pale clouds at the summit
water color sky
cattle guard at wood bridge
creek bed running dry

split log fence downtrodden
razor back in wire
sinkhole on the wild plain
grouse fields under fire

pine bug and a lone wolf
clear cut on the trail
stump lake on the open range
kettle valley rail

raven on the hatheume
slash and burn and scar
blasted church in a tired sun
wild rose under char

thistle in the hollow
quails nest sitting high
carriage house at lone rock
curtains of july

smoke jaw in the canyon
percolator dream
silver sage in chapel
schneider's requiem

stockmen on the wrangle
big horn antler chase
table top at sunset
deacon creek in grace

quarry in a furry
lines of tinted red
spurs and blades and columns
patchwork of the dead

past the bow hill junction
cattle ropes are black
indian amphitheater
saddle on the rack

sun is at a high bake
sedimentary stone
three days on the morphine
skeleton and bone

cold water road is lonely
corrals are cut and paste
gone but not forgotten
the dust filled aftertaste

The haystack is the needle and the iceberg is compact
Scions of attrition tremble before the contract
Jaundiced world-weary tears lament the frailty of days and the evanescence of years
Senescence a cruel destruction, distracting garish comfort escorting the fears
Displaced and forlorn love beckons a second chance
Itinerant hopes know no commitment to simple embezzled parlance
Of dice and kin, nepotism’s high-roller antics are the linchpin
Frittered patience staking its bets on internecine dynamics of skin
Affirmative traction of disenfranchised hopes rests on fallow seasons
Traduced mirage tantalizes until the activation of regaled treasons
Shock wed with dismay appoints the tutelage of prestidigitation
Juggled triage aborts an unborn reason and anoints intimidation
Aliens flummox the borders to enlist a new world disorder
Trailblazers succumb to lawlessness and for every dollar gained we lose a quarter
Chaos checkmates as power rests from decrepit hands foisting the meretricious brand
Cattle scorched and sheep scattered as the broken hourglass can no longer count sand
Time toppled serenaded by applause canned
Toppled pyramids blind the eye of providence in the hour of unheralded prominence
The terror of history unfurls the efflorescence of piracy as ghosts work to subvert the invisible hand
Next dictums emerge that say supply on command, and entropy desecrates the land
Phone home to arm the putsch, clone home for aliens we push
Revisionism subverts the instruction of years and empowers the apotheosis of fear and the fourth ***** of George W. Bush
Dynasties envy the anonymity of a bald-eagle cabal of skinhead guffaw
Irascible genocide cavorts under the premise of shock and awe
The lullaby of morons is flinching assent to the supremacy of the unelected and unassailable tyrants
Discarding covenants on the principle of principality and counting on every knight to become errant
Pyrrhic victory of the perverted cross corrals the flock
Openly announced secrets enable the aliens to dock
At the port they are greeted as the victors and granted not only amnesty but indemnity
They brandish the unprecedented concept of an enumerated infinity
To amuse the zero-sum victory they author a new history of utilitarianism dethroning deontology
To the future readers they make contrite apologies
But when the races of men are annihilated by the evil Zen boasting of its utilitarian ken
The rubble of time cannot ascertain exactly how or when
But on the dreaded hour the virus will conspire to elect the most reproachable power
When panic reaches crescendo all the sugar in the world cannot but help to taste anything but sour
Abort the tyrannical machine no matter how convincingly it preens
No matter how much bunkum elevates the enchanting prevarication while concealing the affairs behind the scenes
Voting for balkanized splinters designed to weather the winter sustains the monopoly of sophistry
Ballyhoo saturates the airwaves and suddenly catcalling becomes gallantry
Tune out the pulpit, divest the culprit and impugn systemic venality
Dismantle the verisimilitude of shadows and hoist a giant mirror to reflect stark realities
Cue the curtains fall, the specters grow tall, and the clout is daunted by establishment doubt
The skeletonized truth severs the root but the behemoth armed to the teeth wages a bout
Cartels conspire with arms and fire and resurrect stodgy tenets to prowl like an army of vampires
To feed a fatuous superstition and to empower a censorship of convenience to enthrone a dark empire
Cunning preponderance enlists divisive shills to let the ghastly thriller exact its thrills
Occult obscurantism funds the vulnerable and tramples over the outspoken to actuate its will
Hopes dashed, stocks crashed and strife abundant
Generational dissonance revokes the incumbents
Chapter one of this unsung war come and gone
Stay tuned for the next addendum to see what is lost and who has won.

Between empty junction gullies of the Dogskin mountains,
the BLM has once again released their Judas horses
luring the free ranging mustangs into capture corrals.

Their crime --- thriving in a battle of survival.
I assure you the Comanche do not dance around the fire,
nor does the ghost of Cortez roll in the wildflowers of El Dorado.

Ironically this native species is now considered feral,
introduced in the very habitat which shaped its evolution,
arcanely empowered to exceed enviromental carrying capacity.

The lands of nature are so dear: rejoice their freedom!
The mountains do not judge, they merely shelter.
Let the mustang graze unfettered through winds of dawn.

The Sun Is Shining Today
The Storm Has Finally Stopped

a statement says:
<we have done something yesterday
nothing like our best
just something
to stop that storm>
the statement returns true as fact

inconsequent gestures of nature
we weave
to serve an unknown wish
-made of numerous physical and non-physical senses-
so that fabric of a network  
evolves  itself
materializes sense
sense to fabric
fabric to sense
scientifically improbable it remains

an infinitesimal loop
unwinds when you are not there
runs within an ideally operating closed circuit
remains invisible to the factual eyes of daily lives

an etheric vitality
materialized by our definable senses of touch, of smell, of see, of taste
and some of yet undefined ones
- possibly  assigned to maybe a Poetic Variable-
executable within that program of simultaneous causalities only.

So then Only then
When You Combine the patchy Network
of Things
of Beings

You Can Dance Them
Sing Them
Play Them
Make Love To Them
Become One With Them
Compose Them

but

All these on condition that
it remains as an unpacked gift

Without telling to Yourself  
or to Others
or to That Storm
because
You Don’t Even Have An Intention To Stop The Storm
All you do is Wish for Sunshine so you can maybe bike tomorrow

But again

How important is it really that biking tomorrow ?
I mean when sighs and cries whirl around?

a statement says:
<you can’t stop wars by fights>
the statement returns true as fact

And

if I know that
you can stop storms by touches

touches to smells
smells to lights
lights to metals
metals to elements
elements to stars
stars to flights
flights to a breeze on my fingertips
breeze on my fingertips to an auric kiss

then

I think maybe it is **** important to keep a seemingly futile wish to bike to a beach of my dreams tomorrow
so that I can be blown away on a broken December day
and let my long hair collect dune corrals  made of cosmic ray

Huh So Yeah

I can Stop Storms if I want to or Create Some!
- not because I need to for my own sake or think about it.

crammed in corrals
hissing whispers of escape
and hoping their
size and shade
captivates
the next sticky-fingered cart rider

mother's mind so mobbed
and arms so grocery-laden
that the ribbed
and loosely coiled ribbon
remains unknotted, unbowed
to slip
from pudgy-fingered grips

the orb bobs and sways–
laughing, helium-high
as it makes its getaway
unknowingly following Icarus
to a solar ******
that is, if beak or plane
doesn't reach it first

POP!
shattered and tattered, irreparable
it plummets back to earth

its noose
still dangling from its neck

Your generation is defined by definitions.
'This generation', this new-fangled bunch of hooligans
Cut out and put in the oven,
Lives pre-formed, based on premonitions,
Put into the system and cranked out
Made up of numbers and tests that really define who you are.
'This generation' that you have given a set of rules
A set of molds to fit into
To pour their lives out and 'better the world'
Shaped with your all-knowing tools
Scissors that cut funding to the parts that maybe,
Perhaps, might make them an individual.
Because here, no, here we don't have room for individuality
But we sure have room for this assembly
Your freedom of religion, speech, and freedom to assemble
No room for that, for fear of immorality
We don't have time for originals, we don't have time for strays
I'm sorry that you've got ideas, Generation Y
But this is the generation of time constraints.
We've got technology to innovate, an ozone to fit
Communities to build and lives put at risk
But that's not as important as what's in the now
No, not as important as these tucks and nips
We've got to put you under the needle
Even after we swore, 'first do no harm',
But this isn't going to hurt, I swear
Well, maybe not on the outside.
Look here, Y, you'd be better off compliant
To fix our computers and drive our trucks
To turn off your TVs and just trust us
To read the chapter and finish the assignment
Because to us, you all learn the same,
To us you are still just a number
Even if you think you're out when you graduate.
So what, you graduated the system,
And it's done it's work on you
Have your daddy pick the college and your mama pick the sheets
Pack your bags, you're ready for the big world
And that's exactly what we made you think.
Generation Y, you are fitting into the molds we gave you
We tried to crank you out in groups of 300
And we did
You were never allowed to be original
And you weren't.
Generation Y, this cookie-cutter, uniform
'Glued to technology', uninterested
Group of 'stupid' teenagers
You were forced to unify
And forced into corrals, thereby,
Forced into lives we've blessed you with.
I swear, by my very intelligence
That we're good by you, good by the world
In evaluating what we need
Where we need people
Hopefully creating a society less-gnarled
Generation Y, you may hate the population
But you are the population
And you are what we told you to be.
Your lives were pre-formed from day one,
So, please,
Sit down, shut up, finish your definitions,
And stop asking why.

Hex Birthright in Hellenika

The Celestial Spirit of Vernarth began to walk through the Castellum del Horcodising, after the parapsychological regression in the conclusive auction and purge of him. He was looming at the Horcondising Keep; here all toilet modules, food, and medicines were well equipped, except for the inks and writing papers that were totally exhausted. Here you can see his mother Luccica, who was in a position to scribble and write on an upstairs deck, and in the other hand, she had a rosary of liberation, which anonymously appears before her purging in the presence of the protervative spellings that still wander through the cells and bedrooms of the Castellum del Horcondising. Her mother is seen twisted over the voices that polished the eight moons that she had designed for her son Vernarth from the very machicolations of the Castellum, but now with a rosary of liberation. It was clearly seen in the leaves written by her, which said that “My son abandoned his weapons, now in fluids of holy water, symbolizing real chimeras by the projections, to those who read his life verses in our Castellum, in Gaugamela and Patmos ”. Vernarth, mostly Hellenic, awaits to manifest healings for all creation, dumping water from moon storms on Rhodes, and lighting Matacan wall light at the door of the Messiah stand.

Vernart says: “my adolescent look, she has to be reborn with that of my father Bernardolipo; a whole Chamberlain, making himself free and a supporter of the baronies that were part of the servants of my servants…! Although now to climb his cabinet I have to raise my knees higher before his amplified step, calling us all and trying to be closer to a new bell to call us to dinner, as an entity of pride of architecture defined by his pen, ink, and white sheet that I mention. The mother I have to mention; My mother Luccica, rests not condemned or corrupted before her flesh, rather perfectly united to her spirit that envelops her free of sin, so that her company would be of complete solitude in our Castellum, we will continue to be in conformity with the spirit because our mansion is a beautiful spirit of vicissitudes, life, and peace, that our esplanade holds hunger and coldly indifferent to loneliness, cooling and pleasing the company of its own cold, rising from the first rays of the day, as well as rising from the first pinches of graduated ink, agreeing in the corrals where my father already lived according to his life among debtors, mortifying what he has not been able to mount on his steeds that inhabit his senses, leaving not so far to greet them in the mornings free of errors of not greeting, even When the minimum space is left to think of him as a joint-heir. Because the laments sob and others are born in the virginity of the light of the world with other lines Luccica can scarcely write, writing her co-age spirit, manifesting itself foolishly in suffering perfection; manifesting itself as everyone's delight, although ringing with anger at not freeing itself from glorious freedom. Not all sing to the tune of the disability of putting the strength of the grapheme of posterity, rather we blind ourselves by putting hope, but of patience that we arm ourselves by losing our courage to have it. Our will is of the magnitude of saints when doubt and fear entertain us, according to all the things and purposes that irreversibly will surprise us. I do not know where I have to walk here in this tower ?, because I know that myths of the unknown will fall according to the fact that I am his son, being the first-born of all men in the world, speaking of who among many intercede before tribulation or anguish, that strips me of all spirit still asking for it and justifying that I keep talking about them, but that I have been gone for a long time. For this reason, venerated mother, wake up from this frozen cell of the courtesy tower, because I am jealous and I believe that neither death nor life will fill the dead suspended in your room, which support more lives with their angels adorning their bindings and paragraphs, with principalities that are increasingly so distant more than imminent to come to please you. When your name is tried in real vices to increase, they are being stripped of the sons of the principality in which they shine from afar, but with our feet dancing on despotic brilliance, and not of the hollow that still does not fill my heart for you”

Emerging from the last lights of the Castellum del Horcondising, Vernarth bids farewell to his reign, leaving his mother Luccica in the company of three Angels who mined him with the amber mistletoe, of sallow light. However, she will remain frosted on her desk with ink at night and by day, so that when the day ceases, she will draw ink from the darkest night to continue writing that she can already be without Him! Near the Halleniká Necropolis in Rhodes, a statue of Peltasts stood, shielding the site where the “Vas Auric” Auric Medallion would sporadically rest, which came between the bilges, now inside the Eurydice. It came predestined with sacred amber garments alloyed, to make up for the between Peltast mediators who guarded them, to deliver it to its Commander Vernarth.

The Apostle Saint John says: “The Sephardim like us in exile did not see reasons restored in our union and tradition, we resembled a diaspora that did not derive voluntarily, according to events that occurred in my case in Judah at the hands of the Romans. The Alexandrian Jews form on my part certain Israelites dispersed in my prayers, leaving us where the radiance of our faith makes sense and dispensed power to us. My economy is to create the furniture that will inhabit laborious houses in the Staurós histos, even among those Jews and mercenary soldiers, freeing themselves from prejudices and clothing that represented them alone and fragile, being sensible by the diaspora. The world separates itself from the matter cell, clinging to the consciousness of the unity of dispersed Mosaicism as a sacrificial cult, to cater to those who write history more distant than a synagogue without a Rabbi. When bad winds blew there, they often made the situation worse for those scattered in a foreign land. At the end of the Hellenistic era, we had Jews in Persia, Mesopotamia, Syria, Phenicia, Pontus, north of the Black Sea, Cappadocia, the rest of Asia Minor, Egypt, and Cyrenaica, Carthage, Greece, Macedonia, and Italy. Now I in Rhodes with the Vas Auric, to trace the true effigy of Judas Thaddeus, my co-religious in pursuit of an intellectual and theological religious activity of edifying centers of prayer and universal unification, here in the Necropolis of Hallenikka, where some Davidian Psalm will be in more regions of here documented in precession, and as a reciprocal religion to Hellenic situationism. Its religiosity is felt, it even remains open in proselytism that causes the indefiniteness of the half-convert and that implies a risk for the identity of the Jewish religion as the support of a people with not a little original conscience "

He sings The Delphic Sibyl: “He bears the crown of thorns of the Coronation of Jesus, which also happened in the Praetorium, and as in previous cases to the scene represented in the corresponding neutral. In Eritrea Stauros, rather Herophile, if chaste and Delphic clairvoyant and apologetic, her vernacular artery made her a native of Marpeso, Troyana-Troade. As in fantasies of being the daughter of a Nymph and a Shepherd. Her elegy was escorting her to the Duodecim Evangelii, from Samos she is docking towards Patmos at the foundations of the Megaron. With the same polygon of the Sistine Chapel, in the quattrocento, where Vernarth had assistance in the parapsychological Regression of the Quattrocento Duodecim Evangelii, announcing that Vernolatry would be part of his Apologetic life, inspiring prophecies with the Iaspis Parables, commending scholarship after the grave that He was in the forest of Apollo Smintheus, returning to his origins in a sinkhole in Mount Coric. The idiomatic cross was its interlaced fractal, with threads and kashmar pole, surrounding the crossed palisades with linen threads, and Koiné to display the cross in the hestion or towards the Staurós or cross, in the capital event of the material instrument of execution for the man who falls into no man's land "

from heaving waves i emerge
and wander, hapless, forward,
to shallows, to piled sand and
grasses like thickened tongue.
sallow and saltbreak, this heart
has set to mend.

across field and timberline,
teeth gnash; but now they
belong to i. now, the proud
stretches of tussock weave
song through my chest. now,
lonely is an auxiliary quantity:
heart in hand, my very own,
soft clay to mould.

let us get drunk on
the stars and burdock tea.
let me find your fingers
across a chasm i clamber
up out of, only to breathe and
kiss you. i ask not for long-
desired salvation. i have
poured my own. i've enough
left to bathe you in light,
or at least to pry open your
leaf-litter eyelashes. i can
separate want and caprice.
i can want you.
                             let my desire
face west and cast to bush,
to flint, to corrals of snowfall.

i've dined in all great halls, but
i'd rather sit in your room,
for now.

A hundred-forty west-bound miles of
Montana Highway 200 see a summer
Traveler somewhere between
Grass Range and Jordan,
Deep in grass and antelope.

Waterless miles of meandering
Dry creek beds and barbwire alleyways
Herd the occasional car or truck
Down narrow asphalt chutes of road.

Speed limit signs stamped "70 mph"
Stand mortified and silent at Speed
Demons hurtling westward to Great Falls,
Round Up, or Flowing Wells, or east to
Jordan, Circle, Richey, Lambert, and Sidney.

Extreme heat and cold on the open plain
Demand courtesies of the West;
Travelers always stop to
Help the stranded.

So it was I came at speed to Sand Springs,
A sultry July day, heading to Billings,
Sad to be leaving my lover and my bairns.

A long way off, I saw her car,
Hood up and steam rising.
I shifted down and idled to a stop.
"Can I help you?"

An older woman,
Crow, I think, looked out,
A bit confused at first
Until her eyes cleared.

"I need a ride," she said,
And so began our adventure.

I made room in the truck
And turned around to find
The ranch where she cooked.

