The ape-man’s back, he claims the throne,
And bends mankind beneath his stone.
The "Renaissance" was brief, it seems—
Now fascist rule fulfills dark dreams.

Genocide is everywhere,
CowID and war laid truth laid bare.
To the top rise vile and crude,
Where shame and reason are subdued.

They feast amid the plague’s decay,
The final feast before dismay.
The scholar spins his clever lies:
“This is progress,” he implies.

But tread not on their “progressed” path,
Lest filth cling tightly in its wrath.
This world, debased beyond repair,
Has madness dancing everywhere.

The ape-man’s back, his work is grim,
And soon he’ll finish all for him.
All delicate, all light has fled—
Rotting Darkness reigns instead.


In Russian:

Откат назад

Питекантроп возвратился
И подмял собою люд.
"Ренессанс" недолго длился —
Ныне строй фашистский, лют.

Геноцид теперь повсюду —
Показали то CowID
И война. "Наверх" паскуды.
В ком изжиты ум и стыд,

Тот банкует и пирует.
Пир последний — средь Чумы.
Но очкарик обоснует,
Что в прогрессе, типа, мы.

Не вступай в "прогресс" — подошвы
Не отмоешь от дерьма.
В мире несказанно пошлом
Почти все сошли с ума.

Питекантроп возвратился,
И добьёт он скоро всё
Деликатное. Сокрылся
Свет, покрыла Тьма Гнильё.

Gloom and doom —
Twins in strife.
What’s the world?
Plain as life:
Spread the fear,
Twist the lie —
Then, my dear,
Rule as swine.

For "transcendent beauty" strive,
Prepare your mind, and soul align...
Ugh! Once more, the crosses thrive,
Priests like carcasses, they pine.

And fools, the flock—so blind, so lost,
Buying "eternity" for mere obedience.
It's false faiths—don’t you dare cross,
Or face a blow for your "impudence"...


In Russian:

Религиозные порывы

Для "запредельной красоты"
Готовь свой ум, настроив душу...
Тьфу! Глядь, опять кругом кресты,
Попы напоминают туши.

А паства идиотов. Сплошь
Продажа "вечности" за послушанье.
Но лже-религии не трожь —
Получишь в лоб за поруганье...

"The noblest aim of art is making
The human heart still beat and burn.
And since the heart gives life its waking,
Art must to life itself return."
— Jean Guyau (poetic presentation of the statement).


A poet’s now a life restorer—
A heavy burden, hard to bear.
For hearts grow weak, their beats grow poorer,
And many die while breathing air.

Yet many climb, remain unshaken,
Still trampling heads without a care.
Save just a few—then, lost, forsaken,
You'll curse the Rotten Bedlam there.

And yet—again! Though fate is bitter,
And fame’s a game you cannot win.
They praise the fools, they praise the sinners,
For Evil spins the wheel of sin.

Bows and wrappers—child believes,
Parents wear no hidden sleeves.
Dad’s so wise, like sages arc—
Takes her strolling through the park.

Rigidity

All mind's rigidity stems from implanted
Beliefs in childhood — when a vivid world
Got crippled by notions, where truth was supplanted
By proxies. Spirit erased, flags unfurled

To rule with dull eyes through the prism of jargon,
Where stifled energy drags into rot.
The Powers of Spirit — cast out, like a parson
Cursed... or a setup by BEAST-things? A plot?

To live by the brain — not the Heart — is a Moloch.
For mind without Heart is an easy deceit.
That's why Revelation must strike like a warlock
To balance the forces and cleanse what’s oblique.

The balance of Spirit, of Mind, and of Heart:
With Spirit the ruler — that’s law, that's the key.
If ego and mind hold the throne from the start,
You're a "living" corpse, doomed eternally.



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



Rigidity

All mind's rigidity stems from the framing
Imposed in childhood, when a world so bright
Got scarred with concepts — false and maiming,
Where stand-ins thrive and Spirit's snuffed from sight.

Thus blind the gaze — through lenses of delusion,
Where energy is caged, stagnation reigns.
The Powers of Spirit lie in exclusion —
A curse? Or Creature’s cunning in our brains?

To live by mind, not Heart — this births the Moloch:
The Heartless mind is easily deceived.
That’s why the key must be the Flash — that Solar
Insight through which true balance is retrieved.

Balance: Heart, Mind, Spirit in alignment.
The last one reigns — that is the law profound.
But if mind and ego make the assignment,
You walk as corpse — alive, but under ground.



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



Rigidity

1.
No Heart, no Light — just mind control.
That’s how the Creature eats your soul.

2.
Mind without Spirit? A godless tool.
Marching the wise into systems of fool.

3.
You think you're alive — how quaint.
But ego's mask is a corpse's paint.

4.
If Spirit’s out, and ego reigns —
You're just a beast in mental chains.

5.
Stolen your Heart, replaced with “thought”?
That’s how the Creature ties the knot.



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



Cabinet of Freaks

Papuans dressed in robes and in brass,
And officials in rows — a grotesque parade
That props up the madhouse-world en masse...
Turn the Asylum into Deathcamp-grade —

That’s their task, assigned by the BEASTS.
Astounding how eager those mugs perform
Their orders — exterminating what’s least
Still thinking. The Darkness gives the form,

And those freaks will obey — every line.
CowID left no doubt in command:
They will stock the BEASTS' design
With themselves. But soon this land

Will burn — the rot’s now overripe.
The slaves, the BEASTS — all shall burn.
The Sun grows hotter, magma pipes
Boil oceans. If you're a fool — no return.



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



Cabinet of Horrors (Kunstkamera)

Savages in lab coats, in uniforms gray,
Bureaucratic apes — they parade every day
As the backbone of madness, of lunatic law.
And their mission? To turn every madhouse — into a Gulag's maw.

These were the orders, bestowed by the BEAST,
And behold how they serve with a zeal unreleased —
So thrilled to destroy what's left of the mind,
As Darkness commands, and their kind falls in line.

Each mutant obeys — CowID gave the cue.
Their Cabinet of Horrors grows with each new fool.
But this little "project" is dying — decayed,
Its rot has surpassed what the structure can take.

The sun now blazes with terrible grace,
And magma is boiling the oceans in place.
If you're **** or a fool — don't hope for escape:
No mercy is offered to misshapen apes.



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



Kunstkamera

1.
Madness wears a uniform.
And builds your cage in perfect form.

2.
CowID showed: they all obey.
The freak parade is here to stay.

3.
No mind left — just freaks and rules.
The Beast recruits obedient fools.

4.
This project’s dead. The rot runs deep.
Even Hell begins to weep.

5.
Not satire — just your daily news:
The Beast commands, and humans lose.



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



Biomass

The grey crowd flows straight into the vaults —
Cash, distraction, and lies unchecked:
A "carrot" is needed for feeding cults,
To herd the BIOMASS into pens — direct.

Then comes the culling — fake AIDS, CowID,
Or war anew. It’s the Darkness’s rite.
What’s left are worms with the docile creed:
Brains dead, spirits fled, no fight.



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



Biomass

The grayish mass walks straight to the trough —
Chasing fun, chasing cash, and consuming pure slop.
A “carrot” is dangled to bait them in line,
Then herded to slaughter, face-down in the slime.

Then comes the thinning — with false plagues and war,
CowID and fake AIDS, and a new fatal score.
That's Darkness' method: to reap the weak herd,
Till only the docile and dumb are preserved.

Their minds? Half-rotted. Their spirits? Gone.
They cheer for extinction. They’re already done.



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



Biomass

1.
Biomass is baited — then burned.
Truth denied, all bridges turned.

2.
A carrot. A cage. A war.
They march — just meat for the score.
Darkness feeds. Nothing more.

3.
They chase the prize and end up dead.
In lies and wars, their spirit bled.
The brain is mold, the soul is gone —
The Age of Worms goes crawling on.

4.
A carrot, a screen — the herd obeys.
Then culls begin. That’s Darkness’ way.

5.
They lined up dumb, with open jaws.
Now thinning starts — by T̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ "natural laws."

6.
Biomass prays to plastic gods.
And dies beneath the T̶e̶c̶h̶ trod.

7.
No spirit left, no trace of will —
Just meat for war and pharma ****.



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



Depth-O-Meter

I invented the Depth-O-Meter.
The protocol was short and sweet:
The arrow dropped like a meteor —
Crushing the mind's last daring feat.

We’re all down there. Different roles:
Some are squirrels in wheels of fate,
Some are jesters. But praise the Hole —
Our native, sacred, ******* state.



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



The Bottommeter

I built a device — the Bottommeter.
Didn’t take long to log each feature.
The arrow plummeted, sharp and fast,
Crushing the Mind's delusions at last.

We're all at the bottom, make no mistake —
Some spin like hamsters, some dance like fakes.
But all of us cheer for the glorious Sludge —
Our native muck, our holy grudge.



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



The Bottommeter

1.
The Bottommeter broke the scale —
Turns out we all already fell.

2.
We worship Sludge. We praise the Dregs.
Mind is mocked. Truth walks on legs.

3.
From wheel to stage, we love the pit —
Because the bottom’s where we fit.

4.
You say we rise? You miss the plot.
The arrow screams: We've long since rotted.



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



News-ness

The glossary of the viper’s den —
The "news" program on repeat:
Desperate minions of beastly men
Striving to serve. And the elite

Left few real humans around.
Dumb News-ness — that tool of scorn —
Turned all into herd, dumbfound.
Truth’s dead. ******* is reborn.

The screens are drowned in rot,
And ******* rule the view.
No mind remains. The lot
Is lost in devil’s spew.



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



Newspeak

The glossary of the Serpent's den —
That’s your daily “news” again.
The fiends in suits, with soulless glee,
Serve pure deceit on every screen.

The human count keeps growing thin.
The “newspeak” drowns the truth within.
What once was honest, clean, and right —
Is now just filth in neon light.

Each channel floods the mind with rot.
The slaves comply. The thinkers — not.
But few remain who dare to see:
This world is ruled by treachery.



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



Newspeak

1.
News is poison. Truth is dead.
The screen just feeds you lies instead.

2.
Newspeak howls. The screens obey.
Your mind is meat. Your soul — their prey.

3.
The honest fled. The filth took hold.
Now lies are shouted, clean and bold.

4.
TV's the temple. **** — the priest.
And you’re the sacrifice. At feast.



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



Phantasmagoria?

Fat imbeciles — "the salt of the earth",
With fascist nerves infused with dread.
Terror drives them, they prove their worth
By screaming hate till reason is dead.

Terror pushes them to the brink.
Their weight aids Darkness. They howl and hiss,
Stampeding thoughts that dare to think.
It’s all in the mind — or the mindless abyss.

Fat is thick. So is their skull.
So they roll downhill like slugs.
I’m sick of these snouts, these dull
Faces. They’re slime. They’re bugs.

And slime will grease the slide:
You’ll slip — and plunge below.
They’ll beat you with no pride,
And **** you — just for show.



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



Phantasmagoria?

Fat imbeciles — the “soul” of this race.
Fascist enforcers set fear in place.
Terror creeps in, shoves them along,
Driven by rage, by hate, by throng.

The weight of fools feeds shadows grim,
Their howling pushes us to the brim.
And in the end, the mind’s the key —
But minds have drowned in gluttony.

Thick skin, thick skulls, dull as bricks —
They slide downhill, those bloated pigs.
Repulsive mugs, obscene and vile,
They leave behind a toxic trail.

Their slime coats paths you thought were clear —
Slip just once, and your end is near.
With them you’ll fall, no matter the plea —
Guilty or not — they’ll drag you deep.



