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ZOO  Apr 2022
Nal'turally
ZOO Apr 2022
CC me
let's get to Journey's
In the Sauna and two feet away
We'll sing the Na Na song...

     Nah nah nah nah nah nah
     Nah nah nah nah nah
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah...

Refrain
Matthew Walker Jul 2013
This morning I told myself,
I will write a poem today,
But I ended up just hanging out,
With my friend named procrastinate.

8:30am
I was awakened,
Rolled over and saw my notes,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

10:00am
Lounging around,
It’s my lazy day,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:30am
Just finished showering,
Poetic thoughts ran through my mind,
While the water ran through my hair,
But now that I’m out,
I’m busy,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

12:30pm
My dad made me listen,
To a sermon with him,
I almost wanted to write a poem,
But I was preoccupied with Dr. Thompson,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

1:45pm
Money feels good in my hands,
But first I gotta do all this addition,
Time cards ****,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

3:00pm
I haven’t eaten anything today,
I’m starving,
Maybe because my refrigerator is empty,
I haven’t gone shopping in four weeks,
I should pay the grocery store a visit,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

5:45pm
Tacos sound good,
I have no clue how to make them,
But I guess I’ll give it a shot,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

6:45pm
Dang, that tasted awesome,
I should probably make something
Gross so I don’t let these cooking skills
Get to my head,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

7:00pm
It feels so good to sit down,
My new favorite show, Falling skies,
Is awaiting me on amazon prime,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:00pm
Four episodes in,
I’m officially addicted,
But I’ll let my brother use the TV now,
While I pass out on the couch,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:15pm
Crap…
I was gonna write a poem today,
What the heck am I supposed to write about?
Nothing serious is on my mind,
Depression, abuse, peace and war?
The only peace I’m thinking about is sleep,
Poetry?
Nah, not yet.

11:17pm
I guess I’ll let my eyes open,
It might be time to write a poem,
Not sure what to write about,
I could write about writing a poem or whatever,
Poetry,
Yeah, maybe now.

11:30pm
I’m done,
Here’s your fricken poem, Matthew,
Can I go to bed now?
4/7/2013
brandon nagley Jun 2015
The pilgrim's pull ashore....

Strange glass waves smash their feeble ships...

In the meanwhile upon land
In the distant abyss.....

The wildmen dance in song singing....
Ya ha ha-way!
Ya ha ha-way!
Ya ha ha-way!

Ha ha ** ha ha ha-way
Ha ha ** ha ha ha-way...........

Connecting to the creator
Hellion's to sojourner men
Outlandish semblance
Blush maroon colored skin...

Pinna's stitched into costume
As bead's wrap their neck
Efflorescence garbs their smiles
As sage smokes their chest's

Trace bouquet Smell's as oak
As the Willow's they do gather
Pinecones and nut's the both
Are used, eaten, and slathered

Tis
Their friends with the forest
Watchmen of Cimmerian adumbration
Not thy average native
Not found on t.v stations

They follow not the world
Nor the things of material crud
They gallop exposed
All unclothed painted in by the mud

Their mundunugu's and isangoma's
Their healer's of sickened loma's
Their future reader's
And old time Greeter's

They hash up balm pharmaceuticals
And mix in remedy anesthetics
Antibiotic doctors
Believer's in angelic medic

The pioneers come in
Scratching their heads
Bearing babies of far distance
Bringing disease with no end

They park their Vessels on edge
Of those wild men they call beasts
They plant their flag of hatred
And the redskin's are forgiving treat's

The ivory men draws gun
Whilst the natives draw their god
The pale man doth run
This is native land didst the whitened did trod

The natal men's Architect was stronger
Against the real true brutes
As the shaman sent home those foreigners
Back to England and Europe's coupé

As when the bleached beau's had left them
They went into different song
It goes like this
Please don't miss

These are the original's of the law!!!!

They Carol in fire hot dance...


Wee hee nah wee hee nah hee nah
Wee hee nah hee nah

Wee hee nah
Wee hee nah hee nah
Wee hee nah hee nah

Hey **!!!!!!!!
The Great Warrior

An anecdote.
Once upon a time there were three little pigs Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf and Nuf-Nuf. But there was also a fourth one. He did not hide from the wolf, did not build houses, but walked through the forest and sent everyone to ******* . And his name was Nah-Nah.


A joke, they say: three pigs once played —
Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf, all bricks and hay.
But there was one who didn’t run,
Built no **** house, just cursed for fun.

His name was Nah-Nah — fierce and lone,
No fear, no lies — pure backbone.
No brother, husband, kin, or clone —
Just walked the woods, made wolves atone.

He dropped the filth, forgot the herd,
A rebel mind, a sharpened word.
A legend, bold — yet none revere...
For that, you'd need a pioneer.

And now we’re all “pioneers” here,
Old age or youth — it’s insincere.
Where lies are law, and whips or sweets
Direct the fate of pork-fed fleets.

The Nah-Nahs vanish, fade away —
While pigs still grunt, and eat, and pray.
But who will care when swine decay?
The lie still rules. And that’s the play.


Note. In Russian, "Nah" is consonant with "****".



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


Nah-Nah’s Creed

Nah-Nah fights, no fear, no lie —
While pigs build huts and suckers die.
Nah-Nahs fade — the pigs remain,
Swine run wild, and lies reign.
Creation

Explosive the force that creation ignites —
It shatters the question of “how to survive.”
But it leaves the half-wit alone in his fights
If it chooses to live — as a beast still alive.



