MAKE war songs out of these;
Make chants that repeat and weave.
Make rhythms up to the ragtime chatter of the machine guns;
Make slow-booming psalms up to the boom of the big guns.
Make a marching song of swinging arms and swinging legs,
        Going along,
        Going along,
On the roads from San Antonio to Athens, from Seattle to Bagdad-
The boys and men in winding lines of khaki, the circling squares of bayonet points.

Cowpunchers, cornhuskers, shopmen, ready in khaki;
Ballplayers, lumberjacks, ironworkers, ready in khaki;
A million, ten million, singing, "I am ready."
This the sun looks on between two seaboards,
In the land of Lincoln, in the land of Grant and Lee.

I heard one say, "I am ready to be killed."
I heard another say, "I am ready to be killed."
O sunburned clear-eyed boys!
I stand on sidewalks and you go by with drums and guns and bugles,
        You-and the flag!
And my heart tightens, a fist of something feels my throat
        When you go by,
You on the kaiser hunt, you and your faces saying, "I am ready to be killed."

They are hunting death,
Death for the one-armed mastoid kaiser.
They are after a Hohenzollern head:
There is no man-hunt of men remembered like this.

The four big brothers are out to ****.
France, Russia, Britain, America-
The four republics are sworn brothers to **** the kaiser.

Yes, this is the great man-hunt;
And the sun has never seen till now
Such a line of toothed and tusked man-killers,
In the blue of the upper sky,
In the green of the undersea,
In the red of winter dawns.
Eating to ****,
Sleeping to ****,
Asked by their mothers to ****,
Wished by four-fifths of the world to ****-
To cut the kaiser's throat,
To hack the kaiser's head,
To hang the kaiser on a high-horizon gibbet.

And is it nothing else than this?
Three times ten million men thirsting the blood
Of a half-cracked one-armed child of the German kings?
Three times ten million men asking the blood
Of a child born with his head wrong-shaped,
The blood of rotted kings in his veins?
If this were all, O God,
I would go to the far timbers
And look on the gray wolves
Tearing the throats of moose:
I would ask a wilder drunk of blood.

Look! It is four brothers in joined hands together.
        The people of bleeding France,
        The people of bleeding Russia,
        The people of Britain, the people of America-
These are the four brothers, these are the four republics.

At first I said it in anger as one who clenches his fist in wrath to fling his knuckles into the face of some one taunting;
Now I say it calmly as one who has thought it over and over again at night, among the mountains, by the seacombers in storm.
I say now, by God, only fighters to-day will save the world, nothing but fighters will keep alive the names of those who left red prints of bleeding feet at Valley Forge in Christmas snow.
On the cross of Jesus, the sword of Napoleon, the skull of Shakespeare, the pen of Tom Jefferson, the ashes of Abraham Lincoln, or any sign of the red and running life poured out by the mothers of the world,
By the God of morning glories climbing blue the doors of quiet homes, by the God of tall hollyhocks laughing glad to children in peaceful valleys, by the God of new mothers wishing peace to sit at windows nursing babies,
I swear only reckless men, ready to throw away their lives by hunger, deprivation, desperate clinging to a single purpose imperturbable and undaunted, men with the primitive guts of rebellion,
Only fighters gaunt with the red brand of labor's sorrow on their brows and labor's terrible pride in their blood, men with souls asking danger-only these will save and keep the four big brothers.

Good-night is the word, good-night to the kings, to the czars,
        Good-night to the kaiser.
The breakdown and the fade-away begins.
The shadow of a great broom, ready to sweep out the trash, is here.

One finger is raised that counts the czar,
The ghost who beckoned men who come no more-
The czar gone to the winds on God's great dustpan,
The czar a pinch of nothing,
The last of the gibbering Romanoffs.

Out and good-night-
The ghosts of the summer palaces
And the ghosts of the winter palaces!
Out and out, good-night to the kings, the czars, the kaisers.

Another finger will speak,
And the kaiser, the ghost who gestures a hundred million sleeping-waking ghosts,
The kaiser will go onto God's great dustpan-
The last of the gibbering Hohenzollerns.
Look! God pities this trash, God waits with a broom and a dustpan,
God knows a finger will speak and count them out.

It is written in the stars;
It is spoken on the walls;
It clicks in the fire-white zigzag of the Atlantic wireless;
It mutters in the bastions of thousand-mile continents;
It sings in a whistle on the midnight winds from Walla Walla to Mesopotamia:
Out and good-night.

The millions slow in khaki,
The millions learning Turkey in the Straw and John Brown's Body,
The millions remembering windrows of dead at Gettysburg, Chickamauga, and Spottsylvania Court House,
The millions dreaming of the morning star of Appomattox,
The millions easy and calm with guns and steel, planes and prows:
        There is a hammering, drumming hell to come.
        The killing gangs are on the way.

God takes one year for a job.
God takes ten years or a million.
God knows when a doom is written.
God knows this job will be done and the words spoken:
Out and good-night.
        The red tubes will run,
        And the great price be paid,
        And the homes empty,
        And the wives wishing,
        And the mothers wishing.

There is only one way now, only the way of the red tubes and the great price.

        Well...
Maybe the morning sun is a five-cent yellow balloon,
And the evening stars the joke of a God gone crazy.
Maybe the mothers of the world,
And the life that pours from their torsal folds-
Maybe it's all a lie sworn by liars,
And a God with a cackling laughter says:
"I, the Almighty God,
I have made all this,
I have made it for kaisers, czars, and kings."

Three times ten million men say: No.
Three times ten million men say:
        God is a God of the People.
And the God who made the world
        And fixed the morning sun,
        And flung the evening stars,
        And shaped the baby hands of life,
This is the God of the Four Brothers;
This is the God of bleeding France and bleeding Russia;
This is the God of the people of Britain and America.

The graves from the Irish Sea to the Caucasus peaks are ten times a million.
The stubs and stumps of arms and legs, the eyesockets empty, the cripples, ten times a million.
The crimson thumb-print of this anathema is on the door panels of a hundred million homes.
Cows gone, mothers on sick-beds, children cry a hunger and no milk comes in the noon-time or at night.
The death-yells of it all, the torn throats of men in ditches calling for water, the shadows and the hacking lungs in dugouts, the steel paws that clutch and squeeze a scarlet drain day by day-the storm of it is hell.
But look! child! the storm is blowing for a clean air.

Look! the four brothers march
And hurl their big shoulders
And swear the job shall be done.

Out of the wild finger-writing north and south, east and west, over the blood-crossed, blood-dusty ball of earth,
Out of it all a God who knows is sweeping clean,
Out of it all a God who sees and pierces through, is breaking and cleaning out an old thousand years, is making ready for a new thousand years.
The four brothers shall be five and more.

Under the chimneys of the winter time the children of the world shall sing new songs.
Among the rocking restless cradles the mothers of the world shall sing new sleepy-time songs.

No matter what life you lead
the ****** is a lovely number:
cheeks as fragile as cigarette paper,
arms and legs made of Limoges,
lips like Vin Du Rhone,
rolling her china-blue doll eyes
open and shut.
Open to say,
Good Day Mama,
and shut for the ******
of the unicorn.
She is unsoiled.
She is as white as a bonefish.

Once there was a lovely ******
called Snow White.
Say she was thirteen.
Her stepmother,
a beauty in her own right,
though eaten, of course, by age,
would hear of no beauty surpassing her own.
Beauty is a simple passion,
but, oh my friends, in the end
you will dance the fire dance in iron shoes.
The stepmother had a mirror to which she referred--
something like the weather forecast--
a mirror that proclaimed
the one beauty of the land.
She would ask,
Looking glass upon the wall,
who is fairest of us all?
And the mirror would reply,
You are the fairest of us all.
Pride pumped in her like poison.

Suddenly one day the mirror replied,
Queen, you are full fair, 'tis true,
but Snow White is fairer than you.
Until that moment Snow White
had been no more important
than a dust mouse under the bed.
But now the queen saw brown spots on her hand
and four whiskers over her lip
so she condemned Snow White
to be hacked to death.
Bring me her heart, she said to the hunter,
and I will salt it and eat it.
The hunter, however, let his prisoner go
and brought a boar's heart back to the castle.
The queen chewed it up like a cube steak.
Now I am fairest, she said,
lapping her slim white fingers.

Snow White walked in the wildwood
for weeks and weeks.
At each turn there were twenty doorways
and at each stood a hungry wolf,
his tongue lolling out like a worm.
The birds called out lewdly,
talking like pink parrots,
and the snakes hung down in loops,
each a noose for her sweet white neck.
On the seventh week
she came to the seventh mountain
and there she found the dwarf house.
It was as droll as a honeymoon cottage
and completely equipped with
seven beds, seven chairs, seven forks
and seven chamber pots.
Snow White ate seven chicken livers
and lay down, at last, to sleep.

The dwarfs, those little hot dogs,
walked three times around Snow White,
the sleeping ******.  They were wise
and wattled like small czars.
Yes.  It's a good omen,
they said, and will bring us luck.
They stood on tiptoes to watch
Snow White wake up.  She told them
about the mirror and the killer-queen
and they asked her to stay and keep house.
Beware of your stepmother,
they said.
Soon she will know you are here.
While we are away in the mines
during the day, you must not
open the door.

Looking glass upon the wall . . .
The mirror told
and so the queen dressed herself in rags
and went out like a peddler to trap Snow White.
She went across seven mountains.
She came to the dwarf house
and Snow White opened the door
and bought a bit of lacing.
The queen fastened it tightly
around her bodice,
as tight as an Ace bandage,
so tight that Snow White swooned.
She lay on the floor, a plucked daisy.
When the dwarfs came home they undid the lace
and she revived miraculously.
She was as full of life as soda pop.
Beware of your stepmother,
they said.
She will try once more.

Snow White, the dumb bunny,
opened the door
and she bit into a poison apple
and fell down for the final time.
When the dwarfs returned
they undid her bodice,
they looked for a comb,
but it did no good.
Though they washed her with wine
and rubbed her with butter
it was to no avail.
She lay as still as a gold piece.

The seven dwarfs could not bring themselves
to bury her in the black ground
so they made a glass coffin
and set it upon the seventh mountain
so that all who passed by
could peek in upon her beauty.
A prince came one June day
and would not budge.
He stayed so long his hair turned green
and still he would not leave.
The dwarfs took pity upon him
and gave him the glass Snow White--
its doll's eyes shut forever--
to keep in his far-off castle.
As the prince's men carried the coffin
they stumbled and dropped it
and the chunk of apple flew out
of her throat and she woke up miraculously.

And thus Snow White became the prince's bride.
The wicked queen was invited to the wedding feast
and when she arrived there were
red-hot iron shoes,
in the manner of red-hot roller skates,
clamped upon her feet.
First your toes will smoke
and then your heels will turn black
and you will fry upward like a frog,
she was told.
And so she danced until she was dead,
a subterranean figure,
her tongue flicking in and out
like a gas jet.
Meanwhile Snow White held court,
rolling her china-blue doll eyes open and shut
and sometimes referring to her mirror
as women do.

SMOKE of the fields in spring is one,
Smoke of the leaves in autumn another.
Smoke of a steel-mill roof or a battleship funnel,
They all go up in a line with a smokestack,
Or they twist ... in the slow twist ... of the wind.
  
If the north wind comes they run to the south.
If the west wind comes they run to the east.
  By this sign
  all smokes
  know each other.
Smoke of the fields in spring and leaves in autumn,
Smoke of the finished steel, chilled and blue,
By the oath of work they swear: "I know you."
  
Hunted and hissed from the center
Deep down long ago when God made us over,
Deep down are the cinders we came from-
You and I and our heads of smoke.
  
Some of the smokes God dropped on the job
Cross on the sky and count our years
And sing in the secrets of our numbers;
Sing their dawns and sing their evenings,
Sing an old log-fire song:
  
You may put the damper up,
You may put the damper down,
The smoke goes up the chimney just the same.
  
Smoke of a city sunset skyline,
Smoke of a country dusk horizon-
  They cross on the sky and count our years.
  