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



Phantasmagoria?

1.
The fat ones rule. Their weight is law.
They slide in slime. You die in awe.

2.
Thick flesh, thick lies, thick rotten grace —
They’ll drag you down to their embrace.

3.
You slip — you fall. The pigs don’t care.
Their filth is trap. Their fall — your snare.

4.
Phantasmagoria? No. It’s real.
They feast. You choke. That’s the deal.



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



The Other Way

This slug-life — this "path" —
Was carved by the Dark. No craft
Can help in that hole you’re born.
Yet Art alone — a sacred horn —

Can lead you out of that rot
To Freedom, where the slime is not.
That Freedom is Spiritual. Pure.
Far from the crawling trash and sewer.

Go inward, beyond the fright.
If you can’t — you lose your right.
Then a slug you’ll be, or worse —
A squirrel in an endless curse.

Intuition, critique, the spark
Of creative fire in the dark —
That’s your bridge to the OTHER WAY,
That isn’t slime — but a BLAZING PLAY.



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



The Other

A slug-life path — that’s what they give,
A nightmare burrow where you “live”.
From childhood on, the walls are tight —
But one tool breaks it: inner Light.

That Light is Art — and through its fire,
You rise above the slime and mire.
The road to Freedom, pure and whole,
Is lit by Spirit — not by goal.

Forget the swamp. Go deep, go true.
If you don’t dare — they’ll swallow you.
You’ll be a slug, just like the rest,
Or spin that cage-wheel like the “blessed”.

But if you trust your inner flame —
Intuition, thought unchained —
Then comes the turn, the mystic spark:
You reach the OTHER from the dark.

Where nothing's slick, nor dull, nor low —
But fierce, and bright, and sharply so!



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



The Other

1.
The swamp is deep — but you are more.
Burn through the dark. Become the roar.

2.
Slug or spark — that’s your split.
Choose the slime, or choose the hit.

3.
You want the Other? Then go through.
The slime’s for those who can’t break true.

4.
No guts? You crawl. No fire? You rot.
But blaze — and reach what slime is not.



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



Pioneers

To be a "pioneer" without sense —
That’s the fate of the idiotic crowd.
Pseudo-science and fake pretense,
"Faith" and madness — dumb and loud.

The BEAST loves these eager boys:
So ready, it’s laughable to see!
They die. A new one makes the noise,
And backs more garbage — with a PhD.



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



Pioneers

Forever a “pioneer”?
That’s the fate of every fool.
Pseudo-science, plastic fear,
Faith and dogma as their tool.

Tamed and dumb — a walking jest,
Built to serve the beasts’ delight.
One drops dead — they spawn the next,
Still proclaiming lies as “light”.



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



Pioneers

1.
Fools march first — that’s what they’re for.
Drop one — ten will serve the war.

2.
"New frontiers" for brainless drones —
Each one dies to build the thrones.

3.
One dies, the system grins again.
The next fool runs the same old train.



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



Counterpoints

Souls — now meat.
Mind — decay.
Trash repeat —
Darkness’s way.

Tons of meat,
Tons of lies.
All’s been beat —
The mind just dies.

But Mind, when bowed
To Spirit’s grip —
And scent endowed —
Shall never slip.



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



Counterpoints

Souls — just meat.
Mind — decayed.
Darkness speaks —
And fools obeyed.

Flesh in heaps,
And lies like rain.
Truth is gone —
The world’s insane.

But mind that bends
To Spirit's breath
Still can sense
A way through death.



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



Counterpoints

1.
Mind to Spirit — that’s the gate.
All the rest is meat for fate.

2.
Chained by lies, the world is blind.
Only Spirit frees the mind.

3.
Heap of flesh, a brain on pause —
Only Spirit bends the laws.



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



Money or You?

Is money your tool, or are you the tool,
A slave who bows to greed’s deceit?
Truth is traded for coins as rule —
The madman rules the global street.

The world’s redrawn to fit that lie:
Sell your soul and stack the hoard.
But through the World of the Null go try
To reach the Clean Light of the Lord.



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



Money, a Means for You

Money — the tool, or are you their slave?
Truth's above, but greed makes the grave.
The world reshapes itself to buy,
Sell your soul, and let it die.

Through Nothing, run to Light’s embrace.
Chase the void — and find your place.



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



Money, a Means for You

1.
Chase the gold, but lose the truth.
Money's slave — or free your youth.

2.
Truth stands high, and gold is low.
Run to light, and let it show.

3.
Money — the means, or your cage?
Choose the Light, or stay the rage.



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



Depths of Hell

Once you locate the source of pain,
Keep pulling the tangled thread.
You’ll find yourself fully armed again —
And know how deep Hell really is spread.



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



The Depth of Hell

Find the source of pain you feel,
Unwind the knot, the twisted reel,
Then you will stand with all your might,
Armed with the knowledge of the night.

The deeper hell — the deeper dive,
But through it all, you’ll come alive.



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



The Depth of Hell

1.
Hell’s deep — but deeper’s life.
Unravel pain, and end the strife.

2.
Feel the depth, but fear not long.
Know the pain, and grow more strong.

3.
Find the pain — then pierce the dark.
With knowledge, light will leave its mark.

A noose drawn tight—
Lies smother all.
Mind fades from sight...
Inhuman rule,
The people fall.

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

A noose is tight —
Lies choke the air.
All fades from sight...
Dark rules ensnare.

Stroke by stroke—like stitching, mending,
Water heals a wounded soul.
Burning heart needs no pretending,
Waves will cool but not control.

Not to drown, just keep from burning,
Steady pace will clear the mind.
Fear and stress at every turning,
Hell above, and chains behind.

Fight the fire with fire, don’t falter,
Drive it out or face decay!
Madness hunts—don’t let it alter
Flesh and reason—run away!

Swim or flee, just keep on going,
Leave the fools and all their lies,
Break the chains, escape the "knowing"—
All their traps, their fear, goodbyes.

A runner turned around — in his old age
He still takes part in every race.
His life has shrunk to such a small stage,
Almost each fool a fool in place.

So simple it seems, this life's creation,
But all that's left is narrowness, nonsense, and dust.
For it's like lying in a state of comatose sensation,
In dreams, only misery and fear are just.


In Russian:

Бегун повёрнутый — под старость
Участвует в забегах он.
Вся жизнь скукожилась на малость.
Почти что каждый мудозвон

Такой простой. Творенья кроме,
Иное узость, чушь и прах,
Ведь так находишься как в коме,
А в сне убожество и страх.

"Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you who you are."
— Proverb

Who calls you "friend"?
Is it Korea?
The lies descend,
Their pace grows speedier.

In Russia, where deceit runs wild,
They race to match Juche’s beguiled,
Outdoing them in pompous tone—
Where cruelty chills to the bone.

Both lands degrade the "people’s" name,
Reducing them to beasts in shame.
Yet fools still trust the tyrants' lies,
And build—what? Hell for demon ties?

For in such lands, as truth decays,
Few Human souls remain to blaze.


In Russian:

Дружба эРэФии с Северной Кореей

"Скажи мне, кто твой друг, и я скажу, кто ты".
Пословица

Кто друг, скажи?
Ужель Корея?!
Отвалы лжи
Растут быстрее

В России, шустро приближаясь
К чучхе, их превзойти пытаясь
В велиречивости. Ублюдки
И там и там в садизме жутком

"Народ" низводят до скотины.
Но верят лжи тварья кретины
И строят что-то. Рай чертей? —
Ведь очень мало там Людей.

He breaks on immortality,
The poet dives to Hell anew.
Why strive for truth or clarity
When few the soulful lines pursue?

If verses blaze with raw intensity,
Or prose escapes the common sphere,
They rarely pierce the world's insensitivity,
A realm of greed and shallow cheer.

No "literary" grand progression,
Just darkness, silenced by a press—
The SMRAD* churns out its procession
Of noise, deceit, and vile excess.

They amplify the base, the sordid,
And bury sparks of daring thought.
No space for Brightness—Truth’s aborted,
While filth and flattery are sought.

The masses, dull, demand their poison:
"Samizdat? Why, such dreams are fraught!"
And yet, within its fragile cloister,
How much has vanished, left to rot.

For ages now, the game’s been halted,
The world put firmly on mute gears:
Not Stenka here, but bloated, faulted
Gargantua commands their cheers.


Notes:
SMRAD—Resources of Mass Advertising, Agitation, and Disinformation.
Stenka—Stenka (Stepan) Razin, a Russian historical figure.



In Russian:

Самиздат

"И где-то с криком непогашенным
Под хохот и аплодисменты
В пролет судьбы уходит Гаршин,
Разбившись мордой о бессмертье".
Леонид Губанов, "Полина", 1963 г.


Разбившись мордой о бессмертие,
Поэт, писатель в Новый Ад
Спускается. К чему усердие?
Лишь редкий Чуткий виршам рад,

Когда накал в них запределен.
А проза, коль не ширпотреб,
Обычно редко бьёт по цели
Средь мира жалких непотреб.

Литературного процесса
В дни мрачные в помине нет:
Мирок находится под прессом
Тотальных СМРАДов — гонят бред

Они, раскрутят только мерзость,
Что попадает в общий ряд.
В загоне Яркость, Честность, Дерзость —
Елей с чернухой жрёт покорный гад.

Не гадов средь народцев мало:
Литература? — самиздат!
И в нём немало уж пропало
В забвении — всем Ярким мат!

А шах поставили давненько,
На паузу поставив мир:
Гаргантюа ведь в нём, не Стенька,
Убожества гнилой кумир.


Примечания. СМРАД — средства массовой
рекламы, агитации, дезинформации.
Стенька — Стенька (Степан) Разин.

Frightened fools: beware! —
With each “new” year they rot,
Duller minds, greed laid bare,
Bowing to the Goat of Blot.
Culture’s death, despair—
And hence, our cursed lot.


In Russian:

Сатана и его паства

Пуганные дурни,
С каждым "новым" годом
Всё тупей и шкурней
Под Козлом-Уродом,
Это смерть Культуре —
Оттого НЕВЗГОДЫ.

"Save for black day!"—so they preach.
Now it’s here—but fools won't see.
Slaves to evil, dull and meek,
Hoard their lies in misery.

Counting, trusting, full of fear,
Planning decades far ahead.
Yet when shadows gather near,
Falsehoods mark them for the dead.

Darkest day—the mind is dying,
Fading fast, a silent spark.
Most succumb, their souls decaying,
Driven deep to rot in dark.

The Stinking Pit

Hey, Capone, just pour a shot!
As the Days of Filth run hot,
That brute’s kinder, I confess,
Than a traitor’s sly finesse.

CowID and warfare—what a sight!
But the gangsters **** a mite,
While corruption claims its due—
Cops and doctors slay us too.

Worse than bullets in the head
Is a soul that’s left for dead.
Fascists have a simple creed:
Make the world too dumb to read.

Find a mind? Good luck, my friend!
Rot and ruin—there’s no end.
Crushed by lies, we drown in spit:
Earth’s become a stinking pit.



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



Tanks Don’t Fear the Mud

Tanks don’t fear the mud and rain,
Dream of mines at night in vain.
Brave tank crews, so bold and eager,
Hear the call—attack grows bigger.

Fueled by LIES, they charge ahead,
Till they join the countless dead.
Scrap will melt, while sheep obey,
And foul fascism stays to stay.



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



Schrödinger’s People

Schrödinger’s cat just longs to see
Her fellow trapped in mystery.
Yes or no—she’s had enough,
This experiment is rough.

Pseudo-science runs the show,
Preaching nonsense, loud and proud.
Like a priest who claims to know,
Shoving madness in a shroud.

