"In the prison's social hierarchy, established in the 1960s, there are four main casts ('ranks') among inmates: the thieves ('blacks'), the common men ('grays'), the collaborators ('reds'), and the outcasts ('blues')."
— Valery Abramkin, "Prison Subculture"

The crisis of "power"—a rank debased!
Servants of beasts in fawning disgrace.
They stir up passions in stinking airs,
Fools believe in their empty snares.

Orders come from depraved shadows' might,
The gray cardinal stays out of sight.
No jest remains, the world descends,
A pit with no bottom, where reason ends.

Here, sheep are led by goatish guides,
To ruin’s cliff, where deceit resides.
The talking heads on every screen
Proclaim their lies in polished sheen.

"Presidents," "ministers,"—titles grand,
Yet emptier words one cannot withstand.
The misty world sees but a few
Who glimpse the rot beneath the view.

Convince the fool? A hopeless cause—
He trusts the lies, ignores the flaws.
Soft they weave their deceitful thread,
Only to snare with lies unsaid.


In Russian:

Низшие масти управления миром

Кризис "власти" — в низшей масти!
Это ТВАРЕЙ холуйки.
Нагнетают в СМРАДах страсти —
Верят чуши дураки.
Им ЦэУ дают ублюдки
(Типа серый кардинал).
И закончились все шутки —
Мир на Дно теперь упал.
В оном большинство бараны,
Их ведут в овраг Козлы.
В зомбоящиках все "страны"
Называют их послы,
П-резиденты и министры —
Ну и прочая хуйня...
Единицы в мире мглистом
Видят суть. Тупого пня
Убедить, что правит нелюдь
Чрез Козлов — напрасный труд:
Больно ложью мягко стелют,
А постелят — вновь солгут.

World champions,
Shows, and foolish films.
And the Lyre is forgotten,
While "heroes" grow in thrills.

They praise the mind and body,
Forgetting spirit's sway.
Only the Lyre boldly
Cuts through the hollow fray.

Now but a few
Still listen to her song.
To the poet, once again,
The heights seem right, not wrong.

"Coupling," "bushing"—mechanized!
Cretinism supervises,
Hence the engine spins awry,
A park of machines gone awry.

One pump works beyond its bounds,
Pushing down a mix profound—
Fuel to feed cretinism.
Even machines know fascism!


In Russian:

Машинная аллегория
"Штуцер", "втулка" — механизм!
Управляет кретинизм,
Потому идёт вразнос
Парк машин. Один насос

Там фурычит выше мер:
Нагоняет сверху сер
Смесь, питать чтоб кретинизм.
Даже у машин фашизм!


Вариант. Смесь, питая кретинизм.

"Many people who shouldn’t be in psychiatric hospitals are there, while many who should be there are not."
— Gilles Deleuze


No need for madhouses to rise —
The world itself’s a madman's pit,
A rotten cage of filth and lies,
Incurable and lost in it.

A brilliant mind, a soul so kind,
Is seen as sick, not as a light.
The blind have judged it for all time,
And crushed its wings to mock its flight.

"The world is ill!" — such voices say,
And for that truth, they bear the cost.
For every fool will curse their way,
Defending their Eternal Lost.

When spirit fades, the void remains —
A crippled world, a soulless cult,
Where demon-servants pull the chains
And sell a hollowed-out result.

A brand-new idol, cast in lead,
With filth and lies concealed inside,
Till once again the world is fed
Its old ideals, rebranded pride.

And fascism never fades away,
Just twists its shape from time to time.
Then in its fit, without delay,
It slaughters fools as if no crime.




In Russian:

Душевнобольные

"Многие люди, которые не должны находиться в психиатрических больницах, все же там находятся, в то время как многих из тех, кто должен в них находиться, там нет".
Жиль Делёз.


Психушки строить смысла нет:
Один большой гнилой дурдом
Сей пошлый мир — тотальный бред!
Неизлечимый он притом.

А потому большой талант
Иль очень чуткий человек —
Убогий псих, а не гигант,
В глазах толпы который век.

"Мир тяжко болен" — говорят
Такие люди, и за то
Гнобит их каждый глупый гад,
Храня Всемирное Ничто.

Ничто, когда в забвеньи Дух, —
Душой больной убогий мир
Под властью сатанизма слуг,
Что втюхают толпе кумир

Очередной: второе дно
Того кумира сатанизм.
Опять сожрёт мирок говно
Идей подложных, и фашизм

Не прекращается, слегка
Меняя формы, а потом
Он в обостренье — дурака
Вновь истребляет сплошь, гуртом.

Ask the questions that truly matter,
Let the answers of others scatter—
It's not the answers but questions, see,
That unravel life's mystery.

In "knowledge," distortions creep,
Spawned by fiends in shadows deep,
Crafted lies to keep us bound,
In the dark, where truth's not found.


In Russian:

Ставь главные вопросы и похерь чужие ответы на что бы то ни было

Не ответы, а ВОПРОСЫ:
В многих "знаньях" перекосы.
Это ТВАРИ постарались,
Чтобы мы во Тьме скончались.


Мягкий вариант: вместо "скончались" - "остались".
Ещё вариант: засрались.

Composing poetry is akin to an illness, governed by its own laws. One must yield to them, enduring the fever to arrive at a result—not “health,” but a “case history.” For some, it’s a stormy affliction—casting everything into verse; for others, it’s a perpetual self-assessment: “Do I have something new to say?” There are countless variations. The key is to heed intuition, as this “illness” depends on it—unless you’re a hack. Many athletes, in maturity, regard their sports careers as a kind of ailment but still take pride in their “case history.” Poetry is a super-sport, with far finer gradations of mastery than ordinary athletics.


A fever’s blazing heat—
And verses start to flow.
With burning eyes, they greet
The world. Fools never know

How craftless scribes will cater
To win their shallow praise:
The more the lines seem later,
The louder is the craze.

A simpleton might linger,
Entranced, yet blind to grace.
An artist lifts his finger
And laughs at their embrace.

Trust only intuition;
It guides with steady hand.
Ignore all old tradition—
It helps you understand.

Your “history of illness”
A future soul may find.
But if you seek vain stillness,
Your worth is left behind.


In Russian:

Болезнь поэзии

К созданию стихов надо относиться как к своего рода болезни, а она протекает по своим законам, и им просто надо следовать, чтобы переболев, получить некий итог - не "здоровь"», а "историю болезни". У некоторых она протекает бурно — облекать всё в стихи, у некоторых с постоянной оценкой своего состояния — "могу ли что-то новое сказать?" Вариаций много. Главное, слушать свою интуицию, так как эта "болезнь" имеет с ней определяющие отношения, если ты не графоман. Многие спортсмены в зрелом возрасте воспринимают свои занятия спортом как болезнь, но всё же гордятся своей "историей болезни". Стихосложение — супер-спорт с гораздо большей градацией мастерства, чем в обычном спорте.


Тяжёлая горячка —
Как пот в ней прут стихи.
Они подобным — ЗРЯЧИМ.
Оценят дураки

Лишь графоманство — это
Под них подстроит стих:
Чем больше в виршах бреда,
Тем ты "полезней". "Псих"

Болеет тяжко, "умный"
Хворает лишь слегка.
Не будь в твореньях скромным:
На дурней свысока

Смотря, лишь интуиции
Служи — она ведёт,
Похерив все традиции,
К итогу. И найдёт

"Историю болезни"
Потомок, коль ты смел.
А хочешь быть "полезней" —
Утиль твой злой удел.

From fascism to fascism,
Through a softer, sly disguise,
Under Satan’s dark baptism,
Tiny worlds meet their demise.

Genocide and degradation,
Artificial to the core,
Spirit’s death and mind’s stagnation—
Drowning deep in filth and gore.

Fear and blind submission lead us,
All foundations cast aside.
From fake plagues to beasts they breed us,
Till the herds are stupefied.

Fools don’t set the night in motion—
They need sheep, not hell unleashed.
Empty heads find full devotion
If their coats are soft and sleek.

But what path is left for moving?
Hell is here, it’s not ahead.
Hellspawn rule us, all-consuming,
Feasting on the souls they bled.

Politics is just a circus,
Where the clowns obey commands.
Truth is drowned in lies on purpose—
Crowds don't bite the guiding hands.

So, they earn their fate in measure,
For the madness owns their breath.
Not for years, but times unmeasured
They have worshipped lies to death.

A home, a job, a family chain—
The mark of fools, the binding stain.
Step out, break free, escape the spin,
Or let your soul grow dim within!


In Russian:

Метка идиота —
Дом, семья, работа.
Выходи из ЦИКЛА,
Чтоб Душа не сникла!..

A fool injects his ******,
An idiot downs his ***** 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.


In Russian:

СМРАДы и сброд

Героин вколол кретин,
Водки выпил идиот.
СМРАДы — высший господин:
Ложью кайф получит сброд.

Не народ — убогий сброд:
Дурачины всех мастей.
Редкий умный не найдёт
Воплощения идей,

Что помогут всех спасти —
Ложь разъела все моги.
В Новый Лагерь лишь идти,
Получая тумаки.

Назовут пинки заботой,
И поверит глупый сброд.
Так что правы идиоты —
Водку пей, закрывши рот.

Рот теперь лишь для жеванья —
Обесценены слова.
Оглупленьем истязанья —
Лишь для шляпы голова.

The Mindless Herd

A mindless herd...
Will darkness be stirred,
Or led to the knife?
Fight for the light,
Or sink into night,
Lost without sight.



---------------------



A Chamber of Mad Slaves

A chamber filled with traitors,
With cowards, vile and sly.
They live for self and status—
The Earth can’t help but cry.

The Honest stand as shadows
In chains of fear and lies.
Who claims it’s just delusion—
Is blind to all he spies.



---------------------



The Soviet Mold

We chased a dream so grand, yet hollow,
While strengthening our chains each day,
Obeying beasts whose voices bellow
Of harvests rising on display.

Yet blind we were—ourselves the reaping,
Drowned in a sea of lies and shame,
Where minds and souls, through blind obedience,
Were sacrificed within the flame.

Dark powers mask their true intentions,
Deception spun with practiced art.
The Soviet's gone—now wail and mumble
Of "democrap" with bleeding hearts!



---------------------



"Concerns" Keep Growing

The "cares" keep growing—fools in power
Destroy the mind with gifts so sweet.
But when will tails and claws, once severed,
Grow back again? When comes that feat?

Will Earth turn beastly once and fully?
The answer—yours to seek and find.
But think it through, and think it truly—
Give in to fear, be left behind.

One day your tail will sprout unnoticed.
Through fear and "care," the dark designs
Breed soulless thralls—so few remaining
With human hearts, outside the lines.



---------------------



The Whip and Crumb

The dried-up crumb still draws devotion,
As once before—the whip still stings.
Yet now it bears a new promotion—
A "law," the slave believes it brings.

Old lies return with masks appealing,
Refilled to match the present day.
The wage-hand’s now a "freelance" worker—
Just empty words in sleek array.



---------------------



Progress of Decline

The progress of decline is growing,
And madness soars—an upward curve.
The sum is ruin, ever showing,
Yet lies conceal it—nerve by nerve.



---------------------



The Lies of Bonds

Your “closest friends” can grip your throat,
Their hands so firm, their smiles bright.
And family drifts—unless you float
With every lie and call it right.

For “friendship” often feeds on lies,
A comfort wrapped in soft deceit.
And families? Just thin disguise—
The stomach rules, the heart’s defeat.

Exceptions? Few. The world’s decayed,
Drowned in falsehood, slick and vast.
They “love,” they “care”—yet lies pervade,
Though not all show their masks so fast.

For blatant lies are but the tool
Of those who reign, devoid of grace.
Lie well—support the rotting rule—
And find your “happy” little place.



---------------------



Betraying Talent

No sin is worse than self-betrayal,
So cast distractions all aside.
Though trapped within a world so stale,
Create—let weariness subside.



---------------------



Propagandists

The cogs and gears of lies and malice,
Machinery of purest sin.
Their wretched souls, so lost and callous,
Are bound by contracts signed in grim.