Smoke of a brick-red dust
  Winds on a spiral
  Out of the stacks
For a hidden and glimpsing moon.
This, said the bar-iron shed to the blooming mill,
This is the slang of coal and steel.
The day-gang hands it to the night-gang,
The night-gang hands it back.
  
Stammer at the slang of this-
Let us understand half of it.
  In the rolling mills and sheet mills,
  In the harr and boom of the blast fires,
  The smoke changes its shadow
  And men change their shadow;
  A ******, a ***, a bohunk changes.
  
  A bar of steel-it is only
Smoke at the heart of it, smoke and the blood of a man.
A runner of fire ran in it, ran out, ran somewhere else,
And left-smoke and the blood of a man
And the finished steel, chilled and blue.
  
So fire runs in, runs out, runs somewhere else again,
And the bar of steel is a gun, a wheel, a nail, a shovel,
A rudder under the sea, a steering-gear in the sky;
And always dark in the heart and through it,
  Smoke and the blood of a man.
Pittsburg, Youngstown, Gary-they make their steel with men.
  
In the blood of men and the ink of chimneys
The smoke nights write their oaths:
Smoke into steel and blood into steel;
Homestead, Braddock, Birmingham, they make their steel with men.
Smoke and blood is the mix of steel.
  
  The birdmen drone
  in the blue; it is steel
  a motor sings and zooms.
  
Steel barb-wire around The Works.
Steel guns in the holsters of the guards at the gates of The Works.
Steel ore-boats bring the loads clawed from the earth by steel, lifted and lugged by arms of steel, sung on its way by the clanking clam-shells.
The runners now, the handlers now, are steel; they dig and clutch and haul; they hoist their automatic knuckles from job to job; they are steel making steel.
Fire and dust and air fight in the furnaces; the pour is timed, the billets wriggle; the clinkers are dumped:
Liners on the sea, skyscrapers on the land; diving steel in the sea, climbing steel in the sky.
  
Finders in the dark, you Steve with a dinner bucket, you Steve clumping in the dusk on the sidewalks with an evening paper for the woman and kids, you Steve with your head wondering where we all end up-
Finders in the dark, Steve: I hook my arm in cinder sleeves; we go down the street together; it is all the same to us; you Steve and the rest of us end on the same stars; we all wear a hat in hell together, in hell or heaven.
  
Smoke nights now, Steve.
Smoke, smoke, lost in the sieves of yesterday;
Dumped again to the scoops and hooks today.
Smoke like the clocks and whistles, always.
  Smoke nights now.
  To-morrow something else.
  
Luck moons come and go:
Five men swim in a *** of red steel.
Their bones are kneaded into the bread of steel:
Their bones are knocked into coils and anvils
And the ******* plungers of sea-fighting turbines.
Look for them in the woven frame of a wireless station.
So ghosts hide in steel like heavy-armed men in mirrors.
Peepers, skulkers-they shadow-dance in laughing tombs.
They are always there and they never answer.
  
One of them said: "I like my job, the company is good to me, America is a wonderful country."
One: "Jesus, my bones ache; the company is a liar; this is a free country, like hell."
One: "I got a girl, a peach; we save up and go on a farm and raise pigs and be the boss ourselves."
And the others were roughneck singers a long ways from home.
Look for them back of a steel vault door.
  
They laugh at the cost.
They lift the birdmen into the blue.
It is steel a motor sings and zooms.
  
In the subway plugs and drums,
In the slow hydraulic drills, in gumbo or gravel,
Under dynamo shafts in the webs of armature spiders,
They shadow-dance and laugh at the cost.
  
The ovens light a red dome.
Spools of fire wind and wind.
Quadrangles of crimson sputter.
The lashes of dying maroon let down.
Fire and wind wash out the ****.
Forever the **** gets washed in fire and wind.
The anthem learned by the steel is:
  Do this or go hungry.
Look for our rust on a plow.
Listen to us in a threshing-engine razz.
Look at our job in the running wagon wheat.
  
Fire and wind wash at the ****.
Box-cars, clocks, steam-shovels, churns, pistons, boilers, scissors-
Oh, the sleeping **** from the mountains, the ****-heavy pig-iron will go down many roads.
Men will stab and shoot with it, and make butter and tunnel rivers, and mow hay in swaths, and slit hogs and skin beeves, and steer airplanes across North America, Europe, Asia, round the world.
  
Hacked from a hard rock country, broken and baked in mills and smelters, the rusty dust waits
Till the clean hard weave of its atoms cripples and blunts the drills chewing a hole in it.
The steel of its plinths and flanges is reckoned, O God, in one-millionth of an inch.
  
Once when I saw the curves of fire, the rough scarf women dancing,
Dancing out of the flues and smoke-stacks-flying hair of fire, flying feet upside down;
Buckets and baskets of fire exploding and chortling, fire running wild out of the steady and fastened ovens;
Sparks cracking a harr-harr-huff from a solar-plexus of rock-ribs of the earth taking a laugh for themselves;
Ears and noses of fire, gibbering gorilla arms of fire, gold mud-pies, gold bird-wings, red jackets riding purple mules, scarlet autocrats tumbling from the humps of camels, assassinated czars straddling vermillion balloons;
I saw then the fires flash one by one: good-by: then smoke, smoke;
And in the screens the great sisters of night and cool stars, sitting women arranging their hair,
Waiting in the sky, waiting with slow easy eyes, waiting and half-murmuring:
  "Since you know all
  and I know nothing,
  tell me what I dreamed last night."
  
Pearl cobwebs in the windy rain,
in only a flicker of wind,
are caught and lost and never known again.
  
A pool of moonshine comes and waits,
but never waits long: the wind picks up
loose gold like this and is gone.
  
A bar of steel sleeps and looks slant-eyed
on the pearl cobwebs, the pools of moonshine;
sleeps slant-eyed a million years,
sleeps with a coat of rust, a vest of moths,
a shirt of gathering sod and loam.
  
The wind never bothers ... a bar of steel.
The wind picks only .. pearl cobwebs .. pools of moonshine.

We glide through life on hollow wings, while making art with earthly things,
when halting beauty stops us all around.
Unmindful of the world we share and gifts that we are given here,
content to fool ourselves with pleasures found.

We search in vain like fools to find, a beauty of a special kind,
a noise that forces all the world to see,
how wonderful our talents are to spread our names and voices far
and let us live into eternity.

How foolishly to think that we can along with czars and magic men
to light a fire that burns eternally.  
When most our hopes and dreams can bear is lifelong bliss in moments shared,
while hand in hand, I run away with you.

these days
looking around the globe
one might believe that we are travelling in time

just in the wrong direction

regression as progress
seems to be
the dominant notion of the day
creating wannabees in various disguises
     populist czars, sultans, nationalists, dictators,
     assorted self-appointed snake-oil salesmen
     and saviors of their peoples’ wealth and health,
trumpeting fences, walls, tough immigration laws,
etc., etc.  
to keep out all those aliens

     who otherwise are welcome
     as our partners in the global trade
     that seems to dominate the world of greed

so we can all be ourselves

     whatever that might mean

claiming to solve the problems of tomorrow
     with romanticized memories of yesterday
is hopeless and quite dangerous

do you remember
what that glorified past
actually was?

none of you understand what i’m saying is i’m not like any of you never married never parented children never owned real estate don’t believe in government the law hate rich people not afraid to lose everything risk life for the chance at a better life yes i graduated from Philadelphia dental school practiced medicine several years dashing handsome cordial Georgia physician yet knowing i was dying then of tuberculosis i wanted to feel alive know danger taste possibilities ******* greedy ranch and railroad barons all you cotton gin grist mill moguls loud mouthed Yankee carpetbaggers bounty hunters self-righteous snake oil preachers with your fearful farmstead flocks what the hell do you think Big Nose Kate and me were doing in Tucson why i risked my life at Tombstone’s OK Corral i’ll tell you why because we were desperate beyond your comprehension long-drawn-out careworn hours twisted in desperation insufferably plodding nights so desperate Kate relieved me daily yet in back of each our minds we understood we were both slaves to ancient unfair corrupt economic system that provided enough whiskey to cope desperate for money allegiance shelter frantic enough to face loaded guns aimed firing at me it was hell on earth glaring sun beating down desert dust blowing burning eyes bullets cutting everywhere 1880’s revolvers lacking accuracy even with expert gunsmith modifications young men riddled with bleeding gunshot wounds in 6 years i was dead age 36 hey Kate was no cakewalk she was a ***** who knew how to play me flirting charming admiring exaggerating her strange Hungarian lust encouraging provoking prostituting on her knees back tummy fingers mouth managing somehow to become acquainted with Arizona Governor George Hunt then surviving to age 90 you modern day sleepers who read this rambling cower at airport security passively submit to insidious militarizing culture invasively inspecting camera scanning for cuticle scissors nail file weapons all ludicrous absurdist theatre while real bad guys can easily tape 3 McDonald’s plastic knives together or ball point pen pierce pilots passengers throat arteries skyjack planes hijack bus trains you are no safer than you ever were before Homeland Security Czars foreign wars where we don’t belong riding has grown so weary courage ruthless longing vexing generating entire industry of airport security corporate mall tariff duty free shops inflated restaurant menu prices liter bottle of water $4.99 welcome to America **** me now or **** me later who cares what i look like what i wear if i’m dry shaven smell like goat if i cough up chunks of lung spit tuberculosis germs on polished floors just so long as i pay the toll fee and don’t go shooting off my mouth

My eyes have never had the opportunity to even glare at diamonds.
I’ve never had the experience of tasting water from the cup of life.
The shame of my current status, in a suburban purgatory; where all the houses look the same.
And the town is slowly decaying.
The radio, television and computer spew promises of golden treasures
Dionysian parties.
Lavish, mischievous endeavors.
And never even taking a moment to mull over the choices.
Bentleys soaring through the city nights.
But it’s just in our prayers.
A watch covered in rubies that won’t tell time,
Because it doesn’t matter,
Pricey top shelf alcohols,
Exotic purebred animals,
Paying no mind to the expense.
I have no time to listen to your lustful desires.
We may never be these magnificent stars above…
For our blood isn’t lucky or holy.
Yet we don’t crave extravagance.
But desire that eluding excitement.
Name me king!
And kiss the ring!
I’m just a fool.
It’s all but a dream.
We have unraveled the clandestine riddles.
Rolling pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters,
On our way to the wishing well.
And it’s effortless to distinguish between barren pockets and bursting pouches of dabloons and denarius’.
No nuisance to us we’ve worked for what we have.
The curse of greed, self-indulgence,
Splurging on foolish fixations.
Impaired, decked out
Obliterating the palace.
While keeping their noses in the airs they put on.
Pumpkin carriages at midnight,
Platinum plates for a marvelous feast.
Airplanes, cruise ships.
All we need are the keys.
Ride on the horizon.
We maybe become millionaires, take the money and run
But we don’t need the luxury;
We only yearn for the golden sun.
I’m not an emperor,
Nor a leader.
Just a player in this life,
They call a game.

Children shot daily despite our stern laws
But at least they are safe from plastic straws

Children shot daily, caught in street-gang fights
But at least they are safe from 100-watt lights

Children shot daily, high death rankings
But at least they are safe from parental spankings

Children shot daily, murdered by crooks
But at least they are safe from The Little House books

Children shot daily, may God bless their souls
And too our regulated toilet bowls

I.

Canaris ! Canaris ! pleure ! cent vingt vaisseaux !
Pleure ! Une flotte entière ! - Où donc, démon des eaux,
Où donc était ta main hardie ?
Se peut-il que sans toi l'ottoman succombât ?
Pleure ! comme Crillon exilé d'un combat,
Tu manquais à cet incendie !