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



Creation explodes — and survival is dead.
It leaves the fool grunting, half-living instead.



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



To Hell!

No critique can break or shatter
These insane, obedient flocks —
Idiots, and whining chatter,
Slaves not bound by years, but locks.

It’s forever when corruption
Is the greatest, foulest sin.
Honor? Courage? Pure eruption —
“Empty bragging,” judged within.

Bragging beasts — among the vermin —
That’s a fate of bitter scorn.
Truth is stabbed, and minds are burning —
Is there one not bruised or torn?

Lies like Everest are soaring,
Built from treachery and rot.
If no place for Worth and Glory —
Then to Hell — it’s what they’ve bought.

Priced it out. Misjudged the bargain.
Sold the soul — for what? For smoke.
Now they’re lost, corrupt and darkened —
To hell en masse. Forever broke.



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



Lies piled high like mountain stones —
Cowards kneel and trade their bones.
Sold their souls for empty breath —
Hell is home. The price is death.



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



"Somehow, Maybe?"

“Somehow, maybe” — that’s the motto
Of a *******’s worthless breath.
Just survive — no more bravado.
Now it’s DSpirit... or it’s death.

For betrayal, for distortion,
For the vermin’s meek consent —
Even logs will face abortion.
Earth will breathe, and filth — repent.

If you're Spirit — let disaster
Crash around. You'll stand, unmoved.
Feasting fascists rising faster?
They will die. Be killed — and proved.

Only song and pure creation
Give you right to truly be.
Will you rise in new formation?
Will the flames burn tyranny?

Yes, they will — no second chances.
"Somehow" fails in what's ahead.
Only Spirit makes advances —
All the rest is walking dead.



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



“Somehow” fails. The world is burning.
Spirit speaks — while beasts are squirming.
Rise through fire, or fall like lead —
Truth survives. The rest — are dead.



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



The Essence of Hell

To speak with clarity and fire —
Is that an art? No — it’s your fate.
Don’t lie. Don’t sell your soul for hire —
That’s how you break the slave-born state.

This world is slavery. You're a fool
If Hell’s true nature stays unknown.
But grasp it once — and take the rule:
Burn all chains. Tear out the throne!



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



Know Hell — and start the war today.
Burn the chains. Don’t look away.
Truth is sharp. No time to dwell.
Speak — or stay a slave in Hell.



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



Not of “the People”

They’re clearly a different kind —
With Honor, with Mind, and with Pride.
Not part of “the people” you’ll find —
The mob wants them crucified.

They're hated by all, without pardon,
Alone, for they see through the lies.
Truth isn’t welcomed in gardens
Where filth is what loyalty buys.

The slaves don’t hate chains — they hate truthful
Voices that shout what is real.
The ****** rejoice, loud and youthful —
And Reason gets crushed under heel.

With Reason now dead — what's the question?
The rest doesn’t matter at all.
Charge forth through this dark retrogression —
When death comes with no bugle call.

This planet will **** off the vermin —
Earth doesn’t need soulless brutes.
The joke’s over — demons are burning.
All die. That’s the end of the Spirit’s dispute.



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



Not from “the people”? Then run — they hate.
Truth marks you fast for the mob’s blind fate.
Earth will rise. No soul shall fake —
Spirit ends what filth won't break.



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



Deal for a Soul

No escape key works when you’ve cheated —
Or traded your soul for some cash.
Far better to break, be defeated —
The soul is a deal: bash for bash.

You gain only ashes, in madness,
Still thinking you’re mighty — a king!
But who in the herd feels that sadness?
They chew — and don’t feel a thing.

Work only with minds that are sensing,
Seek sparks in the Dust of the Whole.
Let trials be cruel and tensing —
What matters is guarding your soul.

Tune in to your inner ignition —
That thread is the truest guide.
Make truth-crushing your tradition —
Or perish — enslaved by the lie.



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



No deal for the soul goes cheap.
Truth cuts hard. The fake won’t keep.
Bash for bash — or fall asleep
In lies too dead for even grief.



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



Stupidity and Lies

Stupidity stands firm like granite,
Outlasting scholars, calm or bold.
It scoffs at those who think, who plan it —
Their truth won’t pierce that mindless hold.

And so, the world builds forts of madness —
Thick bunkers made of vacant thought.
Then chains of lies — with brutal gladness —
Are thrown on minds. The wise are caught.

But wisdom’s rare — and shrinking daily.
The numbers drop, they won’t rebound.
And all around decays so gravely —
As Evil's roots infect the ground.

And Evil sets with concrete slather
This cult of Dumb as global norm.
They feed it, seed it — praise the blather:
“Be sane?” — you’ve left the human form!

The fool is “normal”, safe, and stable.
The mind that creates — insane, alone.
So here’s the future, cold and fatal:
To put it bluntly — we’re all gone.



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



They praise the dumb, they chain the wise —
And feed the world on hollow lies.
The truth is banned, the end is near —
Say it plain: we disappear.



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



Humans and Beasts

There are humans — and beasts.
No more lines to define.
In this whirlpool of cheats
From the lies of mankind.

True humans are few,
Getting lost in the mess.
Each year — less and less —
While the filth claims the rest.

Brutes barking like men,
Void of heart, void of soul.
It’s already the end —
We just haven’t yet smelled the whole.



