Introspection
"If you’re bored alone with yourself, it means you’re in bad company."
— Jean-Paul Sartre
Bad company surrounds you still,
Outside, within—through mind and will.
The mind will fail; it’s always blind.
So seek the Light that dwells inside.
Let introspection be your guide,
Not "science" held in hollow pride.
This science of decay prevails—
And through its lies, the Spirit pales.
The Spirit’s drowned in empty lore,
By Darkness planned, its ceaseless war.
A Phantasmagoria spreads,
In minds and hearts, where reason treads.
But when your soul’s pure yearnings plead,
You crush them with the world’s false creed.
True breakthroughs lie not outwardly—
They wait within; look in, and see.
See Light—or not—it matters less.
The Search itself is Light’s caress.
So seek, create, with courage vast,
And leave the world’s delusions past.
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Deadly Fatigue
I’ll bear my fatigue with pride,
Not as a cross, but as my prize.
Death is near, so close, beside—
Yet I’ll not fall through coward’s lies.
This is the goal: to face the end,
And know fatigue shows I stood true.
The soulless strive to twist and bend
The weak into a mindless crew.
You’ve lost if you believe their lies,
Obey their rule, and kneel in shame.
So fight, though Hell before you lies,
And struggle on through filth and flame.
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"The Free Market"
Is this a market—or a fair,
Where loudest voices pierce the air?
What reigns is Profit, Shame, Decay,
And all that’s pure is swept away.
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The Poet of a Rotten World
A poet of deception,
I’ll muddle up your mind.
This world’s a mere invention,
With fools of every kind.
So grease their ears with honey,
And feed them foolish lies.
We bleat beneath the money,
While seeking food and skies.
Dismiss the sharp and bitter,
Refine the vile decay.
But tread with steps that glitter—
Don’t stir the rot, they say.
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Questions
Ask the vital questions,
Keep them sharp and clear:
Slavery? Oppression?
Thoughts consumed by fear?
Spirit lost, forsaken—
Does the world lack soul?
Satan's throne unshaken?
Filth remains the goal?
Everywhere's delusion,
Media feeds the lies?
Are the scum in power,
Truth beneath disguise?
Idiocy reigning,
Is it now the norm?
Does this world of Creatures
Breed a vicious swarm?
What’s the share of sane ones?
Barely worth a glance?
Is the madness growing,
Pushing all to dance?
Are we mere experiments
In Hell's cruel design?
Rotting in confinement,
While the fools feel fine?
Ask the vital questions,
Seek the truth within—
Not in this polluted
World of lies where madness grins.
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The media and Rabble
A fool injects his heroin,
An idiot downs his vodka shot.
The Media Lords will always win—
The rabble thrives on lies they’ve got.
Not a people, just a crowd—
A pit of fools in every guise.
The rare wise soul, though sharp and proud,
Sees no hope where reason dies.
Ideas that could bring salvation
Find no soil where truth decays.
To the New Camp’s degradation,
March they must through harsh dismays.
Kicks and blows are “care,” they say,
And the rabble will believe.
So the fools have found their way:
Drink and choke, lest words deceive.
Now the mouth is just for chewing,
Words have lost their weight and worth.
Empty heads, with lies undoing,
Wear a hat and roam the earth.
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The Modern Cop as the Image of the Future...
Let’s sing the madness to its end —
We’ll rot away, as fate intends.
And beasts shall rise to take our place:
Today’s cops are their truest face.
Madness reigns, it’s off the charts,
Idiots thrive in every part.
The "people," dumb and blind, still cheer
The fiends they’ve trusted year by year.
Fascism triumphs — don’t delay,
Build the New Camp without dismay!
The loaf will feed the fiends once more,
While fools get scraps, like times before.
I, too, shall sing the End of Days;
Its shadow looms in choking haze.
Yet fools still chase their fleeting dreams —
A sinking world in dire streams.
Below, where scum find their delight,
Beneath the Evil’s shrouding night,
Decay unfolds in silence deep —
While greed consumes, and souls still sleep.
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Decay in Hell
Alive, yet I burn!
No, I rot in turn.
Hell of foul decay,
Where the vile hold sway.
Most are hollow swine,
Beasts in dark design,
Feeding on their lies,
Blindness in their eyes.
Brains as hard as stone,
Media thrown like bones.
Deception rules the land—
The sheep believe, unplanned.
Hope is fading fast,
Madness holds us fast.
Rot and madness blend—
We are doomed, my friend.
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Genocide
A fluffy cat, a witty sprite—
Life gleams within its eyes so bright.
A beaten pleb, a soulless gaze—
Living corpses haunt these days.
The rare exceptions stand alone,
Through countless generations sown.
Their kind grows fewer, wanes away:
Genocide keeps pride at bay.
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The River of Oblivion
"All flows, all changes, and no one steps twice into the same river, for the river is not the same, nor are they the same."
—Heraclitus
The River of Oblivion flows,
Once you step in, it never slows.
Say to the Almighty, "Forgive—
A pawn in Hell’s grim play I lived."
The Abyss roars; where is the Divine?
Far beyond Hell’s cursed confine.
