1d
The ghost of communism
Wandered, then disappeared.
The demon of nihilism
Has now appeared, reared.
---------------------
— The herd demands both bread and shows.
— No, it's the people, you're speaking prose.
— If muzzles fit, then don't you see,
The pen’s the goal, we not be free.
---------------------
Pashka, Mashka, Sashka, Dashka,
Your lives are always off the mark,
If you believe the propaganda,
You’ll fall for Lucifer’s band dark.
---------------------
The gadget poisons kids’ minds —
Books are forgotten, left behind.
No paper’s touch, no scent, no sight,
Just screens that blind them day and night.
---------------------
Right on target!
Games. "Tigers" on the screen,
In a moment, blood's unseen.
Virtual wars, a cruel descent:
The goal — to crush the mind’s intent.
---------------------
The "Feast" at the Nursery
At the nursery, in tanks they play,
"Planes" are flying, children say.
In their youth, they're scarred and torn,
It’s time to end the hate reborn.
---------------------
The Training of a Monkey with a Grenade
Frol's school turns the child to ape,
With fingers clenched in a cruel shape.
Without the grenade, the vile new trend —
Neo-fascism's easy to bend.
---------------------
Art Under Control
Art’s controlled not by direction—
Only cash can call the shots.
Foam and rot, in each reflection—
Rotten feelings, twisted plots.
Money’s made for *******,
Not for joy, but to corrode—
Tools of planned degeneration,
Plain to see the way we go’d.
CowID showed the scheme completely.
Where is art? Where is dissent—
That, in protest cloaked discreetly,
Kills the madness, not relents?
Only few, as always, dared to
Speak the truth and break the trance.
Art, it seems, is just a phantom,
In real life—it leads the dance
Of a hydra, evil-driven.
Not by force, but coin instead
Does the beast, in shadows hidden,
Rule the stage. And you’re misled—
Blind to see it, dumb and sleeping,
If you think it's all a game.
Once you spot what lies it's keeping,
You won’t look at it the same.
---------------------
So-Called “Art”
Creeps in service, gladly selling—
Trained for trade and empty yelling.
Slavery’s engraved inside,
Tiny minds just run and hide.
Squeak a bit — they’ll toss you meat,
Just enough to call it "treat."
This is “art” today, no less:
Filthy lies in fancy dress.
---------------------
Materialist Mock-Culture
Fake culture’s depth? It’s all about
The cash, the skin, the shallow clout.
With lies of "care" for flesh and face,
It leads the fools in Evil’s race.
False faiths preach false "spiritual light"
To prop up madness day and night.
This fake culture is a chain
Built to keep us all insane.
Spirit leads — and mind should follow:
That is culture, deep, not hollow.
But if that truth breaks the charm,
The BEAST will lose its grip and harm.
You can't control a soul that's free —
Only herds yield easily.
Though it’s hard to break the trance
(It's ruled for ages, not by chance),
Fall within. The truth lies there —
Not in noise or outer glare.
There you'll find a spark to guide:
Light and Beauty, deep inside.
---------------------
Living the Sweet Life!
"Sweet like chocolate!" — join the show,
Frontline traitors steal the glow.
Write for media? You’ll rise—
As a top-tier king of lies.
Crack the zombie-box, you’re crowned—
To the mindless, deep and sound,
God and ruler, bold and brash,
Super-creep in monster-trash.
If you can’t — then be a clerk,
Lower grade, but still can work.
No more lazing, here’s your fate:
"Fetch!" — the BEAST commands with hate.
Still, you’ll steal without much stress,
Just enough for full success.
Then explain with calm aplomb
Why it’s grand to be a swine
In a world so dumb, decayed,
If you love that sweet charade.
And devoured, one by one,
By the horde — the Parade of ****.
---------------------
No Future Ahead
"The last shall be the first!" — they say,
The "Internationale" dream.
But those who rot their souls away
Will never rise — despite the theme.
One isn’t blind who’s poor and tired,
But he who eats and sleeps on time,
Yet bends to thugs as self-required
And buys into collective crime.
The world is ruled by ghostly lies —
A thousand myths, all thin and hollow.
That "specter" once with glowing eyes,
Called communism, we did follow.
It was a dream — just one of many,
And more will come, the weak to sway.
The mob sells out for next day's penny...
That’s why we’re lost. We’ve lost our way.
---------------------
Satan’s Kitchen
"He who does not resist evil is consumed by it and becomes possessed."
—Ivan Ilyin
Possession’s spread is everywhere:
Resist not evil — it will bake you.
Like dough, you’re shaped with subtle care,
Then to the Devil’s oven take you.
Outside, you’re sweet — a gingerbread,
But inside — poison fills your core.
Your soul is sold, your reason's dead,
You’re just a puppet, nothing more.
The goal? To eat you. Tear and bite.