They sell us out for crumbs and wages,
Deceiving minds already dull.
And lies, well-spiced with small intrigues,
They serve as treats to keep us full.



---------------------



The Empty Rhetoric

The blabbermouth’s no fool or clown—
His role is praised, his rank is high.
He paints a myth of great renown
For idiots who trust the lie.

And they, inspired, will spread deceit,
Believing all they hear and see.
So keep the rot—the beast must feed,
The line of falsehood shan’t break free.

For lies now govern, pure, complete,
Their grip too strong to slip away.
Through CowID, we have touched defeat,
New fools will dig a deeper grave.



---------------------



The Poet’s Crossroads

A pit ahead. To left—chains rattle.
To right—mad whispers call your name.
Behind—a path of grief and battle.
But Mandelstam first walked this flame.



--- Total 11 poems. ---

Goulash for all,
Porridge in sight.
We’ll never fall—
Mind curdles light!


In Russian:

Ум как простокваша

Гуляш и квас,
Перловка-каша.
Не сломят нас:
Ум — простокваша.

Bones unbroken,
Muscles slack,
Yet my "thoughts"
Stay on track:
Grab a larger slice and thrive—
In this world, the slim do not  survive.


In Russian:

"Мышление" деграданта

Кости целы,
Мышцы дряблы.
В "мыслях" цели
Не ослабли:
Отхватить кусок побольше —
Мир не терпит тех, кто тоньше.

The gangrene’s rot consumed the mind,
Three-fourths of reason lost, confined.
And Russia fell beneath them all,
Where fools on fools their ranks enthrall.

The bottom proved by CowID and war,
By lies that ******* evermore.
Three-fourths of folks, deceit has stained,
Their hollow heads with falsehoods chained.


In Russian:

Гангрена разума

Гангрена разума отн'яла
Три четверти ума в мирке.
И ниже всех Россия пала,
Ведь там дурак на дураке.

Проверено то Дно говнидом
И новой подлою войной.
Три четверти народца гниды
С пробитой ЛОЖЬЮ головой.

"A miracle does not contradict the laws of nature, only our perception of them."
— Augustine of Hippo

Truth is hidden, left unspoken—
Levitation proves it well.
Science bends, its laws are broken,
Claiming all is dull and stale.

Aging minds embrace new fiction,
Priests of lies preach old deceit.
Fools fall deep in blind conviction,
Ignorance is their defeat.

Worse than cults, these false equations,
Leading sheep into their snare.
Mindless herds seek new salvation,
Trapped within a cunning lair.

Dark extraction, silent plunder—
That’s the creatures’ only goal.
If you trust their tales, you’ll wonder
How you lost your very soul.

Only thought, so sharp and fearless,
Stands against their hollow creed.
All the rest are numbers—nameless,
Worshiping their lifeless fiend.

This vile beast, unseen but reigning,
Rules through proxies, veiled in dust.
Puppets kneel, obey, and wade in
Filth and ashes, rot and rust.

The wretched world submits to evil —
Its gods have perished, none are regal,
And only demons now remain,
Believed as saints — but trust in vain.

They'll pen new bibles, fool and erring,
With lies beneath their verses, glaring,
Demonic schemes in holy guise,
Yet we stay silent, close our eyes.

To shout, “This madness is absurd!”
Seems useless; we've embraced the word
Of lunacy, where lies conspire
With fascist ash and hate-lit fire.

A few still think — they're branded fools,
For reason now obeys no rules.
The dim-wit plague lays truth to waste —
Decay and Shame. What bitter taste...


In Russian:

Злу покорный мир убогий —
Посдыхали в оном боги,
И остались только черти.
В них как в праведников верьте —

Понапишут библий всяких,
Концентрируя в них враки
Сатанизма под елеем
Дикой чуши. Но не смеем

Крикнуть: "Ахинея это!" —
Мы привычны к разным бредам,
С дном, приправленным фашизмом.
Не погрязли в кретинизме

Единицы — их считают
Дураками. Разум тает —
Показал тупой говнид.
Разложенье, Жуть и Стыд...

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 **** find their delight,
Beneath the Evil’s shrouding night,
Decay unfolds in silence deep —
While greed consumes, and souls still sleep.


In Russian:

Нынешний мент как прообраз будущего ...

Конец МАРАЗМА воспоём —
Мы скоро в оном догниём.
На смену нам придут скоты:
Образчиком сейчас менты.

МАРАЗМ зашкален — идиот
Сплошь большинством. Тупой "народ"
Вновь верит ТВАРЯМ — ничего
Не изменилось. Торжество

Фашизма всюду: не зевай,
Строй Новый Лагерь! Каравай
Достанется опять ТВАРЬЮ,
А дырка — дурням. Воспою

И я Конец Времён. И он
Уж настаёт, но мудозвон
За "счастьем" гонится. Оно
Ушло с мирком стремглав на Дно.

На Дне подонкам "счастье" лишь —
Под слоем Зла всё гладь и тишь:
И РАЗЛОЖЕНЬЕ незаметно —
Лишь о баблишке все приметы...

The mold persists, as if a mother
Would feed her child this worthless creed—
The Fool and Brute compete with each other
For minds, for souls, for ears in need.

And worse than words that fools have spoken—
They write whole books in dire despair,
In hopes to spread their vile, unbroken
Clichés of filth beyond repair.

The sharp, the bright, the deep, the clever—
The mob will call them mad at best,
For those who shatter norms forever
Are outcasts, freaks, unlike the rest.

To speak with style, with strength and passion
Demands a soul of rarest kind,
Yet minds are crushed in brutal fashion—
A war on Reason leaves them blind.

And filth prevails—it floods the masses,
Yet masked as jokes, as random plays.
But wit perceives the hidden passes
Where fate condemns the keenest brains.

Who dares to trace the foul mechanics
That rule this world, where fools expand?
Each pyramid is built on panic,
Each bigger fool the lesser’s hand.

Is this mere chance, or dark dominion?
Who writes the script? Who casts the die?
Illusion crafts the world’s opinion,
And minds are chained without a cry.

Who plumbs such depths and sees the measure
Of total darkness, thought controlled?
A mind deprived of depth and pleasure
Will fail to grasp the lies retold.

Yet who will count the cost and tally
The wounds left by this dull disease?
To tear through filth and face the valley
Demands a tongue the ages seize.

Through years they twist and taint expression—
Take "be-" and turn it into "less".
With Fear and Lies they force submission,
And fools embrace each new distress.

Their "measures" proved through fear’s compliance,
As CowID’s grip would twist and bind.
To stand against deceit and silence
Requires a force they’ll never find.

The Mouse Psychology

Hear a lot,
See but rarely.
Stay in silence,
Hate unfairly.

Scorn the closest,
Yet adore
Those whose madness
Fuels the war.

Praise and follow,
Kneel and swallow,
Never dare to
Call a traitor—
Not a parrot,
Not a monkey—
Madness always ends in payment...



---------------------



The Cuckoo Lost Its Mind

The cuckoo snapped and chimed away,
Few years for worlds that rot and sway.
Around—fanatics, fools, deceit,
Save your Soul before defeat!

Not with false faith, but knowledge bright—
Though in a world of fascist blight,
They call it "memory" instead,
To crush young Reason till it's dead.

So guard your mind—don’t let it break,
Don’t play it nice with soulless snakes.
Stand up, seek truth, don’t just obey—
It lives inside, not in their fray.



---------------------



Pain and Scorn

Poets hold no grand solutions,
Only pain—so let it spread.
They may mock your contribution,
Let them sow their lies instead.

Seeds of evil, sown in treason,
Will take root and rise in time.
Truth must fight—it needs no reason,
Crushing lies is toil, not crime.

Pain’s the fuel, pain’s the fire,
Use it, shape it—make your way.
Demons march at fate’s desire,
Turning "paradise" to gray.

Would you walk with those so hollow?
Doubt it—so embrace the sting.
Poets, gods, and pain—they follow
None but truth—let beggars cling!



---------------------



Approval for Anything

Never stand in strong objection,
What they tell you—nod along.
Twists and turns in each direction,
Power slithers, sly and strong.

Yesterday was "No!"—forget it,
Now it's "Yes!" without a doubt.
Fools will cheer and just accept it,
Blind approval wins throughout.

Say a word—they'll bite and sting you,
That’s the way the game is played.
Yet they’ll bribe you, too, to bring you—
Serpents always find their way.



---------------------



Mixed Relays and Other "Equal-Gender" Madness

They mix the relays, races, guns,
A world where gender blurs and runs.
And soon they'll lie in pairs to rest—
For "equality" is best.

Not raised in strength, but dragged to dirt,
It’s easier to rule the hurt.
They preach "fair play," yet all the same,
Obedient sheep are clipped and tamed.

They care not for the "equal right"—
Their minds are wrecked, their souls are slight.
With fear and filth, they drag it low—
The world decays with every show.

They've tested this in CowID,
And found how easily you plead.
How few resist, how many bow—
The crawling mass obeys somehow.

Submission walks with madness near,
Two rails—one track that leads to fear.
And when the fools embrace the lie,
How few remain who don’t comply.



---------------------



The Poet’s Problem

With no life lived, they dared to write,
Their lines—just fluff for youth’s delight.
"Love" without chains, blind praise of lands…
It’s time to see, to understand!

This world is Hell, decay runs deep,
No time for odes—just wake the sheep!
No whispered songs, no gentle art—
Strike hard with verse, tear lies apart!



---------------------



Sports in the Age of the Sheep-Virus

Empty stands, a masked-up face,
Shots enforced—insane embrace.
Dystopia? No, just today,
Where tyrants rule and minds decay.

Fascism spreads across the lands,
Beastly power in their hands.
More to come—don’t be so sure,
Faith now fades, control is pure.



---------------------



No Problems at All

A poet’s world knows no distress
When all around is pure unrest.
Though marked for shots in this grim mess,
He speaks—he will not share their rest.

He speaks—while others call it fate,
Their little troubles fade away.
Yet he won’t march with fools who wait,
He walks alone—his own true way.



---------------------



Medieval Ways of the Paris Olympics

Three strikes of the staff—
Sheep, onward, march!
Through water, through path,
Race to the arch.

The prize is set—
"The finest sheep!"
Strain and sweat,
The end runs deep.

A rider storms,
The Seine runs red—
Who’ll take their forms
When sheep are shed?..



---------------------



Vegetable Farming

The harvest swells, the crops arise—
But stay alert, don’t close your eyes!
What if one bold Cipollino
Sparks a riot in the feeble?

Labeled **** and cast aside,
Drowned in nonsense, justified.
Keeps the cycle nice and clean,
Rotting deep—but all unseen.

Through the ages, through decay,
This "fertilizer" paves the way.
Call it harvest, praise the lie—
Let the veggies dream of "sky"!



---------------------



Innovations in Track and Field, and Beyond

The races lost—"humanity"
Reaches its final plea!
Caught in stupidity,
The law is hard to see.

The total chaos, endless,
Is tough to even spot.
For now, no criminal—
Just puppets in their plot.

They speak, but no one listens,
Their "humanism" a lie.
With those who bow to sinners,
The beasts will watch them die.



---------------------



The Pitiful "Publishers"

A poet’s book, once prized and bright,
Now just a fee to fill the pike.
So much nonsense, so much trash,
In a world where dreams all crash!

Poets are poor when truth they seek,
Lost in the dark, the future bleak.
Forget your boast, don’t play the fool—
They’ll push us down and drown us cruel.

Soon we’ll sink in propaganda,
As oceans rise and drown the land.
That "publisher"—just another pawn,
In a gang that sweeps all light gone.



---------------------



"Gender Equality"...

But they are not the same!
Fools are multiplied
By this toxic flame…



---------------------



The Beast Crawls Through the Screen

The beast crawls through the screen—
A sheep believes in "history" obscene.
And further still, it’s clear to see—
The death of FREEDOM’s mind will be.



---------------------



Preparing Vegetables

Archery’s new star, Cipollino,
A fool now—just another hero.
A simple VEGETABLE, he stares,
Believes in madness, opens lairs.