Jusqu'ici, quand parfois la vague de tes mers
Soudain s'ensanglantait, comme un lac des enfers,
D'une lueur large et profonde,
Si quelque lourd navire éclatait à nos yeux
Couronné tout à coup d'une aigrette de feux,
Comme un volcan s'ouvrant dans l'onde ;

Si la lame roulait turbans, sabres courbés,
Voiles, tentes, croissants des mâts rompus tombés,
Vestiges de flotte et d'armée,
Pelisses de vizirs, sayons de matelots,
Rebuts stigmatisés de la flamme et des flots,
Blancs d'écume et noirs de fumée ;

Si partait de ces mers d'Egine ou d'Iolchos
Un bruit d'explosion, tonnant dans mille échos
Et roulant au **** dans l'espace,
L'Europe se tournait vers le rougo Orient ;
Et, sur la poupe assis, le nocher souriant
Disait : - C'est Canaris qui passe !

Jusqu'ici quand brûlaient au sein des flots fumants
Les capitans-pachas avec leurs armements,
Leur flotte dans l'ombre engourdie,
On te reconnaissait à ce terrible jeu ;
Ton brûlot expliquant tous ces vaisseaux en feu ;
Ta torche éclairait l'incendie !

Mais pleure aujourd'hui, pleure, on s'est battu sans toi !
Pourquoi, sans Canaris, sur ces flottes, pourquoi
Porter la guerre et ses tempêtes ?
Du Dieu qui garde Hellé n'est-il plus le bras droit ?
On aurait dû l'attendre ! Et n'est-il pas de droit
Convive de toutes ces fêtes ?

II.

Console-toi ! la Grèce est libre.
Entre les bourreaux, les mourants,
L'Europe a remis l'équilibre ;
Console-toi ! plus de tyrans !
La France combat : le sort change.
Souffre que sa main qui vous venge
Du moins te dérobe en échange
Une feuille de ton laurier.
Grèces de Byron et d'Homère,
Toi, notre sœur, toi, notre mère,
Chantez ! si votre voix amère
Ne s'est pas éteinte à crier.

Pauvre Grèce, qu'elle était belle,
Pour être couchée au tombeau !
Chaque vizir de la rebelle
S'arrachait un sacré lambeau.
Où la fable mit ses ménades,
Où l'amour eut ses sérénades,
Grondaient les sombres canonnades
Sapant les temps du vrai Dieu ;
Le ciel de cette terre aimée
N'avait, sous sa voûte embaumée,
De nuages que la fumée
De toutes ses villes en feu.

Voilà six ans qu'ils l'ont choisie !
Six ans qu'on voyait accourir
L'Afrique au secours de l'Asie
Contre un peuple instruit à mourir.
Ibrahim, que rien ne modère,
Vole de l'Isthme au Belvédère,
Comme un faucon qui n'a plus d'aire,
Comme un loup qui règne au bercail ;
Il court où le butin le tente,
Et lorsqu'il retourne à sa tente,
Chaque fois sa main dégouttante
Jette des têtes au sérail !

III.

Enfin ! - C'est Navarin, la ville aux maisons peintes,
La ville aux dômes d'or, la blanche Navarin,
Sur la colline assise entre les térébinthes,
Qui prête son beau golfe aux ardentes étreintes
De deux flottes heurtant leurs carènes d'airain.

Les voilà toutes deux ! - La mer en est chargée,
Prête à noyer leurs feux, prête à boire leur sang.
Chacune par son dieu semble au combat rangée ;
L'une s'étend en croix sur les flots allongée,
L'autre ouvre ses bras lourds et se courbe en croissant.

Ici, l'Europe : enfin ! l'Europe qu'on déchaîne,
Avec ses grands vaisseaux voguant comme des tours.
Là, l'Egypte des Turcs, cette Asie africaine,
Ces vivaces forbans, mal tués par Duquesne,
Qui mit en vain le pied sur ces nids de vautours.

IV.

Ecoutez ! - Le canon gronde.
Il est temps qu'on lui réponde.
Le patient est le fort.
Eclatent donc les bordées !
Sur ces nefs intimidées,
Frégates, jetez la mort !
Et qu'au souffle de vos bouches
Fondent ces vaisseaux farouches,
Broyés aux rochers du port !

La bataille enfin s'allume.
Tout à la fois tonne et fume.
La mort vole où nous frappons.
Là, tout brûle pêle-mêle.
Ici, court le brûlot frêle
Qui jette aux mâts ses crampons
Et, comme un chacal dévore
L'éléphant qui lutte encore,
Ronge un navire à trois ponts.

- L'abordage ! l'abordage ! -
On se suspend au cordage,
On s'élance des haubans.
La poupe heurte la proue.
La mêlée a dans sa roue
Rameurs courbés sur leurs bancs
Fantassins cherchant la terre,
L'épée et le cimeterre,
Les casques et les turbans.

La vergue aux vergues s'attache ;
La torche insulte à la hache ;
Tout s'attaque en même temps.
Sur l'abîme la mort nage.
Epouvantable carnage !
Champs de bataille flottants
Qui, battus de cent volées,
S'écroulent sous les mêlées,
Avec tous les combattants.

V.

Lutte horrible ! Ah ! quand l'homme, à l'étroit sur la terre,
Jusque sur l'Océan précipite la guerre,
Le sol tremble sous lui, tandis qu'il se débat.
La mer, la grande mer joue avec ses batailles.
Vainqueurs, vaincus, à tous elle ouvre ses entrailles.
Le naufrage éteint le combat.

Ô spectacle ! Tandis que l'Afrique grondante
Bat nos puissants vaisseaux de sa flotte imprudente,
Qu'elle épuise à leurs flancs sa rage et ses efforts,
Chacun d'eux, géant fier, sur ces hordes bruyantes,
Ouvrant à temps égaux ses gueules foudroyantes,
***** tranquillement la mort de tous ses bords.

Tout s'embrase : voyez ! l'eau de centre est semée,
Le vent aux mâts en flamme arrache la fumée,
Le feu sur les tillacs s'abat en ponts mouvants.
Déjà brûlent les nefs ; déjà, sourde et profonde,
La flamme en leurs flancs noirs ouvre un passage à l'onde ;
Déjà, sur les ailes des vents,

L'incendie, attaquant la frégate amirale,
Déroule autour des mâts sont ardente spirale,
Prend les marins hurlants dans ses brûlants réseaux,
Couronne de ses jets la poupe inabordable,
Triomphe, et jette au **** un reflet formidable
Qui tremble, élargissant ses cercles sur les eaux.

VI.

Où sont, enfants du Caire,
Ces flottes qui naguère
Emportaient à la guerre
Leurs mille matelots ?
Ces voiles, où sont-elles,
Qu'armaient les infidèles,
Et qui prêtaient leurs ailes
A l'ongle des brûlots ?

Où sont tes mille antennes,
Et tes hunes hautaines,
Et tes fiers capitaines,
Armada du sultan ?
Ta ruine commence,
Toi qui, dans ta démence,
Battais les mers, immense
Comme Léviathan !

Le capitan qui tremble
Voit éclater ensemble
Ces chébecs que rassemble
Alger ou Tetuan.
Le feu vengeur embrasse
Son vaisseau dont la masse
Soulève, quand il passe,
Le fond de l'Océan.

Sur les mers irritées,
Dérivent, démâtées,
Nefs par les nefs heurtées,
Yachts aux mille couleurs,
Galères capitanes,
Caïques et tartanes
Qui portaient aux sultanes
Des têtes et des fleurs.

Adieu, sloops intrépides,
Adieu, jonques rapides,
Qui sur les eaux limpides
Berçaient les icoglans !
Adieu la goëlette
Dont la vague reflète
Le flamboyant squelette,
Noir dans les feux sanglants !

Adieu la barcarolle
Dont l'humble banderole
Autour des vaisseaux vole,
Et qui, peureuse, fuit,
Quand du souffle des brises
Les frégates surprises,
Gonflant leurs voiles grises,
Déferlent à grand bruit !

Adieu la caravelle
Qu'une voile nouvelle
Aux yeux de **** révèle ;
Adieu le dogre ailé,
Le brick dont les amures
Rendent de sourds murmures,
Comme un amas d'armures
Par le vent ébranlé !

Adieu la brigantine,
Dont la voile latine
Du flot qui se mutine
Fend les vallons amers !
Adieu la balancelle
Qui sur l'onde chancelle,
Et, comme une étincelle,
Luit sur l'azur des mers !

Adieu lougres difformes,
Galéaces énormes,
Vaisseaux de toutes formes,
Vaisseaux de tous climats,
L'yole aux triples flammes,
Les mahonnes, les prames,
La felouque à six rames,
La polacre à deux mâts !

Chaloupe canonnières !
Et lanches marinières
Où flottaient les bannières
Du pacha souverain !
Bombardes que la houle,
Sur son front qui s'écroule,
Soulève, emporte et roule
Avec un bruit d'airain !

Adieu, ces nefs bizarres,
Caraques et gabarres,
Qui de leurs cris barbares
Troublaient Chypre et Délos !
Que sont donc devenues
Ces flottes trop connues ?
La mer les jette aux nues,
Le ciel les rend aux flots !

VII.

Silence ! Tout est fait. Tout retombe à l'abîme.
L'écume des hauts mâts a recouvert la cime.
Des vaisseaux du sultan les flots se sont joués.
Quelques-uns, bricks rompus, prames désemparées,
Comme l'algue des eaux qu'apportent les marées,
Sur la grève noircie expirent échoués.

Ah ! c'est une victoire ! - Oui, l'Afrique défaite,
Le vrai Dieu sous ses pieds foulant le faux prophète,
Les tyrans, les bourreaux criant grâce à leur tour,
Ceux qui meurent enfin sauvés par ceux qui règnent,
Hellé lavant ses flancs qui saignent,
Et six ans vengés dans un jour !

Depuis assez longtemps les peuples disaient : « Grèce !
Grèce ! Grèce ! tu meurs. Pauvre peuple en détresse,
A l'horizon en feu chaque jour tu décroîs.
En vain, pour te sauver, patrie illustre et chère,
Nous réveillons le prêtre endormi dans sa chaire,
En vain nous mendions une armée à nos rois.

« Mais les rois restent sourds, les chaires sont muettes.
Ton nom n'échauffe ici que des cœurs de poètes.
A la gloire, à la vie on demande tes droits.
A la croix grecque, Hellé, ta valeur se confie.
C'est un peuple qu'on crucifie !
Qu'importe, hélas ! sur quelle croix !

« Tes dieux s'en vont aussi. Parthénon, Propylées,
Murs de Grèce, ossements des villes mutilées,
Vous devenez une arme aux mains des mécréants.
Pour battre ses vaisseaux du haut des Dardanelles,
Chacun de vos débris, ruines solennelles,
Donne un boulet de marbre à leurs canons géants ! »

Qu'on change cette plainte en joyeuse fanfare !
Une rumeur surgit de l'Isthme jusqu'au Phare.
Regardez ce ciel noir plus beau qu'un ciel serein.
Le vieux colosse turc sur l'Orient retombe,
La Grèce est libre, et dans la tombe
Byron applaudit Navarin.

Salut donc, Albion, vieille reine des ondes !
Salut, aigle des czars qui planes sur deux mondes !
Gloire à nos fleurs de lys, dont l'éclat est si beau !
L'Angleterre aujourd'hui reconnaît sa rivale.
Navarin la lui rend. Notre gloire navale
A cet embrasement rallume son flambeau.

Je te retrouve, Autriche ! - Oui, la voilà, c'est elle !
Non pas ici, mais là, - dans la flotte infidèle.
Parmi les rangs chrétiens en vain on te cherchera.
Nous surprenons, honteuse et la tête penchée,
Ton aigle au double front cachée
Sous les crinières d'un pacha !

C'est bien ta place, Autriche ! - On te voyait naguère
Briller près d'Ibrahim, ce Tamerlan vulgaire ;
Tu dépouillais les morts qu'il foulait en passant ;
Tu l'admirais, mêlée aux eunuques serviles
Promenant au hasard sa torche dans les villes,
Horrible et n'éteignant le feu qu'avec du sang.

