Erasing the Spirit in False Premises of Pseudoscience

"Whoever wishes to ascend to the knowledge of anything must first believe in that without which such ascent is impossible."
– Nicholas of Cusa, 15th century


Foundations built on lies,
Or nonsense most absurd,
Turn minds to hollow skies—
Salvation needs the Word.

To grasp the truth’s embrace,
The Spirit must come first.
Material paths debase,
And lead to Hell’s dark thirst.

Among pseudoscience's brood,
False servants ply their trade.
Their premises, so crude,
Are shadows poorly made.

Their fruits—delusions deep—
Envelop all in night.
In slumbered death, they reap
The Soul’s eternal light.

Beneath their poisoned lore,
Dark schemes and foul disguise,
False theories wage their war,
And dim the Spirit’s rise.

Yet Spirit forms life’s core,
A truth they’ve torn away.
Through theories they implore
The world to fall astray.

When minds are led alone
By intellect’s vain hand,
The toxic seeds are sown,
And lies infest the land.

Their fumes of rot infect,
Corruption thick as pitch,
As cunning schemes collect
The Soul into their niche.

But cast off lies with might!
Let Spirit be your guide.
Through clarity of sight,
The choking haze will slide.

And then, you’ll find the key—
A premise pure and strong—
To grow the strength you need
To tread the Path along.

Reject pseudoscience, friend,
Its hollow truths abort.
To Light your flight ascend;
From darkness, cut your course.



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In the mousetrap of the apartment

The mouse trap’s bait is barely there,
The fear has gripped the frosty air.
The water's gone, the Pests conspire —
Genocide: Evil’s back on fire.



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The gorged cat

A little mouse hid in the nook,
Stocking snacks with care it took.
But the cat won’t wait to feast—
Fools find joy in such a beast.



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The Caboose of Lies

The Train of Lies won’t climb the hill;
Its engine's strained, its wheels stand still.
The caboose, with dreams of joy foretold,
Proclaimed the weight was oversold.

"Let off some steam, unload the freight;
This burden makes the climb too great!"
The press insists, "It’s just a glitch,"
Yet churns out garbage, pitch by pitch.



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The Devil, His Lackeys, and Puppets

Puppets we are—our kin and forebears,
Strings in the Devil's hands laid bare.
They strike with lies, fool minds so deftly,
To wars they march and labor hefty.

A toil so futile, yet without cease,
It strengthens Evil’s threads of grief.
The Beast’s vile flock, secure in shadow,
Thrive under Hoof of Goat so callow.

The Goat, his lackeys—half-men, base—
A wretched mob of hollow disgrace.
They dream of gold, of miracles fleeting,
But soon they’ll face their final meeting.

CowID has shown; the wars, unbroken,
Confirm the truth these signs have spoken.
But puppets, worthless in their role,
Deserve their fate—mere empty souls.



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No Unity...

A cat and mouse,
Peace in the house—
They’ve made amends!
No lies, no doubts?
Easier for them to play nice,
Than for folks in Darkness to unite,
To drive the devils to their Hell—
The human stench has cast its spell.
Their wits dulled, their strength undone—
A world of fools, where most are numb.



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"Pithecatropes," the Deformed

Grotesque "pithecatropes" arise,
A plague beneath the darkened skies.
Brutes in power, fools obey—
To toil and war, they're led astray.



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Collective madness

Greed, the herd, and madness reign,
A collective, toxic chain.
Lies spread thick, like poison gas—
Truth has nearly breathed its last.



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Literary Scholars, Teachers, and the Rest...

"No classic writer would ever pass an exam on their own works."
— Bolesław Paszkowski


They dig and discover,
"Meanings," depths untold,
Though two layers hover—
Still, they call it gold.

Digging with precision,
Finding what’s not there,
Claiming "deep revision"
As the author stares.

Hidden gems? No bother—
Give a task, they’ll plow.
"Meanings," stuffed and smothered,
Fit a tale somehow.

Even tiny stories
Make them stop and think.
Authors, lost in worries,
Cry: “They need a shrink!”

In the schools, they “heal” them—
Essays fill the air,
Like a drunk revealing
Chaos everywhere.

Writers pen their pages,
Meanings left to stray.
Simple work for ages,
Plowed fields all the way.



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Experiment

The sun is shining bright today,
The world’s alive, in full display.
Yet in my heart, a bitter note—
For I’m an idiot.

An idiot—thus Nature’s rules
Are mocked by men and flocks of fools.
And so, in shadows, troubles rise—
Our world is bound by lies.

We are many, countless hordes,
Idiots who praise false lords.
For Satan’s throne, we strive and scheme,
Chasing wealth—the "golden dream."

Books we read with hollow pride,
Yet wisdom’s missing deep inside.
Nothing there to feed the soul—
All is fake and bought for gold.

"Plagues" invented, wars ignite,
Dragging us into the fight.
Useless now, we’ve lost the thread—
Fit for nothing but the dead.

The sun is shining brighter still,
Each day it burns with sharpened will.
Soon it turns to scorching fire—
We’ll perish in its pyre.