This is how they make a Salad—
A world of minds so dim and pallid.
Inject the poison, send them to fight,
Only VEGETABLES deserve the night.



---------------------



Suffocation by "Cares"

No need for "cares" or efforts grand,
To "improve"—a sheep’s life, dull and bland.
What they showed us in the time of CowID—
The bought and sold will bleat and heed.



---------------------



The "Employment" Medal

Listen close, and you will find,
A reward of the simplest kind:
"Give the fools more work to do!"
That’s the medal given to you.



---------------------



The Horseman of the Apocalypse at the Paris Olympics Opening

The strongest... fool, indeed:
Games to please the "crowd's" greed!
The beastly Horse he did display—
But may this madness fade away.
They still believe, as always done,
In what the masters say is "won."
The flag he bears, it’s all a joke—
Turned upside down—yet none will choke,
For what is wrong, they won’t see clear—
It’s just a "mistake," they cheer and jeer.
The world’s gone mad in this decay,
The fool’s the sport, it’s here to stay.
But the fool, so strong and tough,
Will run and fight—just can't get enough.
And soon enough, he'll race his way—
Straight to Hell, where fools will stay...



---------------------



Modern Cain and Abel

Cain’s the master, Abel’s slave,
The world’s grown weak, the spirit’s grave.
Mind’s a wreck, a shattered glass,
But who cares? Just stack the cash!



---------------------



Branded Cattle

Branded stock—
A world of fools to walk.
Where to go?
From here, just let it go...



--- Total 20 poems. ---

Gangrene of betrayal
Spreads deep in the vein—
The youth, poisoned fatal,
And fascists remain.

Heroic feats will change no fate
Within this world of fools and lies,
For Evil writes the script of hate,
And lackeys cheer as puppets rise.

Its plot is simple: fools obey,
Accept the chains, embrace the curse—
Just call it "Good," and they won’t stray
As centuries make things far worse.

These plays devour the soul and mind,
The goal is clear: to crush, deceive,
To shape a world where thought is blind,
Where fools are cattle—trained to grieve.

So wiser minds must seek anew
The ways to stand against The Night,
For brutes, led blindly, stand so few—
We cannot win without foresight.

Think before you rush once more
To save the herd that craves the chain,
For freeing fools in ruthless war
Might cast your wisdom down the drain.

The New Formation Called "Education"

A tumor now grows from “enlightened” mutation —
Its metastasized roots poison thought to the core.
Through memory flows the cruel degradation:
Lies and confusion — the mind's mental war.

The leash is the system. Free thinking? Forbidden!
No sane thought allowed in this madhouse called Earth.
A digital camp where the humans are hidden —
Just numbers remain. No true mind can give birth.

Yet balance is simple: you're soul, you're not fiction.
Your mind must obey your true spirit alone —
Not dogmas imposed with relentless constriction.
Reject all the garbage they've carved into stone.

Then — comes the Pure Mind. It’s the soul that directs it,
Not vile little creatures that rot and enslave.
They've poisoned the world and with lies they infect it,
Till thought is entombed in a mindless mass grave.


---------------------


"Education"

1.
They taught you to think — then erased every thought.
Now Truth is rebellion. Obey? You will rot.

2.
You're not just a number. You're Spirit — awake!
So burn all their lies. Let the system break.

3.
Pure Mind won't submit to their digital chains.
It rises through ruins. It spits on their brains.


4.
You call that a mind? It just parrots and begs.
A slave in a cage, with wires for legs.

5.
They kneel to their screens with a void in their chest.
Disciples of nonsense. Obedient. Blessed?

6.
So proud of your grades? You're a well-groomed machine.
A polished disgrace. A cog, nice and clean.

7.
"Educated," you say — yet you think like a tool.
A product of training. A well-mannered fool.

8.
Congrats on your brain — it's compliant and neat.
It boots when commanded. It ****** on meat.

9.
So wise with your jargon, so sharp with your trend.
Too bad it’s all garbage — impresses your friend.

10.
You've read all the books — but forgot how to see.
A genius, of course — with a brain made of ***.

11.
Such critical thinking! You Googled it twice.
A scholar, no doubt — if parrots count thrice.

12.
You mastered the test, you obey every bell.
Top of your class — in the School Made of Hell.


---------------------


Verses for the Well-Educated Dead
(A Funeral Hymn for Minds in Suits)

Dedicated to the System that Made You
(and to all who dared to question — then didn’t)

1. The Graduate
You passed every test, you obeyed every rule.
Now kneel for your medal — Certified Fool.

2. The Thinker
You question so deeply — within the allowed.
A free-thinking drone, self-assured and proud.

3. The Reader
You swallowed their books with such hunger and grace,
But spat out your soul to maintain your “place”.

4. The Logician
You argue with style, you debate like a pro —
Yet never ask why the whole system's low.

5. The Star Pupil
Straight A’s, gold stars — what a brilliant disguise!
The corpse is still warm. Just ignore the flies.

6. The Speaker
Such eloquent words! Such articulate breath!
Your speech is a lecture. Your thought — is a death.

7. The Informed Citizen
You’ve read every headline, reposted each lie.
How noble you look — while the real ones die.

8. The Futurist
You praise all the upgrades, the neural implants —
Yet tremble at thought that your mind still chants.

9. The Empath
You cry for the climate, for whales and for trees —
Then clap as they chain every child to their knees.

10. The Rationalist
No gods, no myths — just logic and math.
Yet still you march blindly down somebody’s path.

11. The Model Student
They taught you to think — so you mimicked the tone.
Original thought? That’s best left alone.

12. The Proud Parent
Your child’s a machine — you must be so proud.
It beeps when it’s praised. It blends with the crowd.

13. The Careerist
You climbed every ladder, you kissed every shoe.
Now sit on your throne — made of numbers and glue.

14. The Skeptic
You scoff at all myths, yet worship the lab.
No gods for you — just a corporate slab.

15. The Philosopher
You ponder existence with textbook finesse —
While Life rolls her eyes at your layered BS.

16. The Ally
You stand with the people, you hashtag your rage,
Then rat out your neighbor to keep up your wage.

17. The Free Thinker™
You broke from tradition! You think for yourself!
As long as that thought is pre-packed on a shelf.

18. The Meditator
You’ve silenced your mind, you're serene as a cow —
But forgot to ask who is the silence now.

19. The Specialist
You know all the terms, you recite every code.
But can't see the cliff at the end of your road.

20. The Winner
You conquered the game — now you own your own cage.
Polished, expensive. Just don’t show your rage.

21. The Pacifist
You chant about peace with your eyes full of glass.
They kick in the door — and you thank them with class.

22. The Artist
Your art is so brave, so edgy, so paid.
Approved by the board. Mass-produced and displayed.

23. The Analyst
You mapped every trend, you compiled every chart —
But failed to locate your own shattered heart.

24. The Liberal
You're open to all, you believe in The New —
Except any truth that’s not funded and blue.

25. The Rebel
You scream in the square, then go clock in at nine.
Your protest is loud. Your compliance — divine.

26. The Mentor
You guided the youth, you shaped every mind —
Now each one’s a copy. Was that your design?

27. The Stoic
You suffer in silence. You swallow your fate.
But that’s not wisdom — just trauma dressed straight.

28. The Thinkfluencer
You publish deep thoughts, you go viral and trend.
But silence and depth are not things you pretend.

29. The Historian
You teach of the past — from an edited pile.
You quote every tyrant. But never their smile.

30. The Diplomat
You mastered the tone, you adjusted your face.
But truth never bends. And neither does grace.

31. The Technocrat
You digitized life. You reduced every soul.
Now watch the machine devour its own goal.

32. The Good Citizen
You vote. You recycle. You wave at the drone.
And never once ask: Why’s the sky made of stone?

33. The Funeral Prayer
So sleep, educated. So rest, certified.
The System is proud. It has nothing to hide.
No soul left to burn, no heart left to dread —
Just neat little rows of the well-educated dead.


---------------------


GMO-People
(after a corporate ad)

"Today we’ve launched the 'Neo' line — each product carries a new idea. 'Neo' products: made to change your life!"
— from a TV commercial
(Next up: chauvinist, cosmopolitan, and adiabatic products — each with a matching idea.)


Products are “ideas.”
Ideas are “goods.”
The BEAST has careers
In rebranding hoods:

So fruits we become,
And veggies by name —
Their mission is dumb,
But winning the game.

Just fear and collapse,
All courage is dead.
A few break the traps —
Then vanish instead.

Ideas like pins
Are stabbed in the brain.
Each thought now begins
In poison and pain.

And so — GMO'd
This Human Design.
These ******* explode
Their **** into minds,

Then stir it with flair —
Result? No defense.
Hell’s real estate’s there,
Or bluntly: we're F#CKED.


---------------------


GMO-People
(Short Version)

They sell us their lies,
They brand us as goods.
We’re poison, we’re slaves —
This world’s up in floods.


---------------------


Commissioned “Research” of Pseudoscience

Ordering a fool from a killer —
An innocent enough affair.
Order “scientific” work —
And pseudoscience will prepare
A trap that blinds its victims,
Causing damage far and wide,
More than all the killers combined —
Used to be the lie was subtle inside.

Half-truths, forgeries, and blatant lies,
These gods of today, so sly.
Their venom stabs from youth’s embrace,
Poisoning minds, stealing grace.
Now the “scientist” is but a ****,
A charlatan — don’t listen, dum-dum.

Here’s the barrow-virus, a sign:
The vermin fall, to Hell they climb.
Commissioned frauds just drain the brain,
To justify the lies they claim —
And the inhuman ones request
Pseudoscience to prove the mess.
The **** will make it soft, you see,
But they’ll **** you — mercilessly.


---------------------


Paddling for Yourself

Always paddle, paddle everywhere —
In Hell, all else is just a waste.
Shovel it in — keep it with care,
The only question’s what’s the pay.

Betray and sell, that’s your game,
Or payment’s a troublesome debate.
Be by the trough, never the same —
Harden your heart, leave nerves at the gate.

Be dumb, for the smart will emit
That “smell” which the beasts cannot stand.
With it, outside the trough, you’ll quit —
Bow to the filth with your hand.

Without flattery, you’re no one in Hell —
A ruthless selection, unyielding:
“Rise up,” they’ll say, “only to nothing”—
For only the Evil is pleading.


---------------------


Paddling for Yourself
(Short Version)

Paddle, betray, and sell with grace —
In Hell, there's no other place.
Be dumb, be vile, do what you must —
Bow to the filth or die in dust.

A creature’s in the stores, you see,
It shops most every day.
Outwardly, it’s not stupid beast —
For beasts don’t care or think, I’d say.

The Core of It All

You can punch your neighbor’s face—
Cops are harder to abase.
Let the slaves release their steam—
That’s the core of every scheme.



---------------------



The Only Choice

To choose your chains—your will must bend,
All else is lies they preach and send.
A false choice fools the blind and weak—
Life reduced to hollow bleak.

But once you make the choice that's true,
Say "No!" and let your soul break through,
Life won’t twist to “either-or,”
Your path is clear, your heart knows more.

You'll hear the voice you need inside,
The truth that whispers, pure and bright.
The Monad speaks—its light will guide,
And through the dark, you’ll find your sight.

No light in chains—just endless night,
No way back once you take flight.
Stand like a rock midst evil’s game—
And laugh at choices built on shame.



---------------------



The Hard Search for "Good"

"Think of something bright!"—
Hard to see the light,
Once you've grown up tall
And don't lie at all.

Truth became your guide,
Yet the world is bad—
Hell was set as home
Since the day you had.



---------------------



The Slaughterhouse

Trust in the twisted, obey and consume,
Stack up your money, toil till you’re through.
Poison the world into filth and doom—
Outer and inner—one follows two.

Fear and deception will shrink every soul,
Like leather worn till it’s brittle and tight.
Once it collapses, the sheep as a whole
March to the slaughterhouse—lined up just right.

Wars full of meat, yet too few remain,
Drunk on the poison, we stumble and fall.
Ravaging nature, we lost all but shame—
Mere tools in the grip of devils tall.



