Marxism
"To be in chains — even for freedom — is vile."
— Karl Marx
Beneath the yoke, the people bled
By comrades’ hands, in every age.
They sold a myth of freedom’s thread—
And wrote brute force on every page.
They built their Camps. Then came the screams:
“Behold the bright Socialist light!”
Their flag was soaked in ****** dreams—
Marx’s gospel: red and spite.
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The End of the Grim Tale
Inspector Death
Walks through the Souls —
The earth holds breath,
Corpses lose roles.
For soulless flesh
Is heaps of rot —
So grasp it fresh:
What’s Spirit’s not
Is filth and shame —
Mutated breed
Of slaves who maim
The rebel creed.
The Fire will burn —
For Spirit, grace.
The tale will turn —
All stench erased.
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Habit Rules
Habit — the ruler, cold, commanding.
Darkness molds patterns, day by day.
And “grazers,” tamed, not warriors standing,
Seek “happiness” in foul decay.
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Tyrant Habit
Habit — the tyrant, crowned and blind,
While Darkness stamps the herd's design.
No warriors rise — just sheep that grind
For scraps of joy in filth and swine.
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In **** They Hunt for Joy
No will, no fight — just sheep obey.
Dark molds the mind. They rot, and pray.
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Abuse — or Consuming the Evil?
"Abuse is the vice of all customs, all laws, all human systems. No library could hold their full account."
— Voltaire
Let’s open up Akasha’s scrolls —
A massive tome, a sprawling wall.
There lie our lies, our twisted goals;
And Evil Consumption tops them all.
Below — delusions, sins, perversions,
Spawned by the patterns Evil sets.
No lessons learned, no soul’s conversions —
Just goats made out of human wrecks.
It’s all by template — mass regression.
A ***** proved the grand design:
Consuming evil — full obsession;
The world now drowns in filth divine.
A blazing shame. A world malign.
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They Feed on Evil
They feed on filth. They kneel. Obey.
The world’s a shrine of foul decay.
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Dwarfs of Pseudo-Science
The dwarfs line up, all smug and neat —
No gun required for this defeat.
Their “science” rots the mind and breath,
Quite often dealing silent death —
Fake plagues, DDT, and lies,
All masked in “soulful,” friendly guise.
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Ideologies
"It is hard to find a black cat in a dark room... especially if it isn’t there!"
— Confucius
They’ve hunted that cat for ages gone,
And in the dark found quite a haul —
Ideologies, blind and strong,
Where fools are ruled and nations fall.
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Ideology Rules the Blind
"It is hard to find a black cat in a dark room... especially if it isn’t there!"
— Confucius
No cat. Just chains. And fools enshrined.
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Build Your Own Dream
To wait in vain, to hope and ache,
Build your own castle in the air.
The world of sheep on promises fake,
Is built on lies, disguised as care.
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Promises and Lies
They promised all, with bags of cheer,
Yet all we hold, we guard with fear.
They led us by the “carrot” game,
And lie to selves, just the same.
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Results, Again
Once more we wait for "results" to come,
Though the starting point was all undone.
Those results, a price we must pay,
The fool still learns nothing, day by day.
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The Fool's Bait
The fools are baited with paper’s grace,
They toil from dawn, no end to chase.
Call it slavery — they’ll laugh it off,
At “success,” they’ll die, so proud, so tough.
For now, like corpses, they still strive,
To feed the beasts, to feel alive.
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Earthly Chaos and Talent
They’ll help you bury your true gift —
A plot of land, advice to lift.
“In God’s name,” they’ll say, with empty thread,
Of Universal Nonsense, widely spread.
Talent’s a spark of God within,
Bury it, and you’re dead to sin.
Let them judge you harsh and wild,
With that spark, tear down the vile.
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Permanent Fascism
Fascist regimes, they’re countless, vast,
Built on tolerance — fear to last,
Subjugation, lies, deceit —
Not citizens, but those in defeat.
Destruction’s strength, it moves, it shifts,
New names, new tortures, none to lift.
This vile plague endures through time,
A sport to serve, a twisted climb.
If fools are stubborn, let them be —
No problem here, just bend the knee.
The “leader” judges all we face,
And if “democracy” should grace,
It’s ruled by greed — the rich embrace.
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Moloch of Programming in the Internet Trash
The program — the admin’s plight,
A stream of nonsense in the night.
Let it hum beneath the din,
It leaves its marks — a trace within.
Traces of fatigue, despair,
Wasted labor in the air,
The end — a frame of useless "info,"
For those who feed, who crave to grow.
Useless sites, the endless waste,
Bland crap, forced into haste.
You’re always striving, trying hard,
Designing junk — the iron bard.
Moloch’s endless, always here —
The trash heap waits, the end is near.
We’re growing savage, lost, undone,
The outcome — idiots, each one.
And those idiots are now the throng,
The majority, where they belong —
Corrupt, the vile, the dead inside —
Where Evil reigns, and truth has died.
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Cartoons
Cheburashka and Crocodile,
Winnie the Pooh and Piglet's smile —
It’s sweet, but fools were in the crowd,
Most of them, just loud and proud. "God"
Of Communism, it rots away,
As does fascism’s grim display.