And as you burn in false delight,
Your loosh pours out — a cursed perfume,
And souls dissolve in silent gloom.
---------------------
The Cesspool
Folly reigns where honor’s gone,
And knowledge now is twisted lies.
Consumed by need, enslaved by wrong—
The mark of genocide still lies.
The traitor climbs—the cesspool hums,
Not the biggest chunk, but still it’s clear:
The “worthy” rot, as darkness drums,
They wait for higher ranks to cheer.
While down below, the other kind
Refuse the filth that’s piled so high,
The bold ones face a bitter grind—
For defiance leads to jail or die.
Only few remain who dare to fight,
Their time is short, their future bleak,
In the cesspool — isolated might,
Unable to unite or speak.
Each must endure the painful test—
But lessons learned are lost in vain.
It’s time to end this poisoned mess,
And burn the cesspool’s dark domain.
---------------------
The Miracle Cure
A cure for weariness — to run,
Start young, and soon you'll find success.
The prize you’ll win will weigh as one—
Good health, the key to happiness.
All else is fluff, so let it slide,
Except for Art, the soul’s true quest.
With strength like ox, and will as guide,
Your labor turns to purest zest.
---------------------
"A Residence Permit in the Sky"
Strive for a place up high,
“How?”—by rejecting the filth
That taints the world with lies.
Though a chance exists, in this life,
To live as a pauper, you see,
Dwelling in a latrine's strife
Means living with “high society.”
---------------------
Ignorance as the Fate of the World
"There’ll always be some Eskimos who teach the Papuans how to cope with heat."
Stanisław Jerzy Lec.
I went to school — a fool among fools —
They told me how I ought to live.
The madhouse chiefs, the traitor-rules,
Taught love of homeland — false and stiff.
They showed the way. No real example —
Just thunderous speeches, empty pride.
And I, a youth, too small to trample,
Stood still as lies screamed far and wide.
So I shall die — not quite a native,
A step from ignorance, half-bred.
But no one minds. The chains are sacred
If silence keeps your conscience dead.
---------------------
How to Be a Poet
If you rise before the sun,
Turn your soul where shadows run,
Grab a pen and let it flow —
You're a poet, now you know.
Add some rhythm, keep it tight,
Make sure rhymes still sound just right,
Squeeze in meaning, feeling too,
And don’t echo what you do.
---------------------
Down the ***** of Daily Dread
So your life went off the rails...
Once you thought you’d reached the top?
Now it’s mourning, veils on veils —
For the Mind. A fool won’t stop
To reflect — this fight for "bliss"
Never ends, it drags us down.
Only few through storms like this
Stumble toward a distant crown,
Toward a flicker faint and kindled
Through the shards of warped belief,
But the mirrors — cracked and swindled —
Steal the souls in silent grief.
In Forgetfulness the nation
Dwells, as scoundrels tear apart
Mind and Spirit — desecration
Leaves but few with subtle heart.
Hell is here — the world beneath it
Takes its form and bears its name.
Sunlight fades — we barely breathe it,
Years slip into fatal flame.
Soon comes Exodus. Most hurry
Toward a new infernal shore,
Born of fear, betrayal, worry —
Twisted lies and nothing more.
---------------------
The Path to Light
A turtle dreamt of running fast,
To win a marathon at last.
Much like some fool who talks all day
Of chasing Light to flee decay.
He claims he's left the dark behind,
With "purity" to fill his mind,
While in the chaos of the lame,
Decay's the law, and truth's a game.
He waits for some elusive breath —
The third one, standing on the second.
But rot still spreads, as sure as death —
A madhouse world, so grimly beckoned.
---------------------
Double Shot
A burst of fear
And lies is fired.
The fool stands near —
Alone, inspired.
A hit — dead on!
"March forth!" the horde.
How low we've gone —
**** crowns the sword.
---------------------
Amid the Metal Screams
There’s pain and constant nausea,
From nonsense, lies, and boredom.
A “paradise” of torment —
Or just pure Hell in sordid form?
To bow to filth and suffer?
Then you become a spineless cur.
Corrupted freaks abound,
Mad traitors all around.
They form the herd, the horde —
So fight, or be ignored.
Or they will crush what's left
Of Spirit, Mind, and Honor —
In this world of twisted theft,
Where rust and madness wander.
---------------------
The End of Nostalgia
It’s timely now — the final slide
To real Hell, the gaping maw,
Where fascist filth no more can hide —
The spawn of Hell will meet its law.
They’ll vanish with their wicked kin,
Who cheered decay and praised the fall,
Dragged the world through rot and sin
Down past the depths — near furnace wall.
---------------------
Kids in Cages — That’s Called School
Into the world they march — as tools,
Turning all to empty stages.
But truth be told… their dads were fools.
