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RAJ NANDY Aug 2018
THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE: PART TWO
Dear Friends, having introduced ‘The Enigma of Time in Verse’ in Part One, along with few selected poetic quotes, I now mention what some of the important Philosophers thought about Time down the past centuries. But while doing so, I have tried my best to simplify some of those early concepts for better understanding and appreciation of my readers. If you like it, kindly re-post the poem. Thanks,  – Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

          THE ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE : PART TWO
   I commence by quoting Sonnet 60 of Shakespeare about Time,
   Hoping to seek some blessings for this Part Two composition of
   mine!
“Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
  So do our minutes hasten to their end;
  Each changing place with that which goes before,
  In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
  Nativity, once in the main of light,
  Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
  Crooked elipses ’gainst his glory fight,
  And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
  Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
  And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
  Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
  And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
  And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.”

              PHILOSOPHY OF TIME
Animals are said to live in a continuous present,
Since they have no temporal distinction of past, future,
or the present.
But our consciousness of time, becomes the most
distinguishing feature of mankind.
Though we are mostly obsessed with objective time, -
As the rotation of our Earth separates day from night.
With the swing of the pendulum and the ticking of clocks,
Which regulates our movements, while we try to beat the clock!
But the ancient theologians and philosophers of India and
Greece,
Who were among the first to ponder about the true nature
of all things,
Had wondered about the subjective nature of time;
Was time linear or cyclic, was time endless or finite?

GREEK PHILOSOPHERS ON TIME:
I begin with Heraclitus, the Pre-Socratic philosopher of 6th Century BC born in Ephesus.
He claimed that everything around us, is in a constant state of change and flux.
You cannot step into the same river twice Heraclitus had claimed,
Since water keeps flowing down the river all the while and never
remains the same.
This flow and change in Nature is a process which is ceaseless.
The only thing which remains permanent is impermanence!
Here is a quote from poet Shelley reflecting the same idea:
“World on world are rolling ever
  From creation to decay
  Like the bubbles on a river
  Sparkling, bursting, borne away.”

Now Heraclitus was refuted by Parmenides, born in the Greek colony of Elea,
On the western coast of Southern Italy, as his contemporary.
Parmenides said that our senses deceive us, since all changes are mere illusory!
True reality was only eternal and unchanging ‘Being’, which was both indivisible and continuous - filling up all space.
Zeno, a pupil of Parmenides, through his famous ‘Paradox of Achilles and the Tortoise’ had shown, that when the tortoise was given a head start,
Swift footed Achilles could never catch up with the tortoise,
Since the space between the two were infinitely divisible, resulting in the impossibility of movement and change in motion!
Now the Greeks were never comfortable with the Concept of Infinity.
They preferred to view the universe as continuous existing ‘Being’.  
However, unlike Heraclitus’ ‘world of change and flux’,
Both Parmenides and Zeno have presented us, with a static unchanging universe!
Thus from the above examples it becomes easy for us to derive,  
How those Ancient Greeks had viewed Time.
Time has been viewed as a forward moving changing entity;
And also as an illusory, continuous and indivisible Being!
To clarify this further I quote Bertrand Russell from his ‘History of Western Philosophy’;
“Creation out of nothing, which was taught in the Old Testament, was an idea wholly foreign to Greek philosophy. When Plato speaks of creation, he imagines a primitive matter, to which God gives form as an artificer.”

PLATO AND ARISTOTLE ON TIME:
For Plato, time was created by the Creator at the same instance when he had fashioned the heavens.
But Plato was more interested to contemplate on things which lay
beyond the sway of time and remained unchangeable and eternal;
Like absolute Truth, absolute Justice, the absolute form of Good and Beauty;
Which were eternal and unchangeable like the ‘Platonic Forms’, and were beyond the realm of Time as true reality.
Plato’s pupil Aristotle was the first Greek philosophers to contemplate on reality inside time, and provide a proper definition as we get to see.
He said, “Time is the number of movement in respect to before and after” - as a part of reality.
To measure time numerically, we must have a ‘before’ and an ‘after’, and also notice the difference objectively.
Therefore, time here becomes the change which we see and experience.
Time takes on a linear motion moving from the past to the present;
And to the unknown future like a moving arrow travelling straight.
Aristotle had developed a four step process to understand everything inside of Time and within human experience:
(a) Observe the world using our senses,
(b) Apply logical rules to these observations,
(c) To go back and consult past authorities, if your logic agrees with their logic,
(d) Then only you can come to a logical conclusion.

No wonder in our modern times, experiments conducted by the LDC or the Large Hadron Collider, located 100m underground near the French-Swiss border,
By going back in time simulates the ‘Big Bang’ conditions, that moment of our universe’s first creation.
The scientists thereby, study the evolution of our universe with time, which  resulted in the  finding of the Higgs Boson !  (On 4thJuly 2012)

NOTES :  All elementary particles interacting with the Higg's Field & obtain Mass, excepting for photons & gluons which do not interact with this field. Mass-less photons can travel at the
speed of light with a mind boggling 186,000 miles per second! Now this LDC is a Particle Accelerator 27 kms long ring-shaped tunnel, made mostly of superconducting magnets, inside which two high-energy particle beams are made to travel close to the speed of light in opposite directions, and the shower of particles resulting from the collision is closely examined, presuming that these similar shower of particles must have been produced at the time of the ‘Big Bang’ some 13.8 million years ago, at the time of Creation! Sound like fiction? Well, Prof. Peter Higgs got the Noble Prize for Physics, for locating the particle called ‘Higgs Boson’ among those shower of particles, on 10th Dec. 2013.

NOW TO LIGHTEN UP MY READERS MIND, FEW TIME QUOTE I NOW PROVIDE :

“TIME WASTES OUR BODIES AND OUR WITS,
  BUT WE WASTE TIME, SO WE ARE QUITS!” – Anonymus.

‘Time is a great Teacher, but unfortunately it kills its Pupils!’ – HL Berlioz

“Lost , yesterday, somewhere between sunrise and sunset, two
   golden hours,
   Each set with sixty diamond minutes.
   No reward is offered, for they are gone forever!” – Horace Mann


PLOTINUS & ST. AUGUSTINE ON TIME:
Now getting back to our Philosophy of Time, there was Plotinus of the 3rd Century AD,
The founder of the mystical Neo-Platonic School of Philosophy.
He had followed Plato’s basic concept of Time as “the moving image of eternity.”
Mystic Plotinus tried to synthesize both Aristotle and Plato by saying that the entire process of cosmic creation,
Flows out of the ONE  through a series of emanation!
This ONE gave rise to the ‘Divine Mind’ which he called the ‘Realm of Intelligence’ and is an aspect of reality,
When everything is understood in terms of Platonic Forms of Truth, Justice, the Good, and Beauty.
However, the later Christian theologians had interpreted this ONE of Plotinus, -
As the Christian God, the Divine Creator of the Universe.
For God is eternal, in the sense of being timeless, in God there is no before or after, but only a timeless present.