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



Just humans — and beasts in disguise.
The rest is a circus of lies.
Decay’s in the air. No alarms?
You’re dead. You just don’t smell the harm.



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



Once Were People

Once were people — now just beasts.
Only few escaped the feast
Of decay and soul corrosion —
Satan runs this world’s devotion.

Traitors, liars — swarms of night.
Darkness rules. Forget the light.
No tomorrow, no escape —
Welcome to the age of hate.

When the Foundations are betrayed,
Let it burn — no truth remains.
Let the new fools build their dome...
Till then, we chew the dust — and foam.



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



Once were people — now just ****.
Satan's king, and God is dumbed.
Truth is ashes. Hope is dead.
Build with fools — or burn instead.



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



The Great Warrior

An anecdote.
Once upon a time there were three little pigs Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf and Nuf-Nuf. But there was also a fourth one. He did not hide from the wolf, did not build houses, but walked through the forest and sent everyone to *******. And his name was Nah-Nah.


A joke, they say: three pigs once played —
Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf, all bricks and hay.
But there was one who didn’t run,
Built no **** house, just cursed for fun.

His name was Nah-Nah — fierce and lone,
No fear, no lies — pure backbone.
No brother, husband, kin, or clone —
Just walked the woods, made wolves atone.

He dropped the filth, forgot the herd,
A rebel mind, a sharpened word.
A legend, bold — yet none revere...
For that, you'd need a pioneer.

And now we’re all “pioneers” here,
Old age or youth — it’s insincere.
Where lies are law, and whips or sweets
Direct the fate of pork-fed fleets.

The Nah-Nahs vanish, fade away —
While pigs still grunt, and eat, and pray.
But who will care when swine decay?
The lie still rules. And that’s the play.


Note. In Russian, "Nah" is consonant with "****".



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


Nah-Nah’s Creed

Nah-Nah fights, no fear, no lie —
While pigs build huts and suckers die.
Nah-Nahs fade — the pigs remain,
Swine run wild, and lies reign.



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



Into the New Hell

Rights erased, defeat complete,
Stupidity’s a crushing weight.
Lies explode — a deadly heap,
Medical guillotines await.

On paper, rights are still in place,
But industry dulls every mind.
Heads swollen up with lies and disgrace,
And Judas plays the Savior’s kind.

The world asylum marches on,
With giant strides toward the grave.
Fools still count their blessings wrong —
Blind to death’s relentless wave.

A sea of idiots prevails —
No chance left to turn the tide.
Soon the Earth will break their scales,
And wipe the filth with molten pride.

The sun burns brighter, heat descends,
Magma rising from below.
Fools and tormentors, in the end —
The New Hell waits to claim its toll.



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


New Hell

Rights destroyed, fools march to flame,
Lies grow wild — no one to blame.
Earth will burn their madness out,
New Hell waits — relentless shout.



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



Fury

Pure Fury lines each verse —
The poet’s cursed fate to bear,
In worlds where fools rule worse,
No light, just darkness there.

Only flickers faintly shine,
But light can’t breach this hell.
You’re blamed for all, the line —
While creatures spin their lies so well.

Fury’s answer — fierce and clear,
To fools it’s just a show.
Fury tears a hole for light,
And light will save our souls below.



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



Fury’s Edge

Fury strikes, no place to hide,
Fools in power, dark inside.
Light will break the hellish bind —
Save the soul, leave lies behind.




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



Lost Battle

“At four years old, a child’s given a flag—
And into their grasp the system drags,
A molding process that never ends,
Lasting ‘til life itself descends.”
— Hermann Göring

The rag of flags becomes a shroud,
Flagpoles skewered, sheep disowned,
The cruel “rights” all wrapped in lies,
Controlled by liars, dark disguised.

Lies spread deep, a total plague,
Fools endure, believe, obey,
Marching blind to slaughter’s gate,
Led by ****** who sell their hate.

Too many beasts betray the rest,
The wise are few, a fading crest.
Corruption breeds a stifled breath—
Spirit, Honor trapped in death.

When Honor, Spirit grow too thin,
All that’s left is empty din:
Flags wave dull in propaganda’s cry—
Reason’s lost, the battle’s die.




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



Lost Battle

Flags become your shroud and chains,
Rights are lies, and truth complains.
Fools march blind to slaughter’s call —
Spirit crushed, the fight will fall.



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



Filth

Fear will gnaw you like a worm,
Lies will crawl like serpents, sly:
“Bow to beasts,” their twisted term,
“Trust the **** that dares to lie.”

Bow and believe — you’re just a pest,
Their filthy plans come into play.
This world’s no peace, but beastly nest —
Only few refused to sway...



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



Filth

Fear eats deep — a worm inside,
Lies sneak in like snakes to bite.
Bow to beasts, obey, abide —
Trash rules loud, and kills the light.

Bow, you filth — their plans unfold,
This is hell, no peace, no pride.
Few stood firm — the rest were sold,
In the zoo where truths have died.



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



Filth

Fear gnaws deep — a worm inside,
Lies slither, poison in your ear.
Bow to beasts, obey, abide —
Trash rules loud, the end is near.

Bow down, filth — their will fulfilled,
Hell’s no place for truth or pride.
Few stood firm, but all were killed,
In the zoo where souls have died.




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



Waxen Figures

What doesn't **** makes weaker still,
Slowly beasts grind down the brain.
Survive — grow meek, grow cold and chill,
Then waxen like a lifeless stain.