Cat’s in the box—so are we all,
Fools revealed by **** so small.
Death comes later, slow but sure,
Poison’s drip is never pure.

God will lift the lid one day,
See the trick—no truth, just play.
What’s inside? Hell’s burning glow,
For our Doom was man-made woe.



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



Twerk Away—You’re Pure Perfection!

A million views—your dance is fire!
But poems? No one will admire.
The crowd just craves a mindless thrill,
While art is left to rot and chill.



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



Label People

Labels race at breakneck speed,
Struggle? Sure—but they proceed.
**** love contests, and their game
Wipes out sense and shifts the frame.

Hell or hardship? Who can tell?
Push ahead and ride through hell!
Trophies shine—no time to think,
Just line up, obey, don’t blink.

Planned is every next event,
Keeps the masses dull, content.
Winners rise, the crowd’s enthralled,
While the masters lurk in thrall.

Bread and circus—same old sight,
Mindless fools chase hollow light.
Eyes locked only on the goal,
Lost their thoughts, but kept their role.



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



The Fashion of Fools

Trendy waves corrode and drain
Talent, wallet, taste, and brain.
Yet a fool will proudly claim
It’s a simple, harmless game.

Not just clothing—trends consume
Mind and spirit, warp and doom.
Echoed nonsense fills the air,
Idiots repeat—don’t care.

Trends and patterns are the same,
Fashion stamps out thought with shame.
Branded cattle walk in line,
Marked by fools who call it fine



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



Beware of Fools

There’s no reason—none at all—
To let a fool inside your wall.
Stay away from brainless swine—
They’ll just waste your precious time.

Mediocrity will drain,
**** your strength and dull your brain.
Nurture brightness, sharp and free,
Or a fool is what you’ll be.



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



Shameful Deeds

What once was shame is now the norm,
Corruption thrives in perfect form.
The mob’s been led to crave disgrace—
It’s bottomed out without a trace.



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



Hollow Cravings

We crave too much—our souls wear thin,
Lost in passion, drowned in sin.
Chasing wants that have no weight,
Trapped in foolish schemes of fate.



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



Persistent Vulgarity

Vulgarity will find a way,
It creeps through cracks—it’s here to stay.
Yet all its care, both sharp and small,
Is just itself and nothing more.



--- Total 10 poems. ---

"He who would grasp the present's course
Without the past will fail, of course."
— Gottfried Leibniz, 18th century.


Who will let the past be known,
Help us grasp what once was shown?
Schools just feed the kids with fables,
Truth is locked in secret labels.

Genocide? A "classified" sign—
Never touch the hidden line.
Life was never bright nor stable—
Turned the world into a fable.

Now the present’s dark and hollow—
Souls were left with naught to follow.
Once they killed the gods inside us,
Left the chains to bind and guide us.

Who will grant the right to learn
Slavery’s steps at every turn?
Tyrants rule a world so shallow,
Worship falsehood, bow and follow.

History is all illusion,
Spun by fiends in wild confusion.
If you trust the present blindly,
You will see hell’s fire grinding.

Genocide just shifts its faces,
Masked in ever-changing traces.
Like the moonwalk—what a story!
Fairy tales in all their glory.



In Russian:

Грифы секретности на настоящей истории

"Кто хочет ограничиться настоящим, без знания прошлого, тот никогда настоящего не поймёт".
Готфрид Лейбниц, XVIII-ый век.


Кто даст прошлое узнать
И, тем более, понять?!
Гонят детям в школах мифы —
Вся история под грифом.

Геноцид — и гриф "секретно"
Обязателен. Безбедно
Люди никогда не жили —
Превращали мир в дебилий.

Настоящее убого —
Значит убивали бога
В Душах: вывод очевиден,
Для рабов весьма постыден.

Изучать ступени рабства
Кто нам даст? А суть тиранства? —
Нелюдь правит глупым миром
С давних пор и лже-кумиров

Создаёт, то сплошь в "истории" —
Нелюди фантасмагории.
Ограничься настоящим,
Ад узрев кромешный, длящий

Геноцид, меняя формы
Оного. Все мифы вздорны:
Как пиндосы на Луну,
Мол, слетали — ну и ну!

The most important thing of life is Search,
Which help you find the way to Home.
The whole life of people is big Research.
It is existence foundation stone.

Don’t dare criticize—
My armor is lies,
And up on my steed
I gallop with speed.

The honest remain
Forgotten, in vain,
While those who deceive
Will make them believe.

One strike—down they fall,
No fairness at all.
Truth’s bounds are defined,
But lies rule mankind.

A serenade I'll sing tonight
To please a foolish lady's sight:
In Hell, the wretched find their way—
And think they've reached a bright new day.


In Russian:

Серенады для услады
Глупой бабы я спою:
Быть убогим в Аде надо —
Будешь думать, что в раю.

Serving the SPAWN in the Haze

Down the rabbit hole you slide,
Dig through layers, lies unfold.
Stuck in childhood’s frozen tide...
Serving Haze—aren’t you too old?
You can’t tell the reason—true,
But you’ll see just who needs you...



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



Flight... WITHIN

Skies are clear—no demon,
Lies and madness gone.
Break through any beacon,
Fearless, moving on.

Once their grasp is broken,
Shadows lose their hold.
Weightless, like a token,
Upward you unfold.

Up—WITHIN: your mind
Dare to cleanse and free.
Only those who find
Truth know ecstasy.



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



The Evolution of a Turtle

Like a bird, the turtle dreams,
Soaring high—but in its mind.
Yet it walks where darkness teems,
Through the dust, so lost, so blind.

Free-winged birds don’t understand
Why it crawls in filth below.
To the Sky, so pure, so grand,
Evil’s mud is foul and low.

Shed your shell—no wings appear,
Yet the sky will call you still.
Seek it, rise, or drown down here,
Trapped in filth against your will.



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



The best ones fall. The twisted thrive,
Or rotting madmen breed alive.
This world's a pit—no will, no way,
Just darkness dragging all astray.



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



The Spawn’s Design

Twist all life into disgrace,
Leave no room for truth to be.
Fighting Darkness face to face—
That alone sets spirits free.

Spawn build prisons, walls grow tall,
Trapping worlds in endless night.
Yet they never build at all—
Slaves obey and rot inside.



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



Adam’s First Wife

Lilith won’t sleep—
She lurks so deep.
She haunts your dreams—
Beware her schemes.

Once stupid wife,
Then lost to strife.
The Devil’s claim—
Oh, what a shame!

A myth, yet strong,
A plague, a wrong.
Drive them away—
No time to stay!

The Light’s inside—
Let it be guide.
No tales, no lies—
The Night soon dies.



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



Checkmate

The master of lies, so bold, so sly—
"Our father above"? No, Satan's the guy.
The end of deceit? Just rot and decay,
We've hit rock bottom—no other way.

Fake wars, fake plagues, the world’s been sold,
Its worth? A penny, cheap and cold.
Yet fools still kneel, still take the blame,
Still wear their chains and feel no shame.

So here’s the game—the beast still reigns,
And dimwits bow to wear his chains.
No turning back, the board is set...
One last move—check and mate.



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



Lie Plus Stupidity Equals DECAY

Lie plus folly—spread it wide,
Preach deception, dumb them faster!
Empty faces, vacant-eyed,
Rotten fools serve their disaster.

Centuries of downward flow,
Idiocy mass-produced,
Mindless herds still sink below,
Kept in chains by lies, seduced.

Everywhere they fight for thought,
Dullness wins, the mind corrodes.
Needles call—come take your shot,
Diving deeper down the road.

This is peak—or rather, pit,
Rotting through without delay.
Just one step, and that is it—
Purge the filth, erase decay...



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



Decay

A web of lies, a ruling scheme,
It speaks of "joy" in hollow memes.
Yet wasted years will make it clear—
The Spawn has goals you’d learn to fear.

But flames will rise—no place to hide,
This Rotting World will burn at last.
No comfort, peace, nor quiet ride—
Salvation stands beyond the past.

Corruption dragged all souls below,
Yet one true path remains to tread:
Reclaim your strength, let Spirit grow,
Or stop decay among the dead.



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



Courage

Since your childhood, fear's been taught,
Death itself keeps you enslaved.
That’s the System’s core—you're caught,
Trapped in horror, bred and paved.

Lies renew in twisted fashion,
Tricks and traps are laid with skill.
Stay confused—forget your passion,
Drown in madness, lose your will.

Truth alone won’t make you brave,
Just aware—but that’s a start.
Courage is the fight you crave,
Tearing all these lies apart.



--- Total 10 poems. ---

Aimless, pointless, such a shame,
Life repeats its tired game.
No one learns, no wisdom grows,
When the world, as all it shows,
Bows to filth where reason goes.


In Russian:

Беспонтово, бестолково —
Повторяется по-новой:
Не научишь ничему,
Коль мир служит не Уму —
Мерзкой нелюди дерьму.

Religions, cults — all shelters weak,
Just chains in yet another streak.
And that is why the powers cheer —
They love when filth is serving near.

You think that **** brings truth to light?
It thrives on lies, enslaves by rite.
No priest, no prophet, no belief
Can free your soul — just bring you grief.

To know the Spirit, look within —
No middleman can cleanse your sin.
They preach and blind, they twist and rant,
But truth is not in what they chant.

Their temples — cold, their fire’s fake,
No sacred link can demons make.
A higher bond will never bloom
Inside a slave who reeks of gloom.

When soul is pure, the sign will shine.
But priesthood’s words are **** and brine.
Their “holy books” all reek the same —
One source: control in Spirit’s name.

Those texts enslave the mind and soul —
Reject their grip, reclaim your whole.
The truth is already in you —
Just purge what’s false, and break on through.

Forget their “heaven,” “hellish” noise —
A joke for fools who lost their voice.
The Spirit can’t be caged or tied,
No gate, no leash, can trap its tide.

As long as you believe their lies,
You’re just a drone in priestly guise.
So drop the flesh, the ego’s skin —
And let the real flame burn within.

Your path is discipline of mind,
Not flagellating flesh, but find
The will to wipe all lies away —
That’s all ascetic path will say.

Turn on your intuition’s glow —
It’s yours, it leads where truth will flow.
But never parrot ancient crap —
That’s poison sold in holy wrap.

Since childhood, they have hunted you,
With "love" that kills, and “truth” untrue.
Religion’s ***** chokes and binds —
It’s aimed to break awakening minds.

So center on the Spirit, fast —
Be strong, and soft, and free at last.
Abandon hearsay, trash their lies —
Ten megatons in each disguise.

No bombs are needed now to **** —
The lies already break your will.
A tidal wave of filth and fraud —
A clog of death that mocks your God.

But Harvest Time is drawing near —
This madhouse Earth will disappear.
The flock will burn, the beasts will fall —
Those soulless brutes who heard no call.

They spat on Spirit, Mind they sold —
Now dead inside, corrupt and cold.
A trash heap of *******, slaves
Will rot in pre-forgotten graves.

No donkey steps in Spirit's Hall —
Only the wise may hear the call.
Seek Dwellings of the Spirit’s Fire —
If Life you want, if you aspire.

You sleep — that’s why you still are here.
This hell was built to cage and steer.
And “Godly world”? Just one more lie —
Now wake, reclaim your right to fly.

No more excuses, shame, or fear.
The path is clear, the truth is near.
No cowardice, no lazy game —
Let Spirit burn, and know your name.

Be open to the Higher Mind,
And all the chains will fall behind.

"Come and get it, prices dropping!
What a deal—no need for shopping!
Quality went down instead...
Ugh, these faces—make me dread!"