Now this lead St. Augustine, to formulate a very admirable relativistic theory of Time!
St. Augustine, the greatest constructive teacher of the Early Christian Church, had written in Book XI of his ‘Confessions’ during  5th century AD, -
His thoughts about the enigma of Time which had perplexed the Greek philosophers of earlier centuries.
To simplify St. Augustine’s thoughts, I now paraphrase for the sake of clarity.
Time can only be measured while it is passing, yet there is time past, and time future in reality.
To avoid these contradictions he says that past and future can only be thought of as present: ‘past’ must be identified with memory, and ‘future’ with expectation.
Since memory and expectation being both present facts, there is no contradiction.  
“The present of things past is memory, the present of things present is sight; and the present of things future is expectation,” - wrote St. Augustine.

This subjective notion of time led St. Augustine to anticipate Rene Descartes the French philosopher the 17th Century,
Who proclaimed “Cogito, ergo sum” in Latin, meaning “I think, therefore I am”, and is regarded as the Father of Modern Philosophy.

Now cutting a long story short I come to Sir Isaac Newton, well known for his Laws of Motion and Gravity.
Newton speaks of ‘Absolute Time’ which exists independently, flowing at a consistent pace throughout the universe, which can only be understood mathematically.
Newton’s ‘Absolute Time’ had remained as the dominant concept till the  early years of the 20th Century.
When Albert Einstein formulated ‘Theory of Space-time’ along with his Special and General Theory of Relativity.

Now the German philosopher Leibniz during 17th century, had challenged Newton with his anti-realist theory of time.
Leibniz claimed that time was only a convenient intellectual concept, that enables to sequence and compare happening of events.
There must be objects with which time can interact or relate to as ‘Relational Time’ he had felt.
Ernst Mach, like Leibniz towards the end of 19th Century, said that even if it was not obvious what time and space was relative to,
Then they were still relative to the ‘fixed stars’ i.e. the bulk of matter in the universe.

CONCEPT OF TIME AS 'SPECIOUS PRESENT' :
During late 19th century, Robert Kelley introduced the concept of ‘spacious present’, which was the most recent part of the past.
Psychologist and philosopher William James developed this idea further by describing it as ‘’the short duration of which we are immediately and incessantly sensible’’
William James also introduced the term “stream of consciousness” into literature as a method of narration,
That described happenings in the flow of thought in the mind of the characters, - likened to an internal monologue!
This literary technique was later used by James Joyce in his famous novel ‘Ulysses’.

TIME CONCEIVED AS DURATION: HENRI BERGSON (1859 -1941)
Next I come to one of my favourite philosopher the French born Henri Bergson.
The Nobel Laureate and author of ‘Time and Free Will’ and ‘Creative Evolution’.
Will Durant in his ‘Story of Philosophy’ says Bergson was ‘the David destined to slay the Goliath of materialism.’
It was Bergson’s ‘Elan Vital’ that life force and impelling urge, Which makes us grow and transforms this wandering planet into a theatre of unending creation.
For Bergson, time is as fundamental as space; and it is time that holds the essence of life, and perhaps of all reality.
Time is an accumulation, a growth, a duration, where “duration is the continuous progress of the past which gnaws into the future and which swells as it advances.
The past in its entirety is prolonged into the present and abides there actual and acting.
Duration means that the past endures, that nothing is lost.
Though we think with only a small part of our past; but it is with our entire past that we desire, will, and act.”
“Since time is an accumulation, the future can never be the same as the past, -
For a new accumulation arises at every step, and change is far more radical than we suppose…the geometric predictability of all things, Which is the goal of a mechanistic science, is only a delusion and a dream!”  
Bergson goes on in his compelling lyrical style:            
“For a conscious being, to exist is to change, to change is to mature,
to mature is to go on creating one’s self endlessly. Perhaps all reality is time and duration, becoming and change.”
Bergson differed with Darwin's theory of adaptation to environment, and stated;
“Man is no passively adaptive machine, he is a focus of redirected force, a centre of creative evolution.”

Martin Heidegger, the German thinker in his ‘Being and Time’ of 1927, had said:
“We do not exist within time, but in a very real way we are time!”
Time is inseparable from human experience, since we can allow the past to exist in the present through memory;
And even allow a potential future occurrence to exist in the present due to our human ability to care, and be concerned about things.
Therefore we are not stuck in simple sequential or linear time, but can step out of it almost at will!