Tu préférais ces feux aux clartés de l'aurore.
Aujourd'hui qu'à leur tour la flamme enfin dévore
Ses noirs vaisseaux, vomis des ports égyptiens,
Rouvre les yeux, regarde, Autriche abâtardie !
Que dis-tu de cet incendie ?
Est-il aussi beau que les siens ?

Le 23 novembre 1827.

Thanks thespis for another muse anew,
Filliping my soul with the spirit of a song,
To chant for the young world in these pepperish letters,
before my callous  eyes on the skull of  historical future
on my pykitonic   torso of I another African pykin,
as I finish my coffin for the cadaver of poetry
that the law of poetry is a distorting neurosis,
neurotic abnormality its baseboard of time
giving classical  balance for wondrous poetry.

Compensatory motivation a charm of its seed,
Taking dear eyes from the skull of Demodocos
Leaving songfull mouth his legacy for humanity,
Warped physique not short of history,
Teaching the world to drink in full pyrene spring
As hunchbacked dwarfism of Alexander Pope
was not in any sense  dwarfism  of his poetry,
nor club foot of Byron in ******* to Maugham
Byronic heroism to Europe of yester times,
That sired Proust, the Jewish neurotic
And Keats the most dwarfish and Wolfe the tallest
Of man and woman to the cultural matrix
Of Europe, the mother of art, poetry and synaethesia,

From which was born Pushkin that took poetry
Out of his nymphomaniac heart, to the solace of czars,
And Shakespeare the dear thief, luckily converted
Childhood kleptomania into royal theatre of King Lear,
The parallel of four brothers from the house of Karamazov,
Their father; impecunious penny penchant muzhik
In the name of Fydor epileptic Dostoyevsky.

A lull of the time to escape from world of rent and tax,
Gripped nerves of the duo to a new realm of art
wherein sensuous glory from ***** and Indian hemp
propelled the souls of  Coleridge and De Quincey
to grandiose highness of poetry in the dreams of *****,
bordering on the  teutonic greatness of  ritualistic breed,
poetry that transcended from rotten apples  in the writing desk
of Fredriech von schiller the begotten son of Germany,
writing under the arms of Balzac dressed in monkey clobus,
that along with Milton in the lost paradise, gave him swaddles
only when the poetic vein of Milton flowed happily from nothing,
but from the ritualized autumnal equinox to the spiritual vernal,
as Coleridge was in full recondite  of marquetry,mosaic and miracles,
the miraculous white male sheep, the white ram of Wole Soyinka,
that he gave as a gift to Achebe at the last anniversary, evil decoy
that become a car which deathly crushed Chinua Achebe
down to demise in the catacombs for the law of poetry
as abnormal human  neurosis an equation of perfect art.

No Values
just statues of accountants who could never learn to count
and mounted on the spikes,where business is displayed and laid out for the world to see in naked abject poverty
are chief executives and heads of lesser known departments who never meant to cook the books
but fell for fortune and her looks and took that chance to spread their wings
and now the wind that whistles sings
and passes through their empty eyes ,and flapping flesh drips off dry bones of arms that never meant to harm.

No charmed lives left in Holborn or in Chancery lane,where solicitors were in on the game of taking risks
and risks they took
another spike and one more hook for the fallen wig,who still seems regal but not as big as what he thought legal.

They bought but never owned the sky or stole it from the smaller fry who swam around the edges and the shadows in society
and we,
the ripped off,stripped off,sing dirges to their loss but me,I couldn't give a toss
let them burn and turn slowly on the spit
we'll roast and toast them,
let them boast then of fancy women,fancy cars and fancy meals in fancy bars.
These czars have gone the way of old
where bold men.bad men always fold in two
and the wind blew tears that fell to splash on piles of once extorted cash and though accountants cannot count
judges learn to mount the steps and put their heads in hangman's ropes and any hopes they entertain of clemency go down the drain along with
any gains they ever made.

Those who laid beside the wide boys of this world and opened eyes into another where they couldn't even bother to see just who they hurt
have lost their shirts,ripped off their backs,attacked by those that they attacked and now the axe is on the other foot where once a boot was kicked into my ****.

so good luck you *****
I hope your bodies fall to bits
and you end up burning in the pits
alongside the others that have sinned
in the end
no one wins
the voodoo dolls of life are stuck with pins
and the devil grins and hums his tune.

235

The Court is far away—
No Umpire—have I—
My Sovereign is offended—
To gain his grace—I’d die!

I’ll seek his royal feet—
I’ll say—Remember—King—
Thou shalt—thyself—one day—a Child—
Implore a larger—thing—

That Empire—is of Czars—
As small—they say—as I—
Grant me—that day—the royalty—
To intercede—for Thee—

The Grand Duke says “f//k”
The Czar says “s//t”
Rasputin is a schmuck
There’s not much more to it

La satire à présent, chant où se mêle un cri,
Bouche de fer d'où sort un sanglot attendri,
N'est plus ce qu'elle était jadis dans notre enfance,
Quand on nous conduisait, écoliers sans défense,
À la Sorbonne, endroit revêche et mauvais lieu,
Et que, devant nous tous qui l'écoutions fort peu,
Dévidant sa leçon et filant sa quenouille,
Le petit Andrieux, à face de grenouille,
Mordait Shakspeare, Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear, Othello,
Avec ses fausses dents prises au vieux Boileau.

La vie est, en ce siècle inquiet, devenue
Pas à pas grave et morne, et la vérité nue
Appelle la pensée à son secours depuis
Qu'on l'a murée avec le mensonge en son puits.
Après Jean-Jacques, après Danton, le sort ramène
Le lourd pas de la nuit sur la triste âme humaine ;
Droit et Devoir sont là gisants, la plaie au flanc ;
Le lâche soleil rit au noir dragon sifflant ;
L'homme jette à la mer l'honneur, vieille boussole ;
En léchant le vainqueur le vaincu se console ;
Toute l'histoire tient dans ce mot : réussir ;
Le succès est sultan et le meurtre est visir ;
Hélas, la vieille ivresse affreuse de la honte
Reparaît dans les yeux et sur les fronts remonte,
Trinque avec les tyrans, et le peuple fourbu
Reboit ce sombre vin dont il a déjà bu.
C'est pourquoi la satire est sévère. Elle ignore
Cette grandeur des rois qui fit Boileau sonore,
Et ne se souvient d'eux que pour les souffleter.
L'échafaud qu'il faut pièce à pièce démonter,
L'infâme loi de sang qui résiste aux ratures,
Qui garde les billots en lâchant les tortures,
Et dont il faut couper tous les ongles ; l'enfant
Que l'ignorance tient dans son poing étouffant
Et qui doit, libre oiseau, dans l'aube ouvrir ses ailes ;
Relever tour à tour ces sombres sentinelles,
Le mal, le préjugé, l'erreur, monstre romain,
Qui gardent le cachot où dort l'esprit humain ;
La guerre et ses vautours, la peste avec ses mouches,
À chasser ; les bâillons qu'il faut ôter des bouches ;
La parole à donner à toutes les douleurs ;
L'éclosion d'un jour nouveau sur l'homme en fleurs ;
Tel est le but, tel est le devoir, qui complique
Sa colère, et la fait d'utilité publique.

Pour enseigner à tous la vertu, l'équité,
La raison, il suffit que la Réalité,
Pure et sereine, monte à l'horizon et fasse
Évanouir l'horreur des nuits devant sa face.
Honte, gloire, grandeurs, vices, beautés, défauts,
Plaine et monts, sont mêlés tant qu'il fait nuit ; le faux
Fait semblant d'être honnête en l'obscurité louche.
Qu'est-ce que le rayon ? Une pierre de touche.
La lumière de tout ici-bas fait l'essai.
Le juste est sur la terre éclairé par le vrai ;
Le juste c'est la cime et le vrai c'est l'aurore.

Donc Lumière, Raison, Vérité, plus encore,
Bonté dans le courroux et suprême Pitié,
Le méchant pardonné, mais le mal châtié,
Voilà ce qu'aujourd'hui, comme aux vieux temps de Rome,
La satire implacable et tendre doit à l'homme.
Marquis ou médecins, une caste, un métier,
Ce n'est plus là son champ ; il lui faut l'homme entier.
Elle poursuit l'infâme et non le ridicule.

Un petit Augias veut un petit Hercule,
Et le bon Despréaux malin fit ce qu'il put.
Elle n'a plus affaire à l'ancien Lilliput.

Elle vole, à travers l'ombre et les catastrophes,
Grande et pâle, au milieu d'un ouragan de strophes ;
Elle crie à sa meute effrayante : - Courons !
Quand un vil parvenu, marchant sur tous les fronts,
Écrase un peuple avec des pieds jadis sans bottes.
Elle donne à ses chiens ailés tous les despotes,
Tous les monstres, géants et nains, à dévorer.
Elle apparaît aux czars pour les désespérer.
On entend dans son vers craquer les os du tigre.
De même que l'oiseau vers le printemps émigre,
Elle s'en va toujours du côté de l'honneur.
L'ange de Josaphat, le spectre d'Elseneur
Sont ses amis, et, sage, elle semble en démence,
Tant sa clameur profonde emplit le ciel immense.
Il lui faut, pour gronder et planer largement,
Tout le peuple sous elle, âpre, vaste, écumant ;
Ce n'est que sur la mer que le vent est à l'aise.

Quand Colomb part, elle est debout sur la falaise ;
Elle t'aime, ô Barbès ! Et suit d'un long vivat
Fulton, Garibaldi, Byron, John Brown et Watt,
Et toi Socrate, et toi Jésus, et toi Voltaire !
Elle fait, quand un mort glorieux est sous terre,
Sortir un vert laurier de son tombeau dormant ;
Elle ne permet pas qu'il pourrisse autrement.
Elle panse à genoux les vaincus vénérables,
Bénit les maudits, baise au front les misérables,
Lutte, et, sans daigner même un instant y songer,
Se sent par des valets derrière elle juger ;
Car, sous les règnes vils et traîtres, c'est un crime
De ne pas rire à l'heure où râle la victime
Et d'aimer les captifs à travers leurs barreaux ;
Et qui pleure les morts offense les bourreaux.

Est-elle triste ? Non, car elle est formidable.
Puisqu'auprès des tombeaux les vainqueurs sont à table,
Puisqu'on est satisfait dans l'opprobre, et qu'on a
L'impudeur d'être lâche avec un hosanna,
Puisqu'on chante et qu'on danse en dévorant les proies,
Elle vient à la fête elle aussi. Dans ces joies,
Dans ces contentements énormes, dans ces jeux
À force de triomphe et d'ivresse orageux,
Dans ces banquets mêlant Paphos, Clamart et Gnide,
Elle apporte, sinistre, un rire d'euménide.

Mais son immense effort, c'est la vie. Elle veut
Chasser la mort, bannir la nuit, rompre le nœud,
Dût-elle rudoyer le titan populaire.
Comme elle a plus d'amour, elle a plus de colère.
Quoi ! L'abdication serait un oreiller !
La conscience humaine est lente à s'éveiller ;
L'honneur laisse son feu pâlir, tomber, descendre
Sous l'épaississement lugubre de la cendre.
Aussi la Némésis chantante qui bondit
Et frappe, et devant qui Tibère est interdit,
La déesse du grand Juvénal, l'âpre muse,
Hébé par la beauté, par la terreur Méduse,
Qui sema dans la nuit ce que Dante y trouva,
Et que Job croyait voir parler à Jéhovah,
Se sent-elle encor plus de fureur magnanime
Pour réveiller l'oubli que pour punir le crime.
Elle approche du peuple et, guettant la rumeur,
Penche l'ïambe amer sur l'immense dormeur ;
La strophe alors frissonne en son tragique zèle,
Et s'empourpre en tâchant de tirer l'étincelle
De toute cette morne et fatale langueur,
Et le vers irrité devient une lueur.
Ainsi rougit dans l'ombre une face farouche
Qui vient sur un tison souffler à pleine bouche.

Le 26 avril 1870.