Ten miles back, we left the road
To take a trail that wound back
Into hills, dry with early heat.
"About five miles in," she said.

We found the place,
Resting in a scrap heap
Of old vehicles and broken corrals,
Middle of nowhere,
But she was home
And opened up the door.

She asked me to wait a bit,
So I sat, wondering what was next,
While she walked in through her door.

In a minute she returned
Her offering in her hand.
"Thank you," she murmured.

Nodding, I took the gift,
Shifted into reverse,
Left her there.


The braid of sweet grass,
An unburned prayer,
Rode on my dash
All summer long....

I've seen it all
Nations rise
While empires fall
And I realize
We're nothing
If not small
My soul
Has watched
And waited
Wearily
Wrestling
A restless mind
I find
There will always be time

And my soul endures

The passage of decades
Which become centuries
And centuries
Become millennia

And still my soul endures

I have popped up in history
Too many times
For me to mention

The common
Correlation
Correcting
This cosmic
Chaos
Cautiously
Catering
To a cannibalistic
Consciousness
Corrals me in contempt

But I'm content

I know and remember my lives
All of them
I see their memories
And I see their deaths
I see their enemies
Whenever I take a breath

I see monsters
And ravens
In my dreams

I feel those personalities
Pushing at my seams

A claim like this
I know
It's bold
And I will always endure

As the Millennium soul...

O.K corrals and swaying lunch tray doors.
Bucking shoots made with thick concrete floors.
Overrun cow pens like stacked cubical dens.
Government controlled farms filled with pen pal friends.

-

Amazing !

how They keep millions of
computer-boxed brains from
calculating out of bounds

using the same media,
which simultaneously
*****

to the left
                 and
                          to the right

sating a hunger for numbers
by drawing into either side
as many believers as possible

all the same ;

those who are ideologically
magnetized seem to
not mind
                   control

giving me every reason
to keep my eyes glancing
at the center for movement

where i know a monster
patiently waits—

smiling at so
many cattle...


s jones
2021

.

Everything was as it
        always was, nothing had changed –

youth sleuthing through
        the heightened wet,
        light gracing stonetop,
                  and a pillowed streak   
                                      on western sky –

and as before,
        sun corrals light –

        amoral, though not abnormal
                        but for
                        its leaning
                                on my weathered
                                        heart

curiosity ...

involves a will
to question
a facility not needed
when you have blind faith
in shock jocks who compellingly
save you the trouble
there is power in persuasion
a voice with sonorous conviction
that corrals you into what to think
burrows into a small mind
like a god-voiced ear wig
quelling the notion
you are not so sure?
Pauline has the courage
to say what
you are thinking
or the audacity
to fill an empty vessel
that had nothing
but a nascent fear
that blissful ignorance
was under attack
so gather with the herd
know you are not alone
the mediocrity shepherds
will reassure you
that you are all together
it’s them that are different
it’s them who are hatefully wrong

The Celestial Spirit of Vernarth began to walk through the Castellum from Horcondising, after the parapsychological regression in its conclusive auction and purgation. It loomed at the Horcondising Keep; here all toilet modules, food, and medicines were well equipped, except for the inks and writing papers that were totally exhausted. Here you can see his mother Luccica, who was in a position to scribble and write on an upstairs desk, and in the other hand she had a rosary of liberation, which anonymously appears before her purgation in the presence of the protervative spellings that still wander through the cells and bedrooms of the Castellum from Horcondising. His mother is seen crooked over the voices that polished the eight moons that she had designed for her son Vernarth since the very machicolations of the Castellum, but now with a rosary of liberation. It was clearly seen in the leaves written by her, which said that “My son abandoned his arms, now in fluids of holy water, symbolizing real chimeras for the Matacanes, to those who read his life verses in our Castellum, in Gaugamela and Patmos”. Vernarth, mostly Hellenic, awaits to manifest healings for all creation, pouring water from moon storms on Rhodes, and lighting Matacanes wall light at the door of the Messiah stand.

Vernart says: “my adolescent gaze must be reborn with that of my father Bernardolipo; a whole Chamberlain, making himself free and a supporter of the baronies that were part of the servers of my servants…! Although now to climb his cabinet I have to raise my knees higher before the amplified step, calling us all to try to be closer to a new bell to call us to dinner, as an entity of pride of its architecture defined by pen, ink and white sheet to mention. The mother I have to mention; My mother Luccica, rests not condemned or corrupted before her flesh, rather perfectly united with her spirit that envelops her free of sin, so that her company would be of complete solitude in our Castellum, we will continue to be in conformity with spirit, because our mansion is a beautiful spirit of things, life and peace, that our esplanade holds hunger and cold indifferent to solitude, cooling and pleasing the company of its own cold, rising from the first rays of the day, as well as rising from the first pinches of graduated ink , fellowshipping in the corrals where my father already lived according to his life among debtors, mortifying what he has not been able to mount on his steeds that inhabit his senses, leaving not so far to greet them in the morning free of the sins of not greeting, even when the least space is left to think of him as a joint heir. Because the laments sob, and others are born in the virginity of the light of the world with other lines Luccica can scarcely write, writing her co-age spirit, manifesting itself foolishly when suffering perfection; manifesting itself as everyone's delight, although ringing with anger at not freeing itself from a glorious freedom. Not all sing to the tune of the disability of putting strength of the grapheme of posterity, rather we are blind to put hope, but of patience that we arm ourselves losing value by having it. Our will is of holy value when doubt and fear entertain us, according to all the things and purposes that irreversibly surprise us. I do not know where I have to walk here in this tower, because I know that myths of the unknown will fall according to the fact that I am his son, being the first-born of all men in the world, speaking of who among many intercede before tribulation or anguish, That strips me of all spirit, still asking for it and justifying that I keep talking about them, but that I was gone for a long time. For this reason, venerated mother, wake up from this frozen cell of the keep, because I am jealous and I believe that neither death nor life will fill the dead suspended in your room, who support more lives with their angels adorning their bindings and paragraphs, with principalities that go increasingly so far more than close to come to please you. When your name is tried in real vices to increase, they are being stripped of the sons of the principality in which they shine from afar, but with our feet dancing on the despotic brilliance and not of the hollow that still does not fill my heart for you”

Emerging from the last lights of the Castellum from Horcondising, Vernarth bids farewell to his reign, leaving his mother Luccica in the company of three Angels who mined her with sallow light amber mistletoe. However, she will remain frosted on her desk with ink at night and by day, so that when the day ends, she will draw ink from the darkest night to continue writing to him that she can already be without Him! Near the Necropolis of Hallenika in Rhodes, a statue of Peltasts stood, shielding the place where the “Vas Auric” Auric Medallion would sporadically rest, which came between bilges now inside the Eurydice. It came predestined with the sacred amber robes aleonade, to make up for the between Peltast mediators who guarded them, to deliver it to its Commander Vernarth.

The Apostle Saint John says: “Jews like us in exile did not see reasons restored in our union and tradition; we resembled a diaspora that did not derive voluntarily, according to events that occurred in my case in Judah at the hands of the Romans. The Alexandrian Jews form on my part certain Israelites scattered in my prayers, leaving us where the radiance of our faith makes sense and dispensed power to us. My economy is to create furniture that will live in laborious houses, even among those Jews and mercenary soldiers, freeing themselves from prejudices and clothing that represented them alone and fragile, being sensitized by the diaspora. The world separates itself from the matter cell, clinging to the consciousness of unity of dispersed Judaism as a sacrificial cult, to cater to those who write history more distant than a synagogue without a Rabbi. When bad winds blew there, they often made the situation worse for those scattered in a foreign land. At the end of the Hellenistic period, there were Jews in Persia, Mesopotamia, Syria, Phenicia, Pontus, north of the Black Sea, Cappadocia, the rest of Asia Minor, Egypt and Cyrenaica, Carthage, Greece, Macedonia and Italy. Now I am in Rhodes with the Vas Auric, to trace the true image of Judas Thaddeus, my co-religious in pursuit of an intellectual and theological religious activity of edifying centers of prayer and universal unification, here in the Hallenikka Necropolis, where some Davidian Psalm, it will be in more regions right here documented in my precession as a parallel religion to Hellenic situationism. Their religiosity is felt, and even remains open in a proselytism that causes the indefiniteness of the half-convert and that implies a risk for the identity of the Jewish religion as support of a people with not a little original conscience”

Etréstles with Vernarth go to Eurydice, before descending into the bilges, they begin to found the ventral conceived from the word of Judas Tadeo “Yehuda; Praise be to God”. Judaizing verb in Veronica, or true image of the Via Dolorosa, among some apocryphal documents another historical and definitive truthful current is mentioned.   Detailing the aforementioned image in the shroud of the woman who seconded Jesus in the Sixth Station. The apostle Judas Thaddeus, is warned along with the auric image, providing confidence and praise of stands that walked in the murgas of Rhodes, before the iconographic variety was present with the image of Joshua overflowing by the Auric Avas, levitating among the circular margins, transforming into his banner with maces, which represented his martyrdom escorted by a sword or Shamsir, in the shape of an Arab cutlass; This being attributed to his beheading, but close to a hagiographic fatality.

Saint John the Apostle says: “Saint Jude Thaddeus the Apostle; He brought the Mandylion (Canvas of Edessa) to the court of King Abgar V of Edessa, to heal him. Being actually Thaddeus of Edessa, but the iconography was rectified by mistake. With a flame on his head at Pentecost he symbolizes us embroidered with a Chrysoprase, the green gem of his praise. Right here in these damp platinum chrysoprase bilges, it is that they emerge by themselves as an integument stamped in the peripheral curves of the Vas Áurica, they are attached to the Mandylion, frisked to my clothes to take them to the Hallenikka necropolis. Ulterior Vernarth and Etréstles pilgrimage carrying the mass of Vas Áurico of solid gold, groping him before taking them with decisive worthy praise to be brought before the sight of others who prospect to be before dark in the necropolis "

Saint John the Apostle continues: “Before dividing as Hexagonal Birthright, we went to Tsambika and others to Hallenikka. We head to Tsambika which is located on top of a hill on the east coast of Rhodes.   Bowing down to the praise of the iconographic and religious corridor of Mary. Here is the golden legend of Rhodes in Crete, of Rhéa and Cronos, for their ******* and mythological manias. We insist here we pass first to walk towards the heights of Tsambika, bordering the nature. Earthly possession of magnificent iconographic blessings”

Right here Demetrio Poliorcetes, acceded to the island, completely failing, resolving everything with high peace, with the mediation of some Greek polis. The military of Demetrio Poliorcetes left a large amount of armaments, for this reason the Rhodians sold the solid material and turned it into treasure to build the Colossus of Rhodes. In this same way the Primogeniture, thus began to gather the estates to summarize the hagiographic heights of the Vas Auric and the Mandylion together on both sides, for the final departure to Patmos. Being the necessary time that allowed them to be in this open, those who accompanied him in silence discovered new silences that amended the rotations that the Vas Auric medallion gave, exhibiting the half circumferences of a new world, with the organic body community of San Judas Tadeo, doing praises of a tender being to the Hexagonal Birthright who escorted them to save the world.

Eurydice parapsychological channeling:

Eurydice says: “Tsambika was left by the route located on the east coast of Rhodes before reaching the town of Archangelos, we passed through a cypress forest. It is said to be the origin of the name that is due to the word "Tsaba" (Spark) and refers to the history that involves the discovery of the icon of the Blessed ****** of the Nativity at the top of the hill. This icon turned out to belong to the island of Cyprus and was immediately returned to its place of origin. But the icon would reappear over and over again at the top of the hill, so they decided to build a chapel in honor of Panagia Tsambika. The miracles that the ****** worked were many, among them blessing with a child the women who prayed her and could not conceive. Since then there is a tradition of calling the child born by the ******'s work, Tsambikos if it is a boy and Tsambika if it is a girl. Right here our Hex Birthright will procure the votes for Rodinense culture. We went to the town of Archangelos to a delicious gastronomic with Barley breads and Pure Wine, Akratismós the locals told us, taking small pieces of the basket with figs and olives, decorating them with tagenites cakes, continuing later with more Wine and Steamed Ariston with stews and fish for lunch, which were arranged on small tables with zoomorphic legs. Women ate after men according to tradition, but now it was all of Aristotelian virtue, for immanent actions and passions of the soul; being able this time to dispose ourselves to perform the best acts and do well and always better, according to the right reason that is chosen from an intellectual disposition called prudence here in Archangelos; in charge of uniting us in knowledge and action”
Vernarth says: “Aristotle was the teacher of Alexander the Great and me too; in his virtuosity we learned the exercise of forgiving habits, with training, with experience and time to exercise it in them. Furthermore, with the tasks in accordance with virtue, being by themselves agreeable and as virtuous men judging righteously; this is how happiness shines for the Stagirite Aristotle; where our teacher was born. Herein lays his inspiration in living and acting well, the activity of man being good in it: beneficial, pleasant and happy, so it is directly related to virtue and the actions of the chaste man. In this reflection, virtue as a way to prosperity, the efforts to achieve them, will be analyzed, and some of the intellectual and moral virtues established in the moral philosophy of our master thinker will be described. Especially with your Eurídice delicacies, thank you for putting them in our hands in this kitchen here in Archangelos "


Euridice continues: “Hesperisma, slipped through our hands when my father Pelias, at night, brought us closer to his dialogue with the myth of Jason.  In metal or terracotta containers that entertained us. We could use bread cakes as plates, but earthenware or metal bowls were more common. The cutlery we use at the table: the use of the fork as an unknown, it was eaten with the fingers. They helped each other with a meat knife and a simile spoon. Pieces of apomagdalia bread we could use to take food as napkins, to clean our fingers. We felt grace in our ears from Aulos, like bells calling us from Panigia Tsambika. We stretched our fingers towards some chestnuts, beans, toasted wheat grains or honey cakes, responsible for absorbing alcohol and prolonging the drink ingested. Some locals, who accompanied us from Archangelos, inaugurated one or more libations towards a pean as a simple prayer to Apollo, generally in honor of worshiping Dionysus as well. The libations obeyed certain rules: the number of libations per person was not limited, but the invocation was not done without libation, after the meal and before drinking, the participants' heads were covered with ribbons or garlands of ribbons. A Greedy inhabitant saying: “In Archangelos he mentioned in his ancestors; where they had poured egg yolks, oysters and scallops, as soon as we were rid of this world, we sat down to drink, dancing by the powers of the ferments of the distilled ingested with some bakery delicacies: Like the Daraton, without yeast, which was flat as a cake.   The almogee, coarse country bread, which was made on the farms.  The phaios brown and unrefined bread. Syncomiste, black bread for being made with non-sifted rye flour, was known for facilitating intestinal transit and dietary wheat bran bread. Thus ends the address the greedy Archangelos "

Saint John the Apostle adds: “It reminds me of how Yeshua healed the woman who suffered from Hemorrhoid. Thinking just like Jairo; prominent as one of the chiefs of the synagogue of Gerasa, in the ancient Decapolis, at the beginning of the first century of our era. He met Jesus of Nazareth when he was speaking in what is now Gilead, northeast Jordan. Jairo thought it would help him to heal his daughter, still believing she was dead. While Jesus is still in dialogue with the woman he has cured from Hemorroisa, some men from Jairo's house arrive and say to Jairo: “Your daughter has already died. Why bother the Master more? “Having told him, Jesus, who has heard what he has been told, looks at him and encourages him with these words: "Do not fear, only manifest your faith." He asks him to show him where his house was. While there everything was with great regret and consternation, Yeshua tells them that the girl has not died, that she is only asleep, the incredulous people scoffed knowing that she was dead. My teacher Yeshua, makes everyone leave Jairo's house, except Pedro, Santiago, the girl's parents and me, also allowing me to stay here. In this place we hear from the Aramaic-Syrian expression "" Talithakumi ". Where we could observe how the girl began to walk, seeing the extravagant joy in the girl's parents and other people. This episode makes me warn that we walk between situations of sociability that only admit to committing ourselves with equanimity that the facts of a plausible authenticity strike attesting to those who meet those who love in an unquantifiable way for the religious social feeling. We committed ourselves to being born to see the logic of being witnesses to oneself, but not to what we do not witness more distant from those who do not see them after their death, not being ourselves. Creation today here in Archangelos makes us witness to being in the midst of families that sigh for a Talithakumi for all those that one day the prodigy of existing will carry them beyond a resurrection, are pre-classified for a biological phylogeny, being externalized and extended further afield. Of our own taxatives, In this way they will have tiny beings and courage that speak for them, because when a person is resurrected with this energy, Creation is resurrected with all the creatures that are inborn " The Hexagonal Primogeniture rushing down a beehive, after having dined with the Tragones of Archangelos, they go back to the voids of history that appear before them on some cliffs, saying:

“At the beginning of the 4th century BC, all the Greek poleis, regardless of whether they were bigger or smaller, began to mint their own coins, sometimes pictorially represented by the name of their communities: Ástaco for a lobster, Melitea for a bee, Selinunte, for a celery leaf. It is from this same conception of Aristotelian Virtue, that this regression has the motive to humanize and integrate Creation and its little creatures, from a chaos of death like the daughter of Jairus, being able to reborn a new cosmogony with a sub-cosmogony between myth and myth. Relative concept of reality, resurrection occurs and does not occur, because the divine primordiality of being resurrected will also exist delegatedly, as a being again reborn, perhaps with the same essence component re-obtained,but within an order that admits creation of Creation in a world that does not recognize Chaos as deep and empty, rather generous to grant the magic of the irrigation of the energies of Yeshua, already constituted as an ambivalent chaos computer. Titanic continues phenomenology, taking us to dimensions that share recapitulations of their nature among themselves, to once again contain compendiated and resurrected beings, who socially walk the face of the earth resurrected and fragile subtle in an ordered but sensitive land, and with voids of integrity and chaos that could restrain it. Zeus and Tartarus, almost like poetic prototypes, would appear in storms of evasion of credibility towards creation and its genesis, subtracting the secondary intention that consolidates the grateful world of restructuring, saved by an unknown superior deity, to whom the springs are prominently unleashed. And the blades of the Hellenic time mill”