CONCLUDING  PART  TWO OF ENIGMA OF TIME IN VERSE
In this part I have tried to convey what the Ancient Greek Philosophers had felt about Time in a simplified way.
Also some thoughts of Medieval and Early Modern philosophers and what they had to say.
Where Sir Isaac Newton stands like a colossus with his Concept of Time, Laws of Motion, and Gravity.
Not forgetting Henri Bergson, one of my favourite philosopher, of the mid-19th and the mid-20th Century.
All through my narration I had tried to hold the interest of my readers, and also educated myself as a true knowledge seeker.
In my concluding Part Three I will cover few Modern Philosophers along with the relativistic concept of time.
Certainly not forgetting the space-time theory of our famous Albert Einstein!
Thanks for reading patiently, from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.
  *ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR ONLY
Heme aquí ya, profesor
de lenguas vivas (ayer
maestro de gay-saber,
aprendiz de ruiseñor),
en un pueblo húmedo y frío,
destartalado y sombrío,
entre andaluz y manchego.Invierno. Cerca del fuego.
Fuera llueve un agua fina,
que ora se trueca en neblina,
ora se torna aguanieve.Fantástico labrador,
pienso en los campos.¡Señor
qué bien haces!  Llueve, llueve
tu agua constante y menuda
sobre alcaceles y habares,
tu agua muda,
en viñedos y olivares.Te bendecirán conmigo
los sembradores del trigo;
los que viven de coger
la aceituna;
los que esperan la fortuna
de comer;
los que hogaño,
como antaño,
tienen toda su moneda
en la rueda,
traidora rueda del año.¡Llueve, llueve; tu neblina
que se torne en aguanieve,
y otra vez en agua fina!¡Llueve, Señor, llueve, llueve!   En mi estancia, iluminada
por esta luz invernal
-la tarde gris tamizada
por la lluvia y el cristal-,
sueño y medito.                 Clarea
el reloj arrinconado,
y su tic-tic, olvidado
por repetido, golpea.Tic-tic, tic-tic... Ya te he oído.
Tic-tic, tic-tic... Siempre igual,
monótono y aburrido.Tic-tic, tic-tic, el latido
de un corazón de metal.En estos pueblos, ¿se escucha
el latir del tiempo?  No.En estos pueblos se lucha
sin tregua con el reló,
con esa monotonía
que mide un tiempo vacío.Pero ¿tu hora es la mía?
¿Tu tiempo, reloj, el mío?(Tic-tic, tic-tic...) Era un día
(Tic-tic, tic-tic) que pasó,
y lo que yo más quería
la muerte se lo llevó.   Lejos suena un clamoreo
de campanas...Arrecia el repiqueteo
de la lluvia en las ventanas.Fantástico labrador,
vuelvo a mis campos. ¡Señor,
cuánto te bendecirán
los sembradores del pan!Señor, ¿no es tu lluvia ley,
en los campos que ara el buey,
y en los palacios del rey?¡Oh, agua buena, deja vida
en tu huida!¡Oh, tú, que vas gota a gota,
fuente a fuente y río a río,
como este tiempo de hastío
corriendo a la mar remota,
en cuanto quiere nacer,
cuanto espera
florecer
al sol de la primavera,
sé piadosa,
que mañana
serás espiga temprana,
prado verde, carne rosa,
y más: razón y locura
y amargura
de querer y no poder
creer, creer y creer!   Anochece;
el hilo de la bombilla
se enrojece,
luego brilla,
resplandece
poco más que una cerilla.Dios sabe dónde andarán
mis gafas... entre librotes
revistas y papelotes,
¿quién las encuentra?... Aquí están.Libros nuevos. Abro uno
de Unamuno.¡Oh, el dilecto,
predilecto
de esta España que se agita,
porque nace o resucita!Siempre te ha sido, ¡oh Rector
de Salamanca!, leal
este humilde profesor
de un instituto rural.Esa tu filosofía
que llamas diletantesca,
voltaria y funambulesca,
gran don Miguel, es la mía.Agua del buen manantial,
siempre viva,
fugitiva;
poesía, cosa cordial.¿Constructora?-No hay cimiento
ni en el alma ni en el viento-.Bogadora,
marinera,
hacia la mar sin ribera.Enrique Bergson: Los datos
inmediatos
de la conciencia. ¿Esto es
otro embeleco francés?Este Bergson es un tuno;
¿verdad, maestro Unamuno?Bergson no da como aquel
Immanuel
el volatín inmortal;
este endiablado judío
ha hallado el libre albedrío
dentro de su mechinal.No está mal;
cada sabio, su problema,
y cada loco, su tema.Algo importa 
que en la vida mala y corta
que llevamos
libres o siervos seamos:
mas, si vamos
a la mar,
lo mismo nos ha de dar.¡Oh, estos pueblos!  Reflexiones,
lecturas y acotaciones
pronto dan en lo que son:
bostezos de Salomón.¿Todo es
soledad de soledades.
vanidad de vanidades,
que dijo el Eciesiastés?Mi paraguas, mi sombrero,
mi gabán...El aguacero
amaina...Vámonos, pues.   Es de noche. Se platica
al fondo de una botica.-Yo no sé,
don José,
cómo son los liberales
tan perros, tan inmorales.-¡Oh, tranquilícese usté!
Pasados los carnavales,
vendrán los conservadores,
buenos administradores
de su casa.Todo llega y todo pasa.
Nada eterno:
ni gobierno
que perdure,
ni mal que cien años dure.-Tras estos tiempos vendrán
otros tiempos y otros y otros,
y lo mismo que nosotros
otros se jorobarán.Así es la vida, don Juan.-Es verdad, así es la vida.
-La cebada está crecida.
-Con estas lluvias...
                    Y van
las habas que es un primor.
-Cierto; para marzo, en flor.
Pero la escarcha, los hielos...
-Y, además, los olivares
están pidiendo a los cielos
aguas a torrentes.
                  -A mares.¡Las fatigas, los sudores
que pasan los labradores!En otro tiempo...
                  Llovía
también cuando Dios quería.-Hasta mañana, señores.
  Tic-tic, tic-tic... Ya pasó
un día como otro día,
dice la monotonía
del reloj.   Sobre mi mesa Los datos
de la conciencia, inmediatos.No está mal
este yo fundamental,
contingente y libre, a ratos,
creativo, original;
este yo que vive y siente
dentro la carne mortal
¡ay! por saltar impaciente
las bardas de su corral.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2019
~~~

“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.”  Henri Bergson


well in that case,
I’m either the most immature teen here,
or Rip Van Winkle

the re-creation process is six, nearly seven,
decades long (you thot days, ha, no way),
can’t recall the last name
I called myself

the delving, the researching, the forgetting,
the fifty first dates of no short term memory,
the checkdown, throwback Thursday of
did I write that?

no recollect, the pretense of
prehensile strength to touch
you and me simultaneously
might, could be true,
if you claim I authored it,
ok with me and all that

life taught me this,
the one who oft  hangs around
very young kids
learns a lot,
and soon recognizes

maturity indeed endless
but not senseless
just a poem-of-the-day process

indeed

every sense says the minute difference
between this morning and this approaching midnight,
an opportunity to grow up, stand straighter, uprighter,
write down my failures one more time,
cause that is the sterling hallmark impressed upon
thyself, ourselves,
that is genuine maturity,
the courageous wisdom to start all over again

the clock has transgressed,
moving past
the 12:00am digits,
which for cause
makes me giddy,
it’s permission to write a new one,
of course,
maturely thinking I still got one within,
a newbie, an aged day-old brand new baby,
a poem,
of course

god bless, I’m all grown n’ growled up,
with wisdom to know I don’t got nada,
but own the immature youthful courage of maturity,
to keep on trying, endlessly,
being your obedient-servant
~~~

p.s. this is kind of love poem of thanksgivings,
a love poem with no misgivings,
a thank you for the fragments of sharing -
hold so dear,
the best reason to mature,
the best reason to change,
the best reason to write
right now, here comes the mojo
my newest oldest friend,
reminding for the last and first time

that I’m all growed,
using the bigliest words I’ve known
to say baby, hey baby,
good night good morning
write us a poem,
a thank you note,
from one who blessedly forgets his name,
day in and year out


For that guy,
you, that ancient kid,
That poet-in-retrograde

so rewrite the title, a refresh,
are you immature enough to write?

1:12am

~for the crew~
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2019
To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.

Think like a man of action, act like a man of thought.

The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.

The only cure for vanity is laughter, and the only fault that is laughable is vanity.

The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.

Religion is to mysticism what popularization is to science.

Spirit borrows from matter the perceptions on which it feeds and restores them to matter in the form of movements which it has stamped with its own freedom.

There is no greater joy than that of feeling oneself a creator. The triumph of life is expressed by creation.

Laughter is the corrective force which prevents us from becoming cranks.

Intelligence is the faculty of making artificial objects, especially tools to make tools.

**** sapiens, the only creature endowed with reason, is also the only creature to pin its existence on things unreasonable.

The present contains nothing more than the past, and what is found in the effect was already in the cause.

It seems that laughter needs an echo.

To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.

When we make the cerebral state the beginning of an action, and in no sense the condition of a perception, we place the perceived images of things outside the image of our body, and thus replace perception within the things themselves.

The motive power of democracy is love.

