A Fool's Saint
There’s saints for all —
For fishers too!
But fools stand tall,
Their plight askew.
Their numbers reign,
No saint in sight!
Yet once again,
They’ll set it right,
By crafting lore,
More books to preach,
Of spirits poor,
To scourge and teach.
Through heresies,
The mind they rend,
With cruel decrees
The fools they bend.
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Ode to Despair
Bread, deceit, and endless shows—
Despair is trapped where no way goes.
A dead-end cycle, dark and grim,
If you don't follow Evil’s whim.
Without Despair, there's savage scorn,
A madness preached and blindly sworn.
To such delusion, sheep will bow,
Their souls to falsehood's yoke endow.
Loneliness, Despair—Creator's plight,
A path where longing dreams of light.
Yet Light shall shatter the endless snare,
And leave no trace of the lingering despair.
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To scrape by your entire life?!
Don’t scrape by—defy the fate!
Withdraw decisively, concentrate:
Break free from the asylum’s gloom,
Where they reduce you to a brute.
Futile toil, harsh and grim:
As fools are flogged on someone’s whim—
A bitter struggle to survive.
A lifetime sentence—worldwide!
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Wild nonsense roams, and countless fools сhase it down
In this mess, the Light reflects —
Swallowed whole by vile profane.
Gaia now, a Planet of Madness,
Truth a road the rare must tread.
For views and likes, the shameless spread
Nauseous trash for all to see,
Pushing Culture toward its death,
And dooming Reason to decree.
Brazen fools, without remorse,
Peddle lies in endless streams;
Evil spins the tons of nonsense,
Fueling all its twisted schemes.
No need to punish, crush, or blame
The honest souls who stand apart;
The filth of shallow, crooked minds
Will rot and tear itself apart.
Beneath the muck, there’s nothing left,
No treasures hidden to unearth.
This nonsense is a real threat
To the consciousness of Earth.
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Sobriety
To drink → to forget →
To wake up... and regret!
From the lifeless cycle
(So many are ensnared!)
There’s a way out – at the threshold.
Through sobriety – to Freedom!
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Oak Cubed
Stupidity cubed. Exponentially —
Baseness, lies, and lawless zeal.
Nonsense and fear grow incrementally,
To insignificance, we seal.
We'll obliterate ourselves with "progress"
In but a fleeting span of time:
It's like a press — relentless, thoughtless,
Draining lifeblood, drop by climb.
We'll extract the square root of existence,
And then repeat the process anew:
From nothingness to sheer persistence —
Were no one, and no one you'll eschew.
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An Old Record of Pseudo-Innovation
"New" is not the better way.
The cunning breed, day after day,
Spins the OLD record, sly and shrill,
Masking rot with "new" goodwill.
Into "novelty," they shove
Vileness, killing truth and love.
The spirit—core of all we learn—
Is placed upon the pyre to burn.
Once, there was a purer time,
Unmasked by deceitful rhyme,
Higher than this "novel lore,"
Where wisdom reigned, now thought's a bore.
And so they press their wretched fare,
Crushing balance, unaware.
Psychic ruin lies ahead—
Full decadence, where reason’s dead.
The mind, beneath the spirit’s reign,
Holds the line 'gainst all profane,
Shielding us from beasts’ embrace,
Strengthening reason’s rightful place.
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Bio-survival Anxiety of Biomass Waste
Tense days for the canned flesh’s plight—
Must endure, must scrape, survive,
Selling souls to darkest fright,
Where lies and fears alone can thrive.
Provocations come with ease,
Like flicked-off rain on careless hand.
In this grim world where virtues cease,
No place for wisdom’s seeds to stand.
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Total Degradation
Degradation: stagnation
Like a dream—madness, frustration,
Lies and fears, a restless haze,
Marking now the final phase.
Or perhaps the point of no returning
Looms ahead, its fire burning—
To Hell’s abyss, a foolish worm,
From this filth, you’ll twist and squirm.
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The First Among Slaves
"The noble mind is worthy of contempt when applied to base purposes."
— Baltasar Gracián, 17th century
A lofty mind for base pursuits?!
Philosophers often spout nonsense!
For vile aims—a mind that's low.
The focus of bitter thoughts will show,
With longing for the Light above,
The Clear Mind rises. A clever psycho,
Compensating for meanness and lies
With a soul in desolation, deprived,
Will be a mound among the low,
In lies and fear, they rot and grow,
Thinking "success" and gold alone
Are measures of intellect, their throne.