The creatures mold their cruel disgrace,
Wax counts as just a little loss.
The cunning fiends forgot all grace —
To be their wax? I'd rather cross

To death’s dark door than stay this way,
A soulless figure, stiff and cold.
No mercy left — they hold their sway,
And crush the spirit — **** the bold.




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



Hell of Fear and Lies

Weak minds, so poor and small,
Souls faded, lost their spark,
They tremble like rabbits all —
Their madness vile and dark.

That madness feeds the fiends,
With lies and ruthless shove:
Propagandists spin their schemes,
Traitors march above.

Betrayal’s just their trade:
All woes flow through their hands —
To crush the weak and afraid
Is easy in these lands.

The fool submits, defeated,
Bent, broken to the core.
This “world” itself is cheated —
A hell of lies and more.




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



Hell of Fear and Lies

Weak minds bowed down, souls cracked and torn,
Rabbits trembling, hopeless and worn.
Lies flood in, the fiends arise —
Traitors rule in hell’s disguise.

Betrayal’s work, crushing fools,
The world’s a pit of broken rules.
Fear and lies, a deadly stew —
Hell’s own fire burns through you.




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



Kholstomer

Your task — to tear this “world” apart.
A wretched soul? You’re beast, no heart.
You’re Kholstomer, plain to see —
A slave of hell’s harsh misery,

A prisoner bound in cursed spheres,
With scars of madness, pain, and fears.




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



Plans and That **** Fascism

A prison-ward asylum’s shape —
That’s what this little world will make.
The asylum’s here; wild fascism —
Both mark the end, the final schism.

The sentence set, the time is short.
But plans will fail, collapse, distort —
Earth’s cataclysm will seal the pain,
Killing all — their fascist reign.



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



Kholstomer?

To tear this “world” apart —
That’s your fierce task.
Weak and orphaned heart? —
You’re a beast’s worn mask.

You are Kholstomer,
And here’s the tale:
A slave of hellish spheres,
With curses frail.

So tear it down! For strength
Is truly vast.
Only fools bow down
And worship past.

That “god” is poor —
A hellish myth.
Be brave, be sure,
Cast off the myth.

Die — explode,
Blow hell away —
Then rise up high
With a different fate.



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


The Zoo

To write of “happiness” and such
Is **** for fools to tell.
But prophets suffer, bear the clutch —
Only courage breaks the spell.

“Arise, O prophet, see and hear,
With fiery words ignite
The hearts of those who will not fear.”
But slaves shun truth and light.

Just burn, consume in hell’s own flame —
Or be a jackal dull.
All rot within this foul zoo’s frame:
Submit — you’re done, you’re null.



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



The Mark of Slaves

Stupidity and trash,
Trash and stupidity —
The mark that binds the slaves.
Step into this world,
And chains will clasp you tight —
Trash to bind your hands,
Stupidity to cage your mind.

Trash will hold you back,
Stupidity will lock
Your path to freedom’s gate —
All chances gone, just smoke.
Your mind is buried deep
In lies and fear’s sharp grip —
You’ll be weak, subdued,
Silent, meek, and stripped.



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



The Herd Believes Anything

You can convince them anything —
The wise, or flock of sheep?
Around is all forgetting —
Where’s freedom here to keep?

Only food on plates
For cruel tyrants’ greed,
Fear, filth, and lies —
This is all they feed.




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



What Do Slaves Truly Hate?

Slaves don’t hate their chains or masters,
Nor brazen lies they’re fed each day,
But those who lash the tyrants’ blasters —
Those slaves won’t give a ****, no way.

They’ll snitch on neighbors’ smallest flaws,
Those slaves will spread the vile disgrace,
While tyrants crush what’s left of cause —
And brains are wiped without a trace.

So truly, vile ones hold no glory,
No victories their kind can claim.
Slaves heed the court fools’ lies and stories,
And worship lies as sacred flame.

Slaves don’t despise their chains or *******,
But honest minds they deeply fear —
They call all civility “wrong” and
Bow down to masters they revere.




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



Lies

False prophets,
False teachings —
In this haze,
Generations.

Lies grow strong,
Wild and fierce —
Cain’s own blade
Kills with fierce.




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



March 8

Aunt Klara, Aunt Rosa crawl,
Like creeping threats that seek to crawl —
Communism in women's hearts,
Beasts who pry to tear apart.

They hunt for every open door
To push their poison evermore.
Drop those lies — the fiends impose!
Believe them — rot’s what you’ll chose.

Rot spreads wide, mad fools obsessed,
By twisted ideas possessed.
Monsters mock and cruelly play,
Lies invade and lead astray.

Progress? No — a hellish stage,
Where slaves comply to cage their rage.
Spirit, Honor left to rust,
Mind kills truth with lies and dust.




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



Rightness

Most are never right,
Only few see light —
But not all the time.
The crowd obeys with might,
Blind to false command,
Their truth just sham,
Behind lies planned
The shepherd’s cruel hand,
To crush the Spirit’s stand.

All striving gone,
That honors none,
The shepherd’s game.
So much is slain
Within the herd,
Corruption stirred,
Reduced to dust,
Consumed by rust.




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



So They Say "Winners Write the History"?

They say history’s made by the victors—
But all mankind stands defeated.
Tales spun by wicked corrupters,
The price of a war undefeated.