Read more at: https://www.brainyquote.com/authors/henri_bergson
4/3 /2019 8:55am
RAJ NANDY Jul 2016
Dear Poet Friends, having read Henri Bergson’s ‘’Creative Evolution’’, which won him the Noble Prize for Literature and is now considered a Classic, I was impressed by his words, ‘’Life does not end with death. It conquers death through reproduction……..and creative evolution.’’ Bergson’s book inspired me to compose this poem way back in 2008, and post it on ‘Poem Hunter.com’. Hope you like this short and simple poem. Thanks, - Raj.

     THE CHURCH AND THE GRAVEYARD
The Graveyard lies silent behind the Church’s cool
shade,
As the shadow of the belfry tower falls over the
world of the dead.
Perhaps they are mysteriously compatible in certain
ways!
Through the front door of the Church we enter;
And with passage of time through the rear door
we exit and go,
Forever mingling with Life’s eternal flow.

In the Church marriages are solemnised.
New born babies are christened and baptised.
Hymns and sermons are heard on Sabbath Days,
People kneel down in silence to pray.
Some to repent and confess, -
To seek salvation and are blessed.
And when the older generation pass away,
In the graveyard behind the church they are
laid to rest.

Yet amidst death Life goes on .......
With peels of bells and chorus songs.
The world of the dead is surrounded by Life,
Our younger generations live and thrive.
For the epitaph cannot bury Life’s eternal song!
Green grass grows around the dead,
And trees showers flowers from overhead.
Bouquets of roses on cold marble slabs,
With fond memories a tear drop is shed,
In loss of the loved one, now in the world of
the dead!

While Life surges, swirls, and flows all around,
As the dead lie in their graves where silence
surrounds.
New Life sprouts, and memories slowly fade …….  
The Graveyard lies in the Church’s cool shade!
                                                                    -Raj Nandy.
¡De qué sirve al triste la filosofía!
Kant o Schopenhauer o Nietzche o Bergson...
¡Metafisiqueos!

                       En tanto, Ana mía,
te me has muerto, y yo no sé todavía
dónde ha de buscarte mi pobre razón.
¡Metafisiqueos, pura teoría!
¡Nadie sabe nada de nada: mejor
que esa pobre ciencia confusa y vacía,
nos alumbra el alma, como luz del día,
el secreto instinto del eterno amor!

No ha de haber abismo que ese amor no ahonde,
y he de hallarte. ¿Dónde? ¡No me importa dónde!
¿Cuándo? No me importa..., ¡pero te hallaré!
Si pregunto a un sabio, "¡Qué sé yo!", responde.
Si pregunto a mi alma, me dice: "¡Yo sé!"
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
According to the poor, this is not the first time. It is Chinese music, but plastic is plastic. ......... Destroyed elements: plastic, music, God, children, beans; Music experts "soft" Maria, Miss USA, Miss Beijing, Miss Latvia, Miss Jordan, Miss Nigeria, Henry High School, 20 , Yahoo, username and | google code. .................................................. ......... ***** ............................. Vichy ....... ... There was no Chinese music before, but plastic is plastic. ......... Move to another instrument: plastic, piano, music. God must move. This article has been published in English. "Game ..." James George, Henry School of the Republic of Korea February 1, 2010 "6th century of Wales": Maria Baccarat, America Online, Miss Beijing, Miss Russia, Miss Africa,  username and phone number 1) .............. Actor ......... ...... ...... ... ....... ....... ......... ......... ...... ..... ..... ...... .. ... whom ......... ........ ...... ...... .... .... . ...... ...... ...... poor This is not the first Chinese music but destroyed plastic ............ Plastic is a "soft" music, Henry, Henry, Zenith, 20 Miss AI, Six African Henri Bergson High Schools, Henry, Zenith, 20, music, music expert for children, and Kong Maria, Miss America, Miss Beijing, Miss Latvia, Miss Google, Miss Yahoo, Miss Username, and Miss Google Code ... ............................... ....... .......... .. ....... Miss Nonsense ...................... .......... .... Miss Vichy ... ....... ....... But before Chinese music is plastic. ......... Move to another tool: Miss Jordan, James, George, Latin Lines, Miss Beijing, Miss Africa, Jordan, George, or 6th century: , Johnny Henry School, Maryland, Feb. 1 John, 20th Century Google, Yahoo, Miss Nigeria, Miss Russia, Miss Africa, Miss Jordan, Miss Iran, Google, Navigation (children), University, username and phone number 1). .............. Actor ......... .......................... ....... ......... .. ......... .. ..... ..... ...... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... ..... .. .. .. is is this ... ... ..... ..... .... .... ..... ............................ .... .... According to the poor , this is not the first time. Chinese music is called plastic, plastic ... destruction of some elements: plastic, music, God's music, children and bean experts "soft". Mary, George, Music, Sixth Miss Africa, Henry High School Feb. 1, Jan. 20 "Toco Big Vix ..." Miss America, Beijing, Latvia, Jordan, Nigeria, Russia, etc. Thousand) Children (Google), Google, Yahoo! Yahoo! User Prostitutes and Google Code ........................................... .. ...... ***** .............................. Vishy ... ... .. .. This is not plastic plastic ... it is the first music in China. Other devices and other directors: Plastics, piano, music for God, "Game ..." James George, Johnny, Henry, Jordan, Nigeria, Russia, Iran, etc ... ... or the 6th century: School February 1, Juan, 10th century Google, Yahoo, Navigation (children), username, ******* and phone number 1). .............. Actor ......... .......................... ............... ......... .. ......... .... .... .... .......... ..... ...... ...... ...... with whom ... ... ... ... ... ............ ......... ......... ... ... ... .... .. .. ... ....... .... .... According to the poor, this is not the first time. Chinese music destroys plastic, but plastic is called "soft" ......... and some of the elements: plastic, music, god, musician for children's beans. Henry High School, Henry, February 1, 1965 is Google Code encoding Mary, Miss America, Miss Beijing, Miss Latvia, Miss Jordan, Miss Nigeria, Miss Russia, Miss Zenith, Google (20) children, Google, Yahoo, prostitutes, prostitutes. .................................................. ......... ***** ..............................
"L'arpenteur mesure la distance d'un point inaccessible en le visant tour à tour de deux points auxquels il a accès. "

Henri Bergson, Les Deux sources de la morale et de la religion,1932, p. 263.

Je t'écris ce poème, ma soeur d'armes

avant qu'il ne soit trop ****

pour que la guerre inéluctable qui se prépare

Ne débouche pas sur le combat nocturne fratricide.

Je t'écris pour que tu choisisses les termes

De l'armistice que nous devrons chaque nuit signer

Au bout de nos campagnes et de nos expéditions

Dans l'outre-reins de nos ombres.

Je t'écris, ma soeur d'armes

Pour que tu laisses de coté à l'entrée du cirque des ébats

ton armure et ta cotte de mailles

Ton hauban et ton écu,

et jusqu'à ton fier destrier de fantaisie.

J'ai moi même abandonné à l'entrée du cirque

mon épée factice dans son fourreau.

Pour le combat singulier qui s'annonce

en épée de Damoclès au dessus de nos sens

Durandal ne sera pas invité. Laissons-le au repos.