Yet Earth will cool, and once again
A fool will rise, a beast in men.
He’ll trample Nature’s sacred ground,
A mindless herd, the cycle bound.

It’s all devolving, evil’s game—
An experiment in shame.
"Obey the law!" the tyrants shout,
Or they’ll snuff your spirit out.



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The "Development" of Mind

When "mind development" runs wild,
The odds are high—it’s soon defiled.
It slides to idiocy fast—
And thus, decadence grips us vast.

The CowID years made clear to see:
Most people dwell in idiocy.
"Development" skewed, the selfish breed—
A parasite born of boundless greed.

Professors, doctors, cops, MPs,
Officials crawling on their knees—
Revealed as frauds, a shameless lot,
While crowds just spin and toil for naught.

The Heart supreme, the mind a tool—
Only then the order’s cool.
You’ll stand, not bow to creatures vile,
Nor sink into the world’s defile.

Defile—no less, no more, just that.
CowID has shown where reason’s at.
But under Spirit, mind grows fine—
It won’t betray with falls so blind.



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"Money rules the world!" they say—
Meaning you’ll be led astray,
Serving Evil every time,
Just a pawn in petty crime.

Rise above? You’d stand no chance—
Evil's grip will end your plans.
It’s a master, cruel and sly,
Stealing dreams as years go by.



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The Knave Rejects the Truth

The knave resents the light of truth,
For life’s a loss, a game uncouth.
Without a king to end the fight,
He’ll face his fate in silent fright.



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The Ostrich World

The world’s in flames, the end is near,
Yet thoughts of doom are brushed aside with cheer.
This ostrich world won’t face the fight—
It only bows to evil’s might.



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The Search

I'm drunk, a lantern by my side,
I search for keys I lost in night.
From darkness comes a friend’s loud cry—
He’s fallen in a ditch, oh my.

This is the search for Light in dark,
While lanterns lead us on to Hell.
For on the cross, no truth will spark—
The knave will use lies as his spell.

The lantern’s power holds so tight,
When Sun is gone, it rules the night.
Under its glow, seek out the truth—
Why must the filth in ditches lie?

Does this road lead to Hell’s cruel door?
Who set the lanterns everywhere?
One stands apart, awaits the dawn—
The Morning Star, his soul laid bare.



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Sovereign Leprosarium

A sovereign leprosarium stands,
Where mismatched thoughts like water span.
Leprosy has struck his mind—
Now chaos reigns, he’s lost and blind.



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The Kruger Clan

Simen Krüger, Freddy Krueger—
Who's the scarier of the two?
One’s the last-lap ruthless ruler,
One’s the nightmare haunting you.

Freddy creeps through screens at midnight,
Yet Simen’s fearsome in his way:
The hell of skis is no less frightful,
Breaking mortals day by day.

Once, I ran the race for glory,
Memories shake me to the core.
The price I paid? A pound of vigor—
Take it slow, don’t chase the score.

Spare your scorn for all the athletes;
Oddballs walk among their kind.
As Freddy fades, here comes young Simen—
Tough and fearless, sharp of mind.



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Pseudo-Life in a Stall

"People imagine they’re in society when they gather in cities or other enclosed spaces. As if crowding together, huddling like sheep in a pen, could mean living in society."
— Pyotr Chaadayev


Are you in society, or just in a pen?
A question that haunts the hearts of men.
To rot in the stall, as we often do,
When words mean nothing, yet still seem true.

We cherish the babble, dismiss the calm,
Forgetting the soul finds peace in its psalm.
To live in silence, with courage rare,
Is a path for the few who dare not despair.

To shun the madness of aimless crowds,
To stand unbowed when darkness shrouds—
Retreat within, if you cannot flee,
For cities breed lies and debauchery.

Find solace in creation, your sacred light,
Write poems, or shape new worlds in flight.
Say "no" to the falsehoods this life conceals,
And brand its pretense with truth that heals.




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The Poet and the Endless War with Reason

A veteran of boundless strife,
Where Souls and Reasons clash with "life",
You, O poet, earn your name,
If truths you tell burn like a flame.

While savage “nations” trust in lies,
And strike their kin beneath dark skies,
You forge ahead through trials vast,
Toward the Light, despite the blast.

May Fortune bless your noble fight,
Through evil’s dark and endless night.
The brave and truthful will not yield,
Nor join the fools on their foul field.

A poet’s soul cannot betray—
Better to blaze, then fade away,
Than bow before the madness spun,
By Beasts who thrive when Evil is done.



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The incapacitated

This wretched world is filled with throngs,
A madhouse draped in broken songs.
Its stench of lies conceals the rot,
And still, the fool believes his lot.

In "freedom's reign," in "choice," in dreams,
In countless empty, hollow schemes.
One question burns: Do you see through,
Or march with herds, unwise, untrue?

To see the root is but to heed
The Spirit's call in Hell's cruel breed.
It burns away deceitful screens
From devils' plots and silvered scenes.

Your mind will grow, your heart will rise,
When Spirit guides and clears your skies—
A sacred path, though crowds would claim
Its worth is but a pious shame.

Only the mad would trust their tale,
The Light within shall never fail.
Though Evil snarls in vicious glee,
It cannot steal Eternity.



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