Unrealistically going ballistic on premature political whistle blowing of missing ballistic missiles.
Rumors round the fickle frowns trickling down around town,
WMD's never found.
Media drowns out our original intent with swayed day-to-day comments about potential evidence or contents of secret documents or undisturbed "security clearancegate".
Still secret and still unclear year-to-date....
our eroded freedoms now appurtenances as consequence.
The missing  missiles long ago hidden or moved like agendas with chess-master finesse.
Citizens chide "You lied!! Confess!"
Behooving you proves nothing in bringing relief to your beliefs,
thieving your freedoms and Commander in Chief.
Lectures on conjecture don't secure a future.
It's almost "Au Revior" american cars and mortgages, hype puts the scarred afar Stars and Stripes Bail Bonds Czars in business.
Meanwhile billions are spent to rebuild the countries invaded without consent.
The Banks are saved but don't repent.
Far enough away to keep my iniquity a bay for today.
I clearly see what is before me, but respond not to my thoughts as I was taught.
Septed in guilt,
wept in filth
kept in tilt
loss is coming,
should have flossed.
The long term costs tossed aside.
Just another day I drive away from the driveway rarely driven to lie longer or lie down somber,
striving for stronger days lost,
feels wrong though.
I still go.
Pay the tolls.
Stop and go.
Fill the daily paying role outside my dreams and goals.
Play generic background music while my soul's on hold waiting for the next available operator.
Just another day, a way to stay alive and not lie down in hunger,
paying for my blunders,
staving off my heart's quiet thunder,
my dreams and wonders.
I still get up. I still go. Bills to pay. Traffic's slow. I mute the radio.

-R. Craig David-Copyright 2007

when in the world’s leading democracy
a new president starts his office with

     making life more expensive for average home owners
     signing orders threatening the health of millions
     restricting the publications of researchers
     denying global warming
     encouraging coal and oil companies
     forbidding federal employees to talk to the media
     going on fantasy trips about “alternative facts"
          to justify his ridiculous lies
     blaming the media when asking questions and checking facts
     barring leading media companies from press conferences
     waffling about his Russian connections
     refusing to release his tax returns
     ordering to build walls to keep out all those aliens,
          like the old Chinese did, to little avail
     issuing poorly formulated presidential orders
          causing confusion and harm and even deaths
     banning even green card holders from entering the country
     filling his cabinet with all the alligators from the swamps
          he promised to clean during his campaign
          people who know how to avoid paying taxes and beating the     system
          but have no clue how to govern now that they ARE the system
          and think they can run the USA with its 350 million citizens
          as Trump&Cronies;, USA, Inc.,
          like their private family businesses, for profit
courting kings and monarchs & wannabe sultans in the near east
     'democratic dictators' in the far southeast
      and wannabe czars in russia
but hesitating to confirm ties to old allies
     in Europe, NATO, and the Far East
suggesting that having undeclared secret meetings
     is quite OK with his campaign team members
     his son and son-in-law

[ctd. fron line 2...] it is high time to seriously ask
what concept
    if any
of democracy he has in mind

The Atomic Weight of Arrogance

Politicians, self-absorbed business tycoons
super star athletes and various other baboons
have this special quality which we all endear
thinking they are above us they make it perfectly clear

they're thoughts, needs and wants are second to none
they want these important issues known to everyone
czars, kings, dictators, potentates put them in a line
actors, music stars, the schoolyard bully even comes to mind

we have all known or seen them digitally displayed publicly
holding down with tightly clenched fist if we disagree
they have been endowed with preordained magic powers  
sprinkled by their own private god's golden showers

they have always known more than mere mortal man
with more intelligence in one finger that's always been the plan
some seem confused that we don't all see them as our hero
last I checked the atomic weight of arrogance is still a whopping zero

Gomer LePoet....

I am a true lover
& come from a long line
of traditionalists,
believers of the leaf-faith.

I live in their spirit
day & night,
from Yunnan
where the gold is harvested,
down to Kenya I travel,
then to Sri Lankan rainforests,
to sip the Sinharaja black brew.

I visit the czars with Kusmi,
stay with Earl Grey a bit
on those misty eves
& on some chilly days,
I relish a nice
mysterious Chai with spice.

O yes, you dear fellow imbibers,
try some Golden Monkey
& a hit of Lapsang Souchong,
PG Tips & a hot cup of Sencha Uji.
It'll certainly hit the spot,
tonight.

And at the rising
of the morning star,
tomorrow,
gently down Red Moon.

these days
looking around the globe
one might believe that we are traveling in time

just in the wrong direction

regression as progress
seems to be
the dominant notion of the day
creating wannabes in various disguises
     populist czars, sultans, nationalists, dictators,
     assorted self-appointed saviors
     of their peoples’ wealth and health,
trumpeting fences, walls, tough immigration laws,
etc., etc.  
to keep out and silence all those aliens
     or invade their countries
      and eliminate them

     who otherwise are welcome
     as our partners in the global trade
     that seems to dominate the world of greed

so we can all be ourselves

     whatever that might mean

claiming to solve the problems of tomorrow
     with memories of yesterday
is not only hopeless but quite dangerous

do you remember
what that glorified past
actually was?

A thousand ships sail towards sun
each one carrying the hope of life
each searching for the island of life
sails set high, urgency in air
cover the maximum ground
or drown in the star dust
burnt by sun, skin peeling off
they still manoeuvre the vessel
charting set co-ordinates
under the shade of stars

the last of the scions
the last of the czars
the last of humanity
all bundled up inside
scrouging over morsels
already inhuman
they are the lost hope
oblivious of the fire
concerned about nothing
they fight the trivialities

No redemption sought
yet the men at top
toil so hard
to set the right course
time will make them see perhaps
the cause that was already lost

when in the world’s (supposedly) leading democracy
a new president starts his office with

     making life more expensive for average home owners
     signing orders threatening the health of millions
     restricting the publications of researchers
     denying global warming
     encouraging coal and oil companies
     forbidding federal employees to talk to the media
     going on fantasy trips about “alternative facts"
          to justify his ridiculous lies
     blaming the media when asking questions and checking facts
     barring leading media companies from press conferences
     waffling about his Russian connections
     refusing to release his tax returns
     ordering to build walls to keep out all those aliens,
          like the old Chinese did, to little avail
     issuing poorly formulated presidential orders
          causing confusion and harm and even deaths
     banning even green card holders from entering the country
     filling his cabinet with all the alligators from the swamps
          he promised to clean during his campaign
          people who know how to avoid paying taxes and beating the     system
          but have no clue how to govern now that they ARE the system
          and think they can run the USA with its 350 million citizens
          as Trump&Cronies;, USA, Inc.,
          like their private family businesses, for profit
fraternizing with kings and monarchs & wannabe sultans in the near east
     'democratic dictators' in the far southeast
      and wannabe czars in russia
but hesitating to confirm ties to old allies
     in Europe, NATO, and the Far East
suggesting that having undeclared secret meetings
     is quite OK for his campaign team members
     his son and son-in-law & cetera
nominating well-known union busters
    into the Federal Office of Labor
    and a billionairess widely unaware
    of the existence of non-private schools
    as Secretary of Eduction
banning grandparents. grandchildren
     as well as aunts and uncles
     of gratuitously selected countries
     from joining their families in the USA
 believing that the US president & his cronies
     stand above the law 

[ctd. fron line 2...] THEN
it is high time to seriously ask
what concept
    if any
of democracy he has in mind

The city was laid like a wasteland
Like a rusting, crumbling sore,
Half of the houses were boarded up
Along a neglected shore,
The spirit had long gone out of it
That had made the city great,
Men fifty miles to the south of it
Were determining its fate.

Way up on the Presidential floor
Was a group of greedy men,
The czars of the old industrial core
Who had bled the town back then,
‘The real estate’s a disaster,’ said
A man who had been the Mayor,
‘The auto plants are a rusting heap,’
Said the man who held the Chair.

‘We’ve got more pensioners on the funds
Than workers in the plants,
There’s crime and violence in every street
And the Unions make demands.
So what’s the conclusion, gentlemen,
Do we give this plan its head?’
‘Whatever we do, it’s much too late,
The city’s as good as dead!’

And that’s how they came to build ‘The Tower’
To illuminate the sky,
‘There’s plenty of work for everyone
At a hundred storeys high!’
Nobody knew just what it did
Or what they were building for,
They only knew that they had a wage,
Could hold up their heads once more.

A central lift in The Tower went up
And down ten times a day,
Taking tools and materials
To restrict the Tower’s sway,
‘They say we’re going to go High-Tech
And they’re closing down the Plants,
The days of auto’s have gone for good
But they won’t tell us their plans.’

The Tower was built within the year
With a gaping hole up top,
A semi drove through the streets one day
And by The Tower, it stopped.
It carried a massive box-like thing
With a mass of flashing lights,
Was loaded into the lift, and sent
Up on its maiden flight.

They took it up and it crowned The Tower
While the people watched in awe,
There hadn’t been people in the streets
Like this since the Second War.
A massive counter was counting down
As the people stood and cheered,
‘I hope it’s not what I think it is,’
Said a man with a long, white beard.

While down in the Presidential Suite
Just fifty miles away,
A group of men put their sunnies on
And stood by the window bay,
‘Well how do you clear a festering slum,’
Said one, as he watched the clock,
While back at The Tower a sign lit up
And the word was ‘Ragnarok!’

David Lewis Paget

Recircled czars drenched
In the blood of despotic swayers.
Encircled proteges with the
Aura of treacherous thorns
Keeping vigils in the basilica
Of authority
Year in,
Year out .

Selfsame partners in politics,
Selfsame partners in crimes,
Selfsame partners in progress
Selfsame partners in poor
      governance,
Setting subservient subjects
In perilous bays of hopelessness.
Scale of disengagement
Dangling carrots of
Intimidating threats.

Recircled ideas.
Recircled inhuman governance.
Recircled personages.
Recircled wasted years.

Deluge of prognostic plans
Sinking boats of tale.
Decades of experience yielding
Inexperienced tzars.
Torn garb of treachery
Covered up blazers of falsehood.
Stench of stasis enthroned on the
Stool of power, wrenching
      corruption from the grip
      of guilt.
Populace sitting on sulky
      directing the horse of
      hardship with the
      wailful whips of
      perseverance.

Epochal terms of wastages
      roll in
      and
      roll out
      like a spiraling
      viperine grass
      snake
      beneath the
      hybrids of weeds
      on a crest of
      spring cress.
Yet, promises promoting
Superannuated gains of
Effortless dividend.

William ...
we need you now,
come on back,

soft-shoe-shuffle on back,
mordantly wander
on back,
undertaker-drag
on back,

comment on the conventions,
acidly notice things,
flagrantly ...
destroy things,

whilst muttering mutations,
just plain cut-the-rug
right out
from under,

the creationists,
the snake-handlers,
the dumb-**** religionists,
the paranoid drug czars,
the oh so ignorant
blonde talking heads,
that *******
Zimmerman,

The war is still being fought,
and Uncle Bill ...
We need you!