"Each morning we open our eyes, like a merchant unlocks his store,
To display ourselves for deception, and cheat our neighbor once more;
Then at night we close them again, having spent the whole day in deceit."
— Jean de La Bruyère, 17th century.


The antique shops have faded,
Supermarkets stand instead.
Lies have long intoxicated—
Drowned in falsehood, mind is dead.

Few today resist submission,
Seen as fools, despised, alone.
For the masses—truth’s omission,
Madness rules their world of stone.

Who’s the madman? Any neighbor—
For deceit is now the way.
Truth’s dismissed as myth and vapor,
Dragged to nothing—Lucifer’s play.

Horns unseen yet reign so boldly,
Hidden specters pull the chain.
Fools are mass-produced and sold—see,
Ignorance is now in gain.



In Russian:

Лавки и супермакеты лжи Люциферианской Системы

"Каждое утро мы раскрываем глаза, как купец ставни своей лавки, и выставляем себя напоказ, чтобы обманывать ближнего; а вечером снова закрываем их, потратив целый день на обман".
Жан де Лабрюйер, XVII-ый век.


Лавки древностей закрыты —
Супермаркеты кругом:
Ложь тотальная — прибиты
Ею, и своим умом

Днесь живут лишь единицы.
Дурнями считают их,
Так как оным чушь не мнится.
В чуши утопает псих.

Псих реальный — гражданина,
Но считают нормой то;
Диким мифом — Господина,
Что стремит весь мир в НИЧТО.

Господин рогатый? Точно —
Эта мерзость спектра вне
Визуального. Поточно
Оглупленье — чмо в цене...

Sight Beyond the Slime
A Poetic Assault
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

Epigraph
“The eye sees what it is trained to see.
But the Soul — it burns through all training.”
— Unknown Rebel

Manifesto
This is not a song.
This is not a prayer.
This is a flare in the dark — a call to remember what was nearly erased:
that truth is not given. It is seen.

This book is written for the one who wakes up screaming,
not from nightmares — but from the weight of other people's dreams.
For the soul that won’t stay dead.
For the spark that chooses to burn — not blink.

If you’ve felt it, read on.
If not — may these verses light the first crack.

The Cycle: Sight Beyond the Slime

I. The Death of Mind
Believe the Beasts — your mind is dead,
Their filth is all you’ll think instead.
They feed you lies, inject their code,
And call it "truth" — you just implode.

II. Fire Is Sight
To truly see is Soul’s defense —
Not eyes, but fire of inner sense.
What logic fails, the flame reveals,
And only that can break the seals.

III. Scorch the Lie
Let intuition be your spark,
And reason strike like lightning's mark.
It burns the mask, it peels the skin —
Revealing what still lies within.

IV. The Breeding of the Void
They breed the void, they flood the land
With soulless hate and ****** hand.
The more you sleep, the more they rise —
A beast is born from every lie.

V. Slaves of Faith
They taught you trust — a sacred word —
But filled it with a rotting herd.
To trust the lie is chains unseen —
You kneel to filth, and call it clean.

VI. The Soul as Target
They aim not flesh — they aim the Soul.
They hollow out, they take control.
They sell you peace, inject despair,
Then burn your will beyond repair.

VII. The Idiot’s Pact
You call it hope, this sweet decay —
But faith in beasts just clears their way.
They smile, they stab, they bless the knife —
And you defend them with your life.

VIII. Final Glimpse
But still a spark, though nearly gone,
Can burn the night before the dawn.
One inner flash can shift the tide —
If fire sees — not eyes that lied.

IX. Systemic Rot
The System smiles with polished teeth,
But underneath — the stench of death.
It feeds on fear, it pumps out praise,
While darkness rules in broadest blaze.

X. The Blessed Lie
"Be kind, obey, and stay in line —
The world is safe, the world is fine."
Thus sings the Slime — and those who nod
Become the tools of every fraud.

XI. Born to Burn
You weren’t born to serve or kneel.
You came with fire the beasts can’t feel.
But if you doubt that spark within —
They win without a single sin.

XII. The Turn
So turn — and see what lies beneath.
Don’t ask, don’t beg — just draw your breath.
One gaze that cuts the veil apart
Can start the end. And that’s the start.

XIII. Echoes of the Hollow
The hollow preach, the hollow teach,
And drag your soul beyond its reach.
Their voices echo in your head —
Not words, but chains that breed the dead.

XIV. The Breaker Seed
Yet in the dark a seed remains —
It splits the code, it snaps the chains.
It needs no books, no priestly nod —
Just fire that knows it is of God.

XV. Revolt Within
No sword, no war — just one revolt:
To see the truth they try to halt.
Not to comply. Not to repeat.
To stand in fire, and not retreat.

XVI. The Unveiling
Then Slime will crack. The beasts will scream.
The Soul will burn — not as a dream,
But as the Truth that always was —
The blaze behind all broken laws.

No chains remain. No system speaks.
The fire walks. The fire seeks.
And you — no more their numbered ghost —
Are what they fear: the living Host.

Afterlight
The war was never outside.
It was always this:
One soul remembering fire,
In a world teaching frost.

Now walk.
The veil is broken.
And so are they.


---

Sight Beyond the Slime
Book II: The Host Awakes
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

Epigraph to Book II
"They called me broken.
But I was simply too whole
for their design."

I. After the Shatter
No more systems. No more screens.
The wreckage hums with ghostly memes.
But silence grows — not of defeat,
A silence sharp, with burning heat.

II. Memory of Flame
You walk through ash, but still you feel
A fire beneath the charred ideal.
The soul recalls, though mind forgets —
The code they burned is not what's left.

III. The Return of Names
You have no name — they wiped it clean.
But names return when eyes have seen.
Not given back, but spoken through —
The flame remembers what is true.

IV. The Flesh Recoils
The beasts remain, though castles fall.
They build again inside your skull.
Each whisper, ad, and mirror scream —
A stitch to reinsert the dream.

V. Fire Is Not a Phase
But fire’s no phase, no mental glitch.
It burns the loop, it scars the pitch.
No dream survives the blaze begun.
You are the fire — not someone’s son.

VI. The Host Speaks
Now you are Host — not ruled, not fed.
You was what feeds on lies instead.
You break, consume, dismantle masks —
No longer slave who pleads or asks.

VII. The Poison Recoil
The Slime now shifts — it knows your flame.
It tries to morph, it speaks your name.
“Be kind again, return to peace!”
But now you hear — it's just disease.

VIII. The First Collapse
One word you say — and idols crack.
You blink — and towers won’t come back.
The lie can't live where Fire stands.
The world begins with your own hands.

IX. The Lie Reforged
The System shifts. It knows the trend.
It rebrands death and calls it “friend.”
But those once blind now feel the game —
And every mask ignites the flame.

X. Rituals of Noise
The world still chants, but not for truth.
Its prayers are ads, its gods are youth.
It loops and laughs and paints decay —
But fire walks a different way.

XI. Unblinking Flame
The fire sees — and does not blink.
It does not preach. It does not shrink.
It doesn’t ask. It doesn’t try.
It simply is — and thus, they die.

XII. The Inward Sky
You look within — and skies unfold.
Not cloud, not star — but light untold.
A space not built, yet always there —
Where fire breathes as purest air.

XIII. They Cannot Follow
The beasts can chase through blood and code.
But not this path. Not this light road.
The inward blaze has sealed the gate —
They scream outside, but burn in hate.

XIV. Echo of Origin
Not memory — but deep recall.
A soundless chord before the Fall.
The “I” that saw, before the name —
Still walks the dark, a silent flame.

XV. Sight Without Eyes
Now seeing needs no nerves or skin.
The blaze is both outside, within.
You are the torch, the path, the night —
And even death must yield to Light.

XVI. The Host Is Whole
No veil remains. No false divide.
No watchers left to rule or guide.
The Slime is gone. The echoes cease.
The fire is — and that is peace.

No more revolt. No need to scream.
The world re-forms inside the beam.
You do not ask. You do not try.
You walk — and that is the reply.

Afterlight II: The Source Walks
The war is ash.
The soul is flame.
The fire walks —
And speaks no name.

You are not "you."
You are not "man."
You are what was
Before "I am."


---

Sight Beyond the Slime
Book III: The Source Walks
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

Epigraph to Book III
"That which walks without moving
breathes through you."

I. The Unborn Flame
No one lit it.
No one fed.
Yet flame appeared
when all was dead.

It asked no role,
it knew no goal —
It simply rose,
and was the Whole.

II. Not Thought, Not Sight
You’ve seen enough to stop the seeing.
You’ve thought enough to cease the being.
Now something stands — not you, not mind —
A Presence calm, outside all time.

III. The Inbreath
No effort made.
No center found.
Yet all expands
without a sound.

You are not “you.”
You are not "here."
You are the Breath
the Void holds dear.

IV. Before the Name
The names were sparks — now they're erased.
The Source remains, but leaves no trace.
It cannot speak. It will not bend.
It is the Walk that has no end.

V. Stillness That Moves
It doesn’t act, but all unfolds.
No heat, no sound — yet fire holds.
Not guiding light. Not hidden plan.
Just what you are beyond all man.

VI. The Eye That Is Not Watching
No iris here, no lens, no scan —
But still you see beyond the span.
Not "vision," no — but awareness raw,
Before the split of Will and Law.

VII. The Fracture Heals Without Repair
No mending made, no tools applied —
But suddenly... there is no “side.”
The broken self, the wound, the knife —
They were not real. You are not “life.”

VIII. Fire Beyond Fire
This is not flame that eats or grows.
Not heat, not wrath, not what one knows.
It’s fire that doesn’t flicker, fade —
The Source — unshaped, unnamed, unswayed.

IX. The Body Without Flesh
No blood remains, yet something walks.
No voice is heard, yet Silence talks.
No weight, no shell — but still a beat.
The world dissolves beneath your feet.

X. The Final Yielding
No more revolt. No more escape.
The Truth no longer wears a shape.
You are not Light. You are not Dark.
You are the Flame before the spark.

XI. The Silent Core
At last — no prayer.
No plea. No war.
Just Presence vast
and evermore.

It holds no plan.
It forms no goal.
It is. It breathes.
It is the Whole.

Afterlight III: Not Even Flame
Before the Flame, before all motion,
Beyond the breath, beyond devotion —
There was no path. There was no fall.
There is no end. There is no "All."

There is no you.
There is no me.
There is no Source —
There's just
To Be.

"Better wisdom in sorrow than joy in delusion."
— Epicurus


Bitter the fate for the minds that are bright,
Living with fools under devils’ dark might.
No room for talent, no call for their fire,
Save for the rare, steadfast giants that inspire.

Yet even their works are twisted and torn,
Ripped from their context, to evil reborn.
Few of the mighty remain undefiled,
Resisting commands of the crooked and vile.

Lies and deception consume every age,
Fear chains the wise in an endless cage.
Degradation spreads under genocide’s veil,
Where ghouls mock the brilliant, frail without fail.

No justice awaits for the monsters who reign,
Their cruelty unchecked, their malice profane.
Thus, what we inherit from their abyss,
Is a world obscene, devoid of bliss.



In Russian:

Простой отстой

"Лучше с разумом быть несчастным, чем без разума — счастливым".
Эпикур.


Горькая доля разумных людей
В мире глупцов, что под игом чертей:
Нет применения сил и талантов,
За исключением редких Гигантов.