---------------------



Prometheus

Your life’s a chain, a doomed crusade,
Like Prometheus, betrayed.
An eagle tears your soul apart—
By devil’s will, it plays its part.

They call themselves the gods of fire,
Yet rule through greed and dark desire.
"Success" is just a downward climb—
A pyramid of filth and grime.

To steal the Flame—of all the crimes,
None worse exists in cursed times.
But if you share it, truth will rise,
And burn deceit before their eyes.

Betrayal fuels the ones on top,
Their lies demand you kneel and stop.
Submission, faith in hollow lore—
The food that feeds the wretched floor.

For those below, there’s no release,
Just rot disguised as life and peace.
A swarm of lice in filth confined,
In hellish muck, yet calling it life.



---------------------



Idiocy

"Idiocy protects from suicide."
—David Durkheim

Despair that drowns you, deep and stark,
When all feels rotten, cold, and dark,
Where even pillows seem like blades—
The fate of those whose soul still fades.

But fools? They have no weight to bear,
No thoughts that pull them to despair.
Their "happiness" is safe and sweet—
Work, get married, chase receipts.

Stack up cash, embrace your fears,
Stay blind to madness through the years.
Yet all will wake upon the block—
Death and rot, the final shock.

A world where idiots suppress
The ones who think—their minds compressed.
Through lies, the masters guide their course—
A sugar-coated whip, of course.



---------------------



The Difference Between Steaming Off and Burning

"All the darkness in the universe cannot extinguish a single candle."
—Chinese Proverb

Ignite! Burn bright! Let flames arise,
And light up countless kindred eyes.
This is your answer to the slaves
Who sold their souls in shadowed caves.

The dark has swallowed many whole,
Yet fire can't be chained or tamed.
A spirit pure, a burning soul—
Won't rot among the weak and maimed.

Let flames engulf, let fire spread,
For Spirit’s strength will never break.
But cowards only vent their steam—
And fade into the dark they make.



---------------------



You're burning up? Well, what a plight—
The body sees no need for flame.
It craves its meals, its luck, its might,
And keeps its schedule just the same—
Or skips a meal to stay so light.



---------------------



Almost a Workout...

For relief—just exercise.
Better yet—run for your life!
New world order, no disguise—
Demons build a slave’s delight.



---------------------



Through the Dream strides, cold and grim,
Armageddon, dark and dim.
Those who wake—beware the fight!
Those asleep—hail chains so tight.



--- Total 10 poems. ---

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.


In Russian:

Страусиный мирок

ВОВСЮ идёт Армагеддон,
Но мысль об этом гонят вон:
Мир страусиный днесь не мнится —
Умеет лишь пред Злом склониться.

Closing the door, the Horned God
Opens the window wide,
In genocide, he's firm and odd—
And Overton’s gap will guide.


In Russian:

Окно Овертона

Дверь закрыв, Рогатый Бог
Открывает нам окно,
В геноциде очень строг —
Овертона ведь оно.

Don’t push your mind beyond its measure—
This Path of Thought brings little pleasure.
So many lost their way in blindness,
Trapped in the loops of their own mindness.

But Insight lifts you, clear and bright—
It lies above the mind, in sight
Of heart and soul. Let Spirit guide—
With horse and rider well allied.

The Path to a Distant Land

The fascist lie, a shroud so tight,
Keeps minds in chains, obscures the light,
It molds the fools in fearful ranks,
And drives them deep to terror’s banks.

Their hollow cries grow wild, insane,
A twisted choir of grief and pain…
Yet still they march, yet still they kneel—
Blind to the fate they help to seal.



---------------------



Mammoth

Mammoth gone? No, mammoth stays!
Lies still guide his twisted ways.
Since the rules were first decreed—
Only he may learn and lead.

All alone, he claims the right,
Blind to truth beyond his sight.
Scorns the sense that whispers near,
Yet without it—lost in fear.

Sense is light, but he obeys
Black-and-white, the mind’s decay.
Trapped in logic, cold and grim,
Doom is certain, bound to him.

Falsehood fades, its time is done,
Truth will rise with morning’s sun.
A new world will shape and grow—
Where intuition reigns to know.



---------------------



Cupid and the Riders of the Apocalypse

Cupid, fool, your aim is wrong—
Love, when all won’t last for long?
Hooves are pounding, cold as stone,
Be their herald—ride, be gone!

Let your wings bring news to those
Pure of heart, still sensing fate.
See and check—the end soon shows.
Curse it loud, but don’t be late!



---------------------



The Eternal Song of Blatherskite

Suicide’s a wicked sin—
A waste of meat, yet he keeps driving
The herds to slaughter, kith and kin,
For ages—Blatherskite’s surviving.

He shifts his shape, he hides his face,
Yet still his song remains the same.
A traitor dares to shun the race
Of chains, enclosures, death, and shame.



---------------------



Roulette of Pseudo-Life

Odd and even, even, odd—
Yet this roulette seems so flawed:
Whole numbers spin—oh, can't you see?
I would rather bet on Pi.

Golden ratio haunts my mind,
Not a day it stays behind.
Every thought comes back to Phi,
While the world just sighs: "Oh my!"

Cash and status rule the game—
Roulette’s flaw remains the same.
So I place it all on zero,
Though it shines, it isn’t hero.

"Yes" or "no"—a mere machine,
But the world is in between.
Trust your senses, look around—
See the shades that can't be found…



---------------------



Twist Them Tight!

"The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure, and the intelligent are full of doubt."
— Bertrand Russell


No doubt! No fear! March on, be bold!
Our leader guides us to pure gold.
And if you’re not with us—beware!
He’ll raise his hand and shout: "Go tear!"

We’ll hunt them down, we’ll break their backs,
We’ll chase them, sniff out all their tracks.
Those clever fools—we’ll make them pay,
They’re spineless worms—so bend, obey!

Twist them tight and don’t delay!
Drag the nearest **** away!
A worthy foe is what we lack—
Once all those thinkers hit the sack,

Once madhouse doors and jails are filled,
We’ll march ahead, we won’t be stilled.
Against outsiders, strike and burn—
Our flag will fly, our ways will turn

Into the norm for mindless sheep
Who trust the lies, obey, don’t weep.
And those who dare to doubt—beware!
The weak in war have no place there.



---------------------



Brutodrome

Glad to serve!
Why observe
All those foolish dreams of mind?
In the FILTH, I'm feeling fine!

Bow and follow, praise the lie,
Evil wears a saintly guise.
Eat, breed, babble—don’t ask why,
Live it up—till no one dies…



---------------------



Distilling Rot into Rant

The system rots—it’s nothing new,
For centuries, we’ve watched it stew.
But now the rot itself has fled,
All that remains is stench and RANT.

Beyond this RANT, so few survive,
Once more, we’ll build—bring back to life
A world that’s torn, consumed by blight,
Worn-out, exhausted, drained of light.



---------------------



Humans and Humanoids

Ego will lead you into the void,
A hollow world, so loud, yet empty.
The worthy few stand unalloyed—
But who is real, and who pretends be?

It isn’t hard to tell apart—
Their eyes will shine or stare so lifeless.
Divided deep, in soul and heart,
Though outward marks are blurred and sightless.

That emptiness… it weighs us down,
Without paradox, life’s just fiction.
Darkness will claim its rightful crown—
CowID’s the test: the mice show friction.



---------------------



Chemtrails Reflect the Sun’s Fierce Rays

They spray the skies with chemtrail streams,
Not at night—so faint, they fade from sight…
By day, a silver veil redeems
The air from sunlight’s burning might.

The raging Sun keeps turning cruel,
Its scorching beams will leave no trace—
It burns the world, no shade, no fuel,
A prelude to the End of Days.

And fools stand blind—they cannot see,
No thought, no reason, none will heed.
The ones who think—not just agree—
Are cast aside by fools and freaks.

For those who know, one path remains:
A Spirit’s Road beyond this lie.
When this zoo burns in crimson flames,
Their souls will flee to worlds on high.



---------------------



A Touch of "Madness" for True Knowing

The Mine of Death—
A well of lies.
Go test it, lest
You pay the price.

The mind goes blind
In halls of lore—
But cracked, it finds
A sharper core.

Less of "facts"—
More sense, more feel.
All true knowledge
Drips, not spills.

Yet intuition, strong and wise,
May turn the trickle to a tide.



---------------------



Marine and "Nerd"

Marines—
They win.
The troops—
All in.
The "nerd"—a joke,
A pawn, a clown.
The bureaucrat—
He wears the crown.

A traitor’s praised,
A king of lies.
— Who needs the Lyre?
— It slowly dies...

The scholar, the crook,
The jester in power—
They poison the souls,
Make masses cower.

Deception reigns,
Truth is denied.
Who needs the Lyre?
Their life’s designed—
From bistro to the latrine aligned...



---------------------



"School"—So They Say

Memory overload’s the key—
To rot the school intentionally.
A fool’s no fluke, but just the rule,
As nonsense turns the mind to gruel.

And all the manners, all the grace—
Just tricks to keep deep thoughts erased.



---------------------



Rejecting Evil

We resist—yet we obey,
Bound by fear, we walk astray.
Then we stumble all our lives,
Turning all the world to dust.

Evil’s vast, corrupts the soul,
To reject it makes us whole.
Dare to stand, refuse to bend—
Cast the Darkness to its end.



---------------------



Intuition

To wake from coma—
Means to rise,
Leave the familiar
World behind.

Step toward Spirit—
Life is there.
Sense it, feel it—
Poets dare.

Push perception
To the brink.
Hard at first?
Just act—don’t think.

Mind surrenders,
Turns to steel.
Not by learning,
But to feel.

Answers come
Through keen insight,
Crushing nonsense
With its light.

Rant is coma—
Time to wake!
World’s a tumor—
Bend, you break.



---------------------



The Upside-Down Mountain

The pit grows deeper—digging down,
Still chasing bedrock, far below.
It’s damp and dark, no light, no ground,
Yet miners toil—their task is so.

The money flows? Then dig with pride!
They’ll carve a hole both vast and grand.
And books will tell the kids in time:
"That mountain once stood tall and planned."

A new pit comes, and youth will learn
To dig once more, to carve the past.
And doubts will fade, as echoes turn:
"Those men were heroes to the last!"



---------------------



"Choice"

A squirrel runs—round and round.
They shout: "You’re free to choose!"
Yet in her mind, so tightly bound,
Lies nothing but obtuse.

Pick a bar—you get to choose
Which one will keep you spinning.
Trapped in lies, they chase the ruse,
Convinced that they are winning.

Young ones learn to jump and race,
Never pause, just keep on striving.
No one dares to say: this "choice"
Is nothing but conniving.



---------------------



Sheep’s Strong Bonds

The ram obeys—his shepherd near,
No fear of staff, no horn to chide.
So too with men—through faith or fear,
They're bound by God and laws as guide.



---------------------



To the Artist

Forget the crowd, the board, their praise—
It's better to write and let it stay.
No need to bend, no need to stray—
Eternal works may find their way.

For watching the masses, fearing their call,
Where slaves are many—free minds are few,
Will turn the artist, the writer, them all,
To traitors lost—their talent through.



---------------------



Entertaining Chemistry, or "Nature’s Crown"

This chemistry is quite the art—
Not for school, but for the feast.
They twist our minds, they tear apart,
And turn the crowd into a beast.

The dumbing down that schools begin,
The rotten media refine.
Forget your will, give up, give in—
Your mind is nearly out of time.

For reason fades where fools are vast,
And idiots now set the tone.
Free thought? Too rare—it couldn’t last.
And fascist claws keep growing strong.

The future? None. A twisted tale
That nears its grim and final part.
We’re not the same, we’re bound to fail—
The crown will rot, then fall apart.



---------------------



Amidst the Filth...

The heroes took another way
And lived a little more than most.
Now only **** and rot remain—
Dark years ahead, a heavy cost.

The CowID, the war, the stage is set,
The filth expands, the chains grow tight.
With bravery gone, the Spirit spent,
There's no one left to stand and fight.



---------------------



The Dead, or The World Unmasked

No disguise—just "FAS!"—the call,
And fools rush in without a doubt.
Fascism suits us, after all—
The dead now freely walk about.