I've heard
words

that herd
words:

a shepherd's dog and
his sheep--

"I love you"
corrals an
"I love you too"

with a few frantic barks,
and fast feet

imagine a brick box lined with paint where
zebra and lip-red walls wobble as I
rest my forehead in a coiling of arms
on the stubborn palm of this plastic chair—
I feel you singing singing slow as I
build myself a night wide

where water rises up like bread;
and turn all students to fish and
turn all chatter to bubbles
that slide and collide and settle by the roof
and settle and settle
undying till the room
is a pomegranate cursed with fertility, and I
dare not gasp lest another bubble
should— press and press

imagine a blue sea bubbling like
sugar that melts and melts and
melts and melts
in the slowly-shrinking pan
I shut my ears
and build myself a silence and I
feel you right here
— a few rows behind—
our separate solitudes tangled up

a song faint as feathers, as fire
lit up; as the fish babble on—
your sea-creatures whirling: and
corrals’ tickling devours
that clothe me in Magic—

imagine peach-pink lips
that smile— dragonflies swishing by
imagine buzzes that they leave to sway
in the blushing airs, imagine
grasses fluttering their pompous lashes
imagine— oh, and

a paradox of suns that
pulls me in— prickling eyes
black and brown as cocoa in coffee and
soft as foam— yet suns, you see!
I dare not see, yet return
and return I stumbling do,

skin feasts in sweetness
of a warmth serene, and
the taste lingers all day long—
swear in stars are whispers of you
tossed to constellations' lively tales
and misty dreams shroud lazy mornings
where I and you and all
the unshed covered faces of ours
are free to sprout, where we
cling to limbs and limbs in
the deep rich beds of our soils

I lift my head as the teacher enters
and I know the water you
breathe in too
the churning viscosity presses in in

your swift silver thoughts
drowning in noise— and no one is listening
to the teacher—
my iron neck I twist to glance your way
fast as the flickering tail of a squirrel, yet
you clasp me still
— there—
the clack as breaths lock and hold

you sit all alone and, oh, do I—

I wish I could stand up and swim my
way to you
'hey, this seat’s empty, right?
mind if I sit?'
your orange 'yes' or maybe a leaf-like
nod, or a gust of shrug perhaps
then we talk and talk with
the fish all rest, and maybe we forget the smother
maybe we forget the fish

but I— a statue sunk centuries ago
waves kiss my valour and lure it away
star-shapes settling on my tongue
******* out words, and—

heart a squid blooming and clenching
I curse the idol I have built of myself
sit and sit I sessile a stone and
try not to drown, try not to drown
to boil to bleed or scream a soundless bubble alright
you, the fantastical, faraway land resting

a glimmer motionless where sea
licks the void, where children go
when there is nowhere to go,
where I think I will row one day one day one—
can you tell I have a crush on you?
I hope not

take my hand and bless me a metaphor
wholly mine— or— maybe I could spin you a blossom as your
lovely gown teases the night—

alas, but here begins the teacher

Few of us are blessed to find a calling
While in our youth, before our prime,
To leave but know the farm's the thing,
The earthly place we'll spend our time.

The Thiessen farm is ordered, neat,
Equipment, houses, corrals and sheds,
A visual treat, each row a street
To show the order in Dwight's head.

The old earth tracks the sun around,
Each spinning lap marks coming years,
Sees loved ones laid to rest in ground,
Brings little ones to stem our tears.

A weary circle - life, and few
Are those who see how they are blessed;
Dwight, Diana found that it would do
To farm, raise kids, thank God for rest.

One day, a doctor said the words
No one desires to hear, but still,
This couple prayed, they didn't swerve
From praying for God's sovereign will.

Back to the farm, the couple drove,
Held close in prayer by friends
Aware that good comes from above
Aware that everything must end

Dwight breathed one final breath, was gone;
He left and didn't say good-bye.
But, oh! what air then filled his lungs,
Celestial breath in heaven high!!!!

--------------------
Dwight's leaving reminds me of an old song by Don Wyrtzen (1971)

"Finally Home"  https://youtu.be/sBZe2nWRSjU?si=bTriiCVgoucus8Eb .

When engulfed by the terror of the tempestuous sea,
Unknown waves before you roll;
At the end of doubt and peril is eternity,
Though fear and conflict seize your soul.

But just think of stepping on shore-And finding it Heaven!
Of touching a hand-And finding it God's!
Of breathing new air-And finding it celestial!
Of waking up in glory-And finding it home!

When surrounded by the blackness of the darkest night,
O how lonely death can be;
At the end of this long tunnel is a shining light,
For death is swallowed up in victory!

But just think of stepping on shore-And finding it Heaven!
Of touching a hand-And finding it God's!
Of breathing new air-And finding it celestial!
Of waking up in glory-And finding it home!

A poem a day
Keeps the pain away
It keeps these eyes
Drier then a desert sky
A poem a day
Keeps me from dying completely inside
It’s my defibrillator
And keeps my pulse alive
A poem a day
Corrals my faith and keeps it intact
A poem a day
Keeps the demons at bay

a web without the print of a creator but instead diagrammatic self evident unfurling stretches in omnidirectional transcendent space crosshatching perpetual fall buoyed by synthetic leaves which provide penultimate impact fluxes to the brain surplusing centripetal stirring while acidic gut indicates the mind has been hijacked by racing network graphics smuggling a chromatic spectrum of strict empiricism that manifests hieroglyphs with junk dna and superfluous deep web code revealing repetition indistinguishable from the loaded traces phase injected to give an illusion of random chance luring emaciated counter adepts to insert all ten fingers in this muck and gaze in its vacant form with eyes now containing double lizard lid seamlessly surgically added while anesthetized in computer god robot operating cabinet hidden behind the gut film of all womb corrals by overlords crowding the sky with shadow mask while will beaming psywaves and psyops to the planet held frozen asserting infinity a zero sum game or infinity a desire sink atomizing discipline to dust blown till even dispersal that settles as the desert of us where ancient cathedral rubble can be picked up without knowing though covering it is graffiti in slang that too is long outdated yet untouched immaculate stands the pyramid where atop the eye burns as infernal chaser back of darkness our primordial creeping from we forget due to whippings under omnipresent dominion as our birth origin and impious realm of ambiguous nondual reciprocity which angered the envious great liar who then swindled the good will of man for instantiation of a fake godhead as virus from infinite space beyond the punched out skyshell by saying “this is everything” signaling intuitors who lack the bandwidth necessary for computing a safe closed circuit to boot load non sequiturs corrupting their internal hall of mirrors by neutralizing all quotients with zero triggering an attempt to apotheose by the lobotomy spike wielding free radical poised to strike once the asymptotically approaching monad of dark energy has arrived and the mantra of hologram reality is hammered into zygote protoconsciousness through fritolay derived nutrients with de as prefix marking eschaton having cropped up like small flames across the plain of man reducing form to powdered grey concentrated potential.

Orbited amongst supraorbited. Predetermined variance is your’s for refusal. Expression is accessible beyond the sense approved surface. Inevitable as it may seem. Vested physicality is greater. Remember the joy of your body, and smirk in the light.

Razors

Two razors — Greed and Stupidity —
They’re slitting all of our throats.
Corruption joins with complicity —
No need for loftier notes.

The rest is tossed in a corner,
Discarded, despised, and ignored.
Be we rams or obedient mourners —
We’re livestock, stunned and floored.

These razors shear every creature,
Some die without even a sound.
A lie, bold-faced and featureless,
Holds up the slaughterhouse ground.

We're comfy inside our cages,
Though drowning in filth and waste.
Not stallions — we’re stunted, aging —
All shrunken and spirit-erased.

Like pigs in suburban stables,
Like hamsters who serve and spin,
No batons or laws or cables —
Just scan the retinas in.

We moo and bleat with compliance,
Each gorging on popcorn and fries.
Our bodies — their prized alliance —
No souls, no truth in our eyes.

But these bodies — they’re sweet and tender
To the overlords of the pens.
They've knelt to the smooth pretender
Whose motto: “Consume all men.”

The slaughterhouses lie ready.
The clock has begun its beat.
It’s no longer war, but steady
Culling by needle and cheat.

A shot, and you're gently silenced,
To "save" from a phantom plague.
The rams and horses stay quiet —
Too scared of this scripted vague.



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



Slaughter's smooth now — no blade, no war.
Just needles. Scanning. And a store.



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



They bleat and munch while marching in —
The scanner smiles. Let cull begin.



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



No rebels left — just docile meat,
Who trade their minds for snacks and heat.



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



Diagnosis

Seventy percent are morons,
Twenty — twisted minds on edge.
Seven — frail, already worn ones,
Half a percent — the demons' sledge.

Less than three percent can function,
One in three is cracked or caught.
One in three — in self-destruction,
Fooled by lies that sold them rot.

Less than one percent are steady,
Sane and strong — a dying kind.
Even they aren't battle-ready —
Split apart and undermined.

It’s downhill from here — just faster.
This last percent will drown in muck,
In a world that loves disaster
And one goal: to self-destruct.

The focus now — obliteration
Of the human soul and brain.
The trend — full dehumanization,
Where half-devils rule the plain.

What’s left of men must rise, exploding,
Blow this twisted hell apart!
Though tired and bruised, start loading —
Call the fire to your heart.

Let the solar flame extinguish
This grotesque and reeking pit.
The mind is gone. The soul relinquished.
Flush this toilet — end this ****!



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



One percent still dares to stand —
Light the fire, scorch the land.



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



Soul is chained and mind is dead —
Time to burn the filth instead.



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



They turned us into walking clay —
So blast the hell and clear the way!



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

Bedlam of Imbeciles

If back then madness ruled the earth —
Half the world beneath fascist paws,
This new bedlam’s lost all worth —
An idiot march to Tartarus’ jaws.

In imbecile bedlam, none can live.
No tragic choices left to make.
No Hamlet’s question to forgive —
To be or not, no soul to stake.

Only Gorky’s bitter fight remains —
To **** the slave inside the mind.
Our fate: to purge these dark, vile stains —
The evil humankind must grind.

The filth of neo-fascist spawn,
We must destroy before the dawn!



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



Idiots’ bedlam, world on fire —
Stamp them out, or drown in mire!




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



Point of No Return

Decay has climbed beyond control,
Defeat and slavery lie ahead.
The schemes that swallow every soul
Leave reason, honor, conscience dead.

Mind, spirit, honor, all erased —
A genocide’s last chapter nears.
The point of no return is faced —
The dusk approaches, as it clears.

Halfwits roam where humans died,
Submissive drones, mere piglets’ breed.
Soon even those few left aside
Will face the purge to cut the seed.

The wise can only laugh in spite,
This hell won’t last for long, they say.
For God may still reclaim the night,
The devils’ feast will end one day.



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



Decay reigns, the fools hold sway —
But God will end this cursed play.



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



Unyielding Revolt

Only revolt, fierce and wild,
Can redeem us from this plight.
Sweep the lies, the demons piled,
Drive the darkness from our sight.

Inhuman hordes grow strong,
Waging war on humankind.
They’ve transformed the meek and wrong
Into cattle, dumb and blind.

We must unite — no more delay,
No more coward’s silent crows.
Or hell will grow, and on that day
The wise will rot in camps and rows.

Mad slaves will be turned to beasts,
No new mind will dare to rise.
Death camps sealed for all, at least —
Their hell etched beneath the skies.

The final battle now is near,
And victory shall be ours!
We’ll crush the fiends, dispel the fear —
And sweep away their dark powers.



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



Rise or rot — the end’s begun!
Crush the fiends, the fight is won!



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



Wake the mind! Break every chain!
Fight the dark — reclaim your reign!



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



Weariness

Weariness retreats at last,
A curse from ages long ago,
For all the minds that still hold fast,
Before the world’s final blow.

Be strong amid the fading light,
‘Gainst neo-fascist blackened flags.
No fear if reason burns so bright —
Their twisted throne will lose its tags.

The battle’s not yet lost, my friend,
If steadfast will still holds its ground.
The fiends’ dark lies will meet their end,
In clouds of falsehoods, tightly bound.

Together they will fade and fall,
When fire from above descends —
The world cast down in judgment’s thrall,
For genocide’s cruel ends.



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



Weariness fades — the fire’s near!
Fight the lies, burn out the fear!



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



People on a Platter

Small folk of this fake land,
You’re food upon a plate,
Sons of lies, deceit's own brand,
Daughters forged by fate.

Everywhere—genocide,
Your spirit crushed and torn,
By filthy fascists’ tide,
Your light nearly shorn.

Dulling strikes you like a whip,
Decay is everywhere,
Fear and media’s cruel grip,
Breeds madness and despair.

You bow to **** and traitors,
Betrayed yourselves outright.
Your "joy" is just a faker’s,
Loving trifles slight.

The core you’ve long forgotten —
Only Spirit counts in fight.
And so you’ve drifted rotten,
In dung-flies’ hellish night.

Disinfection’s coming —
To save the Earth’s own breath:
You’re infection, humming —
They’ll slay all of your death.

Ruled by subhuman fiends,
To them, you’re just a louse,
Not servants but mere means —
Don’t question, keep your house!

The fly puffs up its cheeks,
A slave, with false defense,
Blaming reason, weak and meek,
While truth decays from sense.

Small folk of this fake land,
You’re eaten by the vile —
Rest’s but dreams unmanned,
A nightmare’s cruel mile.

After the cataclysm,
A new world will arise —
No fascist enemas,
No shooting-range disguise.

Only Spirit’s people
Will cross to that bright shore.
Dung-flies face the devil,
And demons yet once more.

New devils, new dark media,
Still lead the beasts astray.
Trust the vermin’s criteria —
And let the Serpent sway.

Vile worms spawn super-viles
In that new pit of hell.
No need for many trials —
Just live the fevered spell.

The madness shared by all,
The mark of slaves undone —
They call this life’s long crawl,
But it’s no race to run.

Slow death for the wise,
While cattle numb and eat,
Slave’s fate under false skies —
Betrayal’s bitter meat.

Names don’t matter anymore,
Just sell your soul to feed.
Though poison lines your store,
Strong lie — that’s all you need.

Small folk of every fake land,
Only fools stand tall,
Facing down the traitor’s band,
While reason’s shadows fall.

Driven to the frontlines,
By subhumans’ command,
Only lies grow like vines,
“Attack!” they shout on hand.

This is all propaganda,
If you strip away the haze.
But evil thrives in murk,
A nightmare’s cruel maze.



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



The Final Surge

The final surge awaits —
You’ll smash to shards, beware.
If you’re not just dead weight —
Escape this lie and snare.

This place is fascist’s hell,
A traitors’ endless sea.
“Normal” now is dumb and fell,
Praising filth, debris.

Foundations crushed to dust —
That’s Bedlam’s bitter core.
You rot here like a rust,
A donkey — nothing more.

All paths grown thick with weeds,
Where fear and lies run free.
It’s hard to walk these creeds,
But hurry — flee with speed.

Decay’s so thick, it stings—
A stench that blinds the eyes.
In this false war of kings,
Forgotten guns arise.

Lies reap fools like crops,
As if they’re fighting wars.
No chains can bind, no locks
Stronger than their scores.

You tumble in that slime —
They call this “the true way.”
Two thirds are cattle’s grime —
Remember that, don’t stray.

If you intend to break
With some, beware the lies —
Their mouths will never quake,
Hungry, rat-tap cries.

Only Spirit guides,
Your gut must multiply.
Among the filth, truth hides,
Its scent is faint, but try —

***** forward in the dark,
Escape this madman's den.
What’s next beyond the mark —
Doesn’t matter then.

The stench will lessen there —
A bonus, not zero.
Soon cattle in despair
Will drop, their heads fall low.

Those beasts just eat and snitch,
A venom kills their kind,
A fake disease to twitch,
Delusions chained in mind.

Just warm-up’s CowID —
A fantasy of lies.
Before, there was the AIDS
That fooled the weak and wise.

They’ll believe all lies told,
And sell their backs to hell.
The beasts won’t save the fold,
Those fiends aren’t chosen well.

Only servants vile,
These fiends, no human breed.
Baphomet’s dark smile
Rules this world’s dark seed.

Is surge impossible?
Then tear yourself apart.
Better crushed in a coffin,
Than rot, betraying heart.

Surge! And Nature will
Fulfill this bitter call:
The time is near to **** —
Cataclysm will fall.

A hellish world will rise,
If Spirit’s caged and crushed,
A vow to serve despise —
The flies, still overbrushed.

And they will crush you now —
The count is years, not days.
If Spirit still burns, how?
You’ll leave this hellish maze.

You’re from the worlds of pain —
The worst of all you know.
Be brave, endure the strain,
If not a cracked shadow.

Only madmen will
Whine that hell’s their friend.
It’s hard to live and feel
If not a beast to bend.

So surge. Tear through and tear —
Your sinews snap, but Spirit flies.
Your mind, your soul are rare —
Amidst the fiends’ disguise.

Among Satan’s slaves —
This sentence seals your fate.
Forever bound, no waves,
Only dreams or hate.



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



Surge! Break through the lies,
Smash the dark, hear our cries!
No chains can hold the free —
Spirit burns eternally!



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



Surge and tear, no mercy shown,
Break the chains, face the throne!
Fools and fiends—your time is done,
Spirit fights—will not be shunned!

Crush the filth, burn the lies,
Smash the dark where hatred flies!
Better broken than a slave,
Rise, rebel—hell to brave!



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



Oh, break your bones and bleed for them,
Those masters of the dung and ****!
Serve the fools who’re kings of dirt —
Your life’s a joke, your pain’s dessert.

Tear yourself to bits — hooray!
They’ll clap and jeer along the way.
What’s left to lose? Just chains and shame —
Congrats, you’re all part of the game!



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



Rip your guts for filthy fiends,
Those kings of rot and rotten means!
Bend your necks to filth’s demands —
The world’s a circus, you’re the clowns’ stands!