Dumbing down’s the main caliber,
Violence sprays like machine gun fire.
Lies chosen as the chief tactic—
The battle’s end: fool, dunce, and liar.

Monsters rule this ******-up world,
Brainwashing all since our birth.
Once a range, now a cesspool curled—
Through the filth, no glimpse of worth.

A foul transformation’s the story
Of pure life given by God’s hand.
We lost nearly without a fight—
That’s why we’re worth less than sand.




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



Suckers

Suckers now are worse than ever —
A super-sucker’s born for show.
Not quite humans — more like fleas, yeah,
Hold on, endure, prepare for woe.

Sucker’s blame is deep and twisted,
In their “greeting” lies the root.
No secret now — the world’s enlisted,
Under rule of Devil’s brute.



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



Mad Slaves

Vedas...
.........................
......................­...
Troubles...
From Victory
Just one step away...
Darkness piles in waves of lies —
Slave: not just dumb, but blind.

Stupor, madness —
Enemy’s war design.
What remains, when all is done?
Few minds left — for now, just fine...




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



Children Like Canned Goods

Cans will spoil — illusions must go,
The surface shows a happy glow.
Inside the mind, the night and fear,
False joy they wear year after year.

Old cans turn slaves who cannot love,
Their only joy’s to feed and shove.
To breed, to live without a cause,
While crushing kids with iron laws.

Slaves breed slaves — the endless chain,
Their “upbringing” is just the pain.
They worship carrion, decay,
Ruled by Hell’s void — a dark display.




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



The Media

With slick ads flashing bright,
No need to sell the goods outright.
In Dull Bedlam’s hollow roar,
The battle cry’s "For free! For more!"

Free “vaccine,” coupons stacked,
Free war — its losses masked.
In endless ads you’re just a pawn,
The media breeds the cold and drawn.

They groom the rude, the soulless waste,
All for free — no time to waste.




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



So-called "Rules"

So many rules —
So little sense.
Left nothing but
Nonsense dense.

Life strangled tight
In foolish sludge.
Like leeches cling
In lies and sludge...




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



So-called "Money"

Shagreen Rot — not just a skin! —
Crushes paper scraps within,
Stronger than the tyrants’ chains,
Spreading slavery’s dark stains.
That’s money — fools believe,
A tool to take and not to keep.

When not a means to save or gain,
Money’s but a wicked chain,
Weapon wielded by the ******,
For silent purge across the land.
Genocide in cash concealed,
Darkness in the truth revealed.

Greed has blinded every eye,
Murdering the mind’s supply.
Greed’s obsession, deaf and dumb,
Turns resolve to silent numb.
In a world of buzzing flies,
Hope and honor slowly dies.

Honest souls can’t break the wall
Built by **** who sell and crawl.
Hell no longer just a dream —
We’re trapped inside its evil scheme,
And Spirit fades to shadow’s thrall.




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



Projections of Consciousness

Projections cast — the projector
Feeds the world a web of lies.
Ruled by evil, the director
Mangles minds — the spirit dies.

Sticky fear becomes the backdrop,
Carrying nonsense through the air.
So you turn to empty chatter,
Just another fool who’s there.

Soulless hordes — they fill this realm,
Lost within a dull abyss.
In the graveyard, God is absent —
Only silence in the mist.

Break those projections, shatter,
When you journey deep inside
To roots where souls first awaken —
There your path begins to guide.




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



Zombies and Combis

Ads for zombies —
A flicker in the gloom.
Also combis —
Not just empty doom.

Subtle poison feeding
Monsters’ endless greed.
Thus the Spirit’s bleeding,
While herds graze on deceit.

The Shepherd dulls the mind —
The sheep just obey.
Humanity’s resigned —
Beasts led all the way.




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



Zombies and Combis

Ads for zombies — false beacon’s flare,
Combis spit their poison bare.
Feeding freaks with endless greed,
Killing Spirit’s every seed.

Shepherds dumb the flock’s dull brain,
Sheep obey in blind refrain.
Human fades to beastly grime —
Lost to slaughter, lost to time.




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



So-called "Peace"

Tenderness is gone, no trembling hands,
The "bandit" never knew such strands.
Around — just ashes, mad decay,
The soul in this world killed away.

Not with a shaking hand you write
The nightmare tales that haunt the night.
Why crave the dull, dead "peace" you seek,
When all around are cells, not meek?




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



New World

To light the faded — hard and cold,
But poetry’s the truth they hold.
The vile beasts lie without shame,
Turning the world to murky blame.

In murk, the monsters fish and snare —
How pitiful, ridiculous, bare!
The world has died in drunken haze
Of lies from fiends who set the phase.

The equation of BASTARDY,
If ******* — then the hellfire’s key.
So much fear and endless drone,
No flow of energy, just stone.

No energy — just death’s slow dance,
This wretched world has lost its chance.
Don’t trust the fiends who twist and stir —
The new world’s only for the slur.




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



Active Slaves

An active slave is worse than fiends,
They nurture slave’s relentless means.
The core’s a devil’s cruel domain —
Not God’s bright world, but hellish bane.

Convince the slave he’s truly free,
Poison him ideologically.
Decay’s path then will be paved —
Just call the “enemy” enslaved.

They’ll **** the “foes” by killing souls —
And Hell once more will claim its tolls.
Only lies, lies fill slaves’ ears —
Grinding them in grinding gears.




