Impotent hands;
impotent hands and eyes;
imagination and conscience
birthing a scream,
but with such
clean and impotent hands and eyes.

In the witching hour when all the souls walk again
the dead mayor of Bucha and his dead children
will jump up suddenly, like Lazarus, just as
suddenly as they died. Grabbing their bicycles
by the handlebars they will follow the wisp home
they will live in their own house again,
as they always should have. None of us
can disturb them.

Bullets in their temples they will put wood in the stove.
The living can only watch.

Evil everywhere and not just bad mothering but, there,
breaking out over the treetops, gaudily lit,
like a carousel, our own grotesques
come floating into the world,
wicked colors playing on our swollen faces,
holding torches to light the marching way.

No, you know better.

The dead mayor of Bucha told me this:
If you were to prevent it, lying there upon a field in winter,
it would only take reaching down with one hand,
and scraping the snow with a fingernail.
The truth about evil is like the snow beneath your belly, the dead mayor of Bucha says.
It is in and under your body,
slick and cold.
Reach down and touch it.

bicycle by your side
hands tied
arms and legs askew
faceless man
who are you?

what did you do?
who weeps for you?
who loves you?
children, any?
father?
son?
who put the gun to the head
of the faceless man of BUCHA?

lying in the ruins of the street
what horrible creatures did you see
in that last, darkening light
of BUCHA?

Consider the background to this war in the Ukraine, consider the effects of the accumulation of generated rage over the decades?

Russia has historically subjugated Ukrainians since the 1930s when Stalin, motivated by racial prejudice and a desire to dominate, implemented a policy of extermination which systematically starved the largely rural population to death in the phenomenon known as the"Holodomor"... and forbade any complaint being uttered by the suffering peasants with the penalty of being frozen to death in the gulags of the wilderness of Siberia.

With the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Ukraine became an independent nation by popular decree. This was not received well by  Russia nor by the Russian speaking populace of the Donbass region in the East.

In 2013 revolution occurred in the Maidan Square in Kiev where protestors revolted against the thuggish government of Victor Yakunovych who had implemented, in the face of Russian pressure, a forced decision against the popular choice of the people for the Ukraine to join the European union.

The Maidan revolution resulted in the collapse of the Yakunovych government and his forced sudden retreat to Russia. Pro Russian separatist forces in the Donbass supported by euphemistically titled "Russian Military Advisors" in February of 2014, attacked loyalist forces of the Ukraine in  the self-declared Donetsk and Luhansk republics. Military escalation continued through to 2018 including artillery exchanges and the decision by Russia to militarily invade and annex the Crimean peninsular.

An undeclared war began between Ukrainian forces on one side, and separatists intermingled with Russian troops on the other, although Russia attempted to hide its involvement. The war settled into a static conflict, with repeated failed attempts at a ceasefire. In 2015, the Minsk II agreements were signed by Russia and Ukraine, but a number of disputes prevented them being fully implemented. By 2019, 7% of Ukraine was classified by the Ukrainian government as temporarily occupied territories, while the Russian government had indirectly acknowledged the presence of its troops in Ukraine.

In 2021 and early 2022, there was a major Russian military build-up around Ukraine's borders. NATO accused Russia of planning an invasion, which it denied. Russian President Vladimir Putin criticized the enlargement of NATO as a threat to his country and demanded Ukraine be barred from ever joining the military alliance. He also expressed Russian historic views, questioning Ukraine's right to exist, and stated wrongfully that Ukraine was created by Soviet Russia. On 21 February 2022, Russia officially recognized the two self-proclaimed separatist states in the Donbas, and openly sent troops into the territories. Three days later, Russia invaded Ukraine. Much of the international community has condemned Russia for its actions in post-revolutionary Ukraine, accusing it of breaking international law and violating Ukrainian sovereignty. Many countries implemented economic sanctions against Russia, Russian individuals, or companies, especially after the 2022 invasion.

The Russian genocide handbook was published on April 3, two days after the first revelation that Russian servicemen in Ukraine had murdered hundreds of people in Bucha, and just as the story was reaching major newspapers.  The Bucha massacre was one of several cases of mass killing that emerged as Russian troops withdrew from the Kiev region.  This means that the genocide program was knowingly published even as the physical evidence of genocide was emerging.  The writer and the editors chose this particular moment to make public a program for the elimination of the Ukrainian nation as such.

Legally, genocide means both actions that destroy a group in whole or in part, combined with some intention to do so.  Russia has done the deed and confessed to the intention.....and incidentally, recently Ukraine geophysicists discovered vast gas and oil deposits in the, then, Ukrainian administered segment of the Black Sea. These deposits would have had the capacity and potential to render the Ukraine, not only independent of Russian hydrocarbon dependence but also capable of being developed into a major commercial supplier of oil and gas to the European community. Russia's annexation of Crimea and the recent military occupation of the Eastern corridor effectively opens the door to Russian monopolization of these deposits...and closes the door to Ukrainian aspirations!

Ukraine bleeds, Russia’s Putin must live with the guilt of the suffering and destruction he has caused for the rest of his living days. Emotions are running high on the vast steppes of Central Asia, whatever the outcome of this turmoil, decades of hate and resentment, violence and vengeance have been wrought by this action, the birth of this animosity shall grow and pervade, unhindered, for centuries in the heart of the angry denizens of this poor, tortured land.

Ukraine, Ukraine...Cry the Beloved Country

M.
20 April 2022

“The brightness of the Zsablas came from the night sky, then began to fade at the end of the onslaught of winter first, her skewer has discovered her by comparing her current situation with what she had before when her light began to dim. They all look at her and attack with all her strength seeing the shine of the dazzling sword as great Heroy Ukrayiny. The bizarre were taken with visible return light and with arms attached to each other already fallen with their fingers on the hammer. The images reveal changes that occur in its star when seeing the breaking of its vain flood of flash, both in brilliance and in an apparent way to grumble from the peaceful pair of providences on the legs of the cavalry advancing without pair, nor stopping of escalation that occurred after the Bucha massacre. Four hundred corpses have appeared at the Kramatorsk station, such Soviet missiles killed more than fifty citizens of Volodymyr, such Those 48 words shocked the world”

Ellipsis Kramatorsk, April 13, 2022, day 48 of the invasion. Volodímir speaks: "Children, your mother will take care of you at the time of the great Mikaiyáh to bring you the divine grace of accompanying you with the Abba Pealim, who will embrace you like a calf in her lap, tearing himself apart from the loving mystery for your lives for when they all fall embraced"

Olena says: “My beloved sir! I know that at this time there will be the same oratory that we can be worth for your ineffable courage, for the court, and cultivate passion with the Polish Zsablas. Here you can feel your thundering through the mountains and valleys where we used to notice the unknown world, eating delicious Vergun and Babka in their warm houses. I will never change my verdict having met you at the Besarabsky festival, you approached and made the united noise of my outfit with the white coming of dawn and all week when it brushed against its worn floor. From now on, renowned as my alba skirt clothes, offer your smiling eyes with tunics and cloaks that dazzle those who celebrated electing me as princess of the harvest. Nothing else would make me be just your look if it weren't for the Albacete of my house with the parents. My hairstyle was adorned with rodents eating our bodies and outstanding ruby spikes of celestial falcons with Albi-yellow flags dazzling your company, settling in the front crown..., always your Olena at the highest altar next to Mikaiyáh.”