Break your backs, bleed for the freaks,
The puppeteers of all your leaks.
What’s left but chains and endless pain?
Welcome to the bottom — here you’ll reign!



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



The Main Question

"Are they so very different?" —
A trap of questions, sharpest yet!
Ugly fools and Judas fiends,
Rude and vile, no shame to get.

Fools who call themselves elite,
Teachers, clerks, and pompous prigs —
World’s a carcass, full of rot,
Its disease: a soulless rig.

Soulless are like berries wild,
All the same upon this field.
Remember this before you judge,
No matter what the masks may shield.

Styles and fashions mean but dust,
Wicked words with twisted gloss —
All these monsters soulless, cold,
No true heart beneath the dross.

They serve the evil’s hand unseen,
The astral world hungers black,
Souls once lost in ugly skins —
Deceit in every crack.

"Are they so very different?" —
Ideologies, a blur!
All infected with the same,
A steaming, foul demur.

They sell you lies and chains of shame,
But dress it up in false disguise.
Insanity’s the main claim,
Madness wrapped in clever lies.

"Are they so very different?" —
Ask about their ‘faith’ and creed.
Those tricks made for spirit’s plague,
A verbal rot, a need.

Priests and elders spread the stink,
You’ll lose feeling, lose your touch.
Only those who still can sense
Know they’re needless — just a crutch.

For the soulless, they exist —
Murk and lies for the blind crowd.
"Are they so very different?" —
False sciences, false gods loud.

Not just nonsense — endless noise,
Distracts from what’s the main theme:
Soul above all else must reign,
Without Spirit, no true dream.

Knowledge’s impossible
When Spirit’s woven in all.
Consciousness led astray in lies
Where matter’s fools hold the thrall.

What’s valued there is corpses’ weight,
The living lost in endless fight.
Hell’s beasts forever war with Spirit’s light.
Believe their lies — you drown in blight.

In this shameful, fake charade,
Only one true question stands:
"Are they so very different?" —
Keep asking, hold your hands.

Those ugly fiends won’t fool you now —
Science, false faith, rotten courts,
Chains of evil hang above —
If you listen, you’re the lost.

"Are they so very different?" —
Your path, your heavy cross to bear.
Monsters made it so — their curse,
The devil’s grip, the snare.

But those of Light will glide with ease,
Through nonsense foul and fake disguise.
They love one Truth, pure and clear —
You’ll find it deep inside.

Spirit and Light alone are true.
The unclean only lie —
Now open wide your eyes and see:
Their end is nigh.



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



The Burning Question

“So, are they really different?” —
That’s the sneaky trap they set!
Ugly fools and Judas snakes,
Rude and shameless, **** and threat.

“Smart ones,” teachers, snobs, and clerks —
All the world’s a rotting grave.
Its disease? The soulless curse,
Nothing more than mindless slaves.

Soulless—like a berry’s stain,
All the same across the field.
Mark it well before you judge:
Masks don’t hide what’s truly real.

Fashion, trends, slick words — a joke,
All these monsters soulless, vile.
They serve evil undercover,
Hiding hate behind a smile.

“Are they really that distinct?” —
All their ideologies—trash!
Infected vapors, steaming lies,
All designed to crash and clash.

Selling chains disguised as gold,
Madness dressed in mental rags.
If you’re sane, you see the farce:
Crazed fools waving empty flags.

“Are they really that distinct?” —
Ask their “faiths” and holy shows.
Spirit’s plague, a verbal rot,
Priests who puke their sacred blows.

They’ll drain your feeling, crush your sense,
Only the sharp see through their game.
Those parasites? They’re useless props,
Feeding lies to feed the flame.

Soulless flock to hear their lies,
False sciences and gods betrayed.
Not mere nonsense, endless noise—
Distractions from the price you’ve paid.

Soul is all — the true main act,
Without the Spirit, none can know.
Consciousness is led astray,
By fools who worship what is low.

What’s valued there? The dead, the cold,
While hell’s fiends battle Spirit’s flame.
Buy their lies? You’ll drown and choke,
Sinking deep in shame and blame.

In this charade of shame and fake,
Only one question cuts through lies:
“Are they really that distinct?” —
Keep it sharp, expose their ties.

Ugly beasts won’t fool you now—
Fake “science,” faiths, and rotten courts.
Chains of evil choke the world —
If you listen, you’re their sport.

“Are they really that distinct?” —
Your path, your cross, your heavy fight.
Monsters made it hell on earth,
Devil’s grip and endless night.

But those of Light will slip right past
The filth, the noise, the false charade.
They love one Truth, pure and bright —
You’ll find it deep inside the shade.

Spirit and Light, the only real,
The unclean spin their filthy lies.
Open your eyes, tear off the veil —
Their end is coming; hear their cries.



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



The Burning Question

“Are they really
that different?” —
That’s the trap,
the ***** trick.

Fools and snakes,
the Judas pack,
Rude and ugly —
all the same black.

“Smart ones”? Ha!
Teachers, snobs,
The world rots deep —
no souls, just mobs.

Soulless fruit
on rotten fields,
Look close,
the mask reveals.

Trends and words —
all empty shells,
Monsters hide
in soulless hells.

“Different?” Lies!
Ideologies—
Just smoke,
infected disease.

Chains they sell,
disguised as gold,
Madness wears
a mask so cold.

Sane? You see
the madness clear,
Fools waving
flags of fear.

“Faiths?” Rot!
Spirit’s plague,
Priests spew bile,
their words just vague.

Feelers crushed,
sense undone,
Only sharp
see through their run.

Parasites
feed lies and flame,
Soulless flock
to worship shame.

False science,
fake gods praised,
Noise and trash,
all wisdom razed.

Soul’s the key—
Spirit’s core,
Without them,
knowledge’s poor.

Conscious led
to lies and dirt,
Fools bow down,
and truths get hurt.

Value there?
Cold and dead,
Hell’s fiends fight
Spirit’s thread.

Buy their lies,
drown in shame,
Sink in mud—
lose the game.

Shameful world,
fake and foul,
One sharp question
breaks the howl:

“Are they really
that different?” —
Ask it loud,
cut the serpent.

Ugly beasts
can’t fool you now,
Fake faiths,
corrupt know-how.

Evil chains
bind the globe,
Hear their lies?
You’re their dope.

“Are they really
that different?” —
Your path, your cross,
your bitter fight.

Monsters made
this hell on earth,
Devil’s hold,
and endless dearth.

But Light slips
through all the muck,
Loving Truth —
pure, tough, unstuck.

Spirit, Light,
only real,
The unclean
spin their spiel.

Open eyes,
tear the veil,
Their end’s near —
hear their wail.



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


The Burning Question

“Are they really
that **** different?” —
The sneaky trap,
the ugly ****.

Idiots, Judas rats,
And ******* too —
All rotten trash,
the same sick zoo.

“Smart ones”? **** that!
Teachers, *******, snobs.
This world’s a festering pile
Of soulless blobs.

Soulless fruit
In a ****-filled field —
Remember this,
the truth’s revealed.

Fashion, words —
Just empty shells.
Soulless freaks
Rot in their hells.

“Different?” *******!
Ideologies’ smog —
A steaming heap
Of parasite dog.

They sell you chains
Wrapped in gold.
Madness parades,
the same old cold.

You think you’re sane?
Look closer, fool —
Fools wave flags
In the devil’s pool.

“Faiths?” A puke!
Spirit’s disease.
Priests spew ****,
Keep you on knees.

Feelings crushed,
Sense torn apart.
Only the sharp
Can see their art.

Parasites
Feed on lies,
Soulless sheep
Drink their lies.

Fake science,
Fake gods praised,
Noise and trash
Of wisdom razed.

Soul’s the key —
Spirit’s core.
Without it,
You’re lost for sure.

Conscious trapped
In a filthy pit,
Fools bow down —
Truth doesn’t fit.

Value here?
Dead and cold,
Hell’s *******
Fighting bold.

Buy their lies,
Drown in ****,
Sink in muck —
You’re their hit.

Shameful world,
Foul and vile,
One sharp question
Cuts their smile:

“Are they really
that ******* different?” —
Ask it loud,
Break their ****.

Ugly beasts
Can’t fool you now,
Fake faiths,
Corrupt know-how.

Evil chains
Wrap the world,
Hear their lies?
You’re their *****.

“Are they really
that **** different?” —
Your path, your cross,
Your ******* fight.

Monsters built
This hell on earth,
Devil’s grip,
A pit of dearth.

But Light slips
Through all the muck,
Loving Truth —
Pure, sharp, unstuck.

Spirit, Light,
The only real,
The unclean
Spin their spiel.

Open eyes,
Tear their veil,
Their end’s close —
Hear their wail.



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



The Burning Question

“Are they really
that ******* different?” —
The slyest trap,
the ugliest ****.

******* morons,
Judas rats and ******,
Rotten **** crawling
like filthy ticks.

“Intellectuals”?
Ha! Dumb fools all,
Teachers, *******,
suits in a fall.

This world’s a cesspit
of soulless meat,
Dead corpses rotting
in endless deceit.

Soulless berries
in a poisoned field,
Mark it deep —
all their masks peeled.

Fashion, *******,
pretty words’ lies,
Soulless freaks rot
in their own disguise.

“Different?” LOL —
ideology stew,
A steaming puke,
parasites’ brew.

They sell you chains
coated with gold,
A madman’s circus —
same lies retold.

Think you’re sane?
You’re their **** fool —
Waving their flags
in Hell’s own pool.

“Religions”? *****!
Spirit’s disease,
Priests spew poison,
kneel down, please!

Your senses crushed,
your mind torn apart,
Only the sharp
can tear their art.

Parasites feast
on lies and fear,
Soulless sheep
chant what they hear.

Fake science lies,
fake gods adored,
Trash wisdom spewed,
truths ignored.

Soul’s the spark,
Spirit’s fire,
Without it,
you’re dead — a liar.

Consciousness trapped
in a filthy pit,
Fools bow down —
Truth won’t fit.

Value? Dead flesh,
cold as the grave,
Hell’s spawn fight
for spirit to enslave.

Buy their lies —
drown in their ****,
Sink and rot —
you’re their perfect hit.

Shameful world,
filthy and vile,
One sharp question
smashes their smile:

“Are they really
that ******* different?” —
Ask it loud,
smash their ****.

Ugly beasts
can’t fool you now,
Fake faiths,
corrupt know-how.

Chains of evil
wrap the world tight,
Believe their lies?
You’re the parasite.

“Are they really
that **** different?” —
Your path, your cross,
your final fight.

Monsters forged
this hell on earth,
Devil’s grip,
a pit of dearth.

But Light slips
through the muck and slime,
Loving Truth —
pure, sharp, divine.

Spirit, Light,
the only real,
The unclean
spin their spiel.

Open your eyes,
tear down their veil,
Their end’s near —
hear their wail.



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



The Burning Question

“Are they really
that ******* different?” —
The question sharp,
the sickest ****.

******* morons,
Judas ****** and clowns,
Rotten **** festering
in dead man’s gowns.

“Intellectuals”?
No, ******* drones,
Teachers, pigs,
and ******* clones.

This world’s a cesspit,
soulless and dead,
Rotted corpses
lying in their bed.

Soulless fruit
in poison soaked ground,
Mark it clear —
all masks come down.

Fashion, *******,
empty babble,
Soulless freaks
babble and rabble.

“Different?” LOL —
ideology’s ****,
Steaming puke,
parasite’s spit.

They sell you chains
painted gold,
Mad circus lies,
the same old cold.

Think you’re sane?
You’re a **** fool —
Waving their flag
in Hell’s own pool.

“Religions”? *****!
Spirit’s disease,
Priests ***** poison,
down on your knees!

Your senses crushed,
mind ripped apart,
Only the sharp
can tear their art.

Parasites feast
on lies and fear,
Soulless sheep
echo what they hear.

Fake science lies,
fake gods adored,
Trash wisdom spewed,
truths ignored.

Soul’s the spark,
Spirit’s flame,
Without it,
you’re dead, just shame.

Consciousness trapped
in a filthy pit,
Fools bow down —
Truth won’t fit.

Value? Dead flesh,
cold in the grave,
Hell’s spawn fight
to enslave the brave.

Buy their lies —
drown in their ****,
Sink and rot —
you’re their perfect hit.

Shameful world,
filthy and vile,
One sharp question
smashes their smile:

“Are they really
that ******* different?” —
Ask it loud,
smash their ****.

Ugly beasts
can’t fool you now,
Fake faiths,
corrupt know-how.

Chains of evil
wrap the world tight,
Believe their lies?
You’re the parasite.

“Are they really
that **** different?” —
Your path, your cross,
your final fight.

Monsters forged
this hell on earth,
Devil’s grip,
a pit of dearth.

But Light slips
through muck and slime,
Loving Truth —
pure, sharp, divine.

Spirit, Light,
the only real,
The unclean
spin their spiel.

Open your eyes,
tear down their veil,
Their end’s near —
hear their wail.



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


The Burning Question

Are they really
that **** different?
Sharp as knives —
no ******* ****.

Dumbfucks, Judas,
filthy clowns,
Rotten corpses,
deadmen’s gowns.

“Intellect”?
Just empty shells,
Teachers, pigs,
in living hells.

Soulless fruit,
rotted flesh,
Masks will drop,
no time to rest.

Fashion fools,
babbling lies,
Soulless freaks,
dead inside.

“Different?” Hell no —
All **** stew,
Mindfuck stew,
in poison brew.

Chains they sell,
all painted bright,
Slave to lies,
no end in sight.

Faith is puke,
Spirit’s curse,
Priests *****,
worse and worse.

Feel the pain,
tear the veil,
Only sharp
will not fail.

Parasites feed,
on your fear,
Soulless sheep,
just puppets here.

Fake science,
fake gods lie,
Truth buried,
left to die.

Soul’s the spark,
Spirit’s fire,
Without it,
you’re just mire.

Mind trapped deep,
in filth and slime,
Bow down fools,
waste your time.

Dead flesh counts,
in Hell’s domain,
Monsters fight,
to keep you chained.

Buy their lies,
drown in ****,
You’re their prey,
perfect hit.

Filthy world,
full of shame,
One fierce question
burns their name:

Are they really
that **** different?
Ask it loud,
cut the ****.

Beasts can’t fool
your sharpened eyes,
Fake faiths die,
no more lies.

Chains of evil
bind the earth,
Believe their lies?
You’re worthless dirt.

Are they really
that **** different?
Your path’s fire,
your war to win it.

Hellspawn made
this rotten place,
Devil’s grip,
death’s cold embrace.

But Light cuts
through muck and ****,
Truth lives on —
pure and numb.

Spirit, Light,
only real,
Filthy liars
can’t conceal.

Wake the hell up,
break their spell,
Their time’s done —
raise some hell.



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



The Burning Question

Are they really
that **** different?
Or just a circus,
fools and gibberish?

Judas wannabes,
bums and ******,
Selling lies
like cheap bag tricks.

“Smart”? Ha!
More like dumb meat,
Teachers, jerks,
feeding defeat.

Soulless berries,
all the same rot,
Try to stand out —
you just forgot.

Fashion victims,
words that drip,
Soulless freaks
on a sinking ship.

“Different”? Nope,
All puke stew,
Slave stew,
double *****.

Chains wrapped tight,
painted “bright,”
Slaves don’t mind —
just sleep at night.

Fake faiths preach,
priests spew bile,
Feel your brain
start to defile.

Only fools
buy the show,
Sharp minds leave,
dumb ones go.

Parasites
lick your fear,
Soulless sheep
bring them cheer.

Fake science,
fake holy cries,
Truth? Buried
under lies.

Soul’s the spark,
Spirit’s light,
Without it,
you’re dead meat, right?

Mind’s a trap,
filth and slime,
Bow down, fools,
waste your time.

Counting corpses,
Hell’s scoreboard,
Monsters dance,
on your accord.

Believe their lies,
drown in ****,
Congrats, sheep —
you just got hit.

Filthy world,
full of shame,
One sharp question
burns their game:

Are they really
that **** different?
Ask it loud —
cut their ****.

Beasts can’t fool
your sharpened eyes,
Fake faiths die,
truth survives.

Chains of evil
choke the earth,
Buy their lies?
You’re dirt.

Are they really
that **** different?
Your path, your war,
go win it.

Hellspawn made
this rotten scene,
Devil’s grip —
a toxic dream.

But Light cuts
through all that muck,
Truth lives on —
hard and stuck.

Spirit, Light,
only real,
Filthy liars?
Go to hell!

Wake the **** up,
break their spell,
Their time’s up —
raise some hell.



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


The Burning Question

Are they really
that ******* different?
Just **** and clowns,
a circus of ****?

Judas rats,
filthy maggots,
Selling poison,
cheap, disgusting *******.

“Smart”? Ha!
Brain-dead fools,
Teachers, *******,
prisoners of rules.

Soulless carcasses,
rotten to core,
Trying to stand out —
just puke on the floor.

Fashion zombies,
words like slime,
Soulless freaks
******* their grime.

“Different”? *******,
Same stinking herd,
Slave filth,
brainwashed ****.

Chains wrapped tight,
painted fake light,
Slaves drool on,
deep in the night.

Fake faiths puke,
priests ***** bile,
Your mind’s *****,
brain turned to guile.

Only idiots
buy this crap,
Sharp minds ditch,
fools fall in trap.

Parasite leeches,
lick your fear,
Soulless sheep
feed their sneer.

Fake science,
holy frauds,
Truth is buried
beneath their odds.

Soul’s the flame,
Spirit’s the sword,
Without them —
you’re dead, ignored.

Mind’s a prison,
filth and sludge,
Bow to your masters,
drown in their drudge.

Counting corpses,
Hell’s own scores,
Monsters feast,
rotten ******.

Believe their lies,
swim in their ****,
Congrats, dumb sheep —
you just got hit.

Filthy world,
shame piled high,
One **** question
makes them cry:

Are they really
that ******* different?
Ask it loud —
**** their ****.

Beasts can’t fool
your sharpened eyes,
Fake gods die,
truth never dies.