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



The Path to Nothing

To fight again amid the flames—
A heavy fate, a bitter game.
Yet still the battle rages on,
To **** the slave inside, and gone—

That’s easy—just a simple feat.
But break the chains that bind defeat?
Harder still. To start anew
In Hell’s deep pit—that’s what you do.

A path that leads to NOTHING’s door,
Where all begins and ends once more.




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



The Path to Void

To clash again within the blaze—
A burdened fate, a soul’s malaise.
The fight endures, a sacred test:
To purge the slave deep in your chest.

That task is light—a fleeting breath.
But shatter all the chains of death?
To rise anew in Hell’s abyss,
Where all begins and ends in this—

A journey toward the void profound,
Where lost echoes are the only sound.

In darkness thick, the spirit groans,
Through shattered stars and broken bones.
A whispered call beyond all time—
To break the space, to break the rhyme.

No final step, no end to find,
Just endless depths within the mind.
Yet in this void, a spark may glow—
The seed from which all life can grow.




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




Fascism

A virus herd of fascist plague,
*******’ war on Ukraine’s stage?
No peace—just mass stupidity,
You live in it? You rot to be.

But this mine’s not what it seems—
The Sun will burn away these schemes.
From filth and beasts, the Earth will break,
Soon freed from every filthy snake.

They hide in holes, a trivial game,
But sparks burn stronger than their shame.
This world of Shame and endless Blight
Will burn—its end now near in sight.



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



Fascism

Fascist plague of sheep and ****,
******* war on Ukraine’s drum.
No peace here — just pure *****’s game,
You rot inside this filthy shame.

But that mine’s not the end, beware —
The Sun will burn their filthy lair.
This cursed Earth, soon purged and torn,
From beasts and filth it will be born.

They hide in holes like coward rats,
But fire’s hotter than their gnats.
This world of Shame and Endless Blight
Will burn to ash in coming night.




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



Fascism

“Today it’s you,
Tomorrow me.”
Join the cops—
If you’re a pig, be.

You’ll die second,
Serving the Evil,
Swiftly rotted,
Slave of the Devil.

Join the doctors,
Praise CowID,
Or scream loud,
Shameless, unfree.

Propagandist —
Top rank of shame.
Their damage cuts
Deeper than flame.

No soul can conquer
The lies within.
Tremble, betray,
Glorify the Sin.

And wait your turn —
Your time is thin,
A fleeting stay
In Dark’s grim din.




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



Fascism

“Today it’s you,
Tomorrow me —
Join the cops,
If pig you be.

Die the second,
Serve the Vice,
Rotting fast,
Slave to Lies.

Praise the doctors,
Bow to CowID,
Scream your shame,
Forget all dignity.

Propaganda’s
Top **** breed —
Wrecks the soul
More than greed.

No lie inside
Can be outrun.
Tremble, betray,
Glorify the ****.

Wait your turn —
Your time’s a cheat,
A brief reprieve
Before defeat.



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



Fascism — The Pig’s Creed

Today you —
Tomorrow me.
Join the pigs,
Rot to be.

Serve the Lies,
Die in chains.
Praise the plague —
Feed the pains.

Propaganda’s crown,
Soul’s deep blight.
Tremble, sell,
Lose the fight.

Time’s a joke —
Darkness calls.
Slave to fear,
Empires fall.




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




Sometimes — or Almost Always?

“Men believe their minds command the words.
But sometimes words turn sharp against the mind.”
— Francis Bacon, centuries behind.


The naïve “old school” once held sway,
Fascists left that far away:
The root of chaos — words they wield,
A twisted power now revealed.

With methods cold and cunning, they
Bend all but few, who won’t decay.
Madness spares a chosen few,
While others fall — deceived, subdued.




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



Beekeeping and Mankeeping

“Life’s a blend of honey and of gall.”
— Lucius Apuleius, ages past and all.

Beekeepers know — today’s sweet gold
Is not the same as tales of old.
While in our veins the bitterness chills,
Poisoned blood flows through human wills...




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



The Foul Breath of Half-Realities

“The present breathes upon us, hard and close.”
— Miguel de Unamuno, truth verbose.


A stench that lingers, harsh and deep,
Through media’s torture, lies they keep —
“Reality” ruled by evil’s hand,
A shadow dark across the land.



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



Generations of “Wise Men”

“The true wise man: bows to kings so sly,
He shows his *** to those nearby.”
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Generations called “wise” —
No ends, no starts, no rise,
Where lawlessness took root and spread.
Their “wisdom” screams: “I’m flesh, not head!”

Spirit caged, conscience fallen low,
Beneath the floor, it’s lost its glow.
The best is gone or trapped and thrown —
Degenerates, beasts, upon the throne.




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

Blurring Lines Between Dead and Living

"Restraint is owed more to those who hear bad things of themselves than to those who get stones thrown."
— Antisthenes, 4th century BC


Tolerance? The sane will throw the stones,
It’s not the first time — they defend their bones.
Restraint’s for those who bend the knee,
Stand up to Evil if you’re free!

Tolerance feeds the dead, not the alive,
The world shakes with the dead’s contrived.
But lines erased by fools’ new creed —
No difference now, just endless greed.



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



Blurring the Dead and Living

“Restraint’s for those who hear foul words,
Not for those who get stones hurled.”
— Antisthenes, long ago


Tolerance? The sane will stone —
They guard their bones, defend their own.
Restraint’s a chain for those who kneel —
Fight the Evil — spit and steel!