You worshipped beauty, bowed to lies,
A willing serpent in disguise.
Into the River’s depths you wade,
Among the blind, by fear betrayed.
It’s only natural you’ll drown—
The future belongs to those renown.
Few walk the thread, the path so thin,
That leads beyond Hell’s deadly spin.
Follow the Ray—don’t drift, don’t sleep,
The wise must climb, not sink too deep.
That single ray to God ascends;
Seek its light within your soul, my friend.
Through piles of lies and stench, press on—
Your inner spark can’t be undone.
True peace and beauty lie afar,
In Hell, all’s twisted, false, bizarre.
“Salvation” nailed upon the cross,
And “rest” awaits the edge’s loss.
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Cry or Scream
Cry if you must, or scream aloud,
But nothing shifts this heavy cloud.
Your final fight, a war of words—
Will you disrupt the beasts’ accords?
No room for dreams—your soul, take heed,
These words are for its final need.
So hurry, act, while thought is clear,
Before the madness draws too near.
The skull’s at risk—a fragile dome,
As madness spreads and claims its home.
With every day, it grows, it burns—
The fool must face the Fire's stern.
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The True Fool
The fool’s no rarity to see—
A “citizen” of mediocrity.
How sickening this mindless horde,
If you're no slave, no cretin bored!
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Beasts and Wolves
True courage thrives in unity,
The lone wolf roams in mutiny.
Fears whirl like storms, they twist, they bind—
Bold strikes alone bring little kind.
No use in bravery’s bold attack,
When little’s gained, no foe held back.
Each generation counts its dead,
Not in vain, yet duty fled.
That duty stains in crimson streams—
A wolf’s sharp teeth tear through the seams.
But wolves, by nature, move in packs;
Amid the swarms of human acts,
Where beasts see prey, the weak, the blind,
As devil's feast—a trap designed.
The lone wolf stands, his fate set stark,
For courage fades without the spark.
And though his death may earn him fame,
It leaves no mark, achieves no aim.
For few destroy illusions well—
The sturdy lies they fail to quell.
Fear and folly, dangers near,
The living’s bane—both sharp and clear.
Join the pack; let purpose soar,
Lest life slip by, a fleeting roar.
Life is short, too short to waste,
If you’re no coward, show your taste.
Drink deep from beasts, destroy their spell,
And drag them down into their Hell!
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Regression
The ape-man’s back, he claims the throne,
And bends mankind beneath his stone.
The "Renaissance" was brief, it seems—
Now fascist rule fulfills dark dreams.
Genocide is everywhere,
CowID and war laid truth laid bare.
To the top rise vile and crude,
Where shame and reason are subdued.
They feast amid the plague’s decay,
The final feast before dismay.
The scholar spins his clever lies:
“This is progress,” he implies.
But tread not on their “progressed” path,
Lest filth cling tightly in its wrath.
This world, debased beyond repair,
Has madness dancing everywhere.
The ape-man’s back, his work is grim,
And soon he’ll finish all for him.
All delicate, all light has fled—
Rotting Darkness reigns instead.
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Censorship and the Rest
The "moderator", sly instigator,
And the snitch—a Darkness' crest.
Their filth, like tractors, crushes later
Unformed minds at their behest.
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In a Giant Mousetrap
Dark and dreary,
Cold and weary,
No cheese to make the trap worthwhile.
Mice don’t grumble,
Sit and mumble,
Clinging to their hope with guile.
One might say they’re dim, or daft—
Lost in dreams that time has laughed.
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The Barnyard
Deception reigns as law,
Yet sheep believe once more.
Through gates that gleam anew,
The shepherd’s task is few.
Each year, it’s less a chore,
With waste reduced to lore.
They’ll praise it all as “progress” bright—
As masters press with greater might.
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Zombie Progress
Clogged-up veins of undead hosts—
Too much poison, far and near.
Now the Dark must build new ghosts,
Mechanized—the "progress" here.
Lies, like venom, pave the way,
Plastic paths their strength will feed.
And their Horde, in grim array,
Shall consume the world with greed.
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Destruction of Hell’s "Paradise" Within the Mind
Direct your thoughts, let them collide,
Strike the target: Hell's "paradise".
Enough of lies, they’ve taken toll,
And nearly claimed your very soul.
To save your soul, waste not the day—
Dismantle everything, make way.
Brick by brick, tear falsehoods down,
Expose the evil, face the frown.
But if you leave not "values" behind
Within those ruins of your mind,
You’ll cast yourself to yet another
Hellish circle, careless brother.
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The City’s Madmen
The city’s madmen walk the line—
Creators bold, or just the crowd?
Seekers of light, or bound to twine
The yoke of fate that speaks so loud?
For slaves of thought, the answer's plain:
"Not one of us? A fool, a foe!
Let’s tear them down, bring them to pain!"
The Creator trudges, heart sunk low.
No fans, no wealth, no friends await,
Just Truth and Light his only creed.
Though frail beneath the crush of fate,
He cast off fear and scornful greed.
For mobs are cruel, devoid of soul,
Vengeful, dull, and blind to grace.
He shuns the filth, remains whole,
With a clear and steady face.
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