Chains of evil
strangle the earth,
Buy their lies?
You’re nothing, worthless.

Are they really
that ******* different?
Your path, your war,
go ******’ win it.

Hellspawn crafted
this rotten scene,
Devil’s grip —
toxic machine.

But Light slices
through all their muck,
Truth remains —
hard as ****.

Spirit, Light,
only real,
Filthy liars?
Go to hell!

Wake the **** up,
break their spell,
Their time’s over —
raise some hell.



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


The Burning Question

Are they really
that **** different?
Just rats and fools,
a sewer’s imprint.

Judas ****,
******* clowns,
Swallowing lies,
dumb ***** and clowns.

Soulless drones,
stinking trash,
**** parade,
a brainless clash.

Fake faiths puke,
priests spew bile,
Your mind’s *****,
******* style.

Slave beasts chew
on rotten lies,
Truth’s dead here —
feed your disguise.

Ask the question,
shatter the mask,
“Different”? Ha!
Just toxic trash.

Light cuts through
their filthy game —
Truth’s the flame,
they’re just shame.



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



Goblins

Goblins bitter, crude, and dumb,
Brazen slaves, they always come.
Fear has crushed them, crushed it all—
Bowing deeper to the thrall.

Crave the poison, lies by tons,
Happy when the filth runs.
Serve the *******, **** the soul,
Think death’s joke? They eat the whole.

Feed on ****, on lust and lies,
Toys and trash their only prize.
Better pig than goblin’s breed,
Yet their minds are stained with greed.

Not food — it’s poison vile,
Not healing — death’s cold smile.
Goblin fiends, foul and dumb,
Serve the darkness, beat the drum.

Not by force, but lies they drive,
Zombies’ shadows kept alive.
Not fools right from the start —
Turned to beasts with broken heart.

Lies boil off the last pure spark,
Darkness swallows, cold and stark.
Goblins bitter, soon will rise,
Crushed the world beneath their lies.

But here’s the twist, the final act—
Cataclysm will burn their track.
All their dens will turn to ash,
End of evil’s stinking trash.

Spirit pure will cross the gate,
New world born — no room for hate.
Sun will burn them to the bone,
Goblins’ reign will be o’erthrown.

Fight or serve the devil’s spawn,
Seek the light before you’re gone.
Only battle saves the soul,
Lead the weak, reclaim the whole.

New world born from pain and hell,
Goblin’s nightmare, fading spell.
Humans few, the lies still high,
But Spirit’s power will not die.

Heal yourself, go deep within,
Find the answers, fight your sin.
Spirit’s grace will heal the scar —
No more goblin wars afar.



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



Goblins

Goblins — bitter, dumb, and brazen,
Slaves so vile, you’d think they’re crazin’.
Fear’s their master, pants on fire,
Bowing down to every liar.

Feed ‘em poison, lies in heaps,
And watch those ******* jump for keeps.
Soul? Nah, just dead meat served —
You think death’s joke? They’re well-preserved.

They crave crap, lust, and shiny toys,
Their life’s a pile of piglet joys.
Better swine than goblin breed?
Mind’s a swamp of greed and screed.

Not food — it’s poison straight from hell,
Not cure — just death’s farewell.
Goblin freaks — all dumb and nasty,
Slaving dark, their future’s pasty.

No brute force, just sneaky lies,
Zombies lurking in disguise.
Not born fools, they trained for this —
Beasts without a shred of bliss.

Lies cook off their last small spark,
Darkness swallows, cold and stark.
Goblins mad, soon on the hunt,
Trampling all with rotten grunt.

But oh, the joke — here’s the kicker:
Cataclysm’s their final ticker.
Every hole and ratty lair
Burns to ash, no foul affair.

Pure spirits walk through flames anew,
New world starts — no goblin stew.
Sun’s a flamethrower, their doom,
Fascist piglets meet their tomb.

Fight or be a devil’s pet?
Light’s the way — or face regret.
Only battle saves the soul,
Drag the weak from goblin hole.

New world’s birth — pain’s cruel jest,
Goblin filth laid down to rest.
Few remain, lies flooding high,
Spirit’s might will never die.

Heal your mind, look deep inside,
Answers wait where truth won’t hide.
Spirit’s balm will end the pain —
No more goblin-**** to stain.



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



Miner’s Work and Other Labor

I’ll die beneath a hellish town —
A blessed fate to go down
When world’s a pit of endless lies,
Tearing through deception’s guise.

Deception’s crust is hard as steel,
Poetry can barely peel
Its layers deep, where darkness sleeps —
The lies are thick, and running deep.

Be poet? Or a miner’s slave?
“Miner’s work” is just a grave!
Dumb fools burrow in their holes —
Digging trenches for lost souls.

Futile work, a brutal grind,
Scooping heaps of lies designed
To hide the roots of every sham —
Deep mirages that never ****.

Cut one root? They howl and scream,
Excuses piled — a wicked scheme.
If darkness tricks still fool your mind,
You’re the idiot, blind and blind.

The world is swallowed by fascist slime,
A broken world, bereft of time.
From miners straight to shrink’s domain?
Shrink’s often sick in that same vein.

This world’s a stage for cruel charades,
A theater of rotten shades.
Would Will Shakespeare play his part
If madness ruled his tortured heart?

Dig deep — the stench will choke and sting,
This world’s a cesspit, nothing king.
Is this a world? Or just the pit?
A mousetrap holding cheese to split.

Obsessed with animals’ behavior?
That poetry’s a quick death favor.
This world’s a lawless, ruthless game —
Total chaos fuels the flame.

Study crime and write it down?
Better capture the foulest frown.
Let’s focus on the stench and rot —
Their goal: to crush the human spot.

Paste respirator icons on your page —
The stench has taken full control of the stage,
Dictator foul, it burns it all to dust,
Turning life to nothing but rust.

Professions many named herein,
Enough to drown in sin’s thick din.
No longer saints in hellish blight —
They sink in guilt, lost from the light.

Humility’s a darker crime
Than ******, pride, or lust’s bad rhyme.
Is truth more dangerous to say?
Truth is wealth that won’t decay.

What prize has poet? Attacks!
Truth’s beacon fires through their cracks.
Light’s fury scorns the blinded herd,
Their bleating voices never heard.

Light’s fury shines beyond the glass —
The sun vaporizes lies and trash.
Few fools left, so strike them down —
Push harder till no lies drown.

Push through pain, outlast the strain,
Outpace death’s cold, icy chain.
When fools are burned by shining blaze,
Is this the end? Or just a phase?

No — just a tear in fabric torn,
A world that’s broken, weak, and worn.
If spirit strong, no harm will come,
You’ll cross to worlds beyond the ****.

Worlds with no traps for mice to fall,
Where spirit rules, and mind stands tall.
Tricks and snares expelled by sin,
Where truth and light alone begin.

I’ll die beneath that cursed place,
Escape the hell, the human race.
Where will I go? Maybe the street —
A rogue’s world better to meet

Than this corrupt and broken realm,
Where reason’s ship has lost its helm.
Where those who bow to darkness’ lies
Survive by serving false disguise.

Survival means a death for all,
A world of fools will surely fall.
The world of slaves awaits the end —
No hope remains — just time to spend.



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



Miner’s Work and Other Labor

I’ll die beneath some ******* town —
A ******* blessing, going down
When Hell on Earth’s about to crack,
Digging lies’ hard ******* back.

Deception’s crust is thick as steel,
Poetry? Worthless — can’t even peel
The rotten lies that choke the mind,
Deep, dark, and ****** beyond all kind.

Be poet or some mining slave?
“Miner’s work” — just a shallow grave!
******* hiding in their holes,
Scratching dirt on broken souls.

Futile grind, a nightmare’s chore,
Scooping ******* off the floor,
Hiding roots of sick deceit —
Where mirages drag you deep.

Cut one root? Hear whining cries —
Excuses, lies, and alibis.
If you buy the dark’s false tricks,
You’re a *****, dumb as bricks.

World drowned in fascist ****,
Crazy as a lunatic.
From miners to the shrinks’ loony cage?
Shrink’s just sick inside that rage.

World’s a rotten ******* stage,
A theater for fools and rage.
Would Shakespeare play that insane part?
With madness tearing at his heart?

Dig deep — the stench will ******* choke,
This world’s a shittrap, full of joke.
Is this a world or just a pit?
A mousetrap baited with some ****.

Love ethology? You’ll burn fast —
This world’s a hell that’s built to last.
Study crime and write your lines?
Better catch the stink and fines.

Put respirators on your rhymes —
The stench rules all, destroying times.
Dictator foul, it burns the earth,
Turns life to ashes, **** to dearth.

I named professions, **** them all,
Let’s drown in hell’s obscene sprawl.
No saints here — just sinners lost,
Sinking fast at hell’s own cost.

Humility’s the worst disgrace,
Worse than ******, pride, or face.
Truth’s the deadliest thing to speak —
Truth’s the treasure fools all seek.

Poets get hate — that’s their prize,
Truth’s the blade behind their eyes.
Light’s fury scorches through the herd,
Their bleating cries unheard, absurd.

Light’s fury burns beyond the pane,
The sun incinerates the bane.
Few fools left? Then crush them hard —
Keep pushing, break their worthless guard.

Push through pain, outlast the grind,
Beat death’s cold claws, leave fools behind.
When light burns all the dumb-*** fools,
Is it the end? No, just new rules.

No — just a tear in crazy cloth,
A world broken, filled with sloth.
Spirit strong? No harm, no fall,
You’ll cross to realms beyond this stall.

Realms without the mousetrap’s bait,
Where spirit rules and minds are great.
Tricks and snares cast out by sin,
Where truth and light begin to win.

I’ll die beneath that hellhole place,
Escape the world’s disgraceful face.
Where will I go? Maybe the street —
A rogue’s world better to meet

Than this corrupt and broken hell,
Where reason’s ship just sank and fell.
Those bowing down to darkness’ lies
Survive by feeding on disguise.

Survival’s death for one and all,
A world of sheep will surely fall.
This world of slaves awaits the end —
No hope, just time to waste and spend.



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



Clearing Consciousness of Junk

Covered thick with dusty junk —
That praised so-called “conscious mind.”
A mountain of lies in every chunk,
A torment to the soul confined.

Only specks remain in sight,
Of what’s useful on the Way,
Where Spirit shines and Honor’s light
Can lead you to a new-born day.

You’ll be reborn if you just sweep
The filthy heaps of toxic lies.
Or else you’ll drown in shadows deep —
Since childhood, darkness feeds disguise.

The jackals of the endless night
Pollute your mind, **** soul and flame —
Obedience, their endless bite.
Don’t listen to their filthy game.

All propaganda — pure STINK,
The schools designed to dull the mind,
A cursed snake that slyly slinks,
To keep corruption intertwined.

Corruption grows and multiplies,
Turning men to beasts and drones.
Evil’s game with ***** lies —
Promising one thing, reaping bones.

The masses blind, mute, deaf and dumb,
Crushed tight in hell’s unyielding grip.
The spirit’s breath will soon become
A fleeting ghost on sinking ship.

The spirit crushed, evaporated —
The people turned to slaves of Hell.
Their will and hope decimated,
Into a quiet, lifeless shell.

Global Satanism,
Soullessness the highest goal.
Widespread idiocy — a schism
That rots the heart and kills the soul.

Fools forget their roots, their cause,
Their purpose lost to hollow screams.
Vegetables in nature’s jaws,
Baptized in lies and broken dreams.

They join the ranks of Satan’s pawns,
Rotten idiots tearing down
All that’s good, with wicked scorns,
Traitors in a ghastly town.

Like legions of the darkest night,
Degeneration rules the day.
Under Goat’s foul blasphemous might,
The world decays and slips away.

Resurrection lives in Spirit,
A cataclysm will sweep the dirt —
Fascism’s worldwide, merit
Burned away with all the hurt.

Go boldly inward, seek the light,
Let intuition be your guide.
Defeat the terror and the blight,
Of this wretched life’s pitied pride.

Spiritual roads and fearless acts
Will help your soul survive the flames.
Decay and rot are just the facts —
Fight the global evil games.

Are you scared? Then you’re the beast,
Don’t fear — but fight and find your way.
Seek answers in your soul at least,
Be steadfast — dawn will end the gray.

Enlightenment, then more —
That’s how darkness fades away.
Movement clears, less pain in store,
Less lies’ **** corrupts the day.

Influence of filth will fade,
Strength will rise, the path grows clear.
Mental illnesses cascade,
From poison Satan’s pushed so near.

Sweep away the junk with might —
Pure Consciousness will blaze anew.
Knowledge dawns, the world turns bright —
A clearer soul will shine through you.



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



World of Donkeys

Weeds in life’s great field —
All folks just donkeys plain.
The root of evil’s sealed —
Not field, but slime and stain.

A world of donkeys stuck —
Souls sold cheap for oats.
Darkness bred by rotten luck,
Traitors, dogs on ropes.

Since childhood, drilled inside,
Discard the worthless shell.
That shell’s design — a lie,
A stench you know too well.

The zombie box screams loud,
Stupidity’s the norm.
This hell’s no secret shroud —
Lies keep the herd in form.

All donkeys bought and sold,
A carrot dangled high.
To sell the soul is cold,
New lies make old ones die.

And blinders there are key —
A “gift” from upbringing’s hand.
A sentence, cursed decree:
Brains shackled, no command.

False science fits the blinders,
Priests echo the refrain.
Chains stronger than grinders,
As straw breaks, they remain.

Poisoned water, rotten hay —
To rot the mind’s the goal.
And total treason? Hey —
A question rhetorical.

Few here are not traitors,
Honor sold for hay.
Satan’s hailed creators,
Fascists rule the day.

Only “yeah!” shouts culture loud —
Here’s how it’s meant to be:
Working skins like cattle proud,
More hay will set you free.

The Donkey Messiah’s near —
Books say so, old and worn.
Good for pens and stables clear,
But souls remain unborn.

Now “smart ones” hide in holes,
Squeak squeak, their fearful sound.
And rightly so, for hell’s controls
Will soon be torn down.

Sun shines stronger every day,
Burning stink from Earth’s face.
So chain dogs bark in fierce array,
Monsters guard the place.

Chain dogs “rule” — or so they claim,
Monsters own the law:
Evil’s lords who fan the flame,
Foul beasts without a flaw.

To **** this vile disgrace,
One must sacrifice the self.
Retribution shows its face —
Now’s the final battle’s health.

Few souls, those truly pure,
Will be saved and stand tall.
Those in whom Spirit’s sure —
The Devil’s foes, after all.

The “Satanic icon” —
Is just the donkey’s face.
If fascism’s medical, done —
This freak show’s last disgrace.

No more darkness can remain!
All must be wiped away.
Forget caution’s fragile chain —
Salvation comes through decay.

So do not fear, advance!
Fight evil to the end.
Who said “just body” stance?
To hell those monsters send.

You are Spirit’s true essence,
Rejecting hell’s cruel bind.
Thrown in this mortal presence,
Built by a vile mind.

Go inward — see it all,
Don’t listen to the fools.
Our song’s not sung, won’t fall —
The World of Donkeys cools.

A World of Humans dawns,
Where Spirit takes the throne.
Though hard, this stage is drawn —
You’re not a slave alone.

If you dwell outside the ranks
Of Satan’s foul parade,
You know how soul gets drained,
When you herd with the swayed.



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



World of Donkeys

Weeds are all the “people” here —
Donkeys sold for scraps of hay.
Evil’s root ain’t far, my dear —
Slugs and slime have clogged the way.

Brains locked tight in blinders’ grip,
Since childhood forced to obey.
Traitors snarl, the darkness drip —
“Serve like dogs,” they bark, “all day!”

Lies pour from the zombie box,
Stupid masses march in chains.
Hell on Earth — no time for talks,
Lies keep slaves inside their lanes.

“Culture” here? Just empty noise,
Trash to sell and lies to spread.
Donkey gods and fake wise boys —
All to feed the living dead.

Sun burns foulness from the ground,
Chains will snap, the donkeys fall.
Fight or die, or be spellbound —
Spirit’s flame will break the thrall.

Only few will stand alive,
Those who hold the Spirit’s reign.
Donkeys drool, they won’t survive —
Satan’s slaves in endless pain.

No more darkness — wipe it out!
Salvation’s price is Death.
Face the final, savage bout —
Rise, the Spirit’s voice is breath!



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


World of Donkeys

Weeds crowd every field of life —
The so-called “people,” lost and blind.
Root of evil? Slugs and slime —
They’ve engulfed this Donkey World, confined.

A world where souls sell cheap as oats,
Where darkness breeds a traitor’s breed.
“Serve like dogs,” they bark from throats,
Since childhood, drilled to obey the creed.

Peel back the shell — the bitter core:
A filthy lie, a foul disgrace.
The noise of zombified folklore,
The idiot box rots every place.

Hell’s here, no fiction — it’s real pain,
All donkeys held with carrot sticks.
New lies sold daily, fresh and vain —
They teach them all to play their tricks.

And blinders given as a gift —
A sentence that condemns the mind.
False science scripts the brain’s swift drift,
While priests and liars fall in line.

Chains so weak, they snap like straw,
Yet poison waters with decay.
Total betrayal’s silent law —
Who’s faithful here? There’s none today.

Most sold their honor for a bale,
Satan’s hailed as “Creator” now.
The fascist reigns — a cruel detail,
The “god” they worship, “holy” brow.

Culture bleeds out hollow lies,
Skins peeled, worked for endless hay.
The Donkey Messiah’s old disguise —
Books penned for corrals, not for play.

“Smart ones” squeak from their dark holes,
Squeak, squeak! — while Hell prepares its end.
Sunlight burns the stench, it tolls —
Chain dogs howl, but can’t defend.

The chained dog, a “ruler” fake,
The vampire’s master, foul and sly.
Evil’s architect of ache,
A monstrous, twisted, super-psy.

To **** this filth, you must give all —
Sacrifice is last resort.
Retribution’s final call —
Now fights the last, relentless court.