Volodímir modulates: “My children, life will continue to be good, I have you in my prayers where no compensation will change drug compounds for the ingenious desire to have you close to me as hussars and their Zsablas. I have been reborn, I continue to feel my flesh and body on fire for you. I know that in Mariupol I will pacify attire, ****** attachments will not stop moving my legs to offer your help. But I will not get tired of moving against the sun and against the wind, of everything that I violated one day by seeing them between their open eyes hoping to help them. I will be with you, until the end, even if plundered forces profane illustrious missions beyond all life and bad outcome. In the silence of your calm words, the next day I will continue to exist with meager and magical words to the beat of your seasoning.”

Parable Bogdan Khmelnitskyi: “perceptibly saw how the sky of Kyiv was crossed by heavy metalloids of bronze, tin, and acrobalistics; for the cavalry and six warriors who used to ride on the roof of the Záratos appeared, belling with sounds in their acroteries. In these episodes, twelve swords were multiplied in advance by thousands before the palace began to be built after its ruins. They were dimensions of relevant victorious cavalry and virtual foundation lines to rescue the Heroy of Mariupol. Acrostics will pass through the steeds of Thessaly, riding on the palfrey of the Polish Winged Hussars, charging twelve wings of cuirassiers with twelve horsemen in adjoining halos of heavy cavalry at Katyn, lying abducted by a parapsychological and circum-regressive ellipsis of the 1939 event in Poland. Each rider was strung in blood with golden wing feathers from a Raptor game bird. Each of the wings carried the curved Szabla saber, to tacitly cover up oppressors and intruding musketeers from the hearth of the armory of the hypothetical or unknown enemy, but an outsider assaulting the flanks of the rooftops in the Mariyinsky Palace…, virtual of Kyiv. , using Kopias or pikes that concocted impetus as deadly resistance of the lineage betrayed in Hellenic, London, and Berlin museums. The roof pointed to the southwest where the light of Orion was reflected by the aerial forms of the Orfeón de Azov, riding over the high seas with votive offerings or offerings of Cyclamen and Red Poppies sifted to Silbones and Spoonbills birds that flew majestically in the nomadic rhythm of a Rhapsodas, coffering with epic elegies of Mariyinsky, and of those revived venerable triumphs that stretched out from the banner of glory and bed of the epiphany of Ukraine with the brave victors.

Rhapsode proclaims thus: “In Katyn, Polish Wings and Golden Woods with Red Poppies, adorned Bellis Perennis in twelve thousand rags of our steppes harassing their moan in blood offensives, framed in great chapters and threshold lintels in their mounted war. There were twelve thousand red poppies burning from the executory pilaster near Smolensk.” How much must he get fed up with the Polish cavalry of the 17th century, when he glimpses barbarous sounds in the temple that approached them to the altar of the Virtual Palace, showing off an acquiescent ceremonial and lifeless aristocracies, with living needy and vanquished mortals who posed in the rear of twelve thousand officers slain in the Katyn Forest assisting nine thousand of the slain in Mariupol, like gallant gentiles and medieval men of the contemporary untimely invasive. Here in this place, the winged horsemen with puffs went by their destiny to be sacrificed in steel quilts that galloped on their heads protected by brotherhoods and Hussars who protected them with Tiger and Lion breastplates with their retracted claws. Bogdan Khmelnitskyi watched in the virtuous image of him as winged medieval specimens protected the frontispiece of the palace in bullets of super-existence, fear, and historical trance. Here on this ground each one of the officers was aided by each 17th-century Polish cuirassier with ferocious wings, they were making their dying honor and glory with those similar, twice right there inequality and interwoven misty discrepant blood executing with apocryphal witnesses that covered them with sinister appearance, overflowing evasion and truce of bodies stained in mourning with disconsolate blankets carrying scattered red poppies adjoining a naive defenseless forest. About exalted memorandums, secrets, and epithets they felt in the tears of Adrastea next to Mikaiyáh.

Eagles of Kyiv will go to act of the spell of Didraskein, where no Slavic invaders and lethal punishments will be spared. The nymphs procreated their kind, the Slavs would drown in the cries of cuirassiers like Didraskein, before sobbing in platitudes of foliage and rotten hopes of those who hit them from behind, for a little water wasted such as heroes of Katyn. Here neither Cronus nor Mother Rhea heard them, only Adrastea avoided the cries of men-children and of those who atoned for her back, unburdening them from the foliage of the Didraskein with tears of lumpy mercury. Volodymyr's steeds rise carrying the curved Zsabla, before each one is shot in their heads as twelve thousand Winged Riders caught in each Zsabla plus nine thousand immolated from Mariupol, sacrificing them before they were killed from the waist of their head lost in loved ones, not being expired by ammunition, rather by sabers of honor and glory of their own winged protectors that would lead them by sharp weapons towards the holocaust surrounded by red poppies. “The red fog of the forest carried the souls of the Hussars by passing them through the sabers of their compatriots before they were immolated by Soviets, in this way apostolates and souls would be catechized by Zsablas in dyed airs of Red Poppies converted into the breathed air of the heroes of the Katyn Forest and Mariupol, seeing themselves redeemed by the 17th Century Golden-Winged Riders of Poland and Adrastea”

Bogdan with the immensity of voices and epithets heard Adrastea, she differed from volatile metal sabers, and explosives present when they went out in the crooked armor of Polish and Ukrainian beings, in a rear that Volodymir finally settled with the weave of the immaculate suspended habit of twelve thousand Red Poppies crossed by their forehead before being shot in the cortex, and occipital lobe forging with transvestite golden sabers, and cenobites that received them in the arms of the sublime stench of the effluvium of blood and hosts of nine thousand from Mariupol, never left and desisted from the bubbling figure of the acroteria near Mariyinski, idem to the Katyn Forest itself, surrounded in a string of the Rosary that was dazzled with Saint Sophia adopting them.

Fourteen vibrations of enthronement polarized from Volodímir instantly to his brother Bógdan, making filial gradation in the possible conception of cult and death who is suspended from one to the other under a damning accent of past lives. It is typical of the facsimile of his own genetic shadow, perhaps of Sem-Asur, who finally come together as blood relatives of the same Orbis Alius trunk. Rejecting not accessing Asur (as a healthy creative mind of Genesis) as an energy that could be restructured in any homologous of the world of Asur, as the son of Shem of Genesis..., as compared and inter-generational real mythology, pronouncing and enlivening in metaphors of the enchantment of what occurs in gender similarity or Mental field. The compensation and intemperance of living matter refer to the simultaneous undivided of each civilization as a phenomenon devoid of hearing and inclement winter periods. Here the outbreak lies cloistered in Menatira, daughter of Cránae, Queen of Eleusis Pro-Ukrania; such as a fluff of respite convulsing in both steppes of silence and hundreds of years B.C. prophesying to send aid to the victors of Volodymyr, Olena, Bógdan and the heroes of Mariupol with the Zsablas of Mikaiyah.

Earlier today April 4th, 2022,
which supersedes bald faced headlines
pointing finger and
Putin blame for Bucha killings
squarely on head & shoulders
of Russian autocrat, née
yours truly lathered
his hirsute higglety-pigglety
thinning oily tresses.