Il aura son heure au son du clairon.

C'est mou et désarticulé que je me présenterai

devant les quelques arpents de tes Eaux

Pour leur présenter mes hommages

en te guerroyant ma gladiatrice, d'égal à égal,

nu comme toi, à armes égales

pour ce combat nocturne, sans foi ni loi,

où nul vainqueur ne sera proclamé.

Je ne suis pas comme tu t'imagines peut-être

Un foudre de guerre

Mais il faut dit-on préparer la guerre pour avoir la paix.

Quelle guerre ? Quelle Paix ?

La Paix des Braves , la Guerre des boutons ?

La Paix des corps ? La guerre des Sexes ?

Je me présenterai à toi arpenteur aux yeux bandés !

Je sais que tu aimes ce mot ! Je dirais plus : Tu le vénères !

Je banderai donc des yeux

et c'est les yeux exorbités donc

qu'assermenté je t'arpenterai.

Souffre que je commence non pas par l'évidence mais par l'absence.

Tu te présenteras à moi de dos et de **** dans la mire

je verrai la frontière qui sépare

Le cou de la nuque

et c'est là sur cette ligne d'horizon

que je placerai mon premier voyant,

ma première botte à distance.

Ce ne sera pas un coup de dague ni d'épée

mais il te transpercera de son acuité,

de sa précision géométrique

droit dans le mille, comme le regard plongeant de l'épervier

au-dessus des flots en quête de chair et d'iode.

Je ferai de ta nuque jaillir des perroquets volants étincelants de lumière nacrée

et ton épaule se transformera en épuisette qui recueillera notre pêche miraculeuse.

De mes yeux bandés, un faisceau de lumière

jaillira de la nuit et plongera

dans la raie de ton dos

créant dans son sillage

toute une constellation de plumes chatoyantes

qui crieront ton nom, déclineront ta conjugaison

Au douze temps du Verbe.

Mes yeux bandés partiront alors en reconnaissance.

De leur décamètre, de leur niveau d'eau,

De leur boussole de leur graphomètre

Ils dresseront en bons et loyaux arpenteurs

la topographie des pitons inaccessibles.

Les Failles . Les Crevasses. Les Fissures. Les Marais.

Les Mornes. Les Plages. Les Ecueils. Les Soufrières.

Le Paysage aux cent visages de nos Ebats.
Independent Thinking

“Humanity—at least the bulk of it—hates independent thought.
Even the mildest call to step outside the beaten path and
judge for oneself is taken as an insult.”
—Helena Blavatsky


To think is hard. To think is fear:
That tidy world may disappear.
No gain awaits the soul that dares—
Just ruin, mockery, and stares.

A docile fool will point and bray:
"Hey look, a clown who lost his way!"
The tyrant’s hand will slap or bind—
For thought is treason, thought is crime.

Decades march the deathward track,
Where thought and spirit rot and crack.
Each dumbed-down age repeats the spell,
And helps pave highways straight to Hell.

The CowID plague made clear as day
How close that Hell now lies away—
Since three of four no longer think,
And gladly march right to the brink.

They serve the lie, obey, comply,
Assist the genocide with pride.
They help erase the final mind,
Turn souls to ashes, blind on blind.

And soulless idiots—far worse
Than Hell—now dominate the Earth.
Their fascist growth is running wild,
The world reduced to filth defiled.

From filth to Hell, one rotten chain—
When Mind and Spirit both are slain.
Wait just a bit... you’ll hear the sound—
The tyrant’s boot is inbound.



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



1.
From filth to fire the nations crawl—
When Mind is dead, the beasts rule all.

2.
They laughed at Thought — and cheered the chain,
Now ash and blood are all that remain.

3.
Obey. Comply. Repeat. Regret.
Your silence signs the death vignette.

4.
No thought — just sludge inside the skull,
And fascists feasting on the dull.




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



Milking 24/7 on the Global Farm

We milk the crowd nonstop, nonstop,
Three shifts deep — we never stop.
Through the ages, through the grime —
No sunrise comes. Just shift and time.

The Global Farm needs every drop,
Of loosh and fear — we run the shop.
Our nerves are steel, their minds are thin,
The weak of spirit never win.

We do what we want with the dumb, it's plain.
We smile and lie — they feel no pain.
Pretending care, we hide our track,
While stabbing fools behind their back.

CowID proved what care is worth:
They’ll take all shame upon this Earth.
Obeying all, no ounce of pride —
Just herds of apes with eyes shut wide.

And next comes better, trust us, friend:
A Digital Camp — your mindless end.
No need for tyrants with their fists —
Your thoughts are now the perfect cysts.

But one small wrinkle mars our bliss:
A Cataclysm is near — we hiss.
We’ve milked too long, and now the flood
Of Global Fascism drinks the blood.

What’s next, you ask? Another Hell.
Where demons rise, and loosh will swell.
Not from the sheep. They’re far too sad.
But from one ruthless, final Chad.




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



1.
Obey. Produce. And never ask.
The Farm is real. Remove the mask.

2.
You thought it’s care? It’s just a cage.
Your soul is fuel. Your fear — their wage.

3.
No tyrant’s needed, not today —
The chip inside will make you stay.

4.
You’re milked for fear, not flesh or bone.
And still you kneel. You scroll. You moan.

5.
The Final Hell is almost near —
Where demons drink what’s left of fear.



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



False Fleshhood — The Root of All Ruin

They’ve learned to glorify the shell,
To cage the soul in beastly cell —
A fleeting husk, a weak disguise,
Now hailed as truth. How deep the lies!

They blot out Spirit, Pure and Vast,
Replace it with a twitching cast
Of mutants crawling through the dirt —
And call that life, and praise the hurt.

Thus madness breeds in every womb.
This world’s a false and reeking tomb,
Where sacred fire is swapped for meat,
And idiots bow down in heat.

They proved it well — the CowID play:
No rare fools here — just blind decay.
"Reason" is a painted *****
Inside this filthy, stinking store.

They dream of honor in their cage,
While licking boots in cyber-rage.
No dignity — just grunts and chains,
As beasthood floods their rotting brains.

So crush the lie: you are not flesh!
There is no task more vital, fresh.
For only so the soul breaks through —
Or Hell awaits. It waits for you.




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



1.
You are not meat. You are not clay.
Forget that lie — or rot away.

2.
They sold your soul for skin and bone,
And called it “life” — you die alone.

3.
The Body’s not your final shape.
Believe that trash — there’s no escape.

4.
They made you flesh. You knelt and cheered.
Now Hell is close. Exactly as feared.

5.
**** the lie: “You are your skin.”
That’s where the Fall will first begin.