The living lost, the dead run wide—
No thrill or feast can break the spell.
And in their joy, they **** their ride—
For walking corpses, all is well.



--- Total 22 poems. ---

"Freedom within the state’s a lie."
— Mikhail Bakunin

School is the first step, a law to obey—
Freedom’s a myth they will drill in your mind.
Then comes the Beast with its media sway,
Turning the masses to blind leading blind.

Only the gifted, the sharp and aware,
Born to see through it, escape from the chains.
Few are like this—so the world’s in despair,
Ruled by the Evil that darkens all brains.

See how they showed it—the muzzle, the madness,
Shots filled with poison for slaves to endure.
Only by seeking the Spirit in wholeness
Can we destroy this Bedlam for sure.

Mind under Spirit—our one true salvation,
Healing the madness, restoring the light.
Now, though, the Beast reigns—its foul *******
Rots us, deceives us, and poisons our sight.

Rise and unite, build your kin, break the lying,
Face down the Darkness—create and defy!
Only the Pure Spirit leads the undying—
Heroes are those who refuse to comply.

The road to the Peak is shattered—
Only trails are left to tread.
Hard to find them, though it matters,
Even sleepless, lost in dread.

Schemes and tricks won't lift you higher,
Though you plot them night and day.
And despair, a creeping fire,
Spreads like plague along the way.

How Many Fools?

How many fools must fall to end
This war, this endless, ****** trend?
So many more — for Russia’s reached
The depths, where all the souls are breached.



---------------------



The Pendulum

The pendulum is broken now —
The rhythm fades, no steady flow.
Maybe I’ve just run dry somehow —
A hack, a scribbler — don't you know?



---------------------



Substitute Line

A hollow verse, a foolish rhyme —
Come on, you clown, it’s your time!
Go ahead, oppress the weak,
Make your mockery complete.



---------------------



The Poet’s Futility

The poet's work — a fruitless fight,
In fear and madness, lost in spite,
Of lies, of greed, of all we’ve lost —
A world consumed, no matter cost.



---------------------



The First Rainy Season in Moldova

Rainy season —
A subtropical place...
Pour it down,
Let chaos fill the space.



---------------------



Kaleidoscope

A little is enough for thought —
A kaleidoscope of books, of plot.
But oft it serves to pull away —
It fills the heart with empty sway.



---------------------



Social Realism — A Crude Shift
A super-concentration of mind,
Not for fascist-communist drift,
But to drag the "minds" to the grind.



---------------------



Hear! I Crave Wonders and Spectacles
Bored to rot in cracks and holes,
It's rashism that takes its toll —
A wonder of madness, dull and cold.



---------------------



The Writer’s Absurdity

In the madhouse of deceit,
Publishers reign, with endless feet,
Of sheepish novels scattered wide,
Where truth and sense are cast aside.



---------------------



"The law is harsh, but just indeed"
It traps the fools, and makes them bleed.
For clever, sly, and cunning fish —
This is the world's inevitable wish.



---------------------



"Once Upon a Time," or What They'll Remember About Us...

"We lived," but never were —
To Hell we sailed, in lies a blur.
Conquered fears that drowned the light —
Worse than death, these endless nights...



---------------------



It Doesn't Matter How Many Foes
For paper tigers, fierce they show,
But in this world of fools and lies,
Their roar is hollow, their strength dies.



---------------------



The Futility of Effort

The fruitlessness of all we try,
To pass through lies that twist and vie,
In tortures built of deceit and pain,
We struggle on, but all in vain.



---------------------



"Inflexibility" in Personal Ties
And patience with the rules of Night —
Blind to all the ****** lies,
The nature of a goat "in flight".



---------------------



"You boast of a pure past, you swine?
Once a ******, now a ***** in line..."
Politicians always stand apart,
But they're tainted from the very start,
With dirt and lies they’ve carried long —
A mark of filth, a tale of wrong.



---------------------



Foolish, Futile Hopes

“Hope is the dream of the waking.”
— Plato

Dream breaks through the fog of Lies,
That people proudly call their "mind."
It’s hard to shout a clear "deny!"
When truth is something none can find.

Dream, Lie, and Madness — hand in hand —
Have wrapped the world in shadow’s dome.
And if you're Tender, you must stand
Alone — serve Soul, not Mind — and roam.



---------------------



Doom

Doom’s drawing near — no way to stall.
The crowd still stumbles through the Night.
Just few attempt, if so at all,
To keep their sanity in sight.

The mind is under fierce attack —
This age, the final, seals our fate:
Fear, filth and lies — a rising stack —
And man dissolves beneath their weight.

A puppet takes the human’s place —
CowID made that crystal-clear.
"Great changes" wait for every face:
Shame masked as kindness, pride as fear.

In rabid haste, the beasts parade —
They crave to strike before the Flame
Consumes this world, so wrongly made,
In Fascism’s all-consuming name.



---------------------



Lawless by Design

"Who told you that there are laws to which our behavior must conform?"
— Arthur Schopenhauer


The BEASTS are drafting laws again,
The masses nod, applaud, comply.
They’re chains disguised as rules for men —
Decay is what they justify.

Obeying BEASTS — the only creed
That now defines what life should be.
But is it life, this sham, this screed,
Where thought is tossed in lunacy?

Their minds are loops of prefab clips,
No spark, no soul, no conscious thread —
Thus drunks and psychos, full eclipse,
Become the norm, just as they’re bred.

That’s what the BEASTS have always sought —
A world of rats in legal snare,
Where laws mean: "Crawl!", and truth is naught,
And lying’s breathed like common air.



---------------------



Creation

Boredom’s ***** won’t ever find you
If your craft and fire bind you
In this world of rot and madness.
Else you’ll drown in lies and sadness.

Lies are rampant, wild, insane.
But if art is clear and plain,
It can clear the mind and senses —
Laziness just dulls defenses.

Strain is needed — real, not hollow,
When your questions you must follow.
There’s no other way — delusion
Rules the world in full profusion.

Earth is racing to the brink,
Not much time is left to think.
Make your mark — ignore the glory,
Even if no reads your story.

They won’t notice, they won’t care —
But so what? It’s in the air.
That cliff is near. The end is tight.
Create — while you still have the right.



---------------------



Mock-Haiku

A slug crawls slowly to the height...
Yeah right — that slug won’t make it far.
It’ll find a "reason," sure —
The slimy herd knows why they are.

Don’t be a slug — forget the mold!
Don't creep — just fly, ignore the rules!
The slime will call your flight too bold.
Don't trust the slick — fly past the fools!



---------------------



Instant Nonlocal Ties

There are ties beyond all measure —
Instant, distant — Nature’s thread.
But the ****, in blind displeasure,
Chop what never should be shred.

They defile what is united,
Chasing joy in soulless ways.
With wild howls, the press, excited,
Drives them straight into the blaze.

Yet the End comes — fast, revealing,
Truth breaks through the howls of lies.
Few stay honest — more appealing
To the world where spirit flies.

And the rest? To Hell they’re driven,
Not the old one, dressed in myths —
But a fresh one, newly given
For the fools with hollow "ifs."



---------------------



The Dignified Frog

A frog leapt in a *** — quite grand —
With water cold (at least for now).
She sought out joy, a promised land —
But got the madhouse life allows.

They boil her slow, with lies and steam,
Just turning up the heat each day.
She hopped in proud — lost in a dream,
Till truth — and reason — slipped away.



---------------------



The "Straight Path"

When brains are rare, the crowd s in luck  
A  path  is pitched, so bold and bright.
The fools line up to join the ****,
Its end is called   pure dread and fright.

But through the Fog of Lies they march,
In tidy rows, with cheerful face.
And when they reach that final arch  
They re fed more nonsense, just in case.

They'll call the horror a "mistake"
And sell a new "straight path" once more.
The lie gets tweaks for lying s sake  
It works on minds with broken core.



---------------------



The Straight Path

When minds are scarce — a common trait —
They offer up a "straight" way through.
And fools line up — they take the bait,
Not seeing where that road will skew.

The end is wrapped in Fog and Fiction —
They march ahead in tidy rows.
And once they reach the grim affliction,
They toss in fresh confusing shows.

They’ll call the horror "just a glitch"
And chart the "straight path" out once more.
The lies don’t change — not even switch —
But fools still flock, their minds unsure.



---------------------



Negative Selection

Selection now goes in reverse —
A law that Darwin never knew.
The liar thrives, the thief does worse —
He climbs, while noble men are few.

The wise, the just — they're cast below,
Their strength of spirit left to rot.
No chance to let that power grow —
The **** selects a lesser lot.

A newer breed is rising fast —
Of servile souls, with vacant eyes.
They dress up lies in modern masks,
Call chains "free choice," and truth — "disguise."

The final shame — a bright facade
Of "freedom" in a wired disguise.
This path's a sentence, cold and odd —
And once it grips, no one will rise.



---------------------



The Horror of Swinish Ways

Torments of passion?
Reject the obsession!
All’s twisted and hollow —
No truth left to follow.

Your Spirit’s a rover —
No home to take over.
So seek in that fire
A higher desire.

Let Mind serve the Soul —
One self, whole and whole.
That’s oneness — the key.
All else is swinery.



---------------------



Executioners of Mind

"Steal the Volga — send it West!"
That earned ten years without protest.
The nation’s best were crushed and maimed,
While mass delusion was proclaimed.

And now — the same. Just change the dress:
CowID made it clear — no less.
The ghouls remain, their aims aligned:
For centuries — a war on Mind.



---------------------



April First

A day for all the Earth,
Where nonsense fills the air,
And like a blight of mirth,
Man falls in dark despair.

Transformed by foolish schemes,
To slaves, they’re made to bend.
And all are caught in dreams,
Where devils find their end.



--- Total 28 poems. ---

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.


In Russian:

Поэт и перманентная война с Разумом

Ветеран тотальных боен,
Тех что с разумом ведут,
Ты, поэт, всегда достоин,
Коль стихи твои не врут.

Одичалые "народы"
Верят лжи и ближних бьют.
Ты стремишься сквозь невзгоды
К Свету чрез упорный труд.

Пусть удача улыбнётся
На твоём чрез Зло пути.
Чуткий-честный не сдаётся:
В Лагерь с дурнями идти

Невозможно для поэта —
Лучше ярко умереть,
Не принявши мира бреда,
Что усилят ТВАРИ впредь.

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.


In Russian:

Лирический герой гнилого мирка

Лирическим героем
Запудрю вам мозги:
Обманный мир построен,
Повсюду дураки,

А потому елеем
Чушь надо увлажнять.
Под ложью знатно блеем,
Цель жрать и спать. Насрать

На те слова, что резки:
Облагородь дурьё,
Но мягонько, не дерзко, —
Не вороши Гнильё.

The labor’s repayment —
Just weariness deep.
Though much has been done,
You not soundly sleep.

Don't Be an ***...

"Woe" to minds that dare to stray—
Hell and ruin come, they say.
Meek and "righteous" fools obey,
Chained by lies they can't betray.

If despair should cloud your sight,
Sin it’s not to seek delight.
Raise some hell, cause some alarm—
Live in Bedlam, safe from harm.

Fools are countless—worse than blades,
Duller minds bring darker shades.
Executioners may ****,
Idiots do greater ill.

Raised among the dull and tame,
Trapped within their sheepish game—
Chains of meekness weigh you down,
Break or sink—it's all they allow.

No good reason, no fair trial,
They will crush you in denial.
So stay alone, stay sharp, stay whole—
Or wear the ears and play the role.



---------------------



A Tiny Orchestra of Hope

The band collapsed. Its minstrel pawned
His lute to chase the sirens’ tune.
Their maestro, ragged, sick, withdrawn,
Replaced by brutes who sneer and swoon.

A grand new orchestra arose,
Conducted by a Goat of Blight.
It plays for Evil, loud and close,
In concert halls where fools delight.

Yet those who think retreat within
To seek the Sound that once was pure,
Where harmony is not a sin,
Beyond the devils’ overture.