Under the weight of beasts and lies,
Mind and Spirit slowly die,
And idiocy grows each year —
A perfect crowd, so void, so clear.
To rule the fools is simple, true —
A ragged mob, to lead them through.
Tested by false disease’s plague,
A bottomless pit — their lives to drag.
Cheburashka, Crocodile,
Winnie, Piglet — all the while,
That was then, now gone, and lost:
Satanism reigns, at what a cost.
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The Sawmill
The hut of the brute — that’s the law.
What’s a sawmill? Here’s the flaw:
We’ll speak it clearly, without delay —
It’s a school, where logs decay —
A launch into life for fools,
Without a spark, without the tools.
All the force, they push it through —
Logs instead of sages, true.
The exceptions are few, so slight,
The beasts rejoice at their new plight.
Dumbing down is now the game,
Life’s a joke, a constant shame.
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Loneliness
"Whoever loves solitude, either is a wild beast or the Lord God."
Francis Bacon, 17th century.
A spark of God, the lonely heart
May keep in Bedlam, torn apart;
Amid the wretched, wild and low,
The mind and spirit, bruised, can grow.
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Kobzon's Concert
Impressed by the Kremlin’s vile spawn,
I’ll head to the slaughterhouse for pay.
The greater harm we cause, headstrong,
The denser the ranks that will stay.
The monsters that then will arrive
For Kobzon's concert, fierce and loud.
What will crush me to dust, deprived,
Is unclear to the foolish crowd.
We'll strike the village with a missile,
That’s gathered for the mournful rites,
A noble deed, a heroic whistle —
For any order, there’s no fights.
Kobzon’s waiting, though he’s sung
Praise to countless thousands long,
In trash, in vile, deluded tongue,
Fascism will drown them, all along.
And the new wave will rise to gain
The honor of Kobzon’s twisted show.
A mercenary fool, in pain,
The result of lies — his own blow.
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Code:
Endure, you fool —
The "reward" awaits.
Though small the gain,
You're not insane,
If you can flee
Beneath the heel
Of cruel ordeal,
And freelance dance
Into decadence.
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Sisters
"The fates of things are truly sisters to their nature."
Francis Bacon, 17th century.
The mad sister, younger still,
Follows the fool on her dark way:
The primitive world, wild and ill,
Again lies about enlightenment’s sway.
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Confusion Before the Poor Vale
Discontent with oneself — the start of the Way.
And loyalty is marked by pain —
Through thorns to the Light, for it's hard to stay.
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The Kremlin bot will find you,
Invite you to the obedient crew:
Not just one screen will tell,
Believe the beasts — you’re a fool as well.
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Foundations of the World Order
A fool plus a piglet —
The base of this vile world.
The fool, moreover, stays silent.
And so this cycle's unfurled.
This madness is without end —
No place for wisdom to be found,
For the wise won’t shear the sheep,
Nor knead the dough of lies around.
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Sentence for Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh goes for honey—
The rest is just a trivial thing!
Piglet follows, plus the fashion—
Man! But, ladies and gentlemen,
Who made us pigs in the first place?
Who dragged us all down so low?
Though it’s too late, far too late!
To fix it now, it’s not a whim.
Global warming—Nature's wrath—
Is killing off this shameful blight.
Year by year, the sun grows stronger—
It’s a SENTENCE, burning bright!
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Drunks and Filth – A Muck of Darkness!
Drunks and filth – a muck of darkness!
Look around, it’s clear as day—
This is the world, that’s how it stands:
A herd of fools with empty hands.
And those who don’t drink—are they wise?
Lies are poured, and swine disguise
The truth, like honey, they consume—
This lie, they feast in endless gloom.
Are you not a fool, year by year,
If you believe the beasts appear,
Who waste your soul, and push you low?
A madman’s mind will always know—
The lies, the falsehoods, all deceived—
The false “AIDS” that we received.
Lies have killed the mind’s true fight:
Drunks and filth—shame, and blight.
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"Evolution" of Corruption
Two for the price of one—
Most buy in bulk, they’re never done.
But those who didn’t sell their soul,
Who loved their honor, loved control,
Are left outside the common crowd—
A “cocky” one, they’d say out loud.
Dumping prices broke the line—
Beyond that line, is death divine?
No, it’s just a spiritual death.
Does money stink with its own breath?
Sold then forever, bound to be
A slave, a vile soul, the “Lord’s” decree.
Three for the price of one—
The logic’s clear, the deal’s been won.
But in the end— NOTHING left...
But the cross and its quiet theft.
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Servants of Satanism, or Purification by Fire
No matter what "merits" they claim,
Forget the pride, the pomp, the fame,
For if the people are not people, but servants,
Then burn it all—the world that’s cursed.
The fire will burn it all away—
From ash, a world more worthy will arise.
Let the inhuman rave, for their madness
Will not last long, it will meet its demise.
Here, the Sun’s dawn will blaze,
Look out the window, you will see.
Though the depths once lay in this place,
Now, it’s the world’s bottom, endlessly.
If it’s the depths, there’s no time to save
The remnants of the rational few:
For consciousness that’s higher, brave,
Will strike those lost to demons' view.