Such creatures always abound, you see,
For when you serve the Pure Mind, truly,
You’re unnoticed in the crowd,
For they are MAD SLAVES, bowed.
To stand "high" among the madmen, though,
One must be persistent and loud,
Stepping on heads without a care,
Indifferent to the Spirit’s flare.
Only the Spirit is the peak.
By serving it, the soul will seek
To soar in Truth's transcendent flight—
Far from the world of foolish blight,
A truth known only to the few.
Indeed, the Mind here’s but a view—
If you take things statistically
And approach all critically.
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Parting
Farewell, unwashed Russia, I depart,
Not long in Hell I played my part.
The uniforms once blue, now dark,
"The people" come, and leave their mark:
Rashism, a parody of Hitler’s play,
Their feeble efforts lead the world astray.
A twisted double in "Putler’s" guise,
A fool’s idol for today's blind eyes.
The fools of old, the Soviets' time,
Now pale in comparison, a joke, a crime.
For now, the masses, heartless and cold,
Are fit for war, their hearts bought and sold.
I’ll hide behind the Wall of Death,
And march through Hell with every breath.
Do we live on Earth? Don’t be deceived,
In Hell we rot—Lies and Evil, we grieve.
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In the Filth of This Hell
What remains? Just weary sorrow.
Bear the Filth a little longer,
Feel no pity, just be stronger—
Leave for Light, forget the hollow.
Maybe Light is nowhere near—
Try to find it, don’t give in.
Would you waste your soul within
Newborn Hell of beasts austere?!
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Tolerasty
First comes Tolerance—then Frailty,
Selfish, mindless, lost in daily.
Greed and blindness, trust forsaken,
Fear and falsehood rule the shaken.
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YouTube’s Algorithms
Brutal, clumsy—cold and hollow,
Yet enough to block and swallow
Truth, while pushing junk and chatter
To the top—as if it mattered.
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Ego
A poisoned thorn inside you lies,
It digs in deep, unseen.
It clouds your mind with hollow cries,
Till Spirit grows too weak.
Just look—whole nations, blind and lost,
Still march without a clue.
The world is wrecked, the line is crossed—
The Spirit’s war ensues.
Defeat is near, so rise and fight,
Before it's set in stone!
Or else the verdict, cold as night,
Will be for you—alone.
Kill greed, kill fear—those things you chase,
The ego’s twisted core.
Their grip dissolves when you embrace
What lies beyond their lore.
Self-searching is the sharpened knife
To split what’s true and fake.
Then cut the rot—remove the strife,
No matter what it takes.
But even then, you won’t be free,
Some ghosts may still remain.
They'll haunt your nights relentlessly
If all is not restrained.
Survival here is built on lies,
A hollow, soulless game.
They lead your spirit to demise,
Then leave a beast to tame.
That final step is close at hand,
So little time to see.
For in this dull, degraded land,
Ego is king—unchained.
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Delusion
To think that wisdom sets you free—
A grand delusion, blind.
Decay rules all that you can see,
And chains the sharpest mind.
Too wise? Then you won’t bear the sight
Of rot in every breath.
So, fading from the crowd’s delight,
You'll wait alone for death.
This world’s a prison, cold and grim,
Where days and nights decay.
Yet soon the Flames will burn the dim
And wipe the filth away.
The sun now shines with growing might,
Its blaze will end this Hell.
Yet Darkness writhes in bitter fright—
The Serpent knows it well.
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Murdered Beauty
"Beauty is dominion without protection."
— Carneades, 2nd century BCE.
Beauty stands with no protection,
Trampled under filth and lies.
Vulgar hands, in cruel procession,
Tighten chains as years go by.
Tender buds will never blossom,
Ripped away before they bloom.
Every sprout is crushed with caution,
Feeding roots of endless gloom.
All must perish, all must wither—
Anything that shames the Night.
Let the vermin reign together,
Drowning beauty out of sight.
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Sleeping Conscience
"Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience—this is the ideal life."
— Mark Twain
When conscience sleeps, your "friends" deceive,
And books spew nonsense, dull yet sly.
No biting wit—just jokes that leave
Their mark too low to hit the sky.
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Nonsense and Fear—The World's Decay
Nonsense, fear—the dust of time,
Prayers won’t save you, not divine,
If you bow and drift along,
Letting rot consume the throng.
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On the Great Path
On the Great Path I stride alone,
Losing all—it's the price to be shown.
Only then, through the cost and the pain,
Can you rise from the Depths once again.
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