Hark….the herald angels sing,
snapchat and twitter Uber view doo
for mass communication mediums
stop the well conditioned presses
when I, a regular schlemiel
took shampoo to mine matted mass mop
(lame and feeble dreadful locks)
of straggly follicles, and commenced
to dispense with the heady ecosystem

viz rare crop of flora and fauna
(some rank as endangered species)
rub and band together
to scratch envy of flaky key
neigh bring ponytails
and create quite an niche,
and where also can be found
lousy knit wit vendors ready to scalp
and give shaft to razor sharp purveyors,

who mane lee scout out
available head room to nap
without a stir, tub bed down
(praying  Holy Scott no wash out
nor Harris mint occurs),
or burrow vis a vis,
where subcutaneous porous droplet size
water ship down pieces of
prime residence found

counting one mister
comb lee bald faced realtor
amidst competing rival
bulb buss (h)Edward scissorhands
(with knot to heavy a price toupee)
affianced to rapunzel,
whom he sheared split ends
as her barber of civil,
one dapper dan duh ruff dude to offer

lice cent shuss insects a tonsured cut
above other stylish habitués
(preferring to fraternize,
glad-hand, and hobnob
amidst a cluster of big wigs
housed by yours truly - Samson
in gleaming puffy pompadour
pads tightly secured
with the best dreadlocks,

which harum-scarum
green barrettes serve
as first line of rinse able defense
IdentityGuard (with franchisee
Bob O Link averse
to split hairs, but fierce
as a Mohawk and ring leader
to protect any curl of mine)
waving away intruders,

who if insist tubby persistent
and tangle with fate
cannot expect camaraderie
from buzz cutting crew i.e. the fuzz
to give expletive filled lathering,
severe shame poo wing subjugation
plus an up braiding experience),
and teach stragglers
they will suffer a real perm

in hint bang up job
and experience embarrassing cut up
if they brazenly brush
against brylcreem of the crop
rooted as rightful heirs (hairs)
of tousled doo mane
and thus tail all told.

The Integral Mind

"The integrated natural mind, undivided into intellect, emotions, sensations, and intuition, is our greatest treasure and the key to our progress."
— Tarthang Tulku, "Time, Space, and Knowledge".


The whole of Mind —
A force, a blade.
Where dark thoughts grind,
It cuts their shade.

If in Hell’s grip
You feel no dread,
Your mind’s adrift,
A beast misled.

This global ward —
A madhouse reign —
Where fools adored
March on, insane.

And beasts above
Are hard at play:
If you lack love
Or voice — you’re prey.

Consumed like swill,
They’ll gnaw your head.
If you feel ill,
Condemn this bed

Of stench and spite —
Then break it down.
And seek the Light,
While fiends still frown.

Their grip will fade
Where shines the fire.
The light you made —
It burns the liars.

Intuition —
The Soul’s true wing.
To save your mission,
Don’t heed their sting.

They lie and plot
In every noise.
Break every knot,
Refuse their toys.

Throw off the chains,
Melt down their steel.
Begin again
With living will.

This world’s a noose
Of barking freaks —
Where truth’s abuse
Is all it speaks.

Build with the few.
Burn what is fake.
To be a man
Make spirits wake.

Emotions matter
When ruled by Soul.
But twisted chatter
Will eat you whole.

They train you blind
With fear and ******.
They target mind
And aim to seize.

Through feelings’ flood
They herd the crowd.
Tradition’s mud
Is worn like shroud.

Soul needs wings —
But Reason too.
Don't cut such things
Before they're through.

Reflect, not flail.
Let mind respond.
Let fear grow pale —
And break that bond.

Through art you'll rise,
Unite your core.
Where mind just dies,
The cowards pour.

Avoid the drones,
Find those who see.
The Light alone
Will set mind free.

The soul ignites,
The filth retreats.
And through true Sight
The Spirit peaks.

The whole of Mind —
Our only hope,
In Hell where rot
and noise still choke.



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



1.
Whole is the Mind —
a blade through the lie.
Use it, or rot.
Awake — or die.

2.
When soul and thought align,
the Beast begins to fall.

3.
Split minds obey.
Whole minds rebel.

4.
In the madhouse of Earth,
your clarity is war.

5.
One Mind. One Flame.
Hell fears the name.



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



1.
The Whole Mind burns
where form dissolves.
In Light it stands,
as time resolves.

2.
Not thought. Not dream.
The silent core
knows what you are
— and something more.

3.
The undivided flame within
unfolds the path you’ve never been.

4.
Where four were torn —
sense, thought, soul, breath —
the One returns
through light and death.

5.
Whole Mind — the gate
where Time dissolves.
Not born, not late —
it only solves.



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



The Song of the Whole Mind

Not mind alone, nor heart that aches,
Nor breath that breaks in dreamlike skies —
But something vast the silence makes,
A fire behind all names and ties.

No parts remain — they melt, they flow,
And in their place: a single flame.
It neither strives, nor needs to know,
Yet through it speaks the true, the same.

Where Time and Space unweave their scheme,
Where thought itself begins to cease —
There Whole Mind wakes within the stream,
And what remains… becomes your peace.



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


Mind Games

"From moment to moment, observe — is this our true nature, or just another game we’re playing?"
Tarthang Tulku


Look deep inside — expose the schemes,
The tricks by which the thinking mind
Preserves its wounds through crafted dreams
And leaves the soul half-dead, half-blind.

You meet the world — a ghostly show,
You meet yourself — a dull design.
You feed that image — and below,
It mocks you as a self-made shrine.

Forget the games — just look, and see.
Turn intuition's light on high.
Walk straight — alone, relentlessly —
To Spirit's core. That is the sky.

Now smash the molds — thought lives in these!
Real thinking dares to walk alone.
To **** the lie — that's where it frees
The soul. Let rot what's overgrown.

Illusions hang, a choking weight,
They blur the glimpse of realms untold.
The path is inward. Fools still wait
For truth in dirt, in blood, in gold.

But only Spirit’s plane holds fire.
No sludge, no swarm of flies, no throne.
This world — a toilet’s last desire.
Without the Light, we rot alone.



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



1.
Smash the game.
See the lie.
Mind is shame.
Spirit: sky.

2.
You are not thought.
You are the flame.
**** every image.
Refuse the game.

3.
This world is filth —
if you stay blind.
Burn through the mask.
Unchain your mind.

4.
No light in thought.
No soul in fear.
Cut through the rot.
Get out of here.



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



1.
Not this thought.
Not this name.
You are light,
Before all frame.

2.
Inward fire,
Subtle stream —
Breaks the mask,
Ends the dream.

3.
Before the lie,
Before the voice —
The silent core,
The only choice.

4.
The world dissolves.
The eye remains.
One pulse inside,
Beyond all chains.



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



1. Lie
A mask of thought,
A voice that feigns —
The self you sought
Was bound in chains.

2. Sight
Look not through mind,
But through the still.
Let forms unwind —
They have no will.

3. Breakdown
The dream resists
Until it breaks.
No "I" exists
In thought that fakes.

4. Turning point
No image true,
No path ahead.
Just silence — new,
Where lies are dead.

5. The Gates
Beyond the fear,
Beyond the frame —
The Light draws near
Without a name.

6. Flame of the Spirit
This is no game.
This is the Fire.
It has no shame.
It asks — aspire.

7. Liberation
The soul unchained
No longer hides.
The false is drained —
The One abides.



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


The Very First and Crucial Step

“Our perceptions of all things and space
Reflect the levels where we place
Our focused lens — that narrow sight
Which shapes what seems to us as ‘right.’
That rigid, dense, impenetrable frame
We cling to — fearing change, or blame.”
— Tartang Tulku, "Time, Space, and Knowing" (poetic exposition).


We must defocus — here’s the key,
The very step that sets us free.
Without it, light and joy elude—
Stuck blind and bare, with no prelude.

Like filters stained in shades of gray,
Theories cloud and block our way.
Throw off "belief" and "knowing" too—
See how profound the hole breaks through.