--- Total 24 poems. ---
Wandered, then disappeared.
The demon of nihilism
Has now appeared, reared.
---------------------
— The herd demands both bread and shows.
— No, it's the people, you're speaking prose.
— If muzzles fit, then don't you see,
The pen’s the goal, we not be free.
---------------------
Pashka, Mashka, Sashka, Dashka,
Your lives are always off the mark,
If you believe the propaganda,
You’ll fall for Lucifer’s band dark.
---------------------
The gadget poisons kids’ minds —
Books are forgotten, left behind.
No paper’s touch, no scent, no sight,
Just screens that blind them day and night.
---------------------
Right on target!
Games. "Tigers" on the screen,
In a moment, blood's unseen.
Virtual wars, a cruel descent:
The goal — to crush the mind’s intent.
---------------------
The "Feast" at the Nursery
At the nursery, in tanks they play,
"Planes" are flying, children say.
In their youth, they're scarred and torn,
It’s time to end the hate reborn.
---------------------
The Training of a Monkey with a Grenade
Frol's school turns the child to ape,
With fingers clenched in a cruel shape.
Without the grenade, the vile new trend —
Neo-fascism's easy to bend.
---------------------
Art Under Control
Art’s controlled not by direction—
Only cash can call the shots.
Foam and rot, in each reflection—
Rotten feelings, twisted plots.
Money’s made for *******,
Not for joy, but to corrode—
Tools of planned degeneration,
Plain to see the way we go’d.
CowID showed the scheme completely.
Where is art? Where is dissent—
That, in protest cloaked discreetly,
Kills the madness, not relents?
Only few, as always, dared to
Speak the truth and break the trance.
Art, it seems, is just a phantom,
In real life—it leads the dance
Of a hydra, evil-driven.
Not by force, but coin instead
Does the beast, in shadows hidden,
Rule the stage. And you’re misled—
Blind to see it, dumb and sleeping,
If you think it's all a game.
Once you spot what lies it's keeping,
You won’t look at it the same.
---------------------
So-Called “Art”
Creeps in service, gladly selling—
Trained for trade and empty yelling.
Slavery’s engraved inside,
Tiny minds just run and hide.
Squeak a bit — they’ll toss you meat,
Just enough to call it "treat."
This is “art” today, no less:
Filthy lies in fancy dress.
---------------------
Materialist Mock-Culture
Fake culture’s depth? It’s all about
The cash, the skin, the shallow clout.
With lies of "care" for flesh and face,
It leads the fools in Evil’s race.
False faiths preach false "spiritual light"
To prop up madness day and night.
This fake culture is a chain
Built to keep us all insane.
Spirit leads — and mind should follow:
That is culture, deep, not hollow.
But if that truth breaks the charm,
The BEAST will lose its grip and harm.
You can't control a soul that's free —
Only herds yield easily.
Though it’s hard to break the trance
(It's ruled for ages, not by chance),
Fall within. The truth lies there —
Not in noise or outer glare.
There you'll find a spark to guide:
Light and Beauty, deep inside.
---------------------
Living the Sweet Life!
"Sweet like chocolate!" — join the show,
Frontline traitors steal the glow.
Write for media? You’ll rise—
As a top-tier king of lies.
Crack the zombie-box, you’re crowned—
To the mindless, deep and sound,
God and ruler, bold and brash,
Super-creep in monster-trash.
If you can’t — then be a clerk,
Lower grade, but still can work.
No more lazing, here’s your fate:
"Fetch!" — the BEAST commands with hate.
Still, you’ll steal without much stress,
Just enough for full success.
Then explain with calm aplomb
Why it’s grand to be a swine
In a world so dumb, decayed,
If you love that sweet charade.
And devoured, one by one,
By the horde — the Parade of ****.
---------------------
No Future Ahead
"The last shall be the first!" — they say,
The "Internationale" dream.
But those who rot their souls away
Will never rise — despite the theme.
One isn’t blind who’s poor and tired,
But he who eats and sleeps on time,
Yet bends to thugs as self-required
And buys into collective crime.
The world is ruled by ghostly lies —
A thousand myths, all thin and hollow.
That "specter" once with glowing eyes,
Called communism, we did follow.
It was a dream — just one of many,
And more will come, the weak to sway.
The mob sells out for next day's penny...
That’s why we’re lost. We’ve lost our way.
---------------------
Satan’s Kitchen
"He who does not resist evil is consumed by it and becomes possessed."
—Ivan Ilyin
Possession’s spread is everywhere:
Resist not evil — it will bake you.
Like dough, you’re shaped with subtle care,
Then to the Devil’s oven take you.
Outside, you’re sweet — a gingerbread,
But inside — poison fills your core.
Your soul is sold, your reason's dead,
You’re just a puppet, nothing more.
The goal? To eat you. Tear and bite.