But solitude's a heavy weight—
No servants trailing in the dust.
If rescue comes, it’s left to fate...
Yet even God has drowned in rust.

So hope is lost, and strength is spent,
No will to stomach one more scene.
Deceit and madness set the trend,
And fools are crowned as kings supreme.



---------------------



The Stench of Dull Surroundings

The fools preach lessons, dull and hollow,
Their minds as flat as their clichés.
Their sacred texts? Not worth a swallow—
Just shoot the junk and numb the haze.

"Go vote!" they cry, "defend your rights!"
As if the cage could set you free.
The god they fear keeps fiends in sight—
A horned one grins. They bow their knees.

Their words disgust, their faces tire,
Like rotten swine in filth they play.
Yet pigs seem noble—rising higher
Than those who still resemble clay.



---------------------



The Poison of False Faiths

Don't you look—just chant the pages,
Bow and strengthen chains within.
"God's command!"—the vile contagion
Spawns its offspring: fear and sin.

Mind grows dull, and Spirit falters,
Lost in heresy's decay.
All their "truths" were pulled from altars
Built in Hell to blind and sway.

From your birth until your ending,
Trapped within this stifling haze.
Trust your soul—its voice unbending,
Not false hopes in distant days.



---------------------



Swallowing the Stench of Lies

The **** leaves marks, a bitter trace,
Having swallowed lies and waste,
Brewing chaos in its wake—
Toxic fumes that scorch and break.
Yet in ignorance, he’s blessed…



---------------------



Moscow, Unmoved by Tears

Moscow, with no tears to show,
Opened wide the doors below
To fascism's wretched roar—
Blended with stupidity’s core.



---------------------



"Wisdom"

Blockhead figured lies and spite
Can help one rise in life’s cruel fight.
With honor, mind, and pride—he'll see
A life of endless poverty.

Betrayal, too, will pave the way—
A world where flaws win every day.
Evil's power will show them all—
True wisdom’s just a clever call.



---------------------



Omnivore

The people’ll swallow, eat it all,
Always begging for some more.
Those extra bites, a tightening thrall,
Yet herds keep chewing, as before.



---------------------



Came, Saw, and... Bought

I felt good, you see—
Watched ads on TV.
What’s this? You gape at me?
Don’t you have your own spree?

Look, go on, buy it now—
You’re nearly Napoleon!
First, stack up the cash—
That’s the simple law we’re on.



---------------------



The World's Rear End

Where’s the ***-end of the world?
Now that we’ve hit rock-bottom, hurled,
It’s everywhere you look, it seems—
Only a few escape the screams.



---------------------



Behind Closed Doors

Behind closed doors, we won't remain
As humans long—then comes the pain.
They'll sweep us up, one by one,
And end the world we've come undone.

A Digital Camp is rising high,
If your mind’s still sharp, don't let it die.
Seek paths to save what can be saved—
Unite with those who haven’t caved.



---------------------



The Soulful Wounds of the Sheep

Pouring salt into the wound,
Claiming it’s iodine, too—
Old as time, yet sheep are doomed,
Believing lies as they push through.

From the pen, once shaved and shorn,
Straight to slaughter, they’re led on.
“Kindness” now is bile reborn—
The BEASTS “heal” for a reason gone.



---------------------



Variable Cloudiness

Cloudy, yet NOT changing still,
Drifting on with time’s own flow—
Endless drift, no hope to fill—
The sun’s rays are not for show.



--- Total 13 poems. ---

Criminals in disguise,
Much worse than all the rest—
Deception in their eyes,
Yet fools think they're the best.

And since the fools are plenty,
Injustice rules the land.
The world, so weak and empty,
Now bows to their command, unmanned.


In Russian:

Полицаи

Преступники в погонах
Опаснее других —
Обманки на шевронах:
Им доверяет псих.

Раз глупых психов много,
Повсюду беспредел:
Прогнулся мир убогий
Под полицай-режим, не смел.

The printed word is filth and fraud,
The world’s a ring where fools applaud.
The heavyweight will shove away
The light and those who shun the play.


In Russian:

Пресса

Печатного слова дерьмо:
Мир глупый похож на сумо —
Из круга погонит толстяк
Всех тонких, не падких до врак.

Hardy, crazy dolly Daisy
is a mind pliant to Evil.
All in it is very hazy.
The most problem is retrieval.

Vain wishes cloud the fools in haze,
As Schwab's grotesque ideas rise.
A soulless crowd obeys, unfazed,
In outreach’s storm of filth and lies.

They forge new monsters—cold, unchained,
A hybrid mind, yet steel within.
But Reason’s gasping, crushed, restrained—
Its torture marked by CowID’s sin.

Why make hybrids?—Now we see:
The brainless ***** is hailed as "norm."
A mindless cog, machinery,
It fuels the fascists’ raging storm.

Do morons rule?—A hollow thought,
For they just serve decrees they read.
The circus thrives, the filth is brought,
As clowns all scramble for their feed.

Their “orders” spew more lies and sludge,
Poured down upon the mindless tide.
Escape? The grave won’t hear their grudge,
Or forests where the few still hide.

Without a soul, all ends in dust,
Their plans will rot, consumed by strife.
They’ll scorch the earth before they’re crushed—
For beasts know neither scale nor life.

All monsters rot, all fiends decay,
Their reign is doomed to fade and flee.
Not by the road they’ll waste away,
But swallowed by Eternal Gloom—
Though Light still sleeps in apathy.


In Russian:

Перспективы производства монстров

"Бессмертье? Вам, двуногие кроты,
Не стоящие дня земного срока?
Пожалуй, ящерицы, жабы и глисты
Того же захотят, обидевшись глубоко...
.................................
....................­.............
Не клянчите! Господь и мудр, и строг,-
Земные дни бездарны и убоги,
Не пустит вас господь и на порог,
Сгниете все, как падаль, у дороги".
Саша Чёрный, "Бессмертие", 1908 г.


Желаний суетных затмили вздор
Убогих Швабов жалкие потуги.
Бездушие толпы как приговор
Средь мерзких СМРАДов холодящей вьюги.

Выводят монстров. Их мечта гибрид —
Бездушная машина, но с "сознаньем".
Но Разум на Земле почти добит:
В том признак есть — говнидом истязанье.

Зачем гибрид? — уже сейчас дебил
Стал "нормою": послушная МАШИНА.
Сегодня он оплот фашизма сил,
Ведь исполняет все веления кретинов.

Кретины правят? То большой вопрос,
Вернее риторический: отбросы  
Лишь исполняют циркуляры. Слов понос
В толпу, а клоуны все дружно на подсосе:

ЦеУ получат, и опять в толпу
Ушаты гноя и дерьма навалят.
Не достают кого? Лишь кто в гробу,
Избегнет чуши, иль в леса кто свалит.

Раз нет Души, то ожидает крах
Любые начинанья в этой сфере.
Пред этим низведут всю Землю в прах —
Ведь ТВАРИ сл'абы в осторожности и в мере.

Все монстры падаль, ТВАРИ в том числе —
Землёю правит нелюдь, то издревле.
Сгниют не у дороги, а во Мгле,
Хоть Силы Света, очевидно, ныне дремлют.


СМРАД - средства массовой
рекламы, агитации, дезинформации

Confined to a narrow realm, no time for critique,
The bigger picture lost beneath trivial haze.
Endless data clouds the mind, so to speak,
Without the vital keys to clear the maze.

These keys might set the system into place,
Or tear it down with the skill of a fraud.
But there's no need to strain or lose the race—
A grant’s like faith, and leadership’s like God.

The Spirit erased from the sciences' creed—
The very source of life, the missing key.
So theories are but opinions, indeed,
Detached from truth—where grants hold tyranny.

Those who pay decide which way you’ll be steered,
With small rewards to guide you on your quest.
People always lead, but make things unclear—
And decay prevails in what was once the best.

For those who’ve turned from science and reflection,
Seek within yourself for the keys to find.
Or else you'll fall to mindless dissection,
Lost in a world of hollow, shattered mind.


In Russian:

Лжеучёный

В узкую область включён — не до критики
Общей картины, ведь тьма мелочей
Застит сознание: масса эмпирики
Без получения важных ключей,

Что приведут ВСЮ систему в порядок
Или разрушат как ловкий подлог.
Но напрягаться столь сильно не надо:
Грант словно вера, начальство как бог.

Вымаран _Дух из "наук" построений —
Жизни _основа, и это есть ключ.
Так что теории скопище мнений,
Чуждых реальности — грант столь могуч.

Платят кто — знают, куда направляют
МАЛОЙ оплатой "познания путь".
Люди свои всё всегда возглавляют —
И торжествует тлетворная муть.

Чуждым "науке" путём интроспекции
Сам отыщи к Духу, Яви ключи,
Или пойдёшь по пути деградации
С миром убогим — тогда не взыщи!..

A noble goat ascends the tiers,
Not the last among the chain.
A wretched soul who sold his years
To Evil’s tune for fleeting gain.

He spits on those beneath his feet,
Crushes those who touch the base,
And serves the whims of those elite,
Groveling with slavish grace.

This Everest of servile grime,
A mountain built of fawning waste,
Defines the world—a hollow crime,
No room for Mind or Soul’s embrace.

Yet should such values hold their sway,
The hollow peak will quickly fall.
To those attuned, the signs convey:
Decline now looms above us all.

Degradation’s rife, unchecked;
The base will crack and pull it down.
The "summit’s" fiend, your reign is wrecked—
Weep and wail; you’ll surely drown!


In Russian:

Пирамида обЧественного идиотоустройства

Знатный козлик — в пирамиде
Не последнее звено:
Повезло продажной гниде —
Он подстроился под Зло

И плюёт на тех, кто снизу,
Топчет тех, кто видит дно.
Исполняет все капризы
Тех, кто "сверху", на говно

Изводясь. И эверестом
Из холуйского дерьма
Можно мир назвать. Нет места
В нём тому, кто Зов Ума

И Души считает главным.
А коль так, то эверест
Скоро рухнет. Стало явным
Это чутким — глянь окрест:

Деградация зашкалена —
Дно трещит и за собой
"Верх" утащит в пропасть. Гадина
На "вершине", плачь и вой!

Heaps of corpses — that’s a war.
Fools in darkness? Plenty more.
Evil thrives as we obey,
Dragged to toil, led astray.

Toil is futile, world’s a sham,
Ruled by filth — a global scam.
To be true means casting doubt,
Seeking light to burn it out.

Madness fades where truth is found,
Self and world — delusions bound.
Light transcends, its voice is clear:
Dissolve within, no need for fear.

The den is deep, it leads to Hell,
And fools who sell their souls compel
A road to shame, to sorrow's pit —
A bridge of lies they’ve proudly lit.


In Russian:

Крысиная нора инфернального мирка

Горы трупов — то война.
Тьма придурков — то цена
Злу покорности. Отстой
Нас ведёт на труд и в бой.
Труд напрасный. Мировой
Ныне тот отстой. Собой
Быть — отринуть мира бред
И искать в себе тот Свет,
Что сведёт МАРАЗМ на нет.
Личность, мир — маразм и бред.
Свет НАДЛИЧНОСТЕН — пора
Раствориться в нём. Нора
Глубока, и в Ад ведёт,
А продажный идиот,
Не намеренья, мостит,
Путь туда — Позор и Стыд!..

A rebel’s soul
Will take its toll
On ears that fear the voice of might,
For wicked slaves adore control
That tears the veil of blind delight.

Their minds are chained,
Deprived of light.
Through lies, they turn the fools to dust,
And thus the world, once burning bright,
Becomes a wasteland choked with rust.

The soul’s call in life so hollow
Drowns in filth and chains of lies.
Spirit, rise! Let courage follow!
Break the mind’s deceitful ties.

Burn away the piles of clutter
Choking thought with dull deceit!
Spirit’s first — not mind’s dull mutter,
Noise submissive and effete.

Spirit forms the core of being,
Mind’s a servant, nothing more.
Mind enslaves — and words, unseeing,
Turn to filth and flood the shore.

That foul flood is loosed by Creatures
Meant to keep us bound in chains.
How to fight their twisted features?
Strengthen Spirit, break Evil’s reins!