Tolerance’s gift to the dead,
The world now shakes on rotting thread.
Lines erased by fools’ disgrace,
No life, no death — just empty space.




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


Dead or Alive?

Tolerance? For dead men’s breath.
Fight or rot — there’s no half-death.



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



Bones and Flesh

Dead men shake — they beg for peace,
Living fight — or find their cease.



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



New Creed

Stones fly at the truthful few,
Dead just smile — what can they do?




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



Silent War

Dead don’t fight — they just decay,
Living roar — break chains today.



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



Fools’ Creed

Dead hearts cold, their silence loud,
Living stand, unbowed, unbowed.



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



Stone Throwers

Truth gets stones from tongues of spite,
Dead just vanish in the night.




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



Silent War

The dead don’t fight — they rot, decay,
Their silence feeds the living’s fray.
But we who breathe and feel the fire,
Must rise again, must climb up higher.

No chains can bind the roaring heart,
No darkness break the fearless part.
In silent war, the living wage —
A battle fierce, a breaking cage.




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

Fools’ Creed

Cold hearts of stone, dead souls that sleep,
Their silence loud, their secrets deep.
But living blood beats strong and free,
Defying all that fools decree.

The creed of fools — to bow and fade,
While truth and spirit are betrayed.
But we remain unbent, unbowed,
Alive and fierce against the crowd.




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



Stone Throwers

Truth is tossed by tongues of spite,
Thrown like stones in darkest night.
The dead just fade, they do not stand,
But living souls must make their stand.

In faces harsh and voices cruel,
The stones of lies become the rule.
But stones may bruise, yet cannot break —
The spirit’s fire no lies can shake.
mark john junor Aug 2014
internet wingnuts...
nah nah nah whatcha thinkin?
whatcha thinkin....you spelled it wrong
whatcha thinkin...you didnt capitalize
are you satan's spawn you cant write that here
i will come to your house and eat your dog
nah nah nah whatcha thinkin?
ill follow you round tearing you down till you let me kiss you
ill fill your mailbox full of hate till you love me
i will tell everyone what a horrible person you are
till you let me in
who are you....keep me warm....let me hate you
wingnuts....wingnuts everywhere
whoever invented the block list should get a freakin sainthood
whatcha thinking you cant block me
ill just make a new profile
fill your inbox full of hate till you love me
Akemi Nov 2018
Blanket city run along soaked in rain. Idiot Boy wastes his time visiting a passing crush at the other end of town. Slips between two houses and a metal sheet, communal refrigerator in the middle of the road filed with half-empty soy bottles.

Dead bell stop, mocking red blink of the operator. Father arrives, a mess of wiry muscles and hair.

“Hey. Is Coffin Cat here?”

“Who?” Father squints at Idiot Boy’s cap. Idiot Boy avoids eye contact.

“Um.”

Recessed in the blackness behind Father, a Figure says, “You looking for Coffin Cat?”

Idiot Boy nods.

The Recessed Figure turns. “I’ll go get her.”

Father returns to his parched body on the couch, content.

Indistinguishable forms move back and forth in the kitchen to the right. They stop their pacing and glance at Idiot Boy as he passes. Idiot Boy avoids eye contact and slips into the left-bound arterial vessel.

“So this is the heart chamber I’ve been living in,” Coffin Cat says as Idiot Boy enters her room. There is music gear. “It’s pretty comfy.”

“Oh, sick mic,” Idiot Boy says, pointing at the mic behind Coffin Cat’s head.

“I feel like a ghost,” Coffin Cat replies, falling on her bed.

Idiot Boy settles next to her. Animal distance. Intensely aware of his rain-soaked right shoe. “Same.”

Nothing comes out right, intersubjectivity a false God to mediate the impossible kernel of being, nobody can find nor express. Idiot Boy searches for connection. He glances around the heart chamber, at the music gear, but nothing grips. Four pears sit on a table by the window, their skins garish green in the harsh grey light.

Coffin Cat moves from the bed to the floor. She opens a virtual aquarium on her computer; fish eat pellets dropped from the sky to **** out coins to buy more fish to **** out coins to buy more fish. Capitalist investment and accumulation. Every few minutes a rocket-spewing robot teleports into the aquarium to attack the fish. Ruthless competition in the global marketplace.

“No! Why would you swim there, you ******* fish?” Coffin Cat yells as one if her fish is eaten by the nomadic war machine. “So dumb. ****. Why did it eat my fish?”

A knock at the door. The Recessed Figure from earlier enters the room. “Hey, mind if I join?” Their arms dangle like fine threads of hair.

“I like your music gear,” Idiot Boy says, pointing at nothing in particular.

“Idiot Boy also makes music,” Coffin Cat adds from the floor.

The Recessed Figure does not respond. They are enthralled by their phone, streak of dead pixels along a digital chessboard, minute reflection of their own gaunt face in the glass. After an extended period, they decide to move none of their pieces. A gaping coffee grinder rises out of the rubble at their feet. They begin filling it with tobacco from broken cigarettes.

“I’m surprised you’re still playing this,” Idiot Boy says to Coffin Cat. “I swear this is one of those games designed to ruin your life. Get addicted, stop going to work, become a hikik weaboo.”

“Already there, man,” Coffin Cat laughs. “Nah, this is my new job. I’m going to be a professional gamer.”

“Stream only PopCap games.”

Another knock at the door. Tired squander in an endless pacing of flesh. Strawman enters and nods at the Recessed Figure. “Hey bro.”