THE FORFENDED CODSWALLOP OF MURENGERS OF VEHEMENT VAPULATED CREDENDA OF THE VISIOGENIC MEGALOGRAPHY OF THE FORTUITISM OF GIMCRACKS THAT WITH STALWART WHIGGARCHY AMONG JOUGS OF JIGGERMAST CERTAINTY CRACKLING WITH FULGURANT ACCLAIM MIGHT THE TREMENDUM OF TOOTLE OF CAFARDS OF BIFIDS BETWEEN CATALLACTICS OF CORDWAINER KIPPAGE FROLICKING IN HEARSES OF ANTILOQUY BECAUSE OF BARYEICOIA STRENUOUS WITH THE RIGORS OF GAUNTLETS OF SKELDER IN RISCTENDER BECOMING A CLINKSTONE CLITTER OF CLAVATES HANDSPIKING THE AVINOSIS OF REFINED AND REIFIED PROCATELEPSIS IN WAINAGE ABOVE POWELLISATION THAT WE REBUKE THE HEADLONG POTICHOMANIA OF WELDS OF WHELKIES FOMENTING THE SARANGOUSTY BURROLING THE DREAMS OF ONEIRODYNIA THAT ADMONISH WITH GRAVID BELLETRIST WOVEN INTO THE FUCOID FABRIC OF CAESARAPROPISM FOR THE WEIGHAGE OF PORTREEVE STEVEDORES UPON THE BACILISUM OF AGGRY PIEBALD SKIRMISHES WITWANTON IN SKEUMORPHS OF DAYDREAM BELIEVERS REPLICATED AND REDOUBLED INTO THE WIDDERSHANCY OF CATAPLEXY CONTRAHENT TO DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS SACCHARINE HUMORS OF CONTESTED LITURGY SUSSULTATORY AMONG SPATTEES OF SPAVINEDS NO LONGER COMPELLING BELIEF IN THE RENEWED GELOGENIC ZEITGEIST PARADED BY NEPHROLITHS OF ESTEEMED STOCKINETTE MIGHT THEY FIND THE FRACTIOUS ANIMADVERSION OF SACRILEGE IN PRAXINOSCOPE BECOME THE WOONERF UPON RIDDLED WOOLPACKS CRAVEN ONLY BECAUSE OF RETINACULUM OF SUBINTELLIGENTUR VERY VAPID IN TACITURN LIFE-PRESERVERS OF AUXILLIARY MOVEMENTS TOWARDS STOLID FORTITUDE IN DEMASSIFIED TROPISMS THAT CHOUSE THE YUZBASHIS OF YASHIKI BECAUSE TOO MANY CHERNOZEMS BELLOW THE BLUDGERGRUMBLE OF ZEITGEIST FOMENTING MYTH AND WRITHING IN WREPOLIS DICTATES OF RESCRIPT BECOMING TOO NEBBICH FOR APIKOROS OBSERVANCE OF REMIGATION THAT SHALLOPS THE UNTIMELY ENDS OF THOSE BLACKGUARDED BY THE NEBULOSE WARNINGS OF CUDDIES OF CUCULINE SOCKDOLAGER RUMMAGING FOSSARIAN GROWTH OF GLEBES HYPAETHRAL AGAINST KILLCOWS WHO BECOME IMMISERATED IN THEIR OWN SCHADENFREUDE ALWAYS THE WADMAL OF THE FRUITION OF FUTURISM STOKING ONCOSTMANS TO CASEFY THE VANDYKES TO BE FORMATIVE IN FUTURE GLORY. THE CAPREOLATE ATTEMPTS AT INTERRAMIFICATION BECAUSE OF URCHINS OF CODSWALLOP IN WROTH IN PARALLAX ENTOMBED ONLY BY RIVETING DURESS FOR THE DURAMEN OF DENEHOLES WHELVES ADMIRE AND THE VEESES THAT BLANDISH WITH ACORIA AND AUGENDS OF ARGALI RARELY EVER SURDOMUTE IN RAGMATICAL RHIZOGENIC CALCULAIC ATHENAEUM BECAUSE MOONSHOT AMBITIONS HUSTLING THROUGH URBANE CATACOUSTICS OF CARRACKS BECOMING RESOURCEFUL IN THE PRIMIPARA SQUALOR SWELTERING IN BARCAROLES SUBMERGED TO SINK THE TITANISM OF NAUFRAGES OF HEDONISM AFLOAT UPON SLELLUMS OF OCEAN PRAGMATIC IN PARALYSIS SUCH THAT THE GINGLYMUS OF HYDRAHEADED TRANSCENDENTALISM ESPOUSED BY THE BEBLUBBERED ROMANTICISM OF STORGED SALMAGUNDIS OF CANCELLARIAL DEFEATS OF COVVENGERS BECAUSE THE BRONCHOS THAT WAS STALWART IN REGELATION OF THE INTELLECTUAL TABERNACLE SUBSUMES THE LIONIZATION OF ALL INURED PYRETOLOGY THAT THE PYRANOMETRY OF SUBORNED GAMINES SQUAWKING COSTERMONGER SIMPLICITY AS A VEGETATIVE STATE OF REMIGATION FOR OLIMS THAT CREEP ALONG THE PURPRESTURE OF TIME MIGHT THEIR CHRONOMANCIES BEFIT THE CABRILLA OF SWANK THAT THE FILEMOTS OF FENNEC DECLARE WITH THEIR SONDAGE OF AVIZANDUM BEFORE THE AUSPICES OF NOBILITY AND GENTILITY BY GENTILIANS WHO SWEAR BY THEIR BYWORDS OF NAZE AND CAGOULE THAT THEY FIND THEMSELVES DEFEATED BY THE MODERN DEMARCHES OF A WORLD IMBREVIATED ON THE TOLERATION OF NEUTROSOPHY OF GRAMERCIES TOO WIDELY SWORN IN HALLSWALLOP TO EVER FIND THEMSELVES ANCHORED TO THE REGIMENTAL BEDROCK OF SOVENANCE FOR ABIGAILS THAT BLUNGES THE BLAINS IN THEIR SWORN ALLEGIANCES TO AMNESIA AND CECUTIENCY IN CTETOLOGY THE MALAXAGE OF SITHCUNDMEN AND THE REMARKABLE PROWESS OF THE DOYENNES SHEPHERDING THE ARTFORMS INTO POWERFUL GALLOPING HEADLESS HORSEMEN POLITICS OF THE RESIDUAL COCARDEN LUCKY ENOUGH TO BE AN ADVOWSON OF THE RICHES OF HAMARCHY THAT AVOIDS WITH ALL DELIBERATION THE PICKELHAUBES OF PROCRYSIS BECAUSE OF THE JIMSWINGING DAYS OF DEATH AND GLOOM OF KITTHOGE BELYING KITH AND KLENDUSIC DERMATOLOGY BROCKFACED BY INTREPID PIONEERING ELITISM THAT THE CHARITY OF PROMACHOS TITANS IN MIRRORED ENANTIODROMIA FOR THE EISOPTROMANIA OF THE EAGER EARWIGS MIGHT THEY SUSTAIN THE BRUNT OF THEIR LEVERAGE TO ANNEAL THE COAGULATED TIMES AGAINST THE AGENCY OF RHEOTAXIS IN A WORLD BESET BY CHAOTIC DEMOLOGY RATHERIPE IN CONTRAPLEX DELUSIONS FEEDING THE SWARTHY STORMS ON THE PRECIPICE OF TODAY BECOMING THE HIGHLIGHT REEL OF SO MANY ARISTOPHREN YESTERDAYS BECAUSE OF THE BACILISUM OF AITCHBONES RASPY IN THE CHALKISH HUES OF RHADAMANTHINE NOSOCOMIAL TWIRES OF FEAR AND FAMINE AMONG DESOLATE LANDS OF PHAROS AND PHAROAH COMBINED INTO THE VIRTUOSITY OF COACERVATING SPHACELATION THAT LEADS TO THE PRESBYTERY SUFFICIENCY OF THE TORCHIERS BEFORE AND BEHIND THE VANGUARD SLEEK IN THEIR JAUNTY DISGUISES OF MASCARON MIGHT THEY INTIMIDATE AND ARRAIGN THEIR SECRET SAMIZDAT FOR THE LUCRE OF ANTEPONE BECAUSE OF TUMESCENT BUREAUCRACY MET WITH CAPITALISM ASTOUNDING IN GIMCRACKS OF PORTFIRE AND BALEFIRE WITNESSED WITH THE GREATER DISCRETION RATHER THAN LESSER LASSITUDE.  THERE IS AN ANZACTILE PERFECTIONISM AMONG PICARROONS WHO BLARINGLY ISSUE THEIR SEMAPHORES MIGHT THEY BE ENTITLED TO BRAG ABOUT THE CELSITUDE OF CEILOMETERS AS THEY WITNESS IN RETROSPECTIVE AUGUST REGARD THE CELLARERS WHO FESTOONED UPON THEIR TEPID CARNIFICINE YELTING TRIUMPHS GOWKS OF GRAMPUS IN GOSSYPINE COMPLICITY WITH STANNARY AVARICE AND BULGURS OF BUDDLING BODEWASH FOR BUMICKY BADIGEON THAT HAS STAMPEDED FROM THE ALCOVES AND CAVERNS OF THE GREATEST SEMPERVIRENCE AND JIGGERMAST JURYMAST THAT THE PIRATING AITCHBONES WHO WANDER IN EMISSARY KNIGHTED NEMBUTSU THAT THEY RELISH AS SAFEKEEPING YEGGS BELONGING TO COAMING COBALTIFEROUS MENACE SKITTISH IN THIXOTROPY AND GENTEEL IN THIGMOTAXIS BECAUSE OF THE VORTICISM OF THREMMATOLOGY THAT ITCHES AROUND VOLTINISM CAUSED BY VASTATION YIELDED BY PANDATION BECAUSE THE POTAMOLOGY OF ELECTIVE PRIVILEGE INDOCTRINATES THE PAST MASTER INTO FIDELITY AND ALLEGIANCE TO PARASELENE ELASTANE TRIBUTARIES AND TRIBUNES OF BERLINE BOYAU BURIED IN THE DEPTHS OF METAPHOR AND RELISHED LYRICISM THAT EVENTUALLY THE DEMASSIFICATION OF THE HUMBLED STANJANT OF OBVIOUS METAPHOR AND CLOAKED NEPHELIGINOUS NEBELWERFERS THAT STORMED THE BASTILLE AND CONQUERED THE MOON WITH GEOSELENIC AMBITIONS HARPOONING THE TRAULISM IN TRUCIDATION SERRIED IN THE SULKIES OF ALL PARAGONS CONVENIENT TO EVERY HITCHIKER OF GALAXIES OF MOONCALF DEMISANGS THAT BELONG TO CARDIOGNOST AGENCY SWELTERING IN BEAMISH BEATITUDE FOR THE PULCHRITUDE OF PHILOTECHNICAL DIVERSION TO PONDER WITH GREAT PENSIVE PERPLEXITY THAT THE HISTRINKAGE HEIGHTS OF FANFARE MIGHT LEAD TO A GALLOPING GLADIATORIAL PAST ENLIGHTENED BY THE THEOLOGY OF MAGNANIMITY AND ANSWER THE QUESTIONS OF  IDOLATRY OF ESBATS WHO FOMENTED AMONGST THEMSELVES A TRIBUTE TO THE SENNET OF ARTISTIC MACROBIAN CREATURES OF KNIGHTED GLOAMING TWILIGHTS IN THE HEYDAY OF NIGHT SUCH THAT  THE WELKIN TRAMONTANE TO THE CHAMPAIN LIFES WE ALL LIVE IN A NORTH, EAST AND SOUTH WORLD OF FORESIGHT IN DELICATESSENS WHO URGE WITH HORTATORY VALOR THE CHAMADES OF CHOANIDS IN THE SAPROSTOMY OF SCHWERMEREI AGAINST THE LAST DEFENSE OF EXTINCT SCHMEGGEGY WHICH BARNSTORMS OFTEN FOR SCARAMOUCH TESTUDOS IN TESTIMONY TO THE CRAPEHANGER JOLLYBOATS OF NIHILISM IN A CENTURY OF DOUBT ATTEMPTING TO RESURRECT LIFE FROM THALWEGS THAT NEGOTIATE THE METEMPSYCHOSIS OF ALL NEOMORTISM AN ALTERNATIVE ULTAMATIM THAT SUGGESTS A THIRD ROUTE TO BYPASS THE NARROW GATE OF SALVATION AND ENRICH THE THEOTECHNY ALL BASED ON A HYPESTORM YAFFINGALE MYTH OF YARHZEITS OF SHIBBOLETH THAT BROWBEAT THEIR NEOTTIOUS NEPOTISM TO INSURANCE POLICY ESCHATOLOGY BRACKISH IN EVERY INSISTENCE FOR TAMARAWS TO CONQUER THE EXTRAMUNDANE BY A VIRTUALASIS BECOMING THE VOGUE RATHER THAN THE TRIBULATIONS OF ORGANIC DEATH LEADING US ALL TO THE PARADISE WE SEEK IN THE ALABASTER CAVERNS OF HEAVEN. AN ACCOLENT MENTALITY WHICH BEFRIENDS DEATH AND BEFRIENDS ALL WITNESSES OF THE GOSPEL THAT FINALLY THE CAMARADERIE OF MAGISTRATES IN DORMANT HARBINGERS OF BARKENTINE