone,
No god to own.
But God is Light,
A boundless height—
Break free, take flight!
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False Identity
A fiction, yet the tone is right,
The look’s refined, the words polite.
Erudite, a "brilliant" guise,
But truth-seeking? That part dies.
Unlike the rats, who sometimes dare
To leave the maze for paths unclear,
Human search is all but lost—
A lie-filled maze exacts the cost.
The search for light, the soul’s true trait,
Is what defends from fear and hate.
It bows to truth, not power’s sway—
But in the few, this truth will stay.
The labyrinth of soulless minds
Has brought the world to dark confines.
Your fate is sealed, if you comply,
A docile pawn, afraid to try.
True self resists, it won’t obey;
The search is work that won’t betray.
All else is falsehood, built to snare—
And cunning beasts just keep you there.
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