Tear down lies and build up forces,
Stand against the rule of fiends.
Fools won’t grasp these vital courses —
Too enslaved by their machines.

Few resist, but lone defiance
Will not shift the fateful tide.
Rot prevails — the Hell-born giants
Claim the world with greedy pride.

Only chaos, fire, thunder
Burns the chains and frees the way.
Till then, tyrants spew their plunder
Through the slaves that they betray.


In Russian:

Правильный баланс Духа и ума

Зов Души в убогой жизни
Заглушается дерьмом
Лжи, покорности. Дух, брызни!
Чтоб не жить одним умом,

Ты сожги отвалы чуши,
Что забили пошлый ум,
Ведь первичны наши Души,
Ум вторичен — нудный шум.

Дух основа всякой жизни,
Ум лишь служка. Перекос
В сторону ума — и слизни
Сплошь ползут чрез слов понос.

Тот понос низвергнут ТВАРИ,
Чтобы в рабстве всех держать.
Как бороться в Лживой Мари?
Силы Духа укреплять,

Ложь развенчивать, общины
Строить Злу в противовес.
Не поймут того кретины —
Слишком сильный ТВАРЕЙ пресс.

Единицы исключений
Не изменят ничего:
Неотступно разложенье —
ТВАРЕЙ Ада торжество.

Катаклизм поможет — рабство
Он сожжёт, спасая Дух.
А пока вновь лжёт тиранство
Чрез своих пробитых слуг.

"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 **** 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.



In Russian:

Правильные вопросы

"Можно ответить на любой вопрос, если он задан правильно".
Платон.


Правильных вопросов
Мало задают
Между лжи поноса:
Очень "знатно" лгут,

Разум убивая
И суя ответ
До вопроса, зная
Как тлетворен БРЕД.

Бредом оглупленье —
Мировой Дурдом.
С каждым поколеньем
Он тупей. Скотом

Сделать всех мечтают —
Ярый геноцид.
В Мраке не лажают,
В том пример говнид,

Только те, что сами
И на свой вопрос
Отвечают. Нами
Нелюдь правит. Рост

Страхов, подчиненья —
Разум резко вниз.
ТВАРИ. Разложенье.
Мировой фашизм.

Cold and hunger, endless strife,
And the Crone with Scythe in life.
Such are prospects fate will give,
If you dream "to happily live."
In this Hell, don’t turn away—
Fight the Monstrosity’s sway.


In Russian:

Наступление Зла

Холод, голод, невезуха,
И с Косой стоит Старуха:
Вот такие перспективы,
Если хочешь "жить счастливо"
В здешнем Аде — не бороться
С наступающим Уродством.

"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.


In Russian:

Река Забвения

"Всё течёт, всё меняется. И никто не был дважды в одной реке. Ибо через миг и река была не та, и сам он уже не тот".
Гераклит.

Река Забвения: войти
В неё — уже никак не выйти.
Скажи Всевышнему: "Прости,
Я был статистом с Адом битвы".

Кромешный Ад. Всевышний где?
Он далеко — вне Сферы Ада.
Ты "поклонялся красоте",
И был при том покорным гадом?

В Рек'у Забвения войдёшь
С такими же как ты — слепыми,
ЗАКОНОМЕРНО пропадёшь,
Ведь будущее за ИНЫМИ.

Иных тех мало — т'онка "нить",
Идущая за Сферы Ада.
Лишь ПО ЛУЧУ идти, не плыть
Разумному ОТСЮДА надо.

К Всевышнему тот тонкий луч —
Ищи в Душе к нему вхожденье
Среди зловонных лживых куч
Наваленных в неё с рожденья.

Лишь Там покой и красота —
В Аду всё тупо, лживо, криво,
"Спасение" лишь на крестах,
"Отдохновенье" на краю Обрыва.

"Where violence is frequent, it is endured."
— David Durkheim


A subtler force—deceit refined,
Wrapped in a fear, cruel yet polite.
They’ll bear it all, the witless kind,
If called "the good," if named "the right."

And fools will serve that twisted creed,
If branded bright with virtue’s name—
To please the Beasts who bow and bleed,
Enslaved beneath the Goat’s domain.

The cops, the clerks, the suited swine,
The teachers trained to dim the soul—
All grind the minds by "grand design",
Unaware of their own role.

Corruption thrives, a madhouse reigns,
Among the traitors, cheap and proud.
While few may grasp the hidden chains,
They guide the herd and preach aloud.



In Russian:

Указующие и прочие ...

"Там, где часты насильственные поступки, они терпимы".
Давид Дюркгейм.


Насилие потоньше,
С основой в виде лжи
Коварной, и побольше!,
И стерпят ВСЁ — служить

"Добру" придурки будут,
Лишь назови "добром",
Что нужно тем паскудам,
Что в рабстве под Козлом:

Политики, чинуши,
Менты, "учителя"
Гнобят умы и души
Козлу в угоду, для

Всё большего распада,
Не ведая о том, —
Среди продажных гадов
Всегда сплошной дурдом.

Лишь единицы знают
Системы цель и суть,
Но ловко то скрывают,
К "добру" указывая путь.

The Salvation of the Soul

"You are born with nothing but the potential to form it. You don’t have a soul, and that’s the greatest truth. If you labor, you can create one—but you are not born with it."
Osho.


You are born — there’s something here,
That you must strengthen, or it’ll disappear.
Or else it’ll vanish, lost in the Night,
Indulgence in evil — beasts in sight.

The outcome’s clear for such a path,
These souls are lost, and none will last.
Preserve the spark of God inside,
You must know the Light, let it be your guide.

Gurdjieff’s truth is partly right,
There are TWO kinds, in day and night.
Like Light and Dark, they stand apart,
And CowID days show the evil heart.

They’ve shown the truth in stark relief,
In Bedlam’s grasp, in dark belief.
If born with Soul, with strength and might,
Park’s hand will guide you through the fight.

But only with effort, and will so strong,
Can you break through when all seems wrong.
Despair, weakness—become the test,
The Soul, once lost, may face its death.

One view: the rarest kind of soul,
From birth untouched, it’s born whole.
But under lies, many have failed,
Fallen prey to a darkness that veiled.

The stench of it has dimmed the light,
Trust your intuition, in darkest night.
Guard your soul with critical care,
Shield it from the Shame that lurks out there.

The spark of God: a fragile thing,
Only those who strive can spread its wings.
Fuel it, burn it—feel the heat,
Endure the Hell, for soon you’ll meet
The Sun, which burns the Evil away,
Evaporating Darkness, till nothing stays.



---------------------



The Coloring Book, Childish and Not Quite…

A coloring book for kids, you see,
It stretches on, and ages be.
But in the hands of the Devil’s brush,
You’ll be painted through pain’s rush.

A soul undone, a mind destroyed:
For evil, soft pastels employed.
To dull the mind and stifle thought,
A web of false goals, tightly caught.

Bright hues of lies the masses chase,
Drawing you down in their disgrace.
The path to Light, concealed from view,
Beneath thick layers, hidden too.

Scrape away the paint, and there,
You’ll find the way — if luck’s your share.
If darkness hasn’t dulled your sense,
And you’re not lost in the idiot’s pretense.



---------------------



The Obedient Dogs of Pseudoscience and the Cavernous Stupidity of the World

"Faith and knowledge are two scales: the higher one, the lower the other."
Arthur Schopenhauer.


False knowledge turned to faith,
Will Spirit balance this weight?
In caverns deep, we find our place,
Among the servants, lost in haste.

They spread satanic lies,
In "sciences" and alibis.
Under falsehoods, all they play,
Tempted by wealth, they drift astray.

The spiritual, in dwindling few,
The scales descend, as darkness grew.
The earthly Hell, it seems to fade,
Yet the dogs of evil will invade.



---------------------



The Factory of Death

Believe the lies it spouts,
They'll lead you straight to graves;
But fools believe in evil,
And slavery it craves.



---------------------



The **** of Pseudoscience — They Paint the World With It

"So, the man who tries to bend science to a view that comes not from science itself (no matter how much science may err), but from outside interests alien to it, I call 'low.'"
Karl Marx.


So much water has flowed by—
And prostitution’s now inside
The halls of "science," where Evil reigns,
Led by the merchants' vile chains.

Without bribes or orders, none
Do anything beneath the sun.
And what results is filth and waste,
As evil’s victory is embraced.



---------------------



Death Becomes

"Not everyone wears life well."
Stanislaw Jerzy Lec.


A wretched life suits the fool,
The scoundrel, the vile tool.
The sensitive choose Death instead—
Death for the world, where lies are fed.

No fragile skull can pierce the stone,
It’s hard to stand with slaves alone.
To find the rare, the few, the bright—
One must shake the air with might.

Loud, and still the chances fade,
The world’s a madhouse, madly laid.
A "normal" slave, in madness trapped,
His soul grown weak, in lies enwrapped.

Or worse, he’s lost all soul, undone.
Death becomes him, for the "people" come,
Surround and drain life’s sacred juice,
Defiling the soul with their vile abuse.



---------------------



The Poet Must Cherish the Light

The poet must protect the Light,
And let it flow within his lines.
Without the Light, he’s void, a blight—
Only fools will hear his signs.

But there’s one thing in this retreat:
If he describes the Dark's decay,
The madness, chaos in the street,
Where Light is hidden, lost to stray,

The strife that keeps us from our wake—
Then he is worthy, Light inside.
Find it, and you’ll never break,
For Light within, you shall abide.



---------------------



The Word

"The word belongs half to the speaker, and half to the listener."
Michel de Montaigne, 16th century.


In a world of lies, the Word
Is swiftly devalued, unheard.
The more the lies, the tighter the chains—
The Creator stands alone, in pains.

For he cannot join the fools’ parade,
Where Words are shackled in the Shade.
And if you're bound by lies so deep,
Then to the liar's pit, you’ll sleep.




---------------------



The Light Inside You

Light and Truth, and Liberty—
All else is folly, plain to see.
In the chaos of this world,
Through the fog, the herds are hurled

To their complete degradation.
The interim result is clear—
False diseases, false foundation,
And the Horned God hides in fear.

Under Satan’s heavy grip,
The world remains, a sinking ship.
Add the terror of rashism’s lies,
They’ll never wake, they’ll never rise.

The final truth, the key, the call—
Save yourself, escape the fall.
Choose the path of Knowledge bright,
And cherish only the Light inside.




---------------------



The Labor of Sisyphus

"That which we do, we do not consider truth, yet we do it nonetheless."
Aurelius Augustine.


With "mind" stretched thin, and nerves all frayed,
Embracing foolishness with pride,
We rush to toil, to be first paid,
And trumpet all our "success" far and wide.

We charge ahead, while Fate just mocks,
This cruel Sisyphus-like grind.
When will this fool’s labor stop,
And swap this Hell for the world confined?



---------------------



The Search for Light

"You will be called destroyers of morality, but you are only the discoverers of yourselves."
Friedrich Nietzsche.


Beyond morality, beyond the crowd,
Where mad slaves cry out loud,
A few exceptions, bold and bright,
Seek the Light within the night,
And find it only deep inside.
So, look within and see the guide!



---------------------



Inside Out at Dawn

Turn your weary mind inside out,
At dawn, let rest your troubled soul;
The Spirit breathes—though filled with doubt,
It labors hard 'mid thoughts that roll.



---------------------



The Black Lyre

Work wears you down, the toil is long—
That’s what it means with Lyre in hand.
Surrounded by corrupt fools, strong—
You can't breathe, trapped in their land.

So, one companion on the road,
The Black Lyre is mine alone.
Death stands by, and that’s much better—
Bow to it, you’re just a stone.

Rebellion means the Lyre stays dark,
Forever etched in shades of night.
To write for fools is foolishness—
It’s madness, and your mind’s lost sight.



---------------------



Verse Construction

Verse is not the shaping of words,
Of rhyme, or rhythm, but the soul's
Impulse. And if multiplication
Happens in the silence of the whole

Mind, when that impulse calls to mind
A reader's response in kind,
Then through the words you’ll break the line,
A triumph of a world undefined.