The power of worlds beyond the eye,
Exists outside that spectral lie.
In hell, decay and rot abide,
Where soulless beasts again collide.

They shout commands to broken minds—
Lost puppets chained in dark confines.
Their thoughts a gel, vile and obscene,
It suffocates, unseen, unseen.

Through all that slime, those cursed fools—
The shame and curse of cosmic rules—
To reach the Light, we must endure
A dreadful path, unknown, obscure.

The very first step, harsh and grim,
Is stepping through the senseless dim—
No soul can save itself from fate,
Unless it breaks that mental gate.



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



Time

“Clocks don’t show time—they only stand
As symbols held in human hand.”
— Avessalom Podvodny


They drilled “time’s line” into our brains,
With nonsense meant to bind as chains.
If you don’t fight for self-true sight,
Your soul’s doomed, lost within the night.

Timelessness—when you can see
Through crowds and noise, society.
The Soul’s own realm lies far away,
Beyond the grasp of linear sway.

Cast off the lies, the rigid line,
But don’t fall prey to GR’s design—
Where sludge and filth are pushed around,
And falsehoods in “science” abound.

The world’s a void of madness deep,
Few escape its waking sleep.
Dive deep inside—rise from your knees—
Awake your mind! Break free with ease.

And Time, the secret truth profound,
Tartang Tulku’s words resound.
Turn inward, say “goodbye” firm and fast
To fascist filth that haunts the past.

Fascism’s everywhere—it’s true,
A cycle dead, repeating through.
Change serves a face that sinks and dies,
The mind decays, the spirit cries.

Lies shift and warp to dumb us down,
To keep the masses in their drown.
Pol ***’s ghost may haunt once more,
But lies will **** as war’s before.

They’ll inject new “illness” fake,
Poison the flesh for profit’s sake,
“Protecting” skin, but acting worse—
Reducing man to brutish curse.

Strive to Know, resist the Dark,
Relentless Search ignites the spark.
To truly Be—that is the fight,
Else slaves and madmen lose the light.

Trapped in this global madhouse grim,
Their bleak, dull path grows faint and dim—
In linear time, like coma’s death,
Absorbing shame and terror’s breath.



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



Onward…

"The more we turn blind eyes away
From social webs and outer sway,
The tighter shrinks our conscious space
Of time and realms beyond this place."
— Tartang Tulku, "Time, Space, and Knowing" (poetic exposition).


We can move onward, only when
We grasp this Hell where lies extend—
A heap of falsehood, ruled by beasts,
Where human **** hold vile feasts.

Here mind decays, a rotting sight,
A genocide of truth and light.
Honor crushed, the spirit slain,
Conscience numb or lost in pain.

Yet they dance by hearth’s weak glow,
But we must shine and clearly show
The crooked paths, the pits, the blight—
Candles to pierce through endless night.

Only then can we say goodbye
To this foul Hell, to stink and lie—
Without choking on this age-old stench,
That hangs and clings, a poisoned wrench.




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



Insane and Twisted Freaks

Insane and twisted freaks abound —
The norm, not rare, and long installed.
If filth and lies are all around,
Reject the sludge — don't stay enthralled.

It's time to grow, to rise, to see —
Go deep within — the truth is there.
The hole you hide in? Meant to be
A cage for cattle, dumb and scared.

That pit is built from pseudo-science,
From pantheons of ***** gods.
They lull with fear, demand compliance,
And dump their lies in endless loads.

They pump out fear to cull the herd —
Like CowID showed — a clean pretext.
The madness spreads. Absurd, absurd —
Disgust, despair, what’s coming next?

Insane and twisted freaks — and you
Are one of them if you just wait,
Enduring Evil, hoping to
Be slaughtered second. Pray it's late.




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




Beyond the Limit

Step by step won't break the chain —
Only strain reveals the crack.
When all seems hopeless, lost in pain —
The only way is UPWARD — back!

Super-effort is the key
On the path the Spirit takes.
Fear’s your foe — ferocious, free —
It dies when EVERY FIBER breaks.




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




Excess and Evil’s Machinery

Excesses of the “loyal” hands —
That’s how the plan is played:
Traitorous "heroes," zombie bands,
Each dumb, obedient blade.

They follow every twisted call,
With “virtue” smeared on top —
While horror festers under all,
The lies, the blood won’t stop.

These sick little corral pens
They proudly call "the state,"
Dissolve all higher Common Sense
And torch the Soul through hate.

And that’s enough — no need for more,
The minds are switched to dead.
They turn the world to crawling war —
And drown it all in DREAD.




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



Fascists and Fools

The fascist screams, “You fascist ****!”
The fool shouts, “Fool!” — how very clever.
These freaks have all grown slick with tongue,
But write like hens — with sticks, whatever.

They quote some spells from their TV,
Or hallway gossip, loud and crude.
Yet real collapse is plain to see —
Their little world is coming un-glued.

Fools, fascists — swarming everywhere,
Depravity in overdrive.
Didn’t ****** make that clear?
Guess history took a nosedive.




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



The Purge

Old folk ain’t fools — if thought ran deep
And didn’t rot through all their years.
But most just wallow in their sleep —
Like slime the Earth itself must clear.

The slime lives just to feed and bow,
Stay silent, meek, and serve the chain.
They’re not real people — more like how
A mutt is wolf in name... in vain.

Dull minds can heal, if fire within
Of true creation lights the way.
But here, the idiot’s no sin —
He festers, like a sore, each day.

It swells, it bursts — a septic flood
Of rot inside a crawling brain.
So comes the purge — a wave, a thud —
No place for fools will here remain.

The elder once again shall be
The citadel of wisdom, bold.
While every filthy lie we see
Will count as sin — and stink like mold.




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



So-Called “Glory”

This “glory” is blended
With treason and lies.
If you serve the branded
Beasts for a prize,

If cash makes you kneel
And the spotlight feels grand —
Then Judas in steel
Takes Stenka’s stand.

The herds trail the traitors,
Like lambs to the flood.
Their idols? Dictators
All drenched in blood.

Their voices are paid for
With fame and with gold —
A “star” for the clay floor,
A slave bought and sold.




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




Dough

Attachment’s the weakness they seek
In a world built on slaughter and lies.
For centuries — war on the weak,
While people get kneaded like pies.

They’re soft — easy prey for the leech.
The beasts mold them, numb and afraid.
They strike where compassion can reach —
And fools are the devil’s parade.

Be strong. Be sharp. Never cling.
The Spirit of Warriors stands
In honor alone — not in bling,
Not bound by the coward’s commands.

The world is diseased with decay,
With soul-rot that spreads like a plague.
To guard the Bright Spirit today —
Our mission. No time to play vague.

That Spirit — it shines, pure and clear.
Cling to the Light, if you must.
But cling to the rot? — disappear.
The Warrior answers: “Distrust!”



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



You're dough in their hands if you cling.
The Warrior cuts every string.




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



Vegetable Culture

There once was culture, real and bright —
Before the Veggie Age.
Now madness rules, and kills the light —
You must choose sides. Engage:

Be human — or be cabbage.
No middle ground remains.
The weak are grown for salvage —
Their silence feeds the chains.

But humans? — that’s forbidden.
The beast wants meat and fear.
No room for souls unhidden
Where Moloch’s priests draw near.

Gavvakh’s their prize — and veggie minds
Are simply far too slow.
In Satan’s shrines, the god that dines
Needs fire. Not mush. Not "low".




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




Black Mark to a Mad, Mad World

The bottom is breached — there’s no turning back,
The gates of a New Hell swing open wide.
No cheese for the herd — just a rationed attack:
The Creatures serve Terror, pre-cut and supplied.