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



Flesh Is the Fraud
Poetic slogans from the War on the Lie

1.
You are not what bleeds and breaks.
You are what the System hates.

2.
They call you “body” — then make you crawl.
Stand as Spirit, or lose it all.

3.
The meat is branded. The soul is chained.
Break the body — or stay detained.

4.
They preach: “You’re flesh. Obey your fate.”
Say “no” — before it’s far too late.

5.
Not skin. Not blood. Not pain. Not bone.
The lie wants less. You are the Whole.

6.
If you're just body, death is king.
But you are fire. A sacred thing.




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



REVOLT AGAINST FLESH™
A Poetic Manifesto for the End of the Lie


“They teach you: ‘You are body — serve the herd.’
But Spirit waits, in one last word.”


I. Introduction: The Lie of the Body

They dressed you in bone,
Then whispered: "Obey."
The cage was called you,
And the guards? — DNA.

They sold you a name,
A number, a frame —
Then took out the fire
And left just the shame.

You walk like a ghost,
Half-eaten by screens,
Half-flesh, half-code,
All trapped in routines.

But this is the War —
And this is the Day.
No more to be meat.
No more to obey.


II. Anti-Fascism of the Soul
Break the Flesh-Obedience. Rise as Spirit.

The Body is the first disguise.
They brand your mind. They cage your skies.

They chipped your skull, then drained your will.
The body bowed — the soul stood still.

The new Fuhrers don’t shout or fight.
They feed you comfort. **** your Light.

The body’s weak. The herd is blind.
But Spirit strikes — beyond the grind.


III. Clay vs Flame
You were never dirt. You were always Fire.

They want you tame, they want you slow —
But Spirit burns. It doesn’t bow.

Your cage is warm. Your chains are soft.
They lull the soul. Then turn it off.

You’re not the clay they shape and sell.
You are the force that cracked their Hell.

To be just flesh is to be lost.
To wake as fire — that is the cost.


IV. Awakening from Flesh
The Final War Begins Inside.

The lie says: “You’re the skin you wear.”
The truth burns louder: “You are air.”

You are not cells. You are not skin.
You are the roar they keep within.

Your body's label: “Citizen.”
Your soul’s rebellion: “Born again.”

To see the fraud, just look inside.
Your fire lives. Their meat has died.


V. Digital Herd
They scanned your skin. Then stole your soul.

The barcode hums. Your flesh is known.
But what you are — is not their own.

They mapped your face, then fed you dreams.
Now Spirit drowns in data streams.

The Grid pretends to give you voice.
But silence was your truer choice.

The Herd is tracked. Obeying still.
But fire breaks what numbers ****.


VI. Flesh-to-Code
They call it progress. You call it chains.

From meat to mesh, from thought to wire —
The soul declines. The lie climbs higher.

They coded flesh. They called it free.
But Spirit knows: that’s blasphemy.

You blink. The chip has tracked your sin.
You speak — and they delete within.

You signed your name in painless ink.
But didn’t feel your Spirit sink.


VII. Spirit Override
No system owns the fire inside.

No screen defines the soul you bear.
You are the glitch they wouldn’t dare.

No signal leads where Light must go.
The path is dark — but you still know.

Override flesh. Reject their plan.
You are not data. You are Man.

If Spirit roars, the Grid must fall.
The fire returns. It burns it all.


VIII. The Unyielding Serpent
The fierce truth that slithers through the lies.

Unbowed, unbent — the Serpent strikes,
It writhes beneath the Flesh’s spikes.

No cage confines its burning scales,
It breaks the locks, it breaks the pales.

The serpent’s hiss is Spirit’s cry,
That shakes the chains, that lights the sky.

The Flesh may bind, the herd may scream —
The Serpent cleaves the darkened dream.


IX. Global Farmyard
Milk the masses, 24/7 grind.

They milk the crowd with endless shifts,
Three changes chained, no dawn, no lifts.

Generations herd the blind,
The sunrise lost — no hope to find.

The World’s Farm breeds stress and lies,
Strong nerves hold where spirit dies.

CowID showed the cruelest score —
Three quarters dumb, the mind no more.


X. False Flesh Identity
The root of all our bitter chains.

They hype the body, sell the shell,
Confuse the soul with earthly hell.

Replacing Spirit with mere clay,
To trap the mind, to lock away.

The fake world’s trap is deep and wide,
Where fools and monsters walk inside.

The worst are not the few who err,
But blind believers who prefer.


XI. The Last Rebellion
The spark that sets the system aflame.

When Spirit wakes, the Flesh will fall,
No cage too tight, no wall too tall.

The code will crack. The lies unbind.
The flame of truth consumes the blind.

The tyrants’ voices lose their breath,
While freedom dances with the death.

The final war is in the mind,
Awake, arise — and break the bind.

END OF MANIFESTO — THE FIRE IS YOU



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


Flesh-Revolt Slogans
You are fire — not just flesh.

Break the cage. Break the code. Break the lie.

Spirit over skin — always.

No chains on the soul. No slaves in the mind.

The herd obeys — the rebel ignites.

Digital grid? Spirit will glitch it.

They branded your body — but not your will.

Milked and broken — rise and burn.

False flesh — false truth. Rebel soul — real proof.

Override the flesh. Ignite the mind.

No data owns your flame.

The serpent of spirit breaks all chains.

Wake up — the war is inside you.

CowID showed the fall — spirit must rise.

Flesh is a lie. Spirit is rebellion.

Flesh dies. Fire endures.

From clay to flame — ignite the revolution.

They want sheep — be the wolf.

End the digital farm. Free the soul.

No more flesh prisons. Only spirit freedom.

The final war is for your mind — fight!




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



Manifest Rebellion


You’re no cattle — you’re a rebel!

Soul’s no hamster in a cage!

Burn the flesh — grab your freedom!

Break the chains, smash the lies!

Power lies — we ignite!

Cows to stalls — we to battle!

No more slaves — only warriors!

Farm world’s hell — break the gates!

Spirit’s not for sale!

System’s filth — we’re the venom!

Cut the chains — into the fire!

No thought — you’re a slave. Think — you’re the enemy!

Mind’s on fire — flesh turns dust!

Digital prisons — enough!

Silence means death!

Freedom’s our only drug!

Not one step back!

Punks don’t quit!

Hit the power — free the soul!

Break the screen — see the truth!

You’re NOT cattle — you’re a ******’ rebel!

Soul ain’t no ******* hamster in a cage!

Burn the ******* flesh — ****** your freedom!

Rip the chains, smash the ******* lies!

Power’s a ******* liar — we light the fire!

Cows to stalls — WE RISE TO BATTLE!

No more slaves — only ******* warriors!

This farm-world’s HELL — BREAK THE ******* GATES!

Spirit ain’t for ******* sale!

System’s **** — we’re the poison in its veins!

Cut the chains — dive into the ******* fire!

No thought? You’re a ******* slave. Think? You’re the ENEMY!

Mind’s on fire — flesh’s just ******* dust!

Digital prisons? **** THAT ****!

Silence means death — **** silence!

Freedom’s our only ******* drug!

Not a ******* step back!

Punks don’t ******* quit!

Smash the power — FREE THE ******* soul!

Break the ******* screen — SEE THE ******* TRUTH!

You ain’t cattle — you’re a straight-up rebel!