A world beyond what words convey,
A paradox that language hides.
The Higher Truth, that we, astray,
Love… boxing, though the truth divides.

This boxing ring, a cage to hold,
A way to fight what’s just like you.
We turn from questions, harsh and bold,
That paradox in us stays true.



---------------------



Enemies of the People

To the level of the people's foe,
Stalin and Khrushchev will drag you low.
Some, mere pests, in small disgrace —
NKVD’s an easy trace.

Small Vasya Pupkin can’t be known
As enemy to a nation grown.
And even if he’s a criminal,
The charges clear, the sentence tall.

To execute on one false word —
That’s when the real enemy's stirred:
A tyrant, foul with evil’s kiss,
A ruler lost in wicked bliss.




---------------------



No Fish

In times of barren streams,
A crayfish isn’t fish, it seems —
Just a scavenger at best,
Time to rid the world of the rest.

The filth is in the tales we tell,
In fables where the shadows dwell.
It's for those hiding in the dark,
Forever trapped in fear's sharp mark.




---------------------



"Progress"

The ways to consume the like,
"Progress" refines with every strike.
Among cheap tricks and hollow schemes,
The press of beasts grows in their seams.

They feast on lies, with fear as sauce,
Truth and mind are left to loss.
On the scaffold, spirit dies,
As reason falls, and hope denies.



---------------------



The TV spreads its twisted lies,
The masses listen, hypnotized.
In this mad world, we’ve hit the ground,
Serving monsters, lost and bound.



---------------------


What the "media" preach is "truth",
If some learned fool explains,
That what’s unclear, "INFERNAL,"
Is the world in which it reigns.



---------------------
Almost transport's...

"**** it!" — said one young man — "it is a bitter thing to learn that I am a creature moving on pre-laid rails, that I am, in a word, not a bus, but a tram."
— Bertrand Russell.


Not a bus, but a tram,
Full of nonsense, here I am.
The tracks have ended — now you die,
So many "new ones" passing by!

Depot, tram: packed with lies,
Called "education" in disguise.
On the tracks, they **** the soul,
A journey deemed a wasted goal.



---------------------



Humor breaks through the void,
A paradox within the Walls of Lies.
Lies strengthen fortresses deployed,
Whispering, shouting, "Serve, be wise!"

Laugh at this world so poor and grim,
Apply sarcasm, sharp and bright:
The world’s become a filthy bin,
Where "normal" is pure madness' blight.




---------------------



Switch to Death — no turning back,
The foolish wretch won’t understand.
Around, the beasts; where are the men?
Where’s the humanity in this land?

Cats are smarter than the herd,
Only a few have Spirit, Honor,
They see the triumph of evil’s word,
Unmoved by hell’s cruel, endless horror.

Blinded by the feast and the rut,
The mind’s remains are drowned in dust.
Death’s the choice when lies corrupt,
And from the beasts, as always, comes just… DISGUST.



---------------------



This world’s a trap, a cage, a snare,
If you’re a “darling,” just beware.
The carrion waits, a stinking weight,
You’re just the prey, a twisted fate.

To free from traps — like hunter’s art,
Fascism reigns where beasts depart.
When spirit’s crushed, you fight, you ****,
A hero’s born, with fire and will.



---------------------



The foolish sheep, from twisted schemes,
Will never break free — luck’s just dreams!
If gluttony’s his only art,
He’s blind and mute, with no true heart.

Born a beast, this sheep’s a fool,
No need for praise for such a tool.
If you hope, you’re just a clown,
In this poor world, it's all “down.”



---------------------



The stinking ****, the vile beasts,
Sold all in lies, in a world deceased.
The outcome's clear — all freaks must go,
Only the drunkard didn't know.

******* ANYONE, who don't fight the Dark,
If you don’t, you've lost your spark.
Is this the majority? A reason for shame?
To stoop to the level of this corrupt game?



---------------------



Saving money's foolish, I’ve spent it all,
Greed is a sin, a fatal call.
Add stupidity to the mix, you see,
A fool, a puppet, that’s what he’ll be.

Controlled by bribes and laced with lies,
He stands before us with vacant eyes.
He knows how to chew with his head,
But devours greed, never dead.




---------------------



Cops are ***** with big ears,
Serving BEASTS, fooling peers.
They boss around, ignore the uprisings,
Holding back with idiotic disguisings.

The rest is just excuses spun,
They love to add some colorful fun:
“Fighting crime is our true task...”
In between, for monsters to bask.

For them, the goal is to suppress revolt,
Crime? They don’t care—just a remote.
Cops pretend they’re on the case,
Finding something in their chase.

They fool the fools with lies untold—
In films, a cop’s noble, bold.



---------------------



The black cat purrs more sweetly, you’ll find,
When you carry food of every kind.
It seems that visions in black are strong,
Don’t touch the black cat, fool, you’re wrong!

It often crosses the road, unaware,
Of a fool’s problems, beyond repair.
They’re of a subtle, twisted kind,
While idiots stumble, dull and blind.

In this world, all is BLACK, you see,
The black cat’s a symbol pure and free.
If you grow a bit more sensitive, you’ll know,
You’ll see the blind crowd stumbling below.



---------------------


A world of lies that clings and claws,
Where clouds are shadows, dark and raw.
Here, they brand with filth and grime,
A cursed cross for all of time.

Baptized, you’re pushed into your pen,
You must earn your food again.
If you're a traitor—beastly brew,
The sycophants will circle you.

Like goats that lead the sheep to slaughter,
Here, they march, no sense of water.
A genocide, a vile disgrace—
This world is doomed, no saving grace.




---------------------



The freaks of Nature, wild and bold,
Dream of taking bites untold.
Madmen hack the tree away,
To carve their future from decay.

But little's left to claim or hold,
And soon they’ll swing, their fate foretold—
A branch that’s new, a bitter test,
As Death draws near, and takes its rest.



---------------------



Heresy is driven forth by Evil's grin,
With false science as its deadly hymn.
Sensitivity, wit, and courage, too,
Are vital to keep your mind in view.

Lest darkness fall and blind the soul,
The beast's the path, the final goal.
Their task is to decay both Spirit and Honor,
With Conscience in their sights, a hunted goner.



---------------------



On your mark! Attention!! STOP!!!
This world’s always the same.
In it, lies are crowned as gods,
And fools, the first to feel the shame.

Tear apart the mindless throng,
Destroy their power, drag them along.



---------------------



Madness grew — the fools all bent,
But finally, they woke, and then
They saw that Doom had come to stay,
Embracing them like father’s way.

He’ll lead them to the gates of Hell,
The fools, once more, will swell and yell.
Call filth “honey,” they’ll devour,
Not seeing chains, they’ll feel no power.

Call Hell their paradise, they’ll cheer,
And drown the world in blood and fear.



---------------------


Obedient Nonsense-Mind

“Pedagogy”—a word so clever—
“Logic” fed from heights above:
**** the mind that dares be ever
Free, and cage it like a dove.

There’s the flaw in all their teaching,
Rigged and rotten to the core:
Brutes they need—uncouth, unpreaching—
Rot in lies, then beg for more.

Crammed with junk until the swelling
Blasts the memory to dust—
Any thinking, any yelling
Gets erased. Obey, you must.

That’s the standard. That’s the measure.
Paved in grey, the dismal route.
Only drones receive the treasure:
Those who swallow lies and doubt.



---------------------



**** the mind and train a fool —
That’s the core of every school.
Truth is banned, and lies are fed.
Think too much — you’re better dead.




---------------------



Obey, consume, and never ask.
The school is just a brainwash mask.
They cage your mind and feed you dirt —
And praise you most when thinking hurts.



---------------------



Dumb on cue — that’s school’s ideal.
Facts are fake, and lies are real.
Think too loud? They'll call it sin.
Shut your brain — that's how you win.



---------------------



Thought is crime.
Dumb is prime.
March in line —
Waste your time.



---------------------



Learn to crawl, not think or see.
Swallow trash — get your degree.
Truth is dead, but grades are gold.
Be the puppet. Do what’s told.



---------------------



Donkeys on the Road to Hell

The old one reeks.
The new one stinks!
But the fool still speaks
Of "fate" — how it links!

A genocide slow,
Through centuries spread.
So your fate? To bow
And die half-dead.

It’s all a farce,
This “glorious” day.
If you count as “stars”
The filth and decay.

Dreams, they say,
Will light your track —
But dreams just pave
The road to black.

And we — the donkeys, blind and tame —
Are whipped ahead with hopes... and shame.



---------------------



You dream — they lead.
You doubt — they feed.
Die in line.
That’s their design.



---------------------



March with hope, obey the bell —
Donkeys dream their way to hell.



---------------------



“Fate,” they say — while you decay.
Dream, obey, then rot away.



---------------------



Same old stink in a fresher shell.
Dreamers die on the road to hell.



---------------------



Free Yourself from All the Crap

Free yourself from all the lies,
Live with calm, let thought arise,
Save your soul and clear your mind,
Leave the fear of beasts behind.

Fear and madness fill the land —
Only solitude can stand.
Peace is rare — the world’s a fraud,
Ruled by demons selling God.

All creative sparks are dead,
Choked by what the devils spread.
Those who drag “goodness” through the slime
Are hollow now — and past their time.

They serve the fiends, they keep things still,
No longer human — just goodwill
For filth and rot. So bear the strife —
But never bow to **** in life.



---------------------



Free your mind, escape the lie.
Live for truth — or just die.
Serve no beast, bow to no filth.
Face the world, and claim your will.



---------------------



Escape the junk, break the chains.
Feed your soul, not their gains.
They sell you hell, you sell them life —
But never kneel to death or strife.



---------------------



The world’s a trap, don’t feed the lies.
Stand your ground, or lose your mind.
Fight the crap, with every breath.
Never bow to filth or death.



---------------------



Drown the lies, let silence scream.
Don’t obey their poisoned dream.
They thrive on lies, you fight the beast.
Never bow — stand for the feast.



---------------------



Hasten to Understand in Silence

Hasten, grasp the truth in quiet,
The essence here, this hellish land.
Fail to see — you’ll lose your riot,
Your chance for grace, your soul unmanned.

Do you wish to rot in Hell?
If you don’t get it, you will fall.
Soon the flames will rise and swell,
As reptiles feast in evil’s thrall.

Decay, it lingers. You can see
The limits of this twisted state.
Only he who’s brave and free
Won’t let the filth control his fate.

You’re a fool if you tolerate
The lies, the mockery they deal.
Doesn’t sick you — vile, cruel hate?
The lies they spin, the false appeal?

Then your life was wasted, friend,
To call it life would be a jest.
Bow to beasts, and break or bend,
Thank them for the lies they blessed?




---------------------



Bow to lies, and rot in hell.
Life’s a joke — you played it well.
Stand and fight, or bend and break.
Truth or lies — choose what’s at stake.



---------------------



Lies, they live, and so do you —
Dying slow, and thinking true.
Stand your ground, or bow to rot,
Choose your fate, or rot a lot.



---------------------



If you stand for lies, you die.
Don’t kneel to filth, or wonder why.
Choose to fight, or rot and burn,
Truth is all — you’ll soon learn.



---------------------



You live in lies, you die in shame,
Thank them for your rotten game.
Bow to beasts, you’ll never win —
It’s hell they sell, it’s hell you’re in.

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.


In Russian:

Поиск

Я пьян. Фонарь. Ищу ключи,
Хоть в темноте их потерял.
Из темноты мой друг кричит —
В канаву он, дурак, упал.

Вот поиск Света в Темноте,
А фонари дорогу в Ад
Подсветят, ведь не на кресте —
Лже-знаньем распинает Гад.

Фонарь большой авторитет,
Коль нету Солнца, потому
Под фонарём ищи ответ,
Зачем в канавах быть дерьму,

Ужель дорога в Ад ведёт,
Кто водрузил все фонари.
Один, в сторонке, Чуткий ждёт
Явленья Утренней Зари.

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.


In Russian:

Гаджет вяжет словно нить
Из капрона: дома гнить,
Забывая очной встречи
Радость, душу тем калеча.