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



Black-marked and broken — it’s time to descend.
The ration is horror. The madness won’t end.



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



Cholera

Cholera cuts — but not through hearts or heads,
It mows down herds of ego-soaked buffoons.
This plague is lies, and all the power it spreads
Is pumped with zeal beneath these shadowed moons.

Deceit now clouds the world in toxic mist,
A shroud of gas that chokes both mind and soul.
And cholera strikes — the fools can’t resist,
Drawn like dumb rats to bait inside the hole.




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



The Hell

Mariupol, Melitopol,
Bucha, Kharkiv, Kherson’s fall —
Is this the world, or just the Hell?
Reason’s fled the scene, that’s all.

And what remains of Spirit’s light
Is rotten, broken, on the edge.
If fascism rules the fight,
Only traitors stand its pledge.




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



Ode to Crap

Crap! Crap!! Crap!!!
In many shapes it shows.
Laziness, laziness, laziness —
Kills the mind, and it goes.

Lies, lies, lies —
The core of all this mess.
Add fear to lies, realize —
The sum’s a total wreck.

Wreck, wreck, wreck —
This sorry world we face.
Crash! Crash!! Crash!!! —
Everything ends in crap’s disgrace.




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



Bad Weather

Rain keeps pouring —
Darkness scoring
Deeper wounds inside,
Dragging long the tide:
From flood to flood — no hope to cope,
The next one’s coming — hell’s tight rope.




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



The Money Ring

Again—the cash!
All in the ring!
Swinging wild, no mercy shown.
Look at us
With eyes unbiased—
Life’s wasted, fully blown.
All is beaten—
That CowID
Revealed the beasts who play the game.
We’ve fallen low—
Beneath the frame.




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



A Contribution to Reason?

A tiny sum?
That’s the question, chum!
Life’s out of course,
Just a small force —
A little given... none.




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



Old Tale of Lies and Greed

They stole and lied —
Broke down with pride
Honor and conscience deep.
That tale’s grown old —
A story cold,
In dust and shadows steep.



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



Different Chances

“The chance to steal makes thieves arise,”
Francis Bacon, seventeenth’s wise.

The chance to shirk your mind —
Makes slaves, unkind:
To heed the beasts, consume their bait.
That slave’s a fool, sealed by his fate.



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



The Chance Not to Think

The chance not to think
Breeds slaves who sink —
To heed the beasts, to crunch their lies.
Deceived, disposed,
Though death’s delayed,
Change comes swift beneath dark skies —
And in the night, the stench will scream,
A haunting, bitter, waking dream.




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



Hoard!
Blare the horn —
Lies flood the land!
Feed soulless hordes — Bedlam’s brand!!!



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



Total Greed

“Progress” flushed the greed anew,
Paper money’s grand parade.
In the game of false gain’s view,
Greed becomes our nature made.




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



The Futility of Creation

Hard work done —
In vain, undone.
Will it be wiped away?
So much lies sway —
The rogue’s at play.
Gone, at last,
In Cloaca’s grasp.




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



Voices — Almost Psychiatric...

Inner voice, the chorus of fools:
Light burns INSIDE, away with all tools! —
Hear yourself, beware the deeds
That serve the herd, not deeper needs.



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



Voices — Near Madness

Voices roar — fools’ chorus wild,
Light’s inside — dump every child! —
Heed yourself, reject the games
Of “helpful” acts that feed the flames

Of shallow minds and hollow schemes,
Servants blind to others’ dreams.
***** their ‘good,’ their fake applause—
Only spirit’s truth has cause!




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



Voices — Madness’ Edge

Light’s inside — fools to hell!
***** their “help,” their shallow shell.
Fake goodwill? Just empty noise—
Listen close, reject the toys.



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



Sick World and Armageddon

A pitiful world, sick and weak,
Unaware it’s ill inside.
The simpleton, so mild and meek,
Keeps laws that bind and blind.

So health’s a question for the few —
The rare, dull herd that waits.
CowID showed what’s sadly true:
Patience seals their fates.

But some, the few who see it clear,
Know Death will bring release.
The end’s no fear, but burning near —
The Sun will scorch the peace.




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



Sick Mind and Global Chaos

Few admit they’re sick inside,
Before the Soul’s true sight.
So madness grows in fading tide —
A wretched life, more blight.



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



The Mind’s Health Worries

The mind’s health stirs few tender souls,
Most poor fools justify the lies.
They choke the truth — a bitter bone,
That grates and ****** the thinking wise.



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



The Struggle to Heal

"One condition to recover—
The will to get well."
— Seneca, first century


How sick the world, and rare to find
A soul who truly seeks the sane,
Chasing "success," "praise," or "joy,"
Denying doubt, suppressing pain.

And little by little (no debate!)
The world seems "normal," "I’m a star"—
This sickness shapes the mind’s dictate,
And fools will rally near and far...

Fear and Loosh

The cans are years expired,
The harvest rots away,
Your nerves are fried and tired —
But dare not disobey.

“It’s fine,” they say, “we're living
In Hell’s most perfect sphere!”
While skies grow dark and driven —
The ghouls are drawing near.

They feed on rising tension,
So terror takes its course:
Those loathsome things, no mention —
They **** the Loosh with force.



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




They darken skies with terror’s brush —
To **** your fear. To drain your Loosh.



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



The Wasteland

A desert made of stone and steel —
The city's soul is dead.
Its breathless heat, its reeking feel
Could suffocate the dread.

But tears won’t help — they fall in vain:
That cursed place won’t care.
Corruption, filth, deceit, and pain —
It’s not a town. It’s lair for swine. Beware.



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




A city built on rot and lies —
No soul survives. Just filth and flies.



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



Donkeys and Others...

"No matter how well you feed a donkey, he won’t become a stallion."
— Proverb of seasoned long-distance runners


Feed a donkey all day — he’s the same,
You can’t make the blind see the Light.
Most just live for the feed and the game,
For the ***** and the lies they recite.

It’s their fate — dull and grim, full of trash,
And through them you’re under attack:
Yes, the slave is the weapon they flash —
The dumb beast they unleash on your back.

So seek only minds that are bright,
Walk with souls who have vision and flame.
If you bet on a fool in the fight —
Don’t expect any mercy or shame.



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




Don’t preach to a beast with no spark —
He’ll trample your light in the dark.



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



Ode to the Traitors' Mind

The traitors haven’t lost it —
It’s Hell’s approved routine.
So many souls have cost it,
Now slime runs cold and mean.

Fascistic muck keeps spreading
Across the brainless crowd.
The traitor’s sly — he’s dreading
No sin… he stocks betrayal proud.



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




He trades his soul for filth and fame —
A traitor knows which truth to maim.



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



To the Henchmen of Rashism

So many crawled to power, vile and cursed —
Ex-athletes, actors — tainted to the bone.
If you perform — perform, but at your worst
Don’t prop up lies with slogans of your own.

You joined the filth. And fascist contamination
Won’t wash away — your grandkids will despise.
There’s always choice. The peak of degradation
Is selling soul for cash and soothing lies.

But when the purge begins — no bribe will save you.
No statute shields from what the law will find.
And shame — your final label — will engrave you:
You sold your truth, your soul, your name — for slime.



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




Sold soul for cash? Then brace for pain —
There’s no amnesty for the stain.



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



A Fizzle...

"Brutal and senseless," they once cried —
But that’s no revolt — there’s nothing left.
The best were culled, the rest just died
In purges, lies, and moral theft.