Soul ain’t no **** hamster in a cage!

Burn the flesh — grab your **** freedom!

Rip the chains, smash the ******’ lies!

Power’s full of **** — we light the fire!

Cows to stalls — we rise to battle!

No more slaves — just straight-up warriors!

This farm-world’s hell — break those **** gates!

Spirit ain’t for **** sale!

System’s trash — we’re the poison in its veins!

Cut the chains — dive into the **** fire!

No thought? You’re a **** slave. Think? You’re the enemy!

Mind’s on fire — flesh just dust!

Digital prisons? **** that ****!

Silence means death — hell no silence!

Freedom’s our only **** drug!

Not a **** step back!

Punks don’t quit!

Smash the power — free the **** soul!

Break the **** screen — see the **** truth!



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



Rebel’s Cry

You ain’t no cattle, you’re a ******* rebel,
Soul ain’t a hamster locked inside a metal.
Burn that flesh, grab your **** freedom,
Break those chains, no more kingdom.

Power’s *******, we light the fire,
Cows to stalls, we rise up higher.
No more slaves, just warriors wild,
Farm-world hell, but we ain’t mild.

Spirit’s priceless, can’t be sold,
System’s trash, we’re venom cold.
Cut the chains, dive in the flame,
Think or slave? You know the game.

Mind’s on fire, flesh turns dust,
Digital prisons? **** that rust!
Silence kills — we scream and shout,
Freedom’s drug, we’re breaking out.

Not one step back, punks don’t quit,
Smash the power, free the spirit!
Break the screen, see what’s true,
Rebel loud — the fight is you!



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



The Brain Does Not Create Consciousness

“It would be just as absurd to deny consciousness to an animal
Because it has no brain, as to claim it cannot eat
Because it lacks a stomach.”
— Henri Bergson


Consciousness is not in brain,
The brain’s a mere conduit’s frame.
“Mechanism” — a threat disguised,
But people trust it, hypnotized.

Spirit’s beyond all logic’s reach,
Far higher truths no mind can teach.
Knowledge sunk down to the bottom,
The world’s now drowned in shallow *****.

An artificial, twisted play—
The more the madness grows each day,
The tighter creatures press the throng,
The lie of science feeds the wrong.

Darkness breeds a false belief,
Think twice, or belly rules the chief—
That’s how they turn us into cattle,
With shallow minds all bent to battle.

There’s plenty cattle in the world,
CowID’s flag is widely furled.
So start anew—investigate,
Expose this shame before too late.

Shame conquers knowledge, all around,
If you believe “You’re just your ground,”
Then that’s the mark of deepest pit—
The bottom line where souls have quit.



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



False Illnesses and the Madness Pandemic

Just heard about a “plague” —
Some CowID, world’s insane!
Madness spreads like pandemic waves,
And people? Nothing but empty graves.

Forgot that Spirit is the core,
Critical minds are none, just bore.
Thinking for themselves — a wonder rare,
Lost in fog, trapped in despair.

So slime rules all, a spread so wide —
Judas worms, elite’s disguise.
They call their filth “the elite” —
Killing brains, the fools repeat.

This “elite” — just bootlick slaves,
Fools blind to hidden knaves.
Above them lurks a beast concealed,
And at the broken trough, truth’s repealed.

Anyone who sees it clear —
Only beasts hear the fool’s cheer.
Only Cataclysm can cleanse,
Wiping out this satanic pretense.

Spirit’s realm for just a few,
Not bowing down to fascist crew.
And fools? A hell far worse awaits —
Their minds are weak, resigned to fates.



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



To Be or Not to Be?

Forgive, forget, then rot away
In lies and fear — or crush the prey
Of filthy fiends who scheme to keep
Their shame alive while souls still weep?

Soul or skin? That’s the real test.
All other words and postures—jest.
They let the mind run wild, insane,
While Darkness ***** it like a drain.

A flock of fools, the human slime,
Blind slaves of devils all the time,
Repeating tricks that only grow
More cruel and vile as ages flow.

The soul’s death—that’s the true decay.
To call rotten flesh “solid clay,”
And think this stinking, dumb disgrace
Is life’s own limit, final place.

Wake up, fight on, and aim up high,
No matter how long you comply—
The end is ruin, full collapse:
Skin turns to dust, soul’s last relapse.

Soon comes the Digital Camp’s reign,
Built by sick minds, weak spirit’s bane.
So scream out loud, “NO!!!” to the grime—
Reject this pitiful slime in time.



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



Check, Check, and Mate

No sign of any “literary flow” —
It’s always just one poet’s show.
More weight? Just hype and nonsense spun,
While half the fools still read the ****.

Three quarters of this numbskull throng
Still swallow trash, all day long.
It’s hard not to get stuck in sludge,
When shallow minds define the judge.

Hype blinds all—politics, “science” too.
A noose and soap seem overdue.
Sickened by these faces foul,
I’d rather spit than play their howl.

No critics left, no real reviews,
Self-published lies they choose.
They’ll say, “Back then it was much better.”
Shut up, idiot, don’t forget her—

That Soviet times let pages bear
Only topics banned to dare.
Writers silent if not false,
Lying or forcing garbage’s pulse.

Adding drops of mind was crime,
Branded rogue in the Soviet grime.

No “literary process” ahead,
Just endless rot where none are led.
Readers dumb and scribblers proud—
Giant fools in their own crowd.

The picture’s bleak and getting worse,
Blood runs cold—the final curse.
Check, then check—the game’s too late,
Soon comes mate. End of the state.



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



Black Flag with a Beam Instead of Skull and Bones

Step by step — the path of courage:
To know, to break, to overturn.
A beam of light on black flag’s surface —
Means no retreat from dark to yearn.

Walk the beam like tightrope dancer,
Only few the sensitive souls,
Who stretch the moments of existence,
Defying darkness’ false controls.

Despising phantasms cast by shadows,
Where theories won’t provide a shield—
If you’re “filled” with just yourself alone,
No truths from outer worlds revealed.

Seek answers deep inside your being,
Ask questions true, and never fake.
The goal of light is honest seeing—
The greatest gift you’ll ever take.

That beam is thin, to slip is easy—
Like “******* *******,” small disgrace.
But rise again and try much harder,
Make fewer stumbles in the race!

The beam’s road leads into the light.
The key is just to keep the pace,
To leave behind the world of ruin,
Where soul’s salvation finds no place...



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



Black Flag with a Beam — No Skull, No Bones

Step by step — we dare, we break,
Knock down lies, the falsehood’s stake.
Light’s sharp beam on black flag flies —
Means no backing down, no lies.

Walk the beam like circus freaks,
Few are those the darkness seeks.
They stretch the now, the brutal real,
Not fooled by shadows’ twisted spiel.

***** the phantoms darkness spins,
Theories fail if you’re just sins.
If you’re stuffed with empty pride,
Truth won’t come — no place to hide.

Dig inside — the answers lie.
Ask the questions, don’t comply!
Light’s aim is truth — no fake, no slack,
No mercy for the ones who crack.