And as you burn in false delight,
Your loosh pours out — a cursed perfume,
And souls dissolve in silent gloom.
---------------------
The Cesspool
Folly reigns where honor’s gone,
And knowledge now is twisted lies.
Consumed by need, enslaved by wrong—
The mark of genocide still lies.
The traitor climbs—the cesspool hums,
Not the biggest chunk, but still it’s clear:
The “worthy” rot, as darkness drums,
They wait for higher ranks to cheer.
While down below, the other kind
Refuse the filth that’s piled so high,
The bold ones face a bitter grind—
For defiance leads to jail or die.
Only few remain who dare to fight,
Their time is short, their future bleak,
In the cesspool — isolated might,
Unable to unite or speak.
Each must endure the painful test—
But lessons learned are lost in vain.
It’s time to end this poisoned mess,
And burn the cesspool’s dark domain.
---------------------
The Miracle Cure
A cure for weariness — to run,
Start young, and soon you'll find success.
The prize you’ll win will weigh as one—
Good health, the key to happiness.
All else is fluff, so let it slide,
Except for Art, the soul’s true quest.
With strength like ox, and will as guide,
Your labor turns to purest zest.
---------------------
"A Residence Permit in the Sky"
Strive for a place up high,
“How?”—by rejecting the filth
That taints the world with lies.
Though a chance exists, in this life,
To live as a pauper, you see,
Dwelling in a latrine's strife
Means living with “high society.”
---------------------
Ignorance as the Fate of the World
"There’ll always be some Eskimos who teach the Papuans how to cope with heat."
Stanisław Jerzy Lec.
I went to school — a fool among fools —
They told me how I ought to live.
The madhouse chiefs, the traitor-rules,
Taught love of homeland — false and stiff.
They showed the way. No real example —
Just thunderous speeches, empty pride.
And I, a youth, too small to trample,
Stood still as lies screamed far and wide.
So I shall die — not quite a native,
A step from ignorance, half-bred.
But no one minds. The chains are sacred
If silence keeps your conscience dead.
---------------------
How to Be a Poet
If you rise before the sun,
Turn your soul where shadows run,
Grab a pen and let it flow —
You're a poet, now you know.
Add some rhythm, keep it tight,
Make sure rhymes still sound just right,
Squeeze in meaning, feeling too,
And don’t echo what you do.
---------------------
Down the ***** of Daily Dread
So your life went off the rails...
Once you thought you’d reached the top?
Now it’s mourning, veils on veils —
For the Mind. A fool won’t stop
To reflect — this fight for "bliss"
Never ends, it drags us down.
Only few through storms like this
Stumble toward a distant crown,
Toward a flicker faint and kindled
Through the shards of warped belief,
But the mirrors — cracked and swindled —
Steal the souls in silent grief.
In Forgetfulness the nation
Dwells, as scoundrels tear apart
Mind and Spirit — desecration
Leaves but few with subtle heart.
Hell is here — the world beneath it
Takes its form and bears its name.
Sunlight fades — we barely breathe it,
Years slip into fatal flame.
Soon comes Exodus. Most hurry
Toward a new infernal shore,
Born of fear, betrayal, worry —
Twisted lies and nothing more.
---------------------
The Path to Light
A turtle dreamt of running fast,
To win a marathon at last.
Much like some fool who talks all day
Of chasing Light to flee decay.
He claims he's left the dark behind,
With "purity" to fill his mind,
While in the chaos of the lame,
Decay's the law, and truth's a game.
He waits for some elusive breath —
The third one, standing on the second.
But rot still spreads, as sure as death —
A madhouse world, so grimly beckoned.
---------------------
Double Shot
A burst of fear
And lies is fired.
The fool stands near —
Alone, inspired.
A hit — dead on!
"March forth!" the horde.
How low we've gone —
**** crowns the sword.
---------------------
Amid the Metal Screams
There’s pain and constant nausea,
From nonsense, lies, and boredom.
A “paradise” of torment —
Or just pure Hell in sordid form?
To bow to filth and suffer?
Then you become a spineless cur.
Corrupted freaks abound,
Mad traitors all around.
They form the herd, the horde —
So fight, or be ignored.
Or they will crush what's left
Of Spirit, Mind, and Honor —
In this world of twisted theft,
Where rust and madness wander.
---------------------
The End of Nostalgia
It’s timely now — the final slide
To real Hell, the gaping maw,
Where fascist filth no more can hide —
The spawn of Hell will meet its law.
They’ll vanish with their wicked kin,
Who cheered decay and praised the fall,
Dragged the world through rot and sin
Down past the depths — near furnace wall.
---------------------
Kids in Cages — That’s Called School
Into the world they march — as tools,
Turning all to empty stages.
But truth be told… their dads were fools.
--- Total 24 poems. ---