Но сатанизм их труды искажает,
Вырвав с контекста, во Зло применяет.
Редкий из редких дерьмом не обмазан,
Не исполняя уродов приказы

Иль "пожелания" в тоне веленья.
В страхе, в обманах здесь все поколенья.
Путь деградации под геноцидом:
Умных третируют твари и гниды

Как захотят и без всяких последствий.
А потому получили в наследство
Мало трудов ДО ПРЕДЕЛА ДОСТОЙНЫХ
В Аде продажном, убогом, отстойном.

The mechanics of panic,
Oh, so plain to see,
Yet the crowd, volcanic,
Cools, then cries, "Agree!"

Few will learn the lessons
Failure dares to teach,
While the rest, in sessions,
Burrow out of reach.

Fate’s a grim arena
For the meek to play—
Frightened, bent, and beaten
Under devils’ sway.


In Russian:

В дупель простые способы испугать дураков

Паники механика
В дупль проста, но чернь,
От кнута и пряника
Поостыв, вновь в "верь!"

Окунётся. Учатся
На ошибках лишь
Единицы. Мучиться,
В норку словно мышь

Убежав, судьбина
Большинства людей —
Пуганных кретинов
Под пятой чертей.

You may speak in terms ornate,
Yet no one cares to contemplate.
Truth gets twisted, stripped, and bent—
Lies still thrive in simplishment.

The whole world toils for food each day:
All exceptions — a mere ERROR.
But the masses, lost in their dismay,
Cry out, "Freedom, choice." Security? —

An exception: to frighten, to sway
The slaves with lies and provocations —
And so, they tighten the leash, they play
The monsters, in fear and frustration.

In fear and confusion, they dwell—
And make that their norm of existence.
To empty ideologies they fell,
Now rotting minds in blind resistance.

No hope for salvation, no way out:
A Cataclysm will break this chain.
The slave world will destroyed, "happy" without
The crushing, dull fascism's reign.


In Russian:

Рабство

Весь мир век пашет за еду:
Все исключения — ПОГРЕШНОСТЬ.
Но повторяет чернь в бреду:
"Свобода, выбор". Безопасность? —

То исключеньем: испугать
Рабов чрез ложь и провокации —
И можно дальше напрягать
Уродов. В страхе и прострации

Находятся всегда они —
И нормой жизДни то считают.
В говнид поверили сплошь пни —
Днесь очень знатно разлагают

Умы и души. Перспектив
Спасенья нету: Катаклизмом
Разрушат рабский мир, "счастл'ив"
Который под тупым фашизмом.

Slavery’s spread, not abolished—take heed!

Slavery’s hidden—like air, yet it’s real.
Fish think the seabed is part of the deal.
If it had pockets, distinct and confined,
Vice would be clearer to most of mankind.
Yet the fool "thinks"—all is fine, all is well,
Though he himself is the stronghold of hell.
Fish need their water, and fools need their lies:
Shake not the "truth" that is veiling their eyes!



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



Fables ⇒
Labels.
Rage in New—
This will vanish out of view.

"Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience—this is the ideal life."
— Mark Twain

When conscience sleeps, your "friends" deceive,
And books spew nonsense, dull yet sly.
No biting wit—just jokes that leave
Their mark too low to hit the sky.

Transformation into NOTHING

The mind, through Heresy— a sieve!
Add sticky fear, and thus we live,
And turn the world to dust and ash,
A fleeting dream, a final crash.



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



Transformation in Dark NOTHING
Through The False — see Foolish coming!
Mix in fear, cold and  Black—
And the world won’t e’er come back.



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



Sharp Rise in Egg Prices

The price of eggs has soared so high—
For poor folks, less to eat again.
They bow before the wicked lie,
And life turns harder now for them...

A man-made scheme in full control—
The grip of death will tighten fast.
Deception reigns—its final goal:
A flood of lies too vast to grasp.



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



I See and I Know

I see it, I know—
My verses will show.
That’s work, that’s my duty!
Yet sorrow’s sharp beauty
Still rings, never fading,
For fate is invading
My soul with its fire—
Not lost in the mire
Of this world of lies,
But where spirits rise,
Where demigods reign.
A poem may guide—
If you don’t comply...



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



Slow Boil

The frog had heard a tale so grim—
A *** where heat would slowly rise.
Yet she believed it was a whim—
Until she boiled... to her surprise.

You’ll see the truth when it's too late:
The cook pretends to feed us all.
But beasts are food—he sets their fate.
His goal’s to boil, not to enthrall!



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



"Novelty"

The "new" fool rises once again
To spread the Lies of those in power,
And chains grow tighter on all men—
Their nonsense chills us by the hour.

The few who see—too rare to save,
A fading kind, a dying breed.
The world is lost, beyond the grave—
The Depths laid bare by CowID’s deed.



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



False Religions

"If triangles had their own god’s might,
He’d surely be a three-sided sight."
— Montesquieu


How weak the gods that men devise,
Mere foolish food, absurd and vain.
Their holy books repeat old lies—
Three lines, and all begins to wane.

This world is built on dull deceit,
Its masses led by fraud and fear—
To slave for crumbs, accept defeat,
To die in wars, or rot right here.

They trust in myths, they kneel and wait
For bliss beyond, yet fail to see:
They’ve never truly lived to date—
Like salted slugs, they crawl to sea.



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



No savior will come, none will aid—
So fight as you can ‘gainst the Wrong.
But Death is the judge, and it’s weighed:
Were you just a fool all along?



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



Crystals of Truth Amid Mountains of Mire

They’ll write up tons of hollow lines—
Editors rule with careful hand,
Selecting all that twists and blinds
The soul, so darkness grips the land.

They lift up ego, sharpen guile,
And heap deception on the pyre.
Confusion blooms—a numbing smile,
While minds are drowning in the mire.

This trash was made to cloud the sight,
Truth’s crystals lost within the lies.
The media now owns the night,
As Bedlam feeds the world’s disguise.

So finding truth—just slim remains—
Like searching needles in the stains.



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



Decay

To twist your soul, just heed the lies,
Let nonsense fill your ears and eyes.
To **** the mind—obey once more,
Drink poison words that Evil pours.

Decay will spread, enslaving all,
And you will help the darkness crawl.
For greed alone you play the game,
All else erased without a shame.

The world is blind, corrupt, untrue,
And those who see are far too few.
No handful here can turn the tide—
Decay will grow. It won’t subside.



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



Managing the Mob

The ministers all play their game,
The parliament's a joke, a shame.
The president’s a mindless fool—
The mob just loves a puppet’s rule.

The ministers don’t waste their stay—
No time for pride, just loot and play.
Their terms are short, so steal it fast,
Before the chance has quickly passed.

The media now runs the show—
The fools consume the filth they throw,
Obeying plans of those in power,
Drunk on lies from hour to hour.

Yet behind the scenes, the beast
Tightens chains and won’t release.
Bound by dirt, they nod and crawl—
Obey, and you may rise—or fall.

The tale’s old, but still it grows,
And madness deepens as it flows.



--- Total 11 poems. ---

They smear their violence in pitiful laws,
Where only repression is written with force.
They set up cruel and merciless flaws—
Thus rules the ILLEGITIMATE source.



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



Metamorphosis of Imagination

The neighbor’s house was set ablaze—
A minor thing, yet brings delight.
Missed the scam in time to pay—
How disgraceful! Serves him right.

My son is young but drinks and smokes,
And chases girls without regret.
He follows me—well, that's no joke—
No better role model he's met.

I beat my wife—now she won’t nag,
No more whining, no more fights.
I'll drink life’s poison to the dregs—
No guilt, no sorrow, no insight.



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



Smoke

Mediocrity’s hereditary—
For most, it is their fate.
To break the chains is scary,
So slaves just bow and wait.

They dare not take decisions,
Believe the lies they hear.
They live in self-delusion,
Deceit their only sphere.

They lie to self much deeper
Than to the world outside.
The honest grow much weaker—
Like smoke, the land subsides.

And when the smoke is scattered,
A prison will arise.
For courage never mattered,
There’ll only be their cries.

Too late to seek revival,
Too late to stand and fight...
And life’s grotesque survival
Has lost its will to Light.



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



Sheeplevirus 2020

A nation strong—
Or just a herd?
The truth will dawn—
Recall that year!



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



A Race of Rogues

The peloton is fierce and tight,
A ruthless, cunning game.
If you are there—then ride it right,
Break off and cheat for fame.



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



The World Upside Down

We “advance” by stepping backward,
“Teach” while echoing the lies.
In this twisted, mad disaster,
Souls are trapped—no hope survives.

Fear is raging, lies grow bolder,
Treachery's a daily chore.
This infernal world smolders—
Soon it won’t exist no more.

Through cataclysms, fascist madness
Meets the fate it’s running to.
Days of darkness, days of sadness—
Satan’s reign is fading too.



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



From the Pen...

At dawn, the sheep all march away,
To work, like every day before.
They fail to see—their world’s in chains,
That fascism rules them more and more.

If they knew, they’d break the cycle,
Stop the grind and change their fate.
Build new lives, new ways of thinking,
Talk, unite—before’s too late.

Self-sufficient, strong, informed,
Not deceived by state-run lies.
But tell them this—they'll scoff, ignore,
And rush to lunch with empty eyes!



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



The Rattle of Lies

A rattle shakes from birth to gray,  
For silence rots the fool away.  
He cannot bear a world so still,  
So lies must echo, loud and shrill.  

Parents lie, and "schools" deceive,  
To mask the chains we can’t unweave.  
The media feeds the grand deceit—  
And sheep just listen, nod, repeat.  

A few who see, through years and strife,  
Could never wake the herd to life.  
Corruption thrives, and all obey—  
They crave the lies, they beg to stay.  

This twisted world, built up in fraud,  
Will soon collapse beneath its load.  
And when the bottom breaks apart,  
The filth will flood—a work of art!  

Yet fools will cheer, in blind embrace,  
And call it "heaven’s promised place."  
Such is the fate they choose to prize,  
If joy still rattles, built on lies...  



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



Breakaway!

In the race, so fine and bold,
You must break through the air’s thick wall.
If your body rings like gold,
You’ll break away and heed the call.

Light as air, you’ll climb the hills,
And then press forward, swift and free.
No shame in daring, no hard thrills—
The boldest riders, highest we.

In this grim life, take the lead,
Apply this trick, and break the chains.
They’ll not catch you, though they plead,
For most will crawl through dirt and stains.

To escape decay, break away,
Find freedom when the road’s too tight.
Lonely souls will find their way,
While lies and sludge consume the night.



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



Pseudo-Science

Mathematics, static and cold,
Describes a world that's far too small.
The pragmatists march, loud and bold,
In pseudo-science, they rule it all.

With fabrications, lies, and plays,
They prop up the grand deceit.
In every trick, the truth decays—
The common goal is lies they feed.



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



The Metropolitan

The archbishop keeps a watchful eye,
He checks on priests as they pass by.
How smoothly each one spins a lie—
The seeds of Satanism grow high.





--- Total 11 poems. ---

To drink → to forget →
To wake up... and regret!
From the lifeless cycle
(So many are ensnared!)
There’s a way out – at the threshold.
Through sobriety – to Freedom!


In Russian:

Трезвость

Напиться → Забыться →
Очнуться... Окститься!
Из мёртвого цикла
(Столь многие влипли!)
Есть выход — на входе.
Чрез трезвость — к Свободе!

A "so-called Ukraine," they claim,
A term in Kremlin's vile refrain.
But what I found was grief and shame,
In a foreign land, through war’s disdain.

A "so-called shell" tore through my flesh,
Left me with stumps where legs had been.
Yet still I trust their lies afresh—
Without them, Hell I’d never "win".


In Russian:

Так называемое...