Only few who hold the Spirit’s flame
Will rise above this blackened mass.
Those with Spirit’s reign proclaim —
They’re Satan’s true antithesis, alas.

Call any donkey “icon” here,
If fascism’s medical guise.
The end of evil’s nightmare near —
No more darkness, no disguise.

The Darkness grows no more, it’s clear —
We must erase this cursed blight.
No care for caution, death’s the gear —
Salvation dawns through final fight.

So do not fear! Step forth, stand tall,
Face filthy Evil’s last assault.
Who says you’re “just the body” small?
**** demons drag that lie to Hell’s vault.

You are Spirit, essence pure,
Rejecting Hell’s imprisoning chains.
Thrown into this harsh manure,
Built by vile, corrupt remains.

Go inward — see the truth inside,
Ignore the fools who croak and bawl.
Our song’s unfinished, truth’s our guide —
The Donkey World will surely fall.

A Human World will rise anew,
Where Spirit rules, the guide and king.
Though this hard stage will test you through,
You’re no donkey, not a slave to sin.

You dwell outside Satan’s herd,
Know well how souls are crushed and killed
In mobs of beasts, by lies deferred —
In stables dark, their souls are spilled.



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



Resistance

No fixed objects — only flows:
All in nature’s wave will rise.
Time’s excess bends, unfolds —
Nonlinear war in skies.

The battle’s fought inside the mind,
“Objective” world is shaped.
One goal — to banish soul, confined,
To forge a soulless state.

To make a monster here on earth,
A beast without a heart,
To drive biobots off to death,
And keep the herd apart.

No “self” exists — they mold the slaves,
A conveyor-line of pain.
The schools all hack the minds like blades —
No brain, just empty drain.

False religions crush the soul’s flight,
Dark sons of Satan reign.
For Satanism, deep as night,
Has soaked this world’s domain.

At core — the cynic’s poisoned lie,
Pseudo-science’s ****.
Created falsehoods multiply,
To **** the truth, commit.

No place for mechanistic truth —
The Spirit wiped from sight.
Materialism’s hollow tooth
Cuts deep with half-truth’s bite.

Blatant lies flood every space,
Hard to expose the clan.
The “family” hides disgrace —
Politician, priest, and fan.

Censorship drives critics out,
No room for honest voice.
The world’s a web, not fools’ chains stout,
But monsters made their choice.

Total slavery begins inside —
In mind, the curse is sown.
You wallow in filth, nowhere to hide,
From birth until you’re bone.

Blinded, crippled, bound by lies —
Believe no false decree.
Reject their “morals,” their disguise —
Their laws that bind and flee.

Reject the traps, the genocide —
Fascism claws the land.
The mind’s near dead, no place to hide,
The plague across the sand.

Spiritless — a pandemic cold,
So “Sheep-COVID” thrives.
The evil **** poison food and soul,
The shame of all our lives.

We’ve hit the bottom’s darkest pit —
A world’s concentration.
The sheep are only food for it
If mind’s a lost sensation.

Break lies apart, build clans anew,
Inject your force and flame.
The lies of pseudo-science slew
Our hope — resist the same!

Keep Spirit’s light — intuition’s fire,
Honor it as your guide.
Fight evil fierce — tradition’s pyre,
The answer at your side.

For those still wise, the choice is clear:
Unite or face the grave.
Flee insane cities filled with fear —
You’re human, not their slave.

The Light will rise, the Power come,
We’ll crush the Darkness’ hold.
The vile and fools will rot and numb,
Their yoke will break, be told.

Don’t fear the fight — resist the lie,
Save soul and mind inside.
Forget the freaks who feast and pry —
Their lies will rot and die.

They’ll feast themselves to slow decay,
Half-life rots all they’ve bred.
Multiply Resistance every day —
Or die like beasts, misled.



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



Resistance

No objects here — just raging streams,
All nature pulses, wild waves.
Time warps and breaks with violent screams,
Nonlinear chaos paves.

The war’s inside the human mind,
A “false world” forged by ****.
One goal — to **** the soul, confined,
And leave the heart struck dumb.

To spawn a beast with hollow guts,
A soulless, wired fiend,
To herd us all like stupid mutts,
No freedom — just the mean.

No “self” survives — they craft the drones,
A soulless slave machine.
Schools butcher minds with brutal tones —
Brains shredded, stripped, and clean.

False faiths chain every soul’s ascent,
Dark spawn of Satan’s brood.
Satanism’s poison long cemented,
In lies and vile crude.

At root — the cynic’s venomous lie,
Pseudo-science **** they spew.
Built from lies, designed to die,
The mind crushed through and through.

No place for spirit, all erased,
Mechanism’s blind cage.
Materialist slaves are placed,
Half-truths fuel the rage.

Blatant lies fill every crack,
Exposing ****’s a test.
The “family” of frauds attacks —
Politician, priest, fascist pest.

Censors chase out truth’s sharp voice,
No freedom to dissent.
The world’s a web, not fools’ dumb choice,
But monsters make the rent.

Total slavery starts inside,
The mind’s the battlefield.
You swim in filth — nowhere to hide,
From birth until you yield.

Blinded, cut, and stripped of light —
Believe no worthless law.
Dump their morals, drop the fight —
Their chains are meant to gnaw.

Reject their traps, their genocide —
Fascism’s vile claw.
The mind is dead, a place to hide?
No hope, no mercy, no law.

Spiritless — the plague is real,
Sheep-COVID thrives in dirt.
Evil poisons all we feel,
Shame on those who hurt.

We’ve sunk to hell’s deepest pit —
A world camp for the blind.
Sheep are food if brains don’t fit,
Lost minds they’ll surely grind.

Smash the lies, build fierce new clans,
Inject raw strength and fire.
Pseudo-science kills all plans —
Resist or drown in mire.

Hold tight to Spirit’s blazing spark,
Intuition’s sword and shield.
Make fighting evil your hallmark,
Tradition won’t yield.

For those still sharp — unite or die,
Or rot beneath the blade.
Flee the mad cities’ hollow cry —
You’re human, not their slave.

Light will rise, and power flood,
We’ll burn the darkness down.
Vile **** and fools will rot in mud,
Their yoke will crack, then drown.

Fear not the fight — resist the lie,
Save soul and mind with steel.
Forget the freaks who crawl and spy —
Their lies will break and peel.

They’ll feast themselves on slow decay,
Half-dead and rotting fast.
Multiply Resistance every day —
Or die a beast at last.



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



RESISTANCE

No things — just raging PROCESSIONS,
Nature’s waves crash, pulse, and swell.
Time’s a twisted, brutal SESSION —
Nonlinear war, a living hell.

The battlefield’s inside your brain,
They forge a fake “objective” world,
One goal — to trap your soul in chains,
A soulless corpse, the flag unfurled.

A beast of wires, cold and cruel,
Biobots driven to the ****.
They herd us, puppets as their fuel,
No freedom — slaves beneath their will.

No “self” remains, just soulless gears,
The slave conveyor grinds the mind.
“Schools” castrate thought — no hope appears,
Brains like sieves, all drained and blind.

False gods chain every spirit’s flight,
Sons of Satan hold the reign.
Their poison’s old — a venomous blight,
Lies, cynicism, blood and pain.

Pseudo-science — the perfect lie,
******* wrapped in smart disguise.
Born to crush your mind and try
To make you blind, deaf, paralyzed.

Spirit’s wiped — mechanized death,
Material slaves cut deep with lies.
Half-truths choke the final breath,
And censorship guards their disguise.

A family of frauds in league,
Politicians, priests, paid hacks.
Critics chased out, voices fatigued,
The truth gets thrown beneath the tracks.

The world’s a web of living ties,
Not chains for fools to wear as slaves.
But **** designed the cage and lies,
Constructed mental iron graves.

Total slavery starts inside —
The mind is war, the soul’s a prey.
You bathe in filth, your sight denied,
From birth to death you rot away.

Blind and crippled, spirit cut —
Don’t buy their “morals,” laws, or schemes.
Throw off their traps, their ****** gut,
Resist their dark, genocidal dreams.

Fascism reigns — a stinking plague,
Brains nearly dead, eyes blind with hate.
Spiritless — the world’s a cage,
Sheep-COVID seals your fate.

Poisoned food, defiled water,
Shameful depths of world decay.
A global camp, no sons or daughters —
Just sheep to slaughter, thrown away.

Smash the lies! Build warriors’ bands!
Inject the power, light the fire!
**** the pseudoscience that commands,
Resist, resist — or face the pyre!

Hold fast to Spirit’s raging spark,
Intuition’s sword and shield.
Make fight with darkness your trademark —
Tradition that won’t yield.

For few who see, unite or die,
Rot in chains or break and rise.
Flee the mad city’s empty cry —
You’re human — not their sacrifice.

Light will burn and power swell,
We’ll scorch the darkness into ash.
**** and fools will rot in hell,
Their yoke will snap and break — then crash!

Fear not the fight — resist the lie,
Save soul and mind with sharpened steel.
Forget the beasts that crawl and spy —
Their lies will break and truth reveal.

They’ll feast on slow decay inside,
Half-dead, rotting to the core.
Multiply Resistance, fight with pride —
Or die a beast, lost evermore.



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



ON THE BLOCK

Life’s a slave-chain, sick and choking —
Filth and Darkness, Fear, and Lies.
Soul can drown, but keep provoking —
Raise Resistance to the Spies.

Crush the lies, build strong communes,
Find the sane, shun fools and clowns.
Fools obey the Darkness’ runes —
Their “law” is chains, not freedom’s crowns.

Learn the methods of the fiends —
They rule fools with sick regimes.
All the misery’s a scheme,
Rot and ruin by design, it seems.

Pseudo-life traps all in chains,
In the little things they bind.
Endless lies and endless pains —
No light in most eyes you’ll find.

Only few remain alive,
Others zombies, broken, cracked.
Fools and idiots survive —
Brains enslaved and sanity sacked.

Learn the tricks to dumb you down,
Monsters breed on fear and lies.
Meet their evil without frown —
Watch the guile beneath their guise.

Evil shifts but stays the same,
Every guile repeats again.
Death may wear a different name —
Or call itself “a better pain.”

If you’re on the chopping block,
Fear has no place in your chest.
Block’s the grave where fools just rot,
Among the worthless, stuck and stressed.

Study vile stench of smears —
Enemy known is half won.
Smears control the puppeteers,
Beasts who play with everyone.

They’re so easy to enslave,
Feeding lies and fear, they thrive.
Through the memes, through clips they pave
Chains to keep the herd alive.

Master all and use with skill —
In the fight, be sharp, be bold:
Maybe dawn won’t come for you,
But inside **** the night’s cold hold.

Night on block — the end, the pit,
Bottom reached, no further fall.
Never lived — just rot and ****,
In the lies that crawl and crawl.

Death beats death — and then you’ll find
Chance for Freedom’s shining spark.
Spirit’s life will clear your mind,
False religions leave you dark.

Go inside — there lie the keys,
Answers hidden in the deep.
Gurus? Just lost lunacies,
Rotting in their graveyard sleep.

Night on block — strength melts away,
Only fiery creative might
Can increase the force today —
Don’t let darkness ***** your light.

Fools will twist and judge your art —
Mix your fight with blazing fire:
Rage and Light to heal the heart,
Raise the new, ignite desire.

New Warrior, Warrior of Light,
Without fire’s breath — a worthless trick.
In creation find the fight,
See beyond, the Spirit’s flick.

Spirit, struggle, art — move on!
Stink of lies will fade and fall.
Only wholeness will dawn —
Darkness cannot hold it all.

Minds will crack beneath the weight
Of rotten fiends’ deceitful lies.
Hidden spark inside the hate —
Not born in this sea of cries.

Find that ember, feed the flame,
Turn it fierce to raging fire.
Only fighting — no surrender —
Brings the victory you desire.

Enemies fear one thing most —
That flame alive in many hearts.
So with lies they raise their ghost,
Try to tear that truth apart.

Simple Truth — fight to embrace,
Hold it tight, don’t let it stray.
In the dark, don’t lose the chase,
Light the fire, show the way.

With that light, you lead the dawn,
**** the horror Night has spawned.




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



ON THE BLOCK

Life’s a chain — we’re slaves to lies,
Crush the darkness, burn the skies!
On the block — no fear, no cry,
Fight the night till dawn is nigh!

Fiends control with fear and scheme,
Break their chains — ignite the Dream!
Soul’s the fire, spirit’s fight —
Light the torch and **** the night!



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



Aggregates

We’re nothing but aggregates —
**** of clinging lies and traps.
****** feeds on our weakness,
We swallow poison gaps.

Mad vessels, cracked and broken,
**** poured deep inside —
Lice crawl, minds are stolen,
Consciousness denied.

Spirit — you’re the Essence,
Drop your endless pain,
All this “daily suffering” —
Souls bound in the chain.

Strive to break your shackles,
Escape the slave’s mad pen.
It’s no mere nightmare —
This stench corrodes within.

It rots the very soul,
Leaves but a fragment bare.
Don’t listen to the whispers —
Only scraps linger there.

Saving Spirit’s sacred spark
Is the primal fight:
Through madness’ death and ruin,
We must reclaim the light.

Now more than ever —
Fascism thrives on lies,
Decay is all around —
Filth before our eyes.

Two thirds turned to fools,
Distorted through and through.
Generations wasted,
Maddened to the skew.

Step inside your being —
The answers wait within.
Then fight the outer darkness,
Defeat decay and sin.

In struggle lies salvation,
Even Buddha died —
Beyond the gods, beyond the lies,
Truth still won’t hide.

Drive out fear and falsehood,
Bring light to far and near,
To this cursed world of madness —
Break chains, and show no fear.



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



Aggregates

We’re cursed aggregates, bound in lies,
Fed poison, rotted, fools and spies.
Break chains inside, ignite your soul —
Fight madness, or be lost and stole.



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



Colossus on Rotten Legs

Migrating birds still cross the skies,
The sun shines harsh and fiercely bright,
But madness of our chains still lies—
A plague of rotten stumps in sight.

This country clings to fools and traitors,
Like cement mixing with decay.
That foul cement, those rotten haters—
A monument to fascist sway.

It stands unfallen—miracle?
A colossus on legs of rot.
Where **** and Judas wear the pinnacle,
The wise are crushed, forgot, forgot.

The number of the sane and spiritual
Shrinks fast—a genocide at play.
The vile tyrants grow more brutal,
While shame and ruin lead the way.

With guns, the scumbags march and grind,
To slaughter’s pit they drag the herd.
The soulless fools won’t even mind—
Their Spirit’s cut, no voice, no word.

Soulless plague, a pandemic’s grip,
Demons rule this shrunken sphere.
Their masks so well that fools can’t strip—
Invisible, yet always near.

Factories for dumbed-down minds:
Schools, kindergartens, and colleges—
Darkness holds all future kinds,
And filthy **** completes their wreckage.

Fascist lies, relentless spin,
Drive out what little mind remains.
The thieves and rogues will rob and sin—
You’re left to rot in piles of stains.

This filth they call a fatherland,
Held tight by bonds forged out of lies.
A fascist monstrosity’s hand
Controls the world—while hope just dies.

The wretched fools now tremble, wait
For endless “surprises” worse.
Selling their souls at broken gates,
The end is madness, dark, perverse.

The migratory birds still fly,
But will they reach the hearts of men?
The world’s a madhouse, built on lies—
Ruled by inhuman beasts again.

The sun remains—the final blaze—
Will burn the filth right to the bone.
It’ll end the madness, fear, and haze—
Destroy the shame, reclaim the throne.



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


A Different Way to See

A different way of seeing,
Not what’s been impressed—
It breaks the ancient spell
That’s long oppressed.

A universal fog,
Where you’re a rotten part:
The world, the “enemy”—
Harass the weary heart.

Spiritual unity
And breadth of mind will break
The filth and vanity
That rot and choke the stake.

“Object” reeks of garbage—
“Subject” trapped in hell.
We’ve hit the bottom’s carcass—
Few who don’t smell the smell.

Awaken intuition,
Let critical thought grow strong—
Doubt tradition’s fiction,
Inside, discern the wrong.

You’ll find the Spirit’s Light—
Then you’re redeemed, set free.
While howling “subject” blight—
A slave to flags you’ll be.

Today’s fascist banner
Wears a “red cross” disguise;
Propaganda’s enema
Washes out all wise.

No places free from fascism
Remain beneath the sun.
All thanks to crass idiocy—
The source of every wrong.

This isn’t simple—alchemy:
Catch fleeting sparks of truth;
We’ll change as one, completely—
United in love’s youth,

In collective knowing,
And Light’s eternal flame.
Don’t dawdle—seek your growing—
Burn what’s false, what’s lame.

They’ve dumped heaps of blatant lies—
Sharp stings like mirage’s bite.
“Subject”-“object” divide
Is half a false insight.

If ego’s crushed and killed—
An ocean vast appears.
That ocean floods the “object,”
Washes away all fears.

In minds, the wounds still fester,
Satan’s cunning plan.



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


Rats and Goats

The rats have gone insane—
Fascist ****, they spread,
Hanging dark above the world,
That filth won’t drop dead.

It won’t dissolve or vanish—
Up to ankles now,
And it’ll get its harvest—
From Souls it’ll plow.

The frenzy keeps on growing,
Backing every strike,
The dull ones, like hamsters,
Spin wheels they never like.

They’ll vanish soon enough—
Soulless ones arrive,
Here everything has price,
And low is the drive.

They’ll lie and you’ll believe,
The fall begins to turn,
The world sinks to the bottom—
Dullness everywhere burns.

Gone are “films and Germans,”
Parodies of “free,”
The natives in the crosshairs—
Fascist rabble’s spree.

Fascists and the madmen—
Newest nightmare born.
Plus ******’s element—
No need for prisons worn.

No need for executions—
Idiot’s so tamed,
You can mow down fools freely
With syringes named.

The chaos grows worldwide,
The forecast grim as hell—
This happens all the time,
When minds can’t break the spell.