Now rot and ruin fill the stage,
And only fascism strikes with force.
Yet laughable — their hate and rage
Resemble cargo cults, of course.

This cult will fall — a new one grows,
Still dumber, darker, more absurd.
Fascism always re-enslaves —
And "communism"? Just another ****.

All past revolts — a ****, a joke,
With halfwits reigning shore to shore.
The cult is fed by walking smoke —
A freak parade of mindless lore.



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




They killed the best — the **** remain.
Now cults of madness rule the brain.



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



"Upbringing" and "Education"

Attack the young — that's how they win:
The chains must grip before you grow.
Just poison minds with darkness, sin —
And crush the spark they used to show.

It’s called “upbringing” — a disguise
For programs crafted to destroy.
They nail young minds with sacred lies,
And bleed the soul of light and joy.

This is "education": death
By dull routine and blind control.
A pedant drains your final breath —
A fascist slave, without a soul.

They teach you Satan wears a crown,
That God is gone, and thought is sin.
They burn the gifted children down
To keep the dead machine within.

A system built on *******, fear,
Where kids are forged to serve the lie —
With stubborn dullness, year by year,
They train bright minds to crawl and die.

They **** the soul — and call it school.
This world’s a void, a hellish tool.



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




They teach you lies and call it grace —
To **** the mind, to blind the face.
The system's goal? Obey. Be dumb.
And serve the beast you should outrun.



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



The New Zombo-Order

Madness grew strong, the "oaks" all bent —
Fascism snapped them like a twig.
They “woke up” — drained, broken, spent —
And shared one coffin, cold and big.

Then zombies charged with vamps beside them
To bring a new world order in —
To make the world a twisted latrine,
Where fascist filth could choke the spin.

They came to crush the mind’s last ember,
Its spark still stuck inside their throat.
For lies alone they now remember —
The kind that rot, the kind that gloat.

These hordes now knock on every door,
A nightmare gang in dead parade:
A vamp commands this hellish corps,
A drunken goblin — his brigade.

Die if you must — but don't turn zombie.
Reject their lies, their rotting creed.
Let truth explode like rebel bomb-be —
And grow the ranks of those who bleed... but lead.




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




Don't join their cult. Don't bow or nod.
Be truth's wild flame — not fascist fraud.



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



The Forces of Fascism

Drunks and fools, the traitor horde,
Snitches crawling back to form —
These are fascism’s new reward,
The spine of its reborn swarm.

And the sellouts, silent, tame,
Endorsing madness with a grin —
Their decay becomes the flame
That burns the world from deep within.

The mute, the meek, the ones who bleat
With hollow sounds and empty stare —
They make the tyrant's task complete
And think they're lucky. How they dare!

They’ll shear them first — then send to slaughter.
Justice? Yes — but grim and late.
The voiceless sheep, led to the water,
Drink their doom and call it fate.

You’ll become a goat, a beast,
Just keep eating, stay asleep.
This world’s ruled by vermin priests —
And to the Dark, your soul is cheap.



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




You fed in silence, thought you'd win —
Now march with sheep — into the bin.



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



Shrines for the Sheep

Their “shrines” for brain-dead cotton-heads —
A “teacher,” rigged election clown,
A **** who lectures kids in dreads
While ******* fascist slogans down.

They pour out buckets full of sludge,
And call it “roots,” or “sacred ties.”
The end is filth — dumb thugs who trudge
Through life with hate and hollow eyes.

No need for “higher thought,” they say —
Just wave the flag and chant the myth.
They’ve trashed their land in every way —
What’s left? Collective mental drift.

So few with minds, so few with soul.
The Kremlin-swine, like lice, command —
A Supreme Tick who takes control
And ***** the blood of all the land.



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




A tick on top, the rest — decay.
They ****, they grunt, they praise and bray.



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



Cotton-Wool

Muffled voices, crushed and torn —
Cotton-wool backs Kremlin’s fiends.
A fake Führer, enemy born,
Bringing shame on Ukraine’s scenes.

Rude and brutal, uncultured spite,
Even the red flag’s stained and torn.
****** boys haunt dreams at night —
"Our cause is just — death to the scorn!"

That wretched girl, who lost her legs —
Bucha, Kharkiv’s hellish cries.
Is Satan God? The question begs —
Where mercy dies, the evil flies.

Cotton-wool crushed conscience, soul, and pride,
The flea-like Führer seeks revenge on mind.



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




Cotton-wool fools crushed by lies,
Führer’s vengeance blinds their eyes.



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



Fascism Is Always Right

"To always be right, to charge headlong, doubting nothing —
these are the great traits by which stupidity rules the world."
— William Thackeray, Vanity Fair, 1848


Fascism’s always right,
While you are wrong:
It storms ahead,
It pushes strong.

You’re just a freak,
If scared by evil’s stench,
With paws upraised —
Dumb, blind, and mute, a wretch.

Bribes are slick,
The world’s a stubborn mule,
Ruled by fascism’s whip —
A heavier rein, no fool.

Against the World’s Dark Force,
The thread of resistance thins.
No donkey can win —
Led by the supreme goat who grins.

No doubts allowed —
The goat is god.
A madness loud —
The world’s a prison squad.



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




Fascism’s right — no doubt, no fight.
Donkeys bow to goat’s dark might.



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



False Laws

This world is poor and small,
With fake laws ruling all.
Far from Kon’s pure light,
Here lies and darkness bite.

Forgery, lies, and grime,
Violence, forgotten time.
The world’s a horror show —
Where mind and soul decay slow.

The rotten soon will fall,
Discarded, swept from halls.
While fascism drives the rot
Out from its secret spots.

CowID and genocide,
Wars of another tide.
The Spirit almost slain —
A global madhouse reigns.

But only Spirit’s law,
By Kon’s own mighty hand,
Will cast the hellish thralls —
And bring true joy to land.



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




False laws rule worlds in rot —
Spirit’s law will end the plot.



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



Woodape Monkeys

Woodape monkeys work the store,
Churning nonsense more and more.
They prefer their mortgage chains,
And love the zombie screens — what pains!

That box of lies keeps pushing fear:
Woodape monkeys march in gear.
While the fake Führer barks command,
Driving their herds to meet their end.



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




Woodape monkeys, dull and blind —
Led by lies, they fall in line.



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



The Perfect Lie Detector

The perfect lie detector’s clear:
That box of zombies you hold dear.
Switch it on, the signal’s true —
It shows the lies dictators spew.

The selling propaganda beast,
Experts who justify the least.
And shameless fools who loudly cheer,
Pushing evil as good cheer.



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




Turn on the box — the lies explode,
Dictators’ truth? A rotten load.



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



Orcs and Beatings

The earth reeks heavy, soaked in death —
Orcs choke on fire, doomed to fall.
Driven by plague’s cold breath,
Tired of lies and endless thrall.

Those “peaceful times” that breed the orcs,
Turning humans into beasts.
They wage their wars — piles of corpses,
Peace returns — then beats and feasts.

They say it’s Samsara’s wheel...
What nonsense! Orcs dwell in Hell.
But one orc cares just for meat,
A vile brute in endless heat.

This is decay, relentless, vast,
Like oceans deep, it never fades.
So much filth it’s cast —
Here live dead souls without the raids.

The dumb CowID revealed —
A madness, lies for ears of dead.
The Spirit’s near destroyed and sealed,
Fear, stench, and stupidity spread.



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




Orcs burn, the plague drives war —
Dead alive, forevermore.



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



Nonsense

You’ve listened all your life to trash,
To slime of propaganda's lash,
A world coated thick with lies,
That tear your mind and spirit’s skies.