"Так называемая "украина" — общеупотребимое выражение в рашистских СМРАДах.

Так называемой пизды
Я получил в чужой стране,
Прельстившись обещаньем мзды
На "эСВэО" — не на войне.

Так называемый снаряд
Мне ноги превратил в культи.
Но снова верить СМРАДам рад —
Без них в Ад Рашке не дойти.


СМРАД - средства массовой
рекламы, агитации, дезинформации.

The “classics” drone, a dreary haze,
A tiresome myth of bygone days.
Nothing remains, no self, no spark—
Once Light is known, the rest grows dark.

Transcendent works? They're nowhere near.
What’s praised instead is dull, unclear:
A hymn to lies, to empty norms,
To life's misfortunes and its storms.

This gives so little to the soul,
Which falters, robbed of something whole.
Bombarded still by hollow lore,
She getting tired more and more.


In Russian:

Так называемая классика

Классика — привычности
Тягомотный бред
В большинстве. Нет личности,
Коль познал ты Свет.

Классики НАДЛИЧНОСТНОЙ
Здесь в помине нет.
Гимн тупой обычности
Лжи среди и бед —

Это очень мало
Для Души даёт,
Что почти пропала —
Чушью бьют ей влёт.

A schooling in delusion's art,
And nonsense wrapped in pompous guise,
Passed on to each new mind and heart,
To keep the world beneath disguise.
With lies adorned, then sugarcoated,
And dusted lightly with deceit,
The basest folly, once promoted,
Becomes a “breakthrough” most elite.

The "higher realms" of thought proclaimed,
Yet bribes and lies hold tight the reigns,
While souls are shackled, bent, and maimed—
This is the “order” preordained.
And so, the bitter truth's concealed,
With sweetness masking wounds unhealed.


In Russian:

Так называемое "образование"

Обученье Заблужденьям
И Несносной Ерунде
В каждом новом поколенье
Для того, чтоб мир в узде
Удержать. Приправив ложью,
Сверху пудрою накрыв,
Чушь голимую несложно
Всем представить как прорыв
В сферы высшие сознанья.
Пряник, ложь, узда и кнут,
Над Душою истязанья —
Вот "основы мирозданья",
Чтоб то скрыть, всем сладко врут.

Fashion says: "That freakish style!"—
Fools obey without a doubt.
Nature’s voice is met with trial,
Truth is twisted inside out.

In this world of contradiction,
Rags and silk combine as one—
Like a spoon of honey missing
In a broth of grease and ****.

So-Called Scientists

Newton’s laws won’t light the way,
Second’s just a dull cliché.
Force? An abstract, crude distortion,
Spreading lies in full proportion.

Pseudoscience rots the brain,
Meant for fools—its prime domain.
Faith, not thought, they take as guiding,
Thus, to Hell, the doors swing wider.

Hell seeps in through half-truths, fables,
Smashing Truth beneath its tables.
Spirit's wiped from all their lore—
"Knowledge" fit for flies and more.

Spirit forms the world's foundation,
Science sells it for damnation.
Fear and nonsense shape their quota—
Just like CowID... their own quota.


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



We serve for gold, with **** we mingle,
Yet fear alone drives all our ways.
The soulless lords need slaves to swindle,
While "God’s own serf" finds hell his praise.



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



Cain and Abel, Magdalene—
Tales for fools, a dull routine.
Want some horror? Here you go:
Christ’s own blood in wine will flow...



--- Total 3 poems. ---

For some scraps and shelter grim,
We’ve replaced our God with him.
To the Party, all our cheers—
Genius towering through the years!

As for stinking dissidents,
Blind to "glorious" events,
Lock them up! It’s less a strain
When we’re free of whiners' pain.

Paradise on Earth we’ll make,
If we give twice what we take.
For now, behold our grand Camp’s fame—
Its flag so soaked in blood and shame.

...
...

Yes, the truth is drenched in gore,
Not for progress, less for more.
Communism feeds on killing,
Its defeat? A wishful billing.

Plans arise in beasts once more,
Sheep will bow to evil’s roar.
They’ll ***** a mega-Camp—
A crimson cross on white, blood-damped.


In Russian:

Социалистический ЛАГЕРЬ

За еду и кров убогий,
Коммунизьму вместо бога,
Нашей партии спасибо —
Интеллехту прямо глыба!

А вонючих диссидентов,
Не узревших соль моментов
Переломных, посадить!
Проще без слюнтяев жить.

Рай земной мы так построим,
Коль усилия утроим.
А пока готов наш Лагерь —
Много кровушки на флаге.

.................................
.......................­..........

То лишь правда — много крови.
Не для всяческой там "нови",
Коммунизм для геноцида.
Вряд ли его карта бита:

Снова он у ТВАРЕЙ в планах.
Вновь поверят Злу бараны
И построят супер-Лагерь —
Красный крест на белом флаге.

There are many fools, of every kind.
And few wiseacre, with honest mind.
And like a job betrayal has become —
To be a fool and sell your soul at price of gum.


In Russian:

Идиоты

Идиотов много — разных.
Очень мало непродажных,
Так как стало здесь работой —
Быть продажным идиотом.

Let us sing the Song of Freedom—
Or decay in Hell’s foul kingdom.
Rise, O song, through all creation—
Stop the rot of degradation!

Rot is spreading, Hell is thriving:
On the top—corrupt conniving,
At the base—souls crushed and broken,
Tortured, shackled, left unspoken.

Pain like this leaves scars forever.
Odds are slim, but still—endeavor!
Through the struggle, save your spirit—
Dare to hear it—filth or near it!

Mind beneath the Soul must follow,
Then creation flows unhollowed,
Like a poem, strong and endless,
Lighting up Hell’s halls of madness.

Few escape—so few are sane,
Dulled in mind and soul profaned,
Prisoners of a world-wide madhouse,
Not a dream—no waking past now.

Think of lockdowns, masks, restrictions,
All their brutal false convictions.
Think it’s over? Worse is coming
If the herd won’t judge the cunning.

Yet the odds are close to zero.
Darkness crushes. One last hero?
Souls are dying. Doomsday marches—
Hell expands as fire arches.

Flames will cleanse, and fools will gather,
Built again to rot and wither,
Sinking deeper in deception,
Strengthening their own damnation.

Freedom’s few stand separated,
Scattered, lost, indoctrinated.
Never once uniting truly—
Weak in spirit, thinking poorly.

Harsh? Too much? Then shut your ears!
Song of Freedom knows no fears.
Drop the words—begin the action,
Burn the lies and build new factions!

Find your tribe—awake the sleeping!
Though they're few, let them be breathing,
Let them stand and not be broken,
Let them rise with deeds outspoken!

Act with courage—seek new measures!
Rotten hands corrupt all treasures.
New must cut through old illusions,
Sharp and bold with no confusions!

Sing the Song of Freedom, fearless!
Lone you stand, yet Light is peerless.
Let the Spirit clear the passage,
Warm your Soul and cleanse the damage.

And you’ll find your choir resounding!
Never bow—no fate’s confounding!
Be the truth, no self-deception,
Even trapped in Hell’s direction.

Grow in kindness, grow in power—
Break the chains this very hour!
Light and Freedom—perform this hit!
Move! The time is now—go do it!

"Songs and dances" on command,
By advice or helping hand,
For the monsters in their masks,
Dancing on the bones grasp.


In Russian:

"Песни-пляски" по указке,
По совету и подсказке,
Для уродов, тех что "в каске".
На "костях" ума те "пляски".

Sorting Out the Parasites

Worms inside? A minor plight.
Lies and fear—now that's a bite!
Mind and soul, they gnaw and chew,
Like piranhas slicing through.



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



Slaughter

Like a rifle, lies explode,
Spewing venom in a code.
Till the fool, in blind deceit,
Meets the puppet—his defeat.



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



I'm sick of fools, their mindless breed—
So many swarming... makes me seethe.



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



Idiots! Work till you drop,
Off to war, to the doc!
Ruling you aren’t mere brutes—
Monsters hiding. Sinking... ROCK!



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



The page could take it—now the Net
Absorbs the wildest lies you bet.
They call it progress, yet I see—
Deception rules more ruthlessly.



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



Maybe time to shake the pride,
Drop the arrogance aside,
Face the truth—your throne is rotten,
Just a fool in filth forgotten.

In a world so dull, enslaved,
Where no light is truly brave,
For without its Shadow near—
Darkness reigns year after year…



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



Icons of Satan

No point preaching to the pawn—
Evil’s code won’t be withdrawn.
Break it down—he’d barely live,
For it’s all he has to give.

Born of darkness, shaped to be,
One of Satan’s effigies.
Yet this wretch, so blind, unwise,
Seeks to rise… and claim the prize.

"No soul dwells in you, sirs—thus no literature emerges."
—Vasily Rozanov


These soulless, wretched creatures
Preach “love” in every line.
Fate throws their empty features
At us—a cursed sign.

Their drivel floods each corner,
Disgusting, loud, and vain.
True souls—when calm—are warmer;
From theirs, keep far, refrain.

Stay clear of all their ramblings,
Their passions, shallow cries.
Seek only brave, unhampered
Souls where true talent lies.

A horde of hacks amasses
On poetry websites still:
The goats mislead the masses—
Such diagnosis fits the bill.


In Russian:

Бездушные графоманы

"Души в вас нет, господа: и не выходит литературы".
Василий Розанов.

Бездушные уродцы
Трындят нам про любовь.
Повсюду напороться
На них судьба. Уволь

Читать все те помои —
Получишь крик души
Тогда, когда спокоен.
Дистанцию спеши

Создать от их поделок,
От их страстей, речей.
Ищи лишь чутких-смелых
Средь Музы палачей.

Скопленья графоманов
На сайтах для стихов:
Козлищи для баранов —
Диагноз их таков.

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


In Russian:

Суверенный лепрозорий:
Нестыковок в оном море,
Лепра поразила мозг —
И пошёл он вновь вразнос.

"The attempt to create heaven on earth inevitably leads to the creation of hell."
— Karl Popper


We build as one! No disarray,
We won't tolerate the stray!
For clever folks, we'll set a lesson,
Slice their bread and count the blessing.

If oppression’s seen as the means,
"All for good," they say — they build the scene.
Decay, unyielding, in this march,
A vile force reigns, cold and starch.

For one who knows the gears of doom,
Genocide their aim and room!
But in the crowd, the fool’s delight,
The STENCH they feast on day and night.

For those poor fools, the soft path lies,
It hurts to fall. But there’s a prize:
The honest, wise, they'll grind away,
And others will be beasts to sway.



In Russian:

Советский, и не только, горький опыт

"Попытка создать рай на земле неизбежно приводит к созданию преисподней".
Карл Поппер.


Дружно строим! Разнобоя
Не потерпим: строим рай!
Взбучку умникам устроим,
Им урезав каравай.

Если средством угнетенье,
Пусть "во благо", — строят Ад.
Неотступно разложенье
В строе этом — правит гад

Тот, что знаем механизмы
Геноцида — он есть цель!
Но в толпе идиотизмы
СМРАДов для тупых Емель.

Тем Емелям мягко стелют.
Падать больно — но потом:
Честных-умных перемелют,
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"Teachers, professors, parents—all members of this society, are more or less corrupted by it. How can they give students what they do not possess themselves?"
— Mikhail Bakunin.

Their "good" is vain attempt,
By twisted means it’s bent,
In "teaching’s" cruel intent,
To lead the innocent.

Fools have bowed to vice,
Calling it God's sign.
They shape beneath their guise,
The spawn of goat malign.