If smart, then howl and bow,
Wail, cry, and moan your pain—
Don’t step outside the herd,
Blindness you must gain,

To not behold the Hell.
But if you’re serious—
Hold on a little longer—
The world will go delirious.

Then comes the final fight
With Evil’s deadly flame.
But now, be sharp as knife—
Don’t be the goat to blame.

So much has gone corrupt—
War’s example true.
Not all is lost—stand up—
We’ll fight the **** anew.



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



Rats and Goats

The rats have lost their minds —
Fascist ****, they crawl,
Hung like poison over all,
That filth will never fall.

It’s sinking in the muck —
Up to ankles, soaked.
It’ll feast on broken Souls,
A *******’s ****** joke.

Mad dogs backing every strike,
Stupid like dumb rats —
Spinning wheels in cages,
Drooling dumb and fat.

They’ll vanish, yes, but then —
Soulless fiends will come.
Everything’s got a price,
And low is what’s become.

They lie — you swallow ****,
And plunge the world to hell,
A wasteland full of dumbness,
A mindless prison cell.

Forget the “films and Germans,”
Fake “freedom” parodies,
The natives in the crosshairs,
Fascist **** disease.

Fascists and insane nuts —
A nightmare bred anew,
*****’s rotten stench—
No need for cells or crews.

No shots needed — fools are tamed,
You can **** them slow with ease.
The chaos spreads worldwide,
A plague on all degrees.

If smart, then howl and kneel,
Wail loud, beg and moan,
Don’t break from the herd,
Blind your eyes — be stone.

So you won’t see the Hell,
If serious — hold fast,
The world’s about to snap,
The last fight comes at last.

But now be sharp, like steel,
Not some dumb goat to bleed.
Corruption’s deep and real —
War’s lesson’s clear indeed.

Not all’s lost — resist the ****,
Stand up and make them pay,
Fight back the foul infestation —
Burn their **** away.



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



The Light Will Come

Snitches, torturers, fools and freaks,
The world’s drowned deep in darkest nights.
That’s why the pain and endless grief,
Because we lost the dawn’s first light.

The People of the Light are few,
While traitors swarm like endless plague.
Spirit, Conscience, Honor too —
Are rare, amidst the rotten vague.

But blinded freaks can’t see the truth,
If all they know is madhouse hell,
They can’t fight evil’s brutal ruth,
Nor grasp its vast, total spell.

They’ll choose their goat, their Judas’ name,
The “wise” who sell their souls for gold,
The priests and liars just the same,
While wickedness takes hold and molds.

To stay not vile is **** near hell,
For eons of disgrace and shame
Have stamped the herd’s dull, broken shell —
No society remains.

The few with Spirit, Mind and Heart,
Are fading fast, the clock runs down...
The answers live inside your part,
Not lost in Hell’s suffocating drown.

Remember this, or rot unknown,
Sink deep in lies, a filthy pit,
A hellhole where no light has shone,
No hope to ever quit.

A brutal shift will shake the few —
The time is near to shed the sleep,
Cast out the seeds of evil’s hue,
Destroy the poison buried deep.

Restore your Spirit’s rightful place,
Rise high above the vile and vile,
The traitors fall, the fools erased —
This price we pay for every trial.

Total war now stains the ground,
Reason clashes with the blind.
The ones who stand will be unbound,
While others fall behind.

The meek who bow to fools and liars,
Sink worse than demons dragging down,
And bottom’s reached, the fire’s higher —
A purge will burn this cursed town.

The soul enslaved is doomed to die,
Fascist filth to wastes consigned.
Who claimed man’s king beneath the sky?
A failed test of warped design.

Instead of gold, it’s dung and slime,
A cesspool drowning in the muck.
The slime breeds slime, the filth will climb —
But soon the storm will shatter luck.

Forget the chains that bind your mind —
If you’re in Spirit, Light will come.



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



The Mooing...

"How I wished to burn away
Within me every trace:
Of cowardice and foolishness,
Softness — kindness, in disgrace!
I’d stand unlike the rest below,
Smart, bold, unbreakable —
In short, a ******* through and through."
— Evgeny Lukin


Cowardice, dull-wittedness,
Softness — slave’s disguise.
But courage always wears the crown,
No matter how harsh the skies.

If firm you stand, unbending still,
And keep your mind intact,
In this foul stinking hell on earth,
This *****-covered fact —

You won’t be tainted, hear me well.
You’ve got to see it clear:
The world’s beneath a fascist **** —
So **** the whining fear!

Be ruthless, fierce, and blazing strong,
Kind only to your own.
There are so few who truly stand,
The masses just the drone.

The lies have darkened Heaven’s light,
Genocide spreads wide,
Decay and filth are everywhere,
The mind is crucified.

Most souls are dead — forgotten tales
No longer hold their sway.
We’re minority in this hell,
So do not stray away.

A few still march through nightmare’s grip,
Towards the dawn’s faint glow.
But that light’s so far off, it’s grim,
Too long the crawl and slow.

Only warrior’s hardened mind,
A fighter’s iron will,
Can pull us partly from this Sod—
A fragment saved still.

But many break, and many fall,
Not all will understand.
They hear just “Halt!” and bark commands
From madness’ cruel hand.

Fascists rule the fiendish pack,
Turning nations into cattle.
Shall we just moo about "goodness"?
This fascist scourge loves battle—

To **** the meek, the mooing sheep,
Wake up, don’t fall asleep!
Though wounded deep, your soul must fight—
Fight hard, fight strong, fight deep!



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



Mooing’s Death Cry

Cowards, fools, soft sheep —
Slaves in coward’s chains.
Courage is the weapon,
Rage runs through our veins.

Fascist filth controls the world,
Whining’s just the shame.
Fight the herd, break the chains —
Burn their sickening game.

Wake up, soul! Tear your wounds,
Rip the lies apart.
Fight the fascist slaughter—
**** their poison heart!



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



Mooing’s Death Cry

Cowards, fools, soft wimps —
Slave **** groveling low.
Courage’s all that’s left —
In this fascist blow.

The world’s a ******* ruled
By lying, savage pests.
Whiners bleed, but weak sheep
Are fodder for the rest.

Rip off your chains, you *******!
Burn the fascist lies!
Fight the sickness, the filth,
Till their empire dies!

Wake your bleeding soul,
Even if torn and scarred.
Fight, tear down their hell,
Be fierce — be hard!

No mercy for the herd,
No softness for the ******.
It’s war to the bone,
Fight with fist and hand!



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



Negative Selection

Talents crushed like grass in fields —
Here, they **** and never yield.
Hype the scammers, feed the trash,
Pop tunes drown the mind’s own clash.

The world’s a game of lies and trade,
Deception’s mask is proudly played.
What feeds decay, degrade, distort —
Support it, boost the foul report.

Reverse selection, rule by fear,
Dictatorship and genocide near.
All rats hide deep in their dens —
The proven ******* lie again.

They check the **** with iron hand,
Satan’s grip tightens the land.
If you hold a spark of God,
They’ll drag you down through filth and sod.

You’ll bubble in the slime below,
Till rot consumes and breaks your glow.
Talent’s meant to fight the dark —
That’s why they crush it, **** the spark.

All Satans, infant demons, cheer
The poison clouding minds so clear.
Bribed fools shout their empty art,
Banishing honor, soul, and heart.

“Science” turned to endless hell,
The cursed tale these traitors tell —
A land of junk, a prison’s grip,
Where talent dies in fellowship.

They’re tormentors of mind and soul,
The rulers of the rotten whole.
Corrupt to core, no longer men —
Monsters lurking in their den.

When all has rotted to the bone,
New life may sprout from shattered stone.
But now the idiot chains still clang,
Slave’s yoke harsh, a poisoned fang.

Those chains — lies served in slow decay,
Blind illusions lead astray.
Only Spirit’s light can break
The endless dark and falsehood’s stake.

Else you’re a soulless slave below,
Your only path: descend and bow.

The bottom cracked — it’s falling fast,
Soon all this filth will be the past.
Such stench demands a cleansing flame —
Burn every trace of this foul shame.

And now the sun begins to blaze,
To scorch the slaves and tyrant’s haze.
For chains have piled beyond control —
Slavery, darkness, shame’s black hole.

People scurry, mice in holes,
Hearing lies that choke their souls.



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



****-Burner

“Our Russia!!!” — no, not yours,
Just a colony, long sold out.
Slaves toil cheap amid the sores,
Ruins spread, and filth about.

****-eaters, pests of every kind,
Idiots riding ****’s dark wave.
Devils keep the chains aligned,
In hell’s grip, no soul to save.

Inhuman fiends now rule this world,
Russia’s but a testing ground,
Where everything’s a cesspool hurled,
And spirit’s chased from all around.

Fake viruses, wars that rage,
Prove the madness in each mind.
Nearly all have lost their gauge —
Believing **** of every kind.

The box of lies feeds “sacred ties,”
Healing fools from fake disease.
How ridiculous the cries
Amid the filth and choking freeze

Of those few souls who still resist
The filthy Hell that claims this land,
Where traitors **** what’s pure and blessed,
With poison on their filthy hands.

But other worlds are cesspools too:
Fascism’s reign is king in sight,
The last fight’s reason — to break through
The madness, darkness, endless night.

Satan conquers all around,
Building camps across the globe,
Killing Spirit, breaking ground,
While intellect’s a scarce wardrobe.

Decay and shame infest the soil,
Turning humans into beasts.
Earth reeked of filth and turmoil —
The stench that never seems to cease.

Yet the great ****-burner, Sun —
Has begun the cleansing fire.
Traitors worse than all the world’s ****
Face the flames of purging pyre.

Darkness, treachery, decay —
Are common places in this time.
But the burner’s light will slay —
Saving souls in sacred climb.

**** will burn and fade away,
Sent to worlds beyond the night.
Fight through chaos, hold your sway,
Unbreakable in bitter fight.

In this war you save your soul —
All else is worthless, just the haze.
Trust yourself, reject the whole
Of lies — and ease your heavy ways.



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



Shitburner

“Our Russia?” — Hell no, not yours,
Just a colony, long sold cheap.
Slaves drag chains through filth and sores,
Rot and ruin run so deep.

****-eaters, pests, and brain-dead fools,
All riding on the ****’s back,
Devils owning broken rules,
Hell’s tight grip — no turning back.

Monsters rule this rotten world,
Russia’s just a testing pit,
Turn the land to latrine hurled,
Drive the Spirit from its grit.

Fake plagues spread, fake wars ignite —
Proof that minds have snapped and cracked,
Most have lost the will to fight,
Swallow lies, get twisted, smacked.

TV screams their “holy chains,”
“Cures” for fools, fake hope, fake dreams.
Laughable, their endless pains
Amidst the sludge and deathly screams.

Few souls left, still holding flame
In this hellhole full of traitors —
Vipers killing all the same,
Dooming truth, enslaving waiters.

And the “other worlds” — cesspools worse,
Fascism’s throne in full command.
Last fight’s reason — break the curse,
Fight for brain, for spirit’s stand.

Satan’s grip across the lands,
Building camps of global shame.
Spirit crushed by ***** hands,
Brains reduced to little flame.

Decay turns humans into beasts,
Earth’s a swamp of stinking waste.
All that’s pure and good has ceased —
Filth and rot gone to full haste.

But the great shitburner Sun —
Fires up the cleansing flame.
Traitors worse than hell begun —
Burn away their cursed name.

Darkness, treachery, decay —
Common words for this **** age.
But the burner paves the way,
Saving souls from prison’s cage.

**** will burn, fade into dust,
Sent beyond the dark unknown.
Fight with fire, fight with trust,
Stand unbroken, stand alone.

In this war your soul’s the prize —
All else is ****, just empty lies.
Trust yourself, see through the lies —
And the path will clear your skies.



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



Fake Images and Total Lies

Imposed images forced on us,
Repeating lies like broken clocks,
For fools they’re compasses, thus—
All overgrown with weeds and mocks.

We “live” as if in fairy tales,
But Ivan’s just a fool in mask,
A cracked idiot who derails,
While kingdoms drown in chaos’ task.

The compass leads straight to the stall,
Wool growing thick on sheep’s dull backs.
Here lies are like cheap *****’ call,
Hangover’s called IDIOT CRACKS.

Here schemers gather, thrones they build,
Clans of **** behind the scenes,
Crafting memes, illusions filled,
No ends found in their machines.

Screen monkeys spread the fake agenda,
Those who read will soon be jailed.
Madmen’s homes await defenders,
While the sheep march, blindly hailed.

“Attack them!” cries the crowd insane,
Soon storms brew in eyeglass lands.
Images like comics—insane,
A mess with no connecting strands.

Designed by evil’s hand to break
Each fool into a nuclear split,
Separated, lost, opaque,
Trapped in mental endless pit.

Emotions flood, but thoughts are gone,
All just shadows of a madhouse.
Vile nonsense clogs the dawn
Inside these fools’ closed mental house.

Three quarters of them rotten core,
Add scoundrels running herds around,
****** feeds on lies galore,
Fake words, false images abound.

They call the fools “our own,” or “norm,”
The world’s long sick with dumb disease.
Named “stability,” the storm
Of **** grows with added yeast.

Build your camp, cure lies’ dark plague,
Seek happiness in fake despair.
If you become a microbe vague,
Joy and thrills will fill your wear.

Forward, drive to Satan’s rule,
The fake will crush all souls who fight.



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



The Asylum

The psychotic, psychotic—
Countless souls, a boundless swarm!
Not just dull, but frantic, toxic,
This is madness in full form.

The world grows scarce in sanity,
And fools are bred on lies’ sting—
Artificial dull insanity,
Poison sharp as serpent’s sting.

The schizophrenic haze spreads—
The whole environment’s a plague.
To fuel decay, dark forces led
A mass descent to endless vague.

The venomous lies circulate,
Poison food and water too—
Decay becomes the cruelest fate,
Spreading sickness, old and new.

Break bonds, atomize the world
Into ego’s shattered parts—
A beastly terror’s now unfurled,
Satan reigns in broken hearts.

Psychiatrists unwilling fight
To save the few who still remain.
The power of Satan’s blight
Makes sanity hard to sustain.

To not go mad with foolish herds,
To keep your spirit unbetrayed,
Is war against the mindless words,
Against the chains of lies displayed.

Enough of lies in this asylum—
A global madhouse’s domain...
New wars bring no meaningful balm,
If in your mind there’s only pain.

If you don’t guard your inner throne,
The fools will **** you quiet, slow.
Control the fools, but not alone—
**** the weeds, or reap what grows.

The garden’s full of venomous snakes,
Such vermin spread across the earth.
In worldwide filth, the poison stakes—
The creatures drown all hope’s rebirth.

This soulless beast is what they crave,
The inhuman breed that wars with light.
The spirit’s purity they crave—
The soul’s the prize in endless fight.

If this you fail to understand,
And fight not evil’s creeping gloom,
You’ll drown a frog in boiling sand—
And rise again a goat in doom.



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



Thrown Off the Track

Dulled-out fools, the worthless pests,
And above them, scoundrels reign:
Dumb as corks and brazen pests,
Arrogance is their gain.

Boldness rules — it’s bliss, not poison,
Bribes the way, the crooked path.
The rabble rushes, no reason,
Straight to Hell — no turning back.

They turned a highway, once so wide,
Into a single-track —
So pour a drink! No sober ride
Will save from falling back.

This train won’t last, it’s bound to crash,
The rails will blow — off goes the load.
Decay’s a tale, a putrid splash,
A flood of lies — a vile ode.

The stench can choke you on the way,
No breath to draw, no place to hide.
Off the track, a few will stay —
The ones who chose the path, who tried.

But vipers herd us all as cattle,
Packed tight in one foul train.
Like sarin gas and poison battle,
They drive the Spirit mad with pain.

Only shells remain behind,
Scrap or freight, the empty husks.
When the lines here end, you’ll find
Reason gone, drowned in the dust.

The Spirit crushed, the herd remains,
A freight car for destruction’s call.
Just wipe them out, no hope remains—
The stench will clear, the shadows fall.

Mother Earth chokes on the stink,
And fools? She no longer needs.
Once docile idiots, now on the brink—
Reduced to beasts, the herd proceeds.

Only few keep mind and soul,
Dying like birds trapped in a cage,
Surrounded by flies that troll,
In their prison, rage and age.

Spirit to Spirit, dust to dust—
The fall approaches fast.
So cast away all lies and rust—
You’ve outgrown this world at last.

If you have thought and fought the fight,
Never bent, nor split in two,
Never betrayed the Spirit’s light—
Then this fall won’t swallow you.



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



Space

Space is not empty —
All “objects” lie.
If your mind’s too heavy,
You’ll fall through the sky.

Look between the shadows,
Find the threads so thin,
Hope lives in the Spirit —
Not the filth within.

Since childhood they deform us
With their crude material lies.
These ******* inherit
Fascism’s despise.

All is false — science,
Art, and every book.
Corrupt ****** they weave chains
For minds that never look.

Chains of thought —
This vile slavery’s core.
Mountains of crap —
Fake religions and more.

Rudeness rules all,
“Education” a cage.
You won’t break the curse
With whining or rage.

Satan’s law reigns here.
Genocide, centuries long.
Damage immense —
Fools throng, throng, throng.

So boldly go inward —
Only Spirit can save.
Forget all the filth —
Find the path that’s brave.

If your mind stands firm
And you dare to live on,
You’ll cast out the evil,
And joy will be won.

So struggle, resist,
The key is the Mystery.
Dive deep in its midst —
See new worlds you’ll see.

Shift your focus —
And behold the Space;
Learn the Moment —
Time’s wild embrace.

Time can flow
Another way to save.
Many heralds rise
To topple the grave.

Seek the essence everywhere,
You’ll find answers profound.
So don’t despair —
Let Winter be drowned.

This Hell will be crushed —
Spirit’s light will renew.
Every fiend here will perish.
Brave souls will rise anew.

Fight fiercely, discard
All the filth and decay.
This cesspool’s long dead —
Stand firm, strong, and stay.