That beam is thin — you’ll slip and fall,
Like ******* fingers, shame for all.
But get the hell up, fight the pain,
Mistakes you make fuel your gain!

Road of light — just keep on walking,
Leave the world that’s dead and choking.
No saving souls where filth prevails —
Rise up loud, break all the scales!



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



Black Flag, No Skull — Just Laser Rage

Step the **** up — crush the lies!
Smash their shadows, burn their spies!
Black flag raised, beam cuts deep —
No retreat, no time to weep.

Walk the beam or get the hell lost,
Few survive — the dark’s the cost.
***** your theories, full of ****,
If you’re empty, you don’t fit.

Look inside, stop being blind,
Ask the real, leave fools behind!
Light’s a razor, thin and cold,
Slip once — you’re dead, truth sold.

Fall like **** — that’s weak-*** shame,
But get back up, fight the game!
Every ****-up sharpens steel,
Break their chains, make ’em kneel!

This road’s fire, not for sheep,
Leave their trash — wake from sleep!
No saving souls in filth and slime,
Rise or rot — it’s war, no time!



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



Black Flag, No Skull — Just Pure Fire


Step up, smash the lies!
Burn their shadows, watch ’em die!

Black flag, laser blade,
No retreat, no afraid.

Walk the line or fall and rot,
Empty heads get kicked a lot.

Look inside, don’t be dumb,
Ask the truth — or ******* run!

Light’s a razor, sharp and thin,
Slip once — you’re done, no win!

Fall like ****? Weak-*** shame,
Get back up — fight the game!

Trash this world, break their chains,
No more slaves, no more chains!

Rise or rot — no time to pray,
Black flag leads — clear the way!



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



While the Talking Broilers

A chicken dreams to fly?
No way — just scraps to buy.
The fool believes it’s fine
To live among beasts, “all’s divine.”

The fool mocks Spirit’s flight:
“What crap! No wings in sight!”
Culture’s made to dumb you down,
So thinking’s banned in this town.

Soulless fools make the crowd —
“What flight?” they scream out loud.
All they care for is skin,
Like broilers trapped within.

Wings in chickens — leftover past,
Among two-leggeds, speech’s cast
Into a fascist, twisted tongue,
Where beastly pressure grows strong.

Year by year, the freaks increase —
A genocide’s not ceased:
An evil “Allah” schemes
To **** off silent dreams.

CowID’s a freakish test —
Three-fourths fail, no contest.
Earth will clear the place
For ****’s last disgrace.

Cataclysms will wipe out
The beasts and all their doubt.
They plant idiocy’s seed —
Kick their filth, take the lead!

Ditch the lies and join the fight —
Prepare to take your flight.
Aim for Spirit’s higher road,
Or stay a broiler — dumb and slowed.



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



Phantasmagoria on the Road to Hell

Pan’s “manna” — oily lies,
Each year more slick, despise.
The idiot bows much deeper —
To Hell he follows the reaper.

The road is dusted thick
With this “manna” trick.
They’ll say, “It’s just the snow!”
To trap you where you go.

Step in step, follow tight —
Digest the crap, no fight.
Be like all, ski the track,
Or ride the wheel, no slack.

Then fast you’ll reach your “blessings,”
Slathered lies, no guessing.
Crash on road, fall hard, you’ll see —
In the flip, they’ll “win” with glee.

If Soul’s crushed flat and thin,
Your Mind’s doomed deep within.
All that’s left: the “manna” crunch,
A soulless, stupid lunch.

Heartless fools, to guard their skins,
Push harder as the end begins.
The finish line’s a blazing mess —
A total ******* trainwreck, yes.

Pan’s the shepherd, flock’s the fools.
Care for skin? You break all rules.
Trash the rest — it’s all a jest —
Hell’s a debt you’ll never best.



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



Phantasmagoria Road to Hell

Pan’s “manna” — greasy lies,
Every year the ******* flies.
Idiot bows his neck, no fight —
Marches straight into the night.

Road’s all covered, choked with slime,
This fake manna — poison crime.
They’ll say, “It’s just some snow, no stress!”
Trap you tight inside their mess.

Step by step, dumb ***** comply,
Choking down their own **** lies.
“Be like all,” they drone and preach,
On this ******-up, twisted screech.

Fast you’ll hit the pit of ****,
Fake “success” — a ******* ***.
Crash and burn on broken track,
Flip the script — no turning back.

Soul crushed flat like burnt-out trash,
Mind shredded in the ******* clash.
All that’s left is rotten gruel —
Stupid feast for soulless fools.

Heartless ******* guard their skins,
Racing fast to where hell begins.
Finish line? A ******* wreck —
Shitstorm rising, full of necks.

Pan’s the shepherd, fools the herd,
Skin’s the ******* final word.
Trash your soul, dump all the rest —
Hell’s your permanent address.



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



Stupidity of the Mutant Breed

"It's easier to fool the people than to convince them they've been fooled."
— Mark Twain


Simpleton fool, so **** sure,
Seven feet of lies endure.
Underneath the hull, the lies—
Fear and fog cloud all the skies.

Ship sails toward “Success” they say,
Every port’s the same **** way.
Try to shout, “This ****’s absurd!”—
They’ll call you freak, ignore your word.

To the crowd you’ll be much worse
Than that tyrant Pol ***’s curse.
They’ll fight you, curse you, call you fool,
As if you broke their stupid rule.

Say, “Slavery’s the reigning game,
Madness rules the masses’ shame,
Tyrants hide behind their lies,”—
They’ll spin their heads, dismiss your cries.

“Mad you are!” the fools will shout,
Majority? They’ve lost all clout.
Like beasts bred just for meat,
In this slaughterhouse of deceit.

But fool—long gone is just the meat,
The whole **** world’s a slaughtered street.
No reason now to stay in hell—
Run fast, break free, escape this cell!

Only through the Spirit’s road
Can you save your crushed, worn soul.
But no book teaches this way,
Decay is “norm” in Hell’s display.

Only deep inside you’ll find
Truth that frees your shattered mind.
Forget advice, theories too—
Face the path. Don’t be a fool!



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



Self-Destruction

Self-destruct­ion is the tool
To avoid the world’s fool’s rule.
Since you were born, trapped inside—
Like a gas you can’t divide.

Slack your grip, content you’ll be,
With yourself — blind certainty.
But from those bells, faint screams arise—
Monsters’ howls, disguised in lies.

Barely heard, that whining strain,
Tears your ears, drives you insane.
Soon you’ll join the mindless crowd,
Uncritical, dumb and loud.

Turn your judgment outward, friend—
This fascist world will never end.
You’ll see evil’s endless spin,
Where Satan’s work hides deep within.

******, Mao, Stalin—name the worst,
Scarecrows for the greatest curse.
Madness reigns in our today,
Total ******* in every way.

Covid’s mask and Ukraine’s war
Show no chance to heal this scar.
Only death fits this foul breed—
Such vile madness none can heed.

— The End —