Truth here is hard to find, you see —
Too many servants there will be
Of fascism, a global plague,
Where genocide’s a sport so vague.

To keep the masses meek and dumb,
Stubborn fools who won’t succumb,
To orders from the Dark's domain,
Governments worse than Kremlin's stain.



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



Fed lies their whole life long,
In darkness dumb, they play along.



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



The Combat Forces... of Fools

All fools are TNT—
Megatons of dumb.
New fascist filth experiments
To see if they can numb:

Can fools alone destroy
The last of minds that think?
Old TNT makes noise,
But minds are on the brink.

So little wit remains,
Hybrid war’s the game —
A fool fueled by lies,
Worth little in the frame.

The plague has always counted
The worthless as its throng.
But fools aren’t just the minions —
They’re fascism’s backbone strong.



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




Fools explode with empty hate —
Fascism’s core, the dumb dictate.



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



Interests in a Demon’s World

The space of interests speaks much more
Than any words could hope to show,
In worlds of demons, fools who swore
To blindly serve the hellish flow.

It shows what you are truly worth,
Your path, your soul’s authentic way.
If lies have drenched your very earth,
A stagnant pool where mud will stay.

The spiritual realms are vast —
But pride there turns you all to beast.
The world grows fewer souls at last —
More herds of sheep, the minds deceased.

The sting of lies drills in their heads,
And rot takes hold where truth once fed.



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




In demons’ world, the truth is clear —
Lies breed the sheep, the soul’s not near.



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



Like "Bread and Circuses"

It’s grim and foul to live this life.
But if you feast and drink your fill,
Can you escape the daily strife?
Only if you’re a fool or ill.

To be no freak here’s heavy load,
A burden biting like a tick.
This hellish world will crush your soul —
No books required to learn that trick.

If your mind’s dull, you won’t see through —
You’ll worship garbage, praise the waste,
Destroy what little reason grew,
And feast like cattle, blind and chaste.



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




Feed, drink, and drown your fading mind —
Become the beast the world designed.



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



Blinders and Burrows

Blinders and burrows,
Burrows and blinders —
Lies breed fear,
An endless grind.

Blinders on burrows —
Coming soon,
The world’s turned dust,
Rogue power’s tune.



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




Blinded blind, trapped in holes —
The world decays, the tyrant rolls.



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



New Crusades

New crusades, new twisted schemes —
Inventing woes for fools who dream.
They’ll swallow lies, then self-destroy,
Monsters feeding on their ploy.

They’ll **** their pants from terror’s grip,
This junk parade on madness’ trip.
Horned faces crawl and creep,
To drag all fools into the deep.



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




Lies breed fear, fools march to doom —
New crusades lead to the tomb.



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



Running "Yoga"

The human is a running machine,
Aerobic health’s the key.
Yoga’s slime, if stuck and mean —
A relic of old history.

When farming ruled the earth and land,
Lotus pose could bring you peace.
But now, with idle hands,
Run — that’s yoga’s new release.

There’s meditation too —
Awareness everywhere.
But if your mind and soul are through,
Old nonsense traps you there.

They keep dull fools in chains,
The older, the more strong.
Listen to the Bible’s strains —
A wild, false anthem long.

This ancient, twisted mess
Holds sway and causes grief.
The root of many woes, no less —
Old lies that steal belief.



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




Run free — new yoga’s way.
Old lies trap minds in decay.



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



CowID Never Sleeps

The fool "sleeps" —
But CowID’s awake:
Fascism guards health’s fake stake,
While Reason’s breath begins to break.



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




Fool’s asleep, but CowID spies —
Fascist watch with cunning eyes.



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



Played Too Much, Sold Out

They played too long — too far, too deep,
The end’s a shameful, darkened keep.
They killed their minds, to Darkness sold,
No crown of thorns, no hellfire bold.

Just sludge that stinks, that clings and weighs,
A bottom pierced in endless haze.
How lower still? The fog descends —
And downward spirals never end.



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




Sold out minds, played far too long —
Downward drags the endless wrong.



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



Caring for the Former Fools...

Those microchipped, the branded herd —
Disgusting cattle, marked and stirred.
Now ruled by clips and zombie screens,
Sent off to waste in silent scenes.

They “care” for health — these beasts, no less,
The whole herd’s cooked in wickedness.
For Spirit, Mind have long since fled,
Left burning cold and hanging dead.

New fascism’s always keen
To rule this flock, keep all unseen.
Once fools alone were all they had —
Is this forever livestock’s fad?

No — soon the barbecue will flare,
The sun will roast them unaware.
Then maybe hell will cool, set free —
A wilder, darker liberty?



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




Microchipped, the cattle groan —
New fascism rules the drone.



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



Feedback Loop

Monitor lizard, stubborn sheep;
Sheep, a lizard slow to creep.
Komodo’s venom in its spit
Will slowly make the sheep unfit.

How sick the sheep’s mind and brain,
So much lies the lizard feigns.
In falsehood, measure’s key — beware:
Too much, and sheep will flee elsewhere.

CowID lies beyond compare —
Tested through the “AIDS” nightmare.
No nation’s spared this twisted game,
So CowID passed through the shame.

Sheep have fallen far, so low,
A disgrace all nations know.



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




Lizard spits — the sheep fall blind,
CowID’s lies wreck every mind.



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



Rashism

Orcs upon the hill stand tall,
Their target: innocent lives all.
At home were beatings, lies in store,
Now orcs strike with deadly roar.

They shell with rockets, “Grad” so fierce —
This orc is now a fascist curse.
Soon he’ll rest in morgue’s cold bed,
His doom is written, soon he’s dead.

A “two hundred” he’ll become —
For genocide, no mercy comes.
Cursed fiends will face their fate,
No escape from cruel hate.

Orc will fall or run away,
The Earth itself now shakes and sways.
A greater shame none can devise,
But retribution will arise —

A vengeance dark and fierce and dire,
To burn the fiends in hellish fire.



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




Orcs strike hard, but death is near —
Hell’s revenge will soon appear.



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



The Future

The doubles will be done away —
No trial waits to have its say...
That Kremlin madman won’t escape,
His empty lies won’t seal his fate.

The lesser hacks will change their coats,
When time comes, they’ll play new roles.
But all the nonsense, shame, and lies
Will fade away, no more disguise.

No renaissance will light the skies —
A grave sin waits; no grand surprise.
A long, slow decline will drag,
In common words: a stagnant plague.



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




Doubles gone, no court, no dance —
Stagnation seals the chance.



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



Discard and Recast

Overlay,
Discard —
That means a
Recast hard.

All that glitches —
Overlay,
Feeds decay,
Leads astray.

Truth thrown out —
Discard’s call,
To noisy fools,
Recast for all.



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




Discard lies, recast the noise —
Truth crushed under falsehood’s ploys.



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



The Tempters

“Lead us not into temptation...”
A prayer’s line — a supplication.


The Pope’s the devil’s envoy here,
Look closely at the chamber near.
Fools and knaves hold council’s seat,
While people choke on lies and deceit.

Satanism bursts wide and bold,
Yet souls in slaves’ chains are sold.
The devil’s messenger, they say,
The Pope serves darkness day by day.

To serve and sell their honor cheap,
Their conscience lost in shadows deep.
Satan tempts in prayer’s own fold,
Corrupts the soul, the spirit cold.

A global madhouse of beliefs —
Chains for minds and soul’s relief.
Satan reigns, the tempter king,
Darkening reason’s fragile spring.