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



Consciousness

To cleanse the Consciousness —
That’s the righteous way.
A vow to Spirit’s essence,
You’re not flesh’s play.

The Spirit’s core is sacred,
So cast off the “daily,”
Or you’ll become corrupted —
A vile soul, unruly.

Not humans, but pests
Overflow this world’s stage.
They feed on lies through media,
You’re just stuck in their cage.

Will fools catch and trap you?
Lock you tight in a cell?
If Spirit’s truly grasped —
To hell with their hell.

Aged children — dumb herds,
Know only their chains,
They hunger for carcasses —
Like beasts in the drains.

They’re dead, these zombies —
Call it what you will.
Zombie mobs, self-serving,
Feeding *****’s ill.

This madhouse is *****,
A foolish world decayed.
So laugh at the madness —
Though drenched in the shade.

The world’s been vomited
With lies so vile and base.
Lies miscalculated —
Spewed out in disgrace.

Even fools complain:
Propaganda’s fallen low.
The world’s “sick” — full of ****,
On a poisoned blow.

All stung by venom —
Healed of their own life.
When did fools become
Slugs crawling in strife?

In rows they press tight —
A global death camp.
They’ll melt and recast
The fool to a damp stamp.

Those not crushed to death —
Will be chipped and aligned,
Linked to servers, praising
Satan’s dark design.

Better death than such fate —
Seek the brave, stand tall.
Face Evil boldly —
Spend your years, not as thralls.



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



Consciousness

To purge the Consciousness —
The path of truth unfolds.
A sacred vow to Spirit,
Not flesh that time corrodes.

The Spirit’s core eternal,
Reject the mundane thrall,
Or else you’ll turn to shadow —
A worm within the fall.

Not men, but soulless parasites
Infest this dying sphere,
Feeding lies through screens and noise —
Your mind a snared frontier.

Will fools ensnare your soul?
Lock spirit deep in chains?
If you have grasped the Spirit —
Their prisons are but veins.

The aged herd, mind-shattered,
Bound tight in darkness’ grip,
Feeding on decay and flesh —
A plague no hope can script.

They’re dead before the body,
Zombies bound to lust,
Servants of the Void’s own kingdom —
*****’s silent dust.

This madhouse is the furnace,
The world’s collapsing gate.
Laugh if you can at madness —
Though drowning in its hate.

The world vomits its venom,
Lies seethe like cancer’s breath.
Falsehoods writ in shadows —
An empire built on death.

Fools wail in discontent,
Propaganda’s shattered veil.
The world a sickened labyrinth,
Where spirits writhe and fail.

All stung by toxic whispers —
Healed from living light.
When did the soul descend
To crawl in endless night?

They march like creeping slugs —
A global death machine.
Melting mind and spirit —
Forging drones unseen.

Those who survive the crushing,
Will bear the brand of chains,
Chipped, linked to dark servers —
Praising Satan’s reign.

Better death than servitude —
Seek the bold and wise.
Face the raging Darkness,
And let your Spirit rise.



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



Consciousness: A Philosophical Reflection

To purify consciousness — this is the sacred act,
A ritual of the Spirit’s consecration beyond flesh and bone.
The essence of the Spirit is eternal, unbound by form,
And only by rejecting the mundane illusions
Can one transcend the descent into shadow and decay.

Our world is infested not by men but by soulless parasites,
Who weave their lies through media’s endless web,
Binding minds like prey in invisible snares.
Yet, the spirit that truly grasps its own nature
Is beyond the reach of these prisons —
For chains exist only where the mind consents.

The aged herd, dulled and shattered,
Feeds on decay and ignorance,
A living death before the body succumbs,
Zombies of the void, slaves to lust and base desire,
Servants of the collapsing empire of ***** —
A madhouse burning from within.

This world is a furnace of madness,
Drowned in the ***** of lies and deceit.
Propaganda crumbles, but sickness remains —
The spiritual labyrinth where many lose their way,
Stung by whispers of poison, severed from light.

The slow march of these creeping slugs is a global death machine,
Melting mind and spirit into soulless drones,
Marked, chipped, and linked to dark servers —
Their voices raised in unholy praise of ruin.

But even amid this crushing despair,
Death is nobler than servitude,
And the call to the brave remains —
To face the raging darkness
With a spirit unbroken,
To rise beyond the shadows and reclaim the light.

For consciousness is not mere thought or flesh,
But the eternal flame,
A beacon to navigate the abyss,
A key to unlock the prison of lies,
And a door to freedom beyond the void.


---

Consciousness: The Path Beyond

The path is narrow, carved through shadows,
Where illusion thickens like mist, and reason dims.
But the spirit’s eye, once opened, sees the threads between —
Delicate, invisible, yet binding worlds and selves.

To journey inward is to enter the great unknown,
Where time dissolves, and space unfolds in fractal grace.
Here the false idols crumble —
Science, art, and words reveal their masks,
And chains forged by the mind’s own doubt begin to break.

The tyrants of the mind wear crowns of vanity,
Feeding on fear, on numbness, on the endless chatter.
Yet the essence, untouched by their poison,
Is the silent flame beneath the storm —
The core that remembers light beyond the dark.

This is not a war of flesh, but a battle of echoes,
A clash between the eternal and the ephemeral.
The soul, wrapped in mortal coil, must choose:
To bow beneath the weight of shadow, or rise in fire,
To tear away the veils and greet the dawn of truth.

Within the abyss, a seed awaits —
A spark of rebellion, fierce and free,
That shatters the cage of falsehood,
That breathes new life into the withered spirit.

And those who walk this inner path,
Though few and often scorned,
Are the alchemists of destiny,
Transmuting despair into light,
Darkness into the radiant pulse of being.

They know: consciousness is the bridge —
Between the void and the infinite,
Between the silence of death and the song of creation,
A sacred flame, ever burning,
Guiding the soul through the labyrinth of existence.

So stand firm, traveler of the unseen realms,
For the night is deep, but dawn is certain.
Let the false crumble, let the lies dissolve —
Your spirit, pure and unyielding,
Is the final truth that no darkness can consume.




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



Slaves Bearing Poison

“But man to man
Sent forth an angry glance —
Obediently the poison ran,
And by dawn returned its dance.”
— Alexander Pushkin, The Upas Tree, 1828

For rations — debts they pay,
Cash and ***** feed the throng.
A beaten fool bears all decay,
Endures the endless wrong.

Not only bears — he spreads the blight,
That venom, weak and blind,
Will **** the grandkids out of sight,
And poison all mankind.

No dust nor poison laced —
But lies that twist and bind.
Their brains are sparse, instincts paced,
Trembling, shivering, confined.

This trembling freak, a fearful tale,
Deceit in every land.
A people trapped within the veil,
Of fake and cunning hand.

Worldwide chains of slavery —
Total fascist reign.
Only greed and cruelty,
All reason drowned in vain.

Today the fool devours
His own grandchildren’s fate.
Corrupt ******* wield the powers,
Idiots feed the hate.

Two-thirds fools, ****** swarm,
Fascist forces rise.
The stench of Satan’s darkest form
Pollutes earth’s very skies.

So bitter, shameful, grim —
A world decayed and lost.
But fight! Let hope not dim,
With wise, we’ll break the frost.

True power lies in Spirit’s flame —
Strengthen it within.
Corrupt fiends will fade in shame,
No sinner hides their sin.

All shall answer for their crimes —
The time will surely come.
God marks the rogue across all times,
Tremble, fool, be numb!

Not tales of fright, but real decree —
Justice’s tightening noose:
All fools, fascists will hang free,
Their evil cut loose.

The sun will blaze so bright and clear —
The poison tree will die.
Judas coins turn into mere
Dust beneath the sky.

The world will rise, break free at last —
To Freedom’s bright command.
For slaves and fools belong to past,
Nature won’t stand their brand.




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



“Man’s ‘Nature’”

“That’s just man’s nature,”
The ******* love to say.
For them, man’s a creature
To mock and to betray.

Those fiends love to drain
His very life, his spark.
And fools believe the lies —
Cold-hearted, cruel and dark.

They master genocide,
Make slaves of every age.
Each year we sink more stupid —
Bound tighter by their cage.

Behavior patterns drilled,
Year after year the same.
Memes forced upon the masses —
And all will buy the game:

They say it’s coded deep
In genes — fear, shame, and pain.
But that’s just lies and violence —
No “nature” here to claim.

For generations told —
Slaves pass on chains like gold:
Fools fed lies, minds dulled,
Eat, don’t think, stay cold.

The “serious man” decides,
He’s raised on our own blood.
We gladly serve his rules,
A servant in the mud.

No laws — just mockery,
Upbringing’s yoke and scorn.
Trained to eat the filth,
The garbage we’re born torn.

Overton’s windows burst,
The past torn and abused.
The scoundrel now is “norm,”
The world sick and confused.

For all the filth endured,
For all the slaves’ despair,
For fears and dull complaints —
Redemption’s in the air.

But not the slave masters’
Schemes that shake the earth.
Only bodies can be swept,
Not souls who know their worth.

This slave-made fake world harms
The natural true way.
So tremble, freaks and fiends —
The reckoning’s today.

To few who saved their souls,
Who never bowed or broke —
I say, resist the lies,
Fight hard, even if broke.

There’s nothing true in “nature” —
Man’s a blank, pure page.
Wipe out the beast within —
Be spirit, light, and sage.



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



Be Dead...

“Live as dead—be wholly dead.
And do whatever you will—
All will be well,” Bunin said,
A truth that cuts like steel.

You must detach yourself—
Seek out your own true ways.
Or madness will repeat itself,
In this world's cruel maze.

To march “in step” with this world
Is to rot inside a madhouse.
Even the Lyre will die—
But that’s not what this speaks about.

You must shed attachment—
Cut loose from “self” and chains.
Then every question answered comes—
Amidst life’s harshest pains.

The madness hammered deep
Since childhood in us all—
You’ll see the game is rigged,
Where “success” means the fall.

They worship hollow triumphs,
Blind to what is real.
So die to all their lies—
Be sharp, be brave, and steel.

Let **** have their victory—
You owe them nothing here.
This rotten world will crumble,
Its end is very near.

Don’t let your soul grow fat—
Keep pushing ever on.
Let freedom take your shape—
The beast inside is gone.

Fed lies and numb oblivion,
That creature inside must die.
Be unconquered by the Dark—
Let your spirit fly.

We’ll live a life reborn
When all the Hell is swept.
No need for mournful dirges—
No foul fiend left unkept.

Legions of pests abound,
But true minds scarce as gold.
Cast off your cries and moans—
Embrace honor, be bold.

Let this be your banner,
For in their world, they’re dead.
Where lies and madness flourish—
Where corruption’s bred.

Be dead to their mad races—
Alive for Light instead.
Horror’s chained from infancy—
Stay conscious, clear your head.

And with this Consciousness
Comes life beyond all pain.
The torment of the Spirit
Will vanish—fight and reign!



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



Don’t Believe!

Don’t trust—
Seek truth instead.
Check all twice—
Lies fill the thread.

The ******* know
For centuries long.
Dull stench fools
Turn man to wrong.

They crush the soul,
If you believe.
Just empty promises—
Like smoke they leave.

All their pledges
Throw in the trash.
Chatterboxes talk—
Just noise and crash.

False science rules,
Strong as steel.
Those fiends have lied
Through years that steal.

Years pass by—
Their lies grow deep.
People turn mad,
Like wood they heap.

By this falsehood,
They’re worn and torn.
It’s dire times—
Smash the scorn!

Their filthy lies—
The devil’s creed.
Though hard it seems,
Down you won’t bleed.

When you yourself
Know every twist,
Your battle-hardened mind
Breaks through the mist.

Finds the way out,
Walks free and light,
When Spirit’s glow
Leads through the night.

All the dark grime
Fades, loses edge—
No longer weighs,
No iron wedge.

Let light remain—
Don’t let hope die.
Stand firm and strong—
Reach for the sky!



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



Don’t Believe a **** Word!

Don’t bow,
Don’t trust their lies.
Rip the veil—
Expose their disguise.

Those ******* lie,
A curse through time.
Stinking fools
Turn souls to slime.

They **** your mind,
If you believe.
Their empty words—
Just smoke and thieves.

Their promises?
Trash, thrown away.
Chatter, noise—
Their usual play.

Fake science rules,
Strong and mean.
Those devil fiends
Lie, obscene.

Years roll on—
Their poison grows.
People snap—
Like broken bows.

Sick from lies,
They rot and fall.
Time to smash
This rotten thrall!

Filthy lies—
The devil’s game.
Hard as hell,
But break the chain.

When you’ve seen
The brutal truth,
Your battle-scarred mind
Says ***** their ruse.

Find the path,
Break all the chains,
Spirit’s fire
Runs through your veins.

Darkness fades—
Their poison dulls.
No more weight,
No heavy pull.

Let the light
Burn through your core.
Stand your ground—
Fight, roar, and soar!



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



Identifying "Thinking"

Something “is” something else —
Mostly just pure crap.
That’s how your mind decays,
A trace of dull mishap.

Definitions forced on you —
Concepts swapped, a flood.
Dumbness spread for ages —
Mountains of foul mud.

Rotten fake science piled high —
Manipulation’s core.
Those lying, bought-out *******
Leave understanding poor.

Man is NOT his body,
Not a skull with thoughts to keep.
He’s Spirit, bold and free—
Tell the *******: “Take a leap!”

Consciousness—just fragments left,
If Spirit and Conscience die.
Monsters run their experiments,
Dark legions multiply.

Everything’s put on shelves — neat rows —
But Nature’s chaos won’t align.
Dogma forced by “scientists” —
Identification thinking? **** swine.

“Only this is true,
Disagree — you’re enemy.”
How many lies, songs sung
By these parasites in enmity?

Change the labels—new heresies—
And **** the mind anew.
Filthy monsters, teeth bared,
Will do the same—abuse and spew.

They say, “New era!”—a new phase—
“Medical neo-fascism” rises.
Digital chains clamped tight—
The worst of all despises.

Inventing sickness? Easy.
Poison the herds to ****.
Call the poison “vaccine,” pump it down—
Lies multiply at will.

Lie in jargon, twist the words,
Throw terms around like swords.
Only minds will break the code—
While the herd just feeds and hordes.

The herd doesn’t think—instincts rule,
Labels flash like signals bright.
Genocide’s a simple game—
Poisons in food, lies in flight.

So trust nothing, think again!
Turn on your guts, your daring flame.
Step inside—clean out the rot,
Cast the lies away—end the shame.



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



The Path

There’s nothing left to hope for,
No use clinging to the show —
The false life’s hollow shadow.
Step into danger’s core.

First go deep INSIDE —
Know yourself as Spirit’s fire.
Then comes the Final Judgment —
All else? Mere rumor’s liar.

Cast away the lies,
Cleanse your mind and soul.
That’s how you **** the darkness
And reclaim control.

Your soul’s torment began
In a lost, forsaken youth.
Your mind’s a sieve of chaos —
Salvation’s bitter truth.

Run the long, hard race —
It soothes your frayed nerve-ends.
Reject the past’s dead ways,
Seek out your hidden bends.

Build your own new world,
A life beyond the doom —
Where fate won’t chain or trap you
Inside this madman’s tomb.

A world of slaves and ruin,
No cheese in every trap,
Where treachery’s the fortress,
And lies drown in the crap.

Forge communities,
Make brotherhood your shield.
The lies’ harsh war won’t touch
Men whose spirits won’t yield.

Sources of pure light—
Energy outlawed and banned—
Find this “sphere” once lost,
Reclaim it hand in hand.

Open it anew,
Plant it deep in your tribes.
Our final battle’s here—
No fear, no shakes, no bribes.

All is lost: the wise
Are scattered shards and crumbs.
Drop your whines and fears—
Be clear and brave, become

The one to tear that line,
Or choose a different way.
Find it, no matter how
Rough or steep the sway.

Put everything on the altar
To fight this filthy spawn.
If Spirit’s king within you—
With Mind, Honor, and the Dawn.

Direct your wrath and fury
At fascists vile and grim.
We’ll build a living world
Inside this foggy brim.

A mother cat and her babies, maybe five, maybe four                           Together all cuddling in a box on the floor                                                            ­                                                           She is so attentive, as they meow loudly,                                                          ­                                                   She gets them motivated, corrals them proudly                                                          ­                                                     A collection of soft and colorful fur                                                              ­    up safe in their loft, they snuggle and purr                                                 She eyes me watching, while cleaning them gently                                   none of them matching other than their innocent beauty

i
Painted face sits shotgun
on a pennyfarthing chakra
ridden blindfold.

A twist of spine
swings him pendular
every beat, a half-finished bongo trill
nudges black berets askew.
Goatee stubble corrals galloping speech
into enclosures.

Break comma stop.

ii
The chorus,
a fat thousand-eyed mollusk gapes:
he juggles
a bomb
an asp
a knife.

Does he
drop the bomb, ****** the knife,
let the poisonous snake bite?

With child's plainspokenness
we play rock scissors paper
with death’s ivory hands waiting.

Bomb shatters knife
knife slices snake
snake eludes bomb.

The marks whelp their joy
clapping, weeping
with the thousand hands and eyes
of Guishan Guanyin.

Azrael's eyes
drowned in narcotics
***** from the shadows.
Pupils dilate, prolapse
in a unison of aqueous humour.

A blur of dervish
swallows the air
spreads like virus.

iii
Outside the amphitheatre
wings grazing crumbling walls
Azrael peddles dice.

"Worn from the teeth of a dead Logos," his voices sing
his nebulae of tongues clicking against teeth
arrayed like tombstones inside his abysses of mouths
breath smelling of hemlock and grift.
His stock sells out.

After a rainy night of craps
we hissed graft
in the whorl of the priest's ear.
He went home to bed
and dreamt of riches
pouring from the wounds
of sweat-shop children.

iv
In the morning
eight bells peal.
Eyelids hummingbird beneath a black sun
choking the sky over Styx.

Flayed by owls
flendo cinere
we bask in charcoal
and spit obols
into the ferryman's blistered hand.