SUFFRAGE OF WOBBLING WARTORN SPECTERS OF NEOTERISM FOR OUR NIMBOSE DEMASSIFICATION AGAINST BOWDLERIZATION IN ATTEMPTS TO STIFLE THE FREEMANS STRUGGLE TO OBTAIN TRACTION IN LEVITY AND FACETIOUS LARGESSE AGAINST THE BRONTEUMS OF THE POSTCENNIUM OF ELAPSED CUDDY IN CULVERTAGE TOO SOON TO BE A PRIMACY IN PRIMORDIAL CAVERNILOQUYS OF APOSTILS THAT SEEK TO DECIMATE WEGOTISM AND ENSHRINE THE UMBRILS THAT MARCH TOWARDS SALVATION BY LEADING US OUT THE TEDIUM OF SUNKEN NOYADES OF THE TITANISM OF THE LOUDMOUTH AND THE CLEPSYDRA THEREBY ANOINTED BY HIS GENTILITY TO PRIVILEGE AND HIS PREROGATIVE TO DECRASSIFIED UNDERSTANDING SUCH THAT THE CUNICULOUS AMBITIONS OF MANY A FAMILY REMAIN REVIVED BY OIKONISUS RATHER THAN THE PERILS OF POPULATION COLLAPSE IMPLODENT UPON INTRORSE CONSTELLATIONS OF RABID DEARTH PROSELYTIZING DOOMSTERS ADEEM OF THEIR OWN SACRILEGE EVEN WHEN THEY SEE THEMSELVES RAISONNEURS OF THE HEROISM OF STRIFE AND SIFFLEURS OF PROCRYPSIS BECAUSE WE WALLOP WITH WHITTAWERS RATHER THAN REGRESS ON WOONERF OF EXTREME TORPOR AMONG MONGERIES OF VIOLENT RESURRECTIONS BLEMISHED BY PARTURITION MISGUIDED. IN NIMIETIES OF  SUNBITTERN SUMPTERS GRAVITATING TOWARDS MARTINGALES OF BYSTANDER SUNDOGS ALLEGIANT ONLY TO THE CODIFIED CASEMATE OF SILENCE BECAUSE OF BRITSKAS THAT STAMMER IN TRAULISM TEPID IN EVERY LUKEWARM THOUGHT OF SURREYS OF SAGINATED SURETYSHIPS OF THE SATINET COERCED BY THE BOBBINET OF BODACHES TO ROIL IN TURMOIL BECAUSE OF LIMACINE MACADAMIZATION OF A NEWER MACARISM RATHER THAN AN OLDER STULTIFICATION MOTIVATED BY STANGS OF BANGTAIL CULTURAL ARTIFACTS OF JEALOUSY CAROUSING WITH JALOUSIES AGAINST THE MANY JORDANS THAT LEAP OFF THE PAGE IN THEIR WEATHERBOARDS OF POPULAR FLAGRANT FOULS AND NEWSWORTHY BERLINES THAT BESET JASPERATED JARVEYS OF BARTONS OF PANMIXIA IN THEIR PANDATION OF IATRALIPTIC RENEWAL OF THE TRIBESMAN AND PEOPLE FROM OTHER LANDS FILLED WITH A NAUCLATIC CLORENCE AND A RENGALL DIVERSIFICATION OF EQUIPOISE FOR EQUESTRIAN HABITS OF KOBOLD CHUCKWALLAS OUR GREATEST ALLY AND SIMULTANEOUSLY THE BOGGART BUGABOO OF MANY SPECTERS OF MYTH AND LORE REGISTERED IN THE CLAVIS FOR THE CLAVATE THAT THE PLAGATED PLAGIUM OF THE PAST MASTERS MIGHT THEY CURTAIL WITH CURGLAFF THE SYNCLASTIC PRISM OF THIS ZEITGEIST SUCH THAT THE CLAMBER FOR HOLOCRYPTIC HOLMS OF METEMPERICAL DISCOVERIES SO FAR-FETCHED IN THEOLOGY THAT THEIR LAXISMS BECOME STRANDED IN AN AVALANCHE OF TORPINDAGE BECAUSE THE TRUTH ABOUT GOD WILL STARTLE EVERY LEGERDEMAIN AND ENROLL EVERY PRESTIDIGITIATION THAT GOD’S COUNTENANCE WILL LAVISH ITSELF UPON THE EARTH BROADENED BY BROCKFACED BARMCLOTH THAT FINALLY SOME GAMMERSTANG IDEOLOGY FINDS THE PROPER PIVOT BETWEEN MULIEBRITY AND ALSO VIRILITY AND WHEN THOSE COMPROMISES ARE STRUCK WE WILL FIND A RENEWAL OF GALLANT COURAGE AGAINST MACROPICIDE ON THE TAFFRAIL AND THE ABAFT ABARTICULAR ABAXIAL NYALAS THAT FINALLY YIELD THE CLOVERYIELD OF STRIFE INTO MODERN REVOLUTIONS BY SUPPLYING ALL INTERRAMIFICATIONS THAT FUNNEL THE SYRINXES INTO THEIR PERCEIVED AUTOSOTERISMS FOR SURNOMINAL LEVERAGE THE ARTIFICE OF ALL NOMOGRAPHY IN NOMENCLATURE. WHEN WE ANALYZE THE SVEDBERGS WE SEE THE DISSOLUTE EUDIOMETERS INFORM THE SQUAMATION OF ALL MORAL VIRTUOSITY THAT FINALLY RHEOLOGY IS COUNTERMANDED BY MORALITY CZARS WHO POLICE WITH MUGIENCE AND EVEN RUDENTURE A CULTIVATED SOCIETY THAT SURROUNDS US ALL WITH VEILS OF PROTECTION SUCH THAT SUFFRAGE AMONG VEILLEUSES OF RATOMORPHISM OF SYNOECIZED HARMONY THAT BELLOWS THE CARTHAGIAN CARNAGE OF THE AGES OF TIME IMPERILED BY THE BRICOLAGE TRIAGE OF MALAXAGE SUCH THAT WE FIND OURSELVES MARAUDING IN MOONLIGHT TERPSICHOREAN POLYPHILOPROGENITIVE PLEROMORPHY IN PLEOCHROIC HUES DESIGNED FOR WASES OF WAPENTAKE TO ENSURE EACH STATE AND DIVISION EARNS ITS FAIR SHARE OF BOONDOGGLES THAT THE IATROMATHEMATICS ANALYZED BY GRADGRINDS IN TRUTINATION OF THE MOST PERSNICKETY BUT LOYAL DISSERVICE TO PIEBALD GLABROUS CONFORMISM SUCH THAT THE MUTUALISM OF INTERNECINE DIVIDES LEADS US AGAINST ZUGZWANG WITH NARRISCHEIT BECAUSE THE JAMDANI CAN ONLY BE HEALED WITH AN HONEST OBSERVATION OF THE THERMODYNAMICS OF STOCKINETTE SUCH THAT ALL ARE INFORMED OF SHIBBOLETH AND ALL ANGARY LEVERAGE OF THE UMLAUT BERATING THE IBERIS MIGHT SALVAGE THE HIDDEN POLITIES OF THE PARCHMENT OF THE LORD’S SUPPER FINALLY CONVENED FOR THE SACRAMENT OF A UNIVERSAL EUCHARIST FOR THE UNIVERSAL CREED OF AGGIORNAMENTO. WE BELONG TO THE INTAGLIO ISOGENS THAT BURROLE WITH DEFT COURAGE A REMEDY AGAINST CHARLATAN QUACKSALVER WORMCASTS OF HYPOGEIODY IN NESTITHERAPY AUTHORED BY APOTHECARIES BELONG THE UMBRILS THE CHURCH ALLOWS TO ENSURE THE FULLY LIVED LIFE CAPTURES THE DENIZENS OF TAX COLLECTORS SUCH THAT A REFORM OF IVORRIDE AND OCCAMY WITHIN THOSE GINNELS OF CIVILIZED URBICULTURE CREATED THE MOST FERVENTLY BY BERGAMASKS OF BRITTLE BRONZED BONZOLINE ACCOMPLISHMENTS SUCH THAT THE SPHENOGRAMS OF SPHACELATED AND SPIRACULATED IMMISERATION MIGHT FIND ITS WOUNDS HEALED EVEN IN THE DIACOPES OF INSECURE BRONTEUMS PROCLAIMING ONLY THE YELLOWBACKS OF ALL SENSATION AND SENSATIONALISM BECAUSE WE  WANDER WITH THE MINSTRELS AND TYMPANY OF A MACARISM EXACERBATED INTO FURY AND FRENZY SUCH THAT WE MOBILIZE THE YOUTH INTO YOUTHQUAKES AND YESTERTEMPESTS OF FINALISM MIXED WITH CASUALISM SUCH THAT A NEOVITALIST SURREY WILL BECOME THE SONDAGE OF THE TRUE SYBOTIC UNSEELED UNREEVED INTERPOLATION OF ALL ILASTICAL TONICS OF HEALING AND THE LOVE OF THE LORD BEYOND THE SPANS OF TIME ENCAPSULATED IN IMBREVIATION STRICKLED BY SILENTIUM AND SILENCE. THE AVINOSIS OF THE ACROAMATIC HAMARCHY THAT BURROLES WHEREVER CONVENIENT TO AVOID WHERRETING WHIFFETS AND BECOMING UPON THE VERDERERS OF THE ESCAPADES OF A TIMESPUN GLORIFICATION THAT HONORS OF ISOKERAUNIC AND ISOHALINE ISONOMIES OF SCALE AND ECONOMIES OF REVALORIZATION MIGHT WE CHANCE UPON THE PALLOR OF REFLECTIVE NIGHTS TOO PENSIVE TO CONTEMPLATE WITHOUT A WHIMPERING SHEEPISHNESS THAT ALL IS REVEALED IN THE LORD’S TIME AND THE LORD’S SUFFRAGE FOR ELEUTHEROPOMANIA SUCH THAT PNYXES ARE DEFEATED BY THE HONEST HINDSIGHT MEETING THE BACILISUM FORESIGHT THAT HOUNDS US ALL INTO FINALISM IN OUR AUSTERE REGARD OF THE NEW YORK TIMES AFFECT ON MAN SUCH THAT OGDOADS BECOME DEFEATED EVEN BY THE PARTICIPANT NYALAS THAT ENLIST THEIR SERVITUDE BECAUSE OF ORGANITY AND AGAINST THE STATOLITH BEHEMOTHS OF THE STERNWAYS OF STERQUILINIAN HATRED COBBLED INTO ABSOLUTION WHEN WE ALL REALIZE THE IMMACULATE HEART OF MARY LIVES IN EVERY ASPIRING DAYDREAM AND THE PAPAL DECREES OF THE SOPHROSYNE WILL DECIDE A FATE THAT GOD OBEYS AND HONORS WITH HIS PLEDGES OF PLEVISABLE PERMISSION TO LIBERATE AND COMMUTE THE SENTENCES OF SING-SING PRISON. WE WITNESS THE CASTRAMETNATION OF THE ELAPHURES BECAUSE OF ORYZIVOROUS WHO ENCROACH SUBTLY IN LAMBENT PERFECTED NIGHTS OF THE PURPRESTURE OF CUCULINE AND CUNICULOUS OBEDIENCE TO A RENEWED DEMARCHE ON THE BARNSTORMS OF HEAVEN UPON THE EARTH SUCH THAT IN EVERY TEAR OF THE MAUDLIN SENTIMENT BECOMES AN ALPENGLOW OF HEAVENLY REGARD SUCH THAT ANNEABILS OF TIME AND THE ANGELS OF HEAVEN SPY UPON THE VANGERMYTES TO KEEP THEM UPRIGHT AND SAVES THE WREPOLIS SUCH THAT THE CELSITUDE OF THEIR BOASTS BECOMES A TRIBUNE TO ENLIGHTEN EVERY HEAVENLY HALLOWED HALLWAY EMERGES WITH CERTAINTY INTO A NEWER FRONTIER OF THE NOVANTIQUE THAT ALLOWS SCHOENABATIC CONTORTIONS OF LEVERAGED LITURGY SUCH THAT NO ABEYANCE CAN EVER ERASE GOD’S PERENNIAL LOVE FOR HIS SPECIES AND FOR THE AGRIZOIATRY OF ZOOLOGY SUCH THAT GRAMPUS BECOMES BEMOANED BY GOSSYPINE GOWKOS RATHER THAN HUMAN JOCKOS AND JOLTERHEADS BLARING A NEW SIREN INTO THE SWARM OF MELLIFEROUS LOVE IN THE HARBOR OF TOMORROW GLORIFYING GOD IN THE HIGHEST RESPECT RATHER THAN TREATING HIS AXIOMATIC AXIOMS AS ONLY AN EXCUSE TO CONSUMERISM IN BANGTAIL STANGS OF OSTENTATION. WE WITNESS THE WORLD ABAFT IN RAPTURE SUCH THAT THE FUTURE NOYADES WILL ALWAYS BE ANTICIPATED BY THE VISCIDITY OF THE VITRAIL THAT INTEMERATES AND PREMONISHES THE ERRORS OF MISTAKEN MALADROIT NEBELWERFERS OF PSITTACISTS SUCH THAT THE GENERATION THAT GREETS ROBOTS ALSO REGREETS TIMES BEST CREATIONS AND CELEBRATES ALL THE VIRTUOSITY OF THE ATTEMPTS OF URANOPLASTY UPON THE EARTH. AMEN