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




Pope, the devil’s chief recruiter —
Tempts in prayer, enslaves the future.



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



The Answer

Forget the Light,
Pull blinders tight,
Play your mad games —
Golf or cricket’s flights...

But if you lack
A sober ground,
A mind that’s clear,
No evil bound,

Then hear this truth,
No sweet regret:
“Send hell’s own dogs
Your cold regard, forget.”



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




No light, no sense —
Just devil’s fence.



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



Abominations

Freaks, *******, clueless drones —
Traitors, fools, and broken bones.
Sheep so dumb, like plugs they stand,
Rot of Satan rules the land.

Minds are lost, souls sold and drained,
Books corrupted, poison gained.
Only **** now rise above —
A cesspool choking out all love.

Killing Mind and Spirit’s fire,
So few remain to lift us higher.



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




Freaks and fiends control the show —
Minds destroyed, the soul’s death blow.



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



The Slave’s Collar

Slave collars come in every size and hue,
Without one, your fate’s a pipe you’ll rue.
For you alone must answer all —
The weight of fascism’s twisted thrall.

It justifies the darkest crime,
And cloaks forgetfulness in rhyme.
Slave collars—essence of the night,
Shame, delusion, stench, and fright.



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




Slave’s collar tight and grim,
Chains the soul, the light grows dim.



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



Trakhemundia

“Unmatched” Trakhemundia,
A bond plus bond so grim,
The fiercest weapon forged to hit —
It knocks the slave’s hope dim.

Looted, poisoned, stripped and lied,
By filth and “media” defamed.
Brothers turned to foes in stride,
Dreams of West, yet souls untamed.

Few remain, their minds controlled,
Fierce propaganda, fascist grip.
Slaves are dumb, their spirits sold —
This is modern Rashism’s script.



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




Trakhemundia’s deadly chain,
Slaves crushed under ruthless reign.



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



Drug Control

Drug control —
A brazen troll
Puffs cheeks for fools to buy the lie.
Never trust
Those fiends, they ******
A poison that will **** you sly.

Drugs do **** —
So watch them still,
This weapon serves the regime’s will.
Rumors spread, the gangsters rule?
Spies and agents play the fool.

But fools believe these wicked games —
It’s what those monsters always claim.



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




Drug control’s a troll’s deceit —
Fools fall for lies they repeat.



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



Not Quite Proper...

Collecting “facts”
To learn to think
Is not always quite the link.
Fiends lie shameless, tactless too,
To twist their nonsense — better none for you.

Memory overloaded, kids spaced out,
Talent crushed beneath the doubt.
Degradation spreads so wide:
School and propaganda side by side —
Tools designed to **** the mind.



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




Facts piled high, but minds degrade —
Schools and lies **** thought’s parade.



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



Kashchey’s Immortal Border

The border’s locked,
The key inside a bag,
Tied tight in a sturdy snag.
That bag hangs far away —
On a hook ******* high to stay,

Up in the attic’s grim retreat,
In a stinking tavern’s heat,
In Kashchey’s dead-end place,
Inside a locked-up space.

To reach it, ha! not light or quick —
You’d need an armored trick,
Like scenes from battle flicks.

But all’s a lie — no country’s there,
No end to wars they’d never dare,
When sons betrayed with cold despair —
Only dreams remain to bear...



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




Key’s locked high in stinking lair —
No free land left, just cold despair.



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



Mad World

Foolstan, Dumbland’s reign,
Schizobaska, Stupidplain,
Paranovia, Beastland’s chain,
Imbecilgon, Betrayband’s stain.

A mad world where nations fake,
Genocide laws that never break.
The first is stupid — stuck we stand,
Pushed aside in cursed land.

Remnants of honor, conscience thin,
Talent crushed, and truth worn thin.
No revenge is crueler done,
Than ruling here by meek and dumb.



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




Mad world ruled by fools and slaves —
Truth buried deep in shallow graves.



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



A Sluggish Mechanistic Sabbath

A mechanized clown
Grew bold, amassed his might,
Yet knows not who he is —
Asked no one’s insight.

He staged a wild sabbath
Disguised as “progress” bright,
All for “new” foundations
And... “his” selfish right.

This interest’s tangled deep —
A spring’s dark, twisted bind,
Built into the mechanism,
By horned beast’s wicked mind.



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




Clown machine, blind and vile,
Progress masked with guile.



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



Evergreen Idiocy

The trough is covered —
Drink fear and lies,
Conscience worn away,
Doubt hidden, disguised.

Lie and feed,
Till bellies burst wide.
The end is near —
Idiots have tired
Even Nature’s soul —
Cataclysms loom,
Fascism’s global toll
Ends only this doom.

Yet idiocy’s seed
Will sprout again, indeed...



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




Troughs brim with lies and fear,
Nature’s end draws near.



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



The Zombie Box

The filthy box of zombied lies
Drives us all to quick demise,
Spreading pain and wounds inside,
Turning souls to rot and hide.

Few are spared this plague of fools —
Stupidity reigns as rules.
Propaganda’s wicked sting
Builds a madhouse ‘round everything.



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




Zombie box spews venom deep —
Turning minds to hollow sheep.



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



A Trip to Traumatology

I went "among the folk" —
Ended in the ward:
Madness reigns, no joke,
Sanity ignored.

To describe that filth —
Too grim, too base.
Who cares? The guilt—
A shameful disgrace.

Won’t go "among the folk" again soon —
Like a freak, I’ll hide in my room.

From there I’ll howl,
And bark my pain,
To purge the foul
And ease the strain.



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




Into madness thrown —
Folk no more my own.



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



Get the Hell Out

Annunaki —
Get the hell out!
Like all the vile crowd about.
Stick your Hell’s lies
Right where it fries.
We are the people, strong and proud.

This Earth belongs to us alone,
Not to your poison, cold as stone —
Lies like fake AIDS, CowID’s plague,
Division, war, and mind’s vague plague.

Take your venom deep inside,
You deserve only Darkness’ tide,
Hell’s own slime where you reside.



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




Annunaki, off and gone!
Hell’s lies shoved where pain is drawn.



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



The Overseer

The Overseer from the “sky,”
Below — the Law of Dark,
Bread and circus, all a lie,
A rotten, putrid mark.

Sacrifices made each day —
Just to dwell in Hell’s decay.
Souls decay, the mind corrodes,
Lies mocked under twisted codes.

The Overseer of Hell's domain —
No others here remain.
A dark swarm of bought-out fiends,
Nearly all are sick, it seems.



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




Hell’s Overseer rules above,
Darkness cloaked in lies, no love.



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



The Exorcism of Demons

Exorcism of demons — CowID’s core,
Once Inquisition ruled before,
Now fascist **** in vile reprise,
Fake tests serve their dark disguise.

The herd obedient marches blind,
No thought remains, left far behind.
Their minds replaced by creature’s cries —
Only the zombie box supplies.

Don’t talk to me of wise and bright,
Nine out of ten are dull and trite.
They feed the fiends, a cursed lot,
And fools are now the norm forgot.



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




Demons exiled, CowID’s lie,
Fascist **** that won’t deny.
Fools march blind to their own doom —
Zombie box commands the room.



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



Rotten Tuxas

Rotten Tuxas rules us all —
(Just hiss that word, a guttural call!)
And soon will strip from us our mind,
No Thought, no Art — just gut confined.

Only digestion left to feel,
That’s the grim, dull, rotten deal.



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



Transcendence

Meanings… they lose all sense.
Their loss brings new intents.
Even pure thoughts may arise —
But thought’s collapse won’t disguise.