“Good to see you, man.” The Recessed Figure plugs the coffee grinder into the wall. “You got any ciggys?”

Idiot Boy points under the table and says “Ahh” with his mouth.

The Recessed Figure empties it into the coffee grinder. The device whirs into motion, creating a centrifugal blur, a mechanical and headless hypnotic repeat.

Idiot Boy and Coffin Cat look for horror movies to watch. The Recessed Figure empties the contents of the coffee grinder onto a metal tray. Strawman repacks it into a ****. White smoke fills the empty column, moves in slow motion like an oceanic rip a mile off coast, surface seething with quiet, impenetrable violence.

Idiot Boy refuses the first round. It’s never done him any good. Face turned to smoke and the wretched weight of a tongue that refuses to speak. Headless carry-on as time ticks through the clock face.

The door bursts open. Everybody turns as Manic Refusal or the Loud Person saunters in.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. They’re selling me off!” the Loud Person says in exasperation. “First time back in New Zealand in five years and they do this to me!”

“What? What’s happened?” Strawman asks.

“Some rich ****** in Australia has bought me as his wife. I knew it, I knew if I came back, my parents wouldn’t let me leave again. Whole ******* thing arranged!” the Loud Person laughs bitterly, before hitting the ****.

“Oomph, that’s rough,” Coffin Cat quips from the side.

“No, you don’t even understand. This is the first time back, the first time back in five years, and I’m being sold to off some rich ****** who owns all the banks in Australia.”

“But like, who is this guy?” Strawman asks, pointing.

“And he’s been reading all my profiles. He has access to all my information. I don’t even have control over my Facebook profile. Grand Larson’s logged in as me, posting for me,” the Loud Person continues. “I met him once in Australia, clubbing, and now he’s tracked and bought me.”

“That’s creepy as ****,” Idiot Boy says.

“So he’s not a complete stranger?” Strawman asks.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. First time back in five years and I’m being sold off!”

Idiot Boy decides one hit from the **** wouldn’t be so bad. He packs the cone with chop, lights and inhales. Smoke rushes through the glass channel, a swirl of white ether, more than he’d expected. He quickly passes the **** to Coffin Cat, before collapsing onto the bed, eyes closed. A suffocating sensation fills his body. He sinks into the chasm of himself, further and further into an impossible, infinite depth.

“Still working at . . . ?”

“Yeah, yeah. Management. Hospital. You?”

“Like, property. Motions.”

“Subcontracting? Intonements?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mmm.”

Idiot Boy doesn’t know what’s going on. He feels sick and tries to get Coffin Cat’s attention, but cannot move his body.

“Come on. Sell me drugs, Strawman.”

“Nah. I don’t deal drugs. I don’t deal drugs.”

A strange silence stretches like an artificial dusk, a liminal duration, the hollow click of a tape set back into place in reverse. The Recessed Figure coughs and the Loud Person whirs back into motion.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. They’re selling me off! First time back in New Zealand in five years and they do this to me!”

The Recessed Figure makes a noncommittal noise.

“I knew it, I knew if I came back, my parents wouldn’t let me leave again. Whole ******* thing arranged!”

Coffin Cat laughs quietly.

“No, you don’t even understand. This is the first time back, the first time back in five years, and I’m being sold off to some rich ****** who owns all the banks in Australia.”

“How about this fella? He doing okay?” Strawman asks, pointing. Everyone turns to Idiot Boy and laughs affectionately.

“Still working at . . . ?”

“Yeah, yeah. Management. Hospital. You?”

“Like, property. Motions.”

“Subcontracting? Intonements?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mmm.”

“Sell me drugs, Strawman.”

“Nah. I don’t deal drugs. I don’t deal drugs.”

Idiot Boy slowly opens his eyes and stares out the window. The same grey light as before. He moves his arm further towards Coffin Cat, but is still too weak to get her attention. The same strange silence stretches. The Recessed Figure coughs and the Loud Person whirs back into motion.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t ******* believe it. . . .”

As the conversation repeats over and again, Idiot Boy begins to think he has become psychotic, or perhaps entered into a psychotic space. He thinks of computer algorithms, input-output, loops without variables, endless regurgitations of the same result. Human machines trapped in their own stupid loop. Drug-****** neuronal networks incapable of making new connections, forever traversing old ones. Short-term memory loss, every repeat a new conversation of what has already been. The same grey light painted upon four pears by the window.

He’s not sure if Coffin Cat’s laugh is getting weaker with each repeat.

Signal-response. The exterior world oversaturated with variables: roadways, rivers, forests, wildlife — an ever changing scene to respond to — the illusion of depth. Automatic response mechanisms reorient to new stimuli. The soul rises like surfactant, objectified fractal diffusion. A becoming without end.

But within the border of this interior world, the light stays grey. No input, no change; the same dead repeat, over and over, until sundown triggers a hunger response. Lined all along the street, a black box ceremony of repeating machines, trapped in their idiot cults, walls of clay and blood.

Idiot Boy finally gets Coffin Cat’s attention. She helps him through the house’s arteries to reach rain and wet stone, overcast skies. As he shakes in shock, Coffin Cat mumbles, “It’s cold.”

Idiot Boy sits silent on the ride home. Travels through himself. Tunnel through the body or Mariana Trench. Loses his footing before a traumatic void. Leaves the car and pukes.

— The End —