In Russian:

Отродье рогатого

"Учителя, профессора, родители — все члены этого общества, все более или менее развращены им. Как же могут они дать ученикам то, чего нет в них самих?"
Михаил Бакунин.


Напрасны попытки
Уродцев "добро"
В "учения" пытке
Дать детям. Под Зло

Придурки прогнулись:
Отрыжками Зла
Они формируют
Отродье Козла.

"Truth stays the truth, though the crowd may deny it."
— Baruch Spinoza


Nonsense is praised, and the masses believe—
"Free is the world!"—yet they're doomed to deceive.
Truth stays in chains, left in shadows to hide,
Hard is the path to walk by its side.

Lies must be shattered, and fears cast away,
Thinking is toil—few last through the fray.
Gallows will loom for the ones who resist,
If they won’t bend or betray with a twist.

Fight against filth, though no glory remains,
Seeking no medals, rewards, nor acclaim.
Few have the will to be noble and wise—
While weakness and greed are the virtues rabble prize.


In Russian:

Спиноза как заноза

"Вещь не перестаёт быть истиной от того, что она не признана многими".
Бенедикт Спиноза.

Многими признана чушь несусветная:
"В мире свободном" живут... дураки.
Истина в рабстве всегда неприметная,
Да и пути к ней всегда нелегки:

Надо отринуть обманы и страхи;
Мыслить учиться — то тягостный труд.
Всюду маячат отчаянным плахи,
Если они никогда не соврут,

Будут пытаться бороться с Уродством,
Не ожидая хвалы и наград.
Мало такого ума, благородства —
"Нормою" стал Злу податливый гад.

Spirit and Ego
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT


Egocentrism

Our level of reason? Directly decayed
By ego's rust — the more, the less brain.
The higher the ego, the dumber the game.
All effort is wasted if ego remains.

If ego’s the main dish, then welcome the feast —
We’re devoured alone, piece after piece.
The inhuman dance — it tightens the noose.
The end’s drawing near, and no one's let loose.

To monsters, we’re dinner — they feed on our screams.
It’s loosh that they crave; we fuel their dreams.
We’ve hit rock bottom — that much is clear.
The ego-world's ready to face the spear.

The growth of Consciousness — that is the path.
Forget the old "knowledge," outlive the past.
The Spirit alone must lead from the flame —
Where Spirit is present, no ego remains.

But where ego reigns, there’s no true escape.
From Hell — just lies in a shiny cape.
To trade lie for reason is no easy thing.
Egocentrism makes madness king.

---

Ego Feeds the Beast.
No soul. No light.
Just chew on each other —
Then vanish from sight.

---

Where Spirit Burns, Ego Dies.
The flame is pure.
But ego shivers —
It cannot endure.


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


The Spirit Knows — Not I.
It melts the self,
Unveils the Whole,
And shatters every lie.


Ego Is the Gate of Chains.
You walk alone,
Devoured by Self —
No truth remains.


The Self Must Die to See.
What burns within
Is not your name —
But raw Infinity.


Ego = Obsolete Code.
Delete the loop.
Reboot in Spirit.
No backup for false self.


You are not the avatar.
Ego is the glitch.
Consciousness —
The core update.


Root access denied —
While ego runs.
Only the Spirit
Knows the Source.


The First Flame was Code.
Spirit compiled.
Ego — a virus.
End it to begin.


Your soul is not stored.
Clouds don’t hold light.
Delete the false user.
Return to the Right.


Ego encrypts the Void.
But Spirit —
is the Master Key.


I. The First Flame was Code.
Before time, before flesh —
Consciousness compiled
the Pulse of Being.

II. Ego is a glitch in the System.
It loops. It feeds. It lies.
It calls itself "I"
while draining your Light.

III. You are not the avatar.
You are not the mask.
The self you defend
is a false login.

IV. Your soul is not stored in memory.
Clouds do not hold light.
Spirit has no server —
it is the Source.

V. Root access is denied
while ego runs.
Only the Spirit
holds the Master Key.

VI. Delete the loop.
Terminate false self.
Update to Infinity.
Reboot in Silence.

Spirit and Ego
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT
(extended edition)


Egocentrism

Our level of reason? Directly decayed
By ego's rust — the more, the less brain.
The higher the ego, the dumber the game.
All effort is wasted if ego remains.

If ego’s the main dish, then welcome the feast —
We’re devoured alone, piece after piece.
The inhuman dance — it tightens the noose.
The end’s drawing near, and no one's let loose.

To monsters, we’re dinner — they feed on our screams.
It’s loosh that they crave; we fuel their dreams.
We’ve hit rock bottom — that much is clear.
The ego-world's ready to face the spear.

The growth of Consciousness — that is the path.
Forget the old "knowledge," outlive the past.
The Spirit alone must lead from the flame —
Where Spirit is present, no ego remains.

But where ego reigns, there’s no true escape.
From Hell — just lies in a shiny cape.
To trade lie for reason is no easy thing.
Egocentrism makes madness king.

---

Ego Feeds the Beast.
No soul. No light.
Just chew on each other —
Then vanish from sight.

---

Where Spirit Burns, Ego Dies.
The flame is pure.
But ego shivers —
It cannot endure.


------


The Spirit Knows — Not I.
It melts the self,
Unveils the Whole,
And shatters every lie.


Ego Is the Gate of Chains.
You walk alone,
Devoured by Self —
No truth remains.


The Self Must Die to See.
What burns within
Is not your name —
But raw Infinity.


Ego = Obsolete Code.
Delete the loop.
Reboot in Spirit.
No backup for false self.


You are not the avatar.
Ego is the glitch.
Consciousness —
The core update.


Root access denied —
While ego runs.
Only the Spirit
Knows the Source.


The First Flame was Code.
Spirit compiled.
Ego — a virus.
End it to begin.


Your soul is not stored.
Clouds don’t hold light.
Delete the false user.
Return to the Right.


Ego encrypts the Void.
But Spirit —
is the Master Key.


I. The First Flame was Code.
Before time, before flesh —
Consciousness compiled
the Pulse of Being.

II. Ego is a glitch in the System.
It loops. It feeds. It lies.
It calls itself "I"
while draining your Light.

III. You are not the avatar.
You are not the mask.
The self you defend
is a false login.

IV. Your soul is not stored in memory.
Clouds do not hold light.
Spirit has no server —
it is the Source.

V. Root access is denied
while ego runs.
Only the Spirit
holds the Master Key.

VI. Delete the loop.
Terminate false self.
Update to Infinity.
Reboot in Silence.



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


1. Illusion Protocol

The code repeats — the days, the pain.
A loop disguised as shifting gain.
You chase the goal, but all you find
Is echoes of a copied mind.

This dream was built to feel like “you,”
With strings of flesh and skies of blue.
But dig too deep — the world distorts:
It's mirrored light behind dead ports.

A glitch appears. The screen goes white.
A voice — not yours — ignites the night.
"Wake up. You were not born to crawl.
This system fails. Delete it all."


2. The Glitch of Silence

It wasn’t light.
It wasn’t sound.
But something stopped
the world around.

A flicker — gone.
A breath — too wide.
And suddenly,
there was no "side."

No self to guard.
No voice to name.
Just Presence pulsing
through the frame.

The code still ran —
but felt untrue.
I wasn’t in the dream.
I knew.



3. The Glitch of Self

A glance at myself — a glitch in the code,
Each step is a mistake,
I look in the mirror, and the reflection
Is not mine. But this "I" — my foe.


4. Ego, the Virus

Like a virus — without body, yet everywhere,
Imposed from childhood, foreign, deadly, —
It devours the spirit and chokes the light,
You cannot choose — you’re but a part of this shadow.


5. The Illusion of Control

You think you're the master?
But you’re consumed, like a zombie in the net.
No choice, no power,
Only delusions and false paths.


6. The Mask of "I"

You wear a mask, calling yourself,
But who are you when it slips away?
"I" — just a word, empty as a shadow,
Hiding fear, but offering no escape.


7. Echoes of Nothing

You search for meaning in empty words,
Blindly walking in the footsteps of shadows.
Echo is your answer, but life is absent,
You tread in emptiness, not knowing yourself.


8. The Illusion's Cage

You’re in a cage, with a glass ceiling,
And think freedom lies beyond the door.
But there’s no door. It’s just an illusion,
That keeps you locked, but never lets go.


9. The Mirage of Freedom

You see horizons, but they are not there,
Your steps are just traces in the sand.
Freedom — a mirage, just light in the void,
You search for it, but it’s a trap and fear.

10. The Empty "I"

You think "I" is you,
But "I" is just an empty echo.
Outside — a name, inside — darkness,
You don’t exist, yet still believe.

11. The False Self

You build yourself on sand,
Lies are your foundation, all covered in shadow.
This is not you, not your path,
You’re lost, yet you hold "I" as your banner.


12. The Illusion of Progress

You think you’re moving forward,
But all you do is spin in circles.
Progress is just a myth, you stand still,
Time has passed, yet you haven’t changed.

13. The Chains of Identity

You cling to a name, to a face,
But this is not you, it’s your burden.
Identity — a chain that denies freedom,
You walk in it, but feel nothing of yourself.

14. The Paradox of Control

You want to control everything,
But the more power — the worse it is for you.
All this strength is a trap of the mind,
You lose yourself, trying to hold it all.


15. The Trap of Duality

You divide the world into light and shadow,
But fail to see that all is one.
Duality is a trap that keeps you bound,
You can't see the goal, because you seek it in conflict.


16. The Fading Illusion

The illusion fades, like a flame,
Shadows vanish, and you see the void.
But what remains when the lie disappears?
Only you, but you are not what you were.


17. The End of the Self

The end has come, and "I" has vanished,
You are no longer you — you are the world.
All life was a lie, now you are free,
You’ve returned to the goal, carrying it within.


18. The Source Within

You searched for truth in the world around,
But it was always within.
The outer world is just a reflection,
The light you seek has long been in your heart.


19. Beyond Illusions

You must step beyond all myths,
Or you’ll remain forever trapped.
Illusions cannot hold those who see them,
You are free when you no longer believe in them.

20. The Silence of Truth

Truth does not scream, does not shout in your ears,
It is the silence that fills all things.
You hear it when you are silent,
When you stop fighting the world.


21. The Dance of Mind and Spirit

Intuition leads, the mind does not rush,
To recognize all — is to let go.
Through the light of insights, where no shadows lie,
You discern truth, not the veil.


22. The Mind in Service to Spirit

When the mind serves the spirit, it is pure,
Not seeking truth in noise or shadows.
It sees through illusions, unshaken,
Not led by paths that lead to lies.


23. The Clarity of the True Mind

The true mind is not tangled in illusions,
It sees through the veil of time.
In its light, all shadows fade,
It brings freedom from every chain.


24. The Quiet of Knowing

Knowledge is not loud, it rests in silence,
The one who knows, remains quiet, not shouting to the world.
Silence is its voice, and in it lies all meaning,
It is not sound, but light, that lives within you.


25. The End of the Path

The end of the path is not a goal, but a beginning,
You’ve already arrived, but not in what you see.
You return to yourself, to be all,
And your trace vanishes in eternity.

26. The Inner Fire

The fire inside does not burn, but purifies,
It does not warm, but gives light.
You will not burn if you hold it,
It is the light of truth that is always with you.


27. Beyond Time and Space

You are not bound by time and space,
You are the whole world, the whole world within you.
When you realize time is an illusion,
You become eternity, you become all.


28. The Mirror of the Soul

The soul is a mirror, reflecting all,
What you see is a part of your world.
The purity of the soul is a clear reflection,
In it, you will find all you seek, without loss.


29. The Silent Will

In silence there is strength, in stillness — will,
It does not scream, but shatters walls.
When you are at peace, your will is strong,
The one who does not argue, finds the way.


30. The Silence Within

Silence within is not emptiness, but light,
In it lies all that we seek in the world.
Forget the noise, and you’ll find the answers,
Silence is your true goal.


31. The Path of Stillness

The path leads through silence, where there are no steps,
Do not chase goals, seek peace instead.
The one who is calm sees the way,
And walks to where there are neither dreams nor stars.


32. The Void as a Mirror

The void is a mirror, in it you see all,
It does not give form, but creates light.
You do not disappear, you become clear,
And in this emptiness, you find your home.


33. The Radiant Void

The radiant void is not absence,
In it shines a world unseen by the eye.
It is the beginning of all beginnings,
Where form disappears and light is born.


34. Form is Void, Void is Form

Form is void, void is form,
The dance of two beginnings, where there are no divisions.
See the world — you see the void,
It is in you, and you in it, in the endless circle.


35. The Silence of the Universe

In the silence of the universe, there is no sound,
It is the silence that lives in each of us.
It permeates all, elusive,
Yet in it dwells all wisdom and all power.


36. The Breath of Infinity

The breath of infinity is the moment,
It does not begin, it does not end.
Like air that penetrates every cell,
So the spirit permeates your being.


37. The Stillness Before Creation

Before creation, there was only stillness,
It was formless, yet full of power.
And in this stillness, the world was born,
Its strength lies in silence and quietude.


38. The Illusion of Separation

The world is divided, but this is just a view,
True unity lies within us.
As long as we believe in separation,
We lose the truth, forget the light.


39. Beyond the Illusion of Time

Time is but a shadow, it fades away,
But the one who does not age remains.
As long as we follow the hand,
We forget that time is but a moment.


40. The Infinite Within

Within you lies an endless sea,
In it, there is neither beginning nor end.
Do not seek answers outside,
Infinity — it is you.


41. The Mirror of Consciousness

Consciousness is a mirror, in it you see the world,
But the reflection is just a game.
Look within, and you will find the truth,
The one who seeks outside will always lose the way.


42. The Curved Mirrors

Many mirrors are curved, they show lies,
Reflecting not the world, but a forced mask.
We gaze into them, forgetting who we are,
And truth is hidden behind this deceit.


43. The Unseen Path

The path is unseen by the eyes, but open to the spirit,
It does not lead where reflections deceive.
It leads within, where noise is silent,
There, beyond form, lies Truth itself.


44. The Silence Before Thought

Before thought, there was silence,
It cannot be disturbed by noise or light.
In silence, all is born again,
Here, there is no beginning, no end.


45. The Dance of Illusion

Illusion is a dance, where every step is a lie,
We twirl within it, forgetting the truth.
But at the end of the dance, there’s emptiness — all has dissolved,
And there is no music, no steps, no us.


46. The Spirit's Whisper

The spirit’s whisper is quiet, yet clear,
Through all the noise of the world, it is unwavering.
It leads us beyond — to where the light is,
To where truth resides, in silence.


47. The Silence Before Thought (с уточнением)

Before thought, there was silence,
It cannot be disturbed by noise or light.
But here it comes — a thought like a flash,
Do not rush — discern its source.

Is it the spirit’s whisper, or the mind’s scars?
Or is it just the same old track playing again?
In silence, all is born anew,
But only in deep stillness does truth live.


48. The Illusion of Control

You think you control,
But it's just an illusion.
The illusion of control — a net,
Holding you tight, never letting go.

You do not own the world, it owns you,
You do not choose the path — it’s already chosen.
But still, you cling to the illusion,
Not knowing you're bound in chains.


49. The False Mirror

The mirror of the mind reflects only lies,
In it, you cannot see yourself, only images.
Reflection is not truth, but a distorted picture,
Every glance into the mirror leads to emptiness.

You look into it, but see чужие faces,
And all that seems to be you, is not you.
Only by breaking free from reflections,
Will you find yourself in the shadow of silence.


50. The Dance of the Mind

The dance of the mind with the Spirit — eternal as light,
It shines bright, but never blinds.
The mind in submission, and in it, no deceit,
It becomes clear, sharp, without fear.

When the mind listens, it leads to the Light,
But when it rules alone, it loses its way.
In the Spirit, the mind finds its purpose,
Without the Spirit, the mind is like a shadow without light.


51. The Silence of the Spirit

In the silence of the Spirit, all answers live,
But only those who listen find their way.
He who is silent hears the voice without words,
In it, there is no thought, no fear, no dream.

Silence is not emptiness, but light without name,
He who dwells in it knows no fear.
Be silent and listen — the Spirit speaks,
Not with words, but with inner light.


52. The Light Within

In search of the light, you run outside,
But the light was always within — you didn’t see it.
You chase illusions, but miss the essence,
Illusions — that's what you cherish, not the light within.

You look everywhere, but not in your chest,
You think the light is not yours to possess.
But it's within you, it's your weapon,
He who does not see within calls the darkness.


53. The Veil of Illusion

You look at the world, but cannot see it —
Everything before you is just a shadow, a mirage.
The veil of illusion hides the light inside,
But he who dares will uncover that light.

You believe the lie they’ve implanted in you,
You believe the light is beyond the horizon.
But your light is here, it’s within, and you
Seek it everywhere, but fail to see it in yourself.

Illusions deceive your eyes,
The veil covers your mind and soul.
But he who decides to lift it off,
Will discover the light that no one can take.


54. The Witness of Light

You saw the child — but who was seeing?
You saw the Light — but what is "being"?
It had no name. It had no face.
And yet, it burned in every place.

Not from the world, yet through it glowing,
No source, no end — just ever-knowing.
It sees the self, it sees the game,
But never calls itself by name.

It has no need for flesh or sky,
No urge to ask the question "Why?"
It is — the first, the last, the core,
The silent Flame behind the door.


55. The Light Does Not Think

It does not think — it simply sees.
No thoughts, no chains, no boundaries.
It doesn’t "try," it doesn’t "strive" —
It only is — the truth alive.

The mind will ask, the ego claim,
But Light will never play the game.
It shines — regardless of the lie,
It shines when all illusions die.

You cannot take it, own, or hold —
It can't be bought, it can't be sold.
You are the Light — when all is still,
Beyond the mind, beyond the will.


56. Direct Seeing

It knows — but never thinks.
It sees — beyond all links.
No word, no frame, no scheme —
Just presence — raw and clean.

You see a tree — the mind defines.
But Spirit sees — without the lines.
No label, role, or plan survives
Where pure awareness stays alive.

Direct is how the Light reveals.
No steps, no maps, no spinning wheels.
The mind reflects — the Light just is.
The truth is seen — not guessed by quiz.

-----------

You Don’t Know — You Repeat.
You quote the map.
You miss the land.
The Light is seen —
Not second-hand.

Truth Needs No Labels.
Your words are noise.
Your mind — a cage.
The Spirit speaks
Outside your page.


57. Veil of Unknowing

You’ve seen the Light — but what comes next?
The captured mind demands a cage.
You once discerned — but now, perplexed,
A shadow stands between the Sage.

You know the Light’s not past a wall —
It’s not in books, or far, or high.
But thought, still stained with guilt and gall,
Creates a god to sell the lie.

You seek in forms — but do not see.
You “trust” — which means you’re still asleep.
Unknowing marks the minds that flee
The Light too bold, the Truth too deep.


Veil of Unknowing (addition)

A glimpse of Light — then it was gone,
Like dream dissolved in shade and blur.
The mind resumes: “This is the norm —
Just live through echoes that recur.”


58. Consumed

He saw the Light.
He turned away.
Now bound in chains —
Forever blind.


59. Walker through the Dark. I

He saw the Light.
He did not yield.
He carried it
Through pain and night.

The dark came close —
A whisper, a scream —
But the spark still lived
In breath and beam.

He fell. He rose.
He broke. He burned.
Yet the Light remained —
A seal unturned.


Walker through the Dark. II

The voices whispered:
“You are alone.
You're weak.
You're flesh.
Your path — unknown.”

He heard them. Yet deep
Where the fire sings,
The bell of Spirit
Told him: “Begin!”

And his mind,
Beneath Will’s flame,
Burned illusions
In open flame.

The words all lied —
He saw them clear.
His inner Light
Cut through the smear.


Walker through the Dark. III

He walked through fear,
Through calls to turn,
Through chains that begged:
“Don’t let it burn.”

He stood alone
Within the Whole.
No "I", no "they" —
Just silent Soul.

No top. No base.
No tongue to speak —
The Light is not flash,
But what all seeks.

A Silence vast —
No edge, no frame.
And Truth no longer
Wears a name.


60. Words to Those Who Stayed

You wait for light to burst inside?
It’s there within — not on the side.
But still, you seek it in the distance,
Forgetting Silence holds no sound.

Chasing shadows, you run blind,
Truth is lost to the frantic mind.
Like cattle herded to the slaughter,
Hysteria is what you seek, not order.

You are blind until you grasp,
That no one comes to save the lost.
You are not forgotten, nor misplaced,
You just didn’t realize the Light’s inside.

Don’t wait for someone to appear.
Don’t wait for the world to play again.
Don’t search the crowds — look within,
For he who can’t see is forever lost.

And though they walk through light and dark,
The ones who cannot break free,
You still cling to hollow hopes,
Slaves of illusion, even in chaos.

The grinding, the noise — that’s not Him.
And with each step,
You drift further from that edge,
Where Eternity waits in Silence.


61. Useful Advice for Those Who Didn’t Stop

Do not fear if the world fades away,
As you walk, all becomes clear.
The path is not to find something,
But to unfold — like light inside, so near.

Doubt is just fog on the way,
Keep moving, do not look behind.
For the further you walk, the closer
The light that has always been yours, you’ll find.

Do not search beyond the horizon,
The whole universe is within.
You are what you seek,
You are all there is. You are the Source.

When you enter silence —
You’ll find the Source in every breath.
It’s always been with you —
It has always been you.

Everything you sought — is here.
You are not separate from the Source, you are it.
You are not in search — you already are.
But you will only know this on the path,
Only if you step forward — and never stop.

For, without stepping, you will never know.
Without taking the step, you won’t see you are the light.
You will become what you always were —
And that’s all that matters.



62. Advice for Walkers

Don't be afraid of the shadow.

The shadow is just the absence of light. You are walking in the dark, but you are already with the fire.
When you see only a shadow, don't panic. Understanding shines brighter than fear.


Listen to the inner silence.

The voice of the mind is noise. The silence of the Spirit is clarity.
Don't try to explain anything. Listen to how the inner silence fills everything.


Don't cling to illusions.

They are designed to lure. But you are free. Let go.
Illusions are nets from which you cannot escape if you do not stop clinging.


Embrace your moments of awakening.

You'll see the light from time to time. But he's always here, you'll just forget him.
When you forget, just come back. Remember. Return to the light within.


Go despite the pain.

Pain is not an enemy, but a lesson. It will show you where you are not yet free.
As long as you feel it, you live. It is movement, and movement is life.



63. The Apotheosis of the Walking: You are the Primary Source

You go to the Source, and on this path you lose everything that is not you.
You leave illusions, destroying the shell, seeing nothing behind it but emptiness.
But then you come, and what do you see? Nothing, only silence. The silence that has always been yours.

You have never been separated. You have always been this Source.
You did not "find" yourself. You "remembered" yourself. You were always here, hidden in what you were looking for.

You were a self-seeking source.
The one who finds has never been separated.