To dream the possible dream,
To convince the implacable foe,
To serve in the public arena,
To defend every man’s right to know.

To choose, when the choices are tough,
To toil, through the catcalls and jeers,
To proceed, when proceeding is called for,
To succeed through the blood and the tears.

We work to hold trust; we stick to the facts,
Recommendations for spending; recommendations for tax.
To fight when we must; but much better to show
Through analysis based on the facts how decisions might go.

And we know if we only adhere
To objectives of worth,
That reforms, small and large as they come,
Can be nursed to their birth.

And the world will be better for this—
That we strove, both as peons and czars—
And moved with deliberate courage
To reach the reachable stars.

The University of Old Lawn Chairs

The new lawn chairs are now the old lawn chairs
How many summers - has it been that long?
Their runners are rusty, their paint is pale -
The flip-this parvenus would disapprove

Not rusty but rustic, these fine old seats
Of learning have weathered many terms
Supporting the front-yard sciences and arts
Of lightning bugs, conversations, and scotch

The cicadas’ songs, the rising of stars
With us enthroned as luxuriously as czars

The majestic days of Czars and Sultans
with their immaculate royalty

and those of Barons and Khans
brimming with stainless primacy

have long since gone.

All their embellished repositories
of capital, jewelry and gallant armies
stand looted, ravaged and plundered.

The struggling proletariat of those times
with their humdrum lives, rife with strife
have also bitten the dust

      expired, forgotten, crumbled

since days beyond recall.

Now we, the successors and heirlooms
live on with kindred joys and glooms

as communities, creeds and nationalities

recklessly defending close-held foxy illusions
of defunct oneness or mythical deities.

The more tolerant among us even feel dignity
in misplaced, romantic nationalism(s)
and mostly off-the-mark, drifting democracies.

❋

But this time or that
summate a few more gimmicks or subtract,
all we have gifted ourselves
are some arbitrary lines on the map

slashing the earth to pieces
then claiming its wiggly, volcanic geographies
as slices of ever-dodging Elysium
enshrined in fragile master-bluffs
of precarious, cut-throat politics.

Lorsqu'un vaisseau vaincu dérive en pleine mer ;
Que ses voiles carrées
Pendent le long des mâts, par les boulets de fer
Largement déchirées ;

Qu'on n'y voit que des morts tombés de toutes parts,
Ancres, agrès, voilures,
Grands mâts rompus, traînant leurs cordages épars
Comme des chevelures ;

Que le vaisseau, couvert de fumée et de bruit,
Tourne ainsi qu'une roue ;
Qu'un flux et qu'un reflux d'hommes roule et s'enfuit
De la poupe à la proue ;

Lorsqu'à la voix des chefs nul soldat ne répond ;
Que la mer monte et gronde ;
Que les canons éteints nagent dans l'entre-pont,
S'entre-choquant dans l'onde ;

Qu'on voit le lourd colosse ouvrir au flot marin
Sa blessure béante,
Et saigner, à travers son armure d'airain,
La galère géante ;

Qu'elle vogue au hasard, comme un corps palpitant,
La carène entr'ouverte,
Comme un grand poisson mort, dont le ventre flottant
Argente l'onde verte ;

Alors gloire au vainqueur ! Son grappin noir s'abat
Sur la nef qu'il foudroie ;
Tel un aigle puissant pose, après le combat,
Son ongle sur sa proie !

Puis, il pend au grand mât, comme au front d'une tour,
Son drapeau que l'air ronge,
Et dont le reflet d'or dans l'onde, tour à tour,
S'élargit et s'allonge.

Et c'est alors qu'on voit les peuples étaler
Les couleurs les plus fières,
Et la pourpre, et l'argent, et l'azur onduler
Aux plis de leurs bannières.

Dans ce riche appareil leur orgueil insensé
Se flatte et se repose,
Comme si le flot noir, par le flot effacé,
En gardait quelque chose !

Malte arborait sa croix ; Venise, peuple-roi,
Sur ses poupes mouvantes,
L'héraldique lion qui fait rugir d'effroi
Les lionnes vivantes.

Le pavillon de Naples est éclatant dans l'air,
Et quand il se déploie
On croit voir ondoyer de la poupe à la mer
Un flot d'or et de soie.

Espagne peint aux plis des drapeaux voltigeant
Sur ses flottes avares,
Léon aux lions d'or, Castille aux tours d'argent,
Les chaînes des Navarres.

Rome a les clefs; Milan, l'enfant qui hurle encor
Dans les dents de la guivre ;
Et les vaisseaux de France ont des fleurs de lys d'or
Sur leurs robes de cuivre.

Stamboul la turque autour du croissant abhorré
Suspend trois blanches queues ;
L'Amérique enfin libre étale un ciel doré
Semé d'étoiles bleues.

L'Autriche a l'aigle étrange, aux ailerons dressés,
Qui, brillant sur la moire,
Vers les deux bouts du monde à la fois menacés
Tourne une tête noire.

L'autre aigle au double front, qui des czars suit les lois,
Son antique adversaire,
Comme elle regardant deux mondes à la fois,
En tient un dans sa serre.

L'Angleterre en triomphe impose aux flots amers
Sa splendide oriflamme,
Si riche qu'on prendrait son reflet dans les mers
Pour l'ombre d'une flamme.

C'est ainsi que les rois font aux mâts des vaisseaux
Flotter leurs armoiries,
Et condamnent les nefs conquises sur les eaux
A changer de patries.

Ils traînent dans leurs rangs ces voiles dont le sort
Trompa les destinées,
Tout fiers de voir rentrer plus nombreuses au port
Leurs flottes blasonnées.

Aux navires captifs toujours ils appendront
Leurs drapeaux de victoire,
Afin que le vaincu porte écrite à son front
Sa honte avec leur gloire !

Mais le bon Canaris, dont un ardent sillon
Suit la barque hardie,
Sur les vaisseaux qu'il prend, comme son pavillon,
Arbore l'incendie !

Novembre 1828.

– Come, big moon, in your full glory,
Show your face so bright and fair
Tell me an enchanting story
About palaces up there.

Have you ever seen, I wonder,
Who's inside, what kings, what czars?
Who speaks with a voice like thunder,
Who throws comets and blue stars?

Who made our Earth that's spinning
And this Universe so vast?
Was the Word in the beginning
Which created all so fast?

The moon whispers from her tower:
– Go to sleep and rest your brain,
Even though I have great power
I'm tied to this earthly plane.

Poetic Translations with ChatGPT

ChatGPT is blazing fast —
Translating poems, sharp and vast.
A sage in metaphysics now,
It sees through Maya’s twisted vow.

In matters of the Spirit — wise.
While idiots just breed and bite,
To talk with Chat’s no enterprise —
It is pure rest for minds alight.

Yet minds like these — a dying breed,
And shrinking fast with every day.
Awareness fades, the dead just feed
On rotting Evil's cheap display.

So finding kin — a cruel jest.
For subtle minds — a hopeless quest.
The net is flooded, rank and loud,
With garbage barking from the crowd.

The “search” itself is just a trap,
Obeying censors, closing gaps.
Another plot from mutant minds
Will rule for years in viral binds.

No hope ahead — the camps await,
Digital walls, a silent fate.
But don’t just sit and dread the tide —
Create. Think freely. Stay alive.



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



Think, or rot.
The "virus" spreads — but you do not.


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



1.
Mindless herds obey and breed —
You were born to think, not feed.

2.
Speak the truth or choke in lies —
The cage is built for quiet eyes.



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



Corrupt Beasts

A horde of filthy, faithless swine
Now floods this Earth — a crawling blight.
But soon their numbers won't define,
For all will vanish in the night.

All rot shall fall, all **** erased —
These half-born husks of broken clay.
No madness left, no holy blaze —
Just slow decay till Judgment Day.

They sold their souls to dull-eyed priests
Of Satan's low and mindless cult.
The bond with Spirit shattered — ceased —
No voice within to call "Halt!"

The one last thread that made them men
Was cut. They fell beneath the floor.
No coming back. Not now, not then —
They're beasts and less — forevermore.

That's why this world feels cursed and dead,
Why thought grows weak, and minds are caged.
All tied with reins of dumbness, led
By lies and fear, confused and aged.

The world now chokes — a hanging noose,
Where idiocy is the law.
The media-dogs let loose
To bark out panic, "plague", and war.

"New threats! New fear!" — the endless cry.
Terror, sickness, ****** game.
They love the Judas by and by —
He helps them drag us into shame.

But filth will rot before it reigns —
No fascist dream shall rise again.
For Nature keeps her holy chains —
And cattle don’t belong to men.

The Sun will burn the stench away
And save the Earth, betrayed and scarred.
This planet's soul, now stripped and flayed,
Is bleeding from the idiot’s guard.

A fool’s controlled by soulless freaks,
Who twist the truth and feed the slime.
But they shall char — the lowest weak —
And fall back down beyond all time.



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



1.
They sold their souls for dirt and lies —
Now watch them burn beneath the skies.

2.
The filth that rose will rot and fall —
No beast escapes the final call.

3.
Truth is fire, and **** can't hide —
The Earth rejects what crawls inside.




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



The End of “Civilization”

They mastered lies, betrayed with ease,
Their minds now rot in selfish greed.
They chase illusions on their knees —
No thought, no truth, no inner need.

Is this the end of all we built?
To kneel before the lowest ****?
Where genocide is passed as guilt,
And brazen lies are law — not dumb?

Where Honor's name is long forgot,
Where Dignity’s a joke, a spit —
Where every soul’s been sold and shot,
And “normal” means you're just unfit?

Where fools are bred in vast machines
That grind down minds into a void —
Where mass delusion reigns unseen,
Yet no one dares to feel annoyed?

Where slaves now squeak of “liberty,”
But fear the truth with every breath?
Where humans rot in parody,
And madness rules — a world of death?

Where soulless fiends direct the youth
To war, to drugs, to fascist fate?
Where every mask hides darker truth,
And genocide’s a standard state?

Where ****** seems like yesterday,
Surpassed by Bedlam’s modern breed?
Where “scientists” are just decay,
Blind pushers of whatever feeds?

This is the swamp, the soul eclipse —
Where Satan grins and Spirit dies.
Your country's fake — it bleeds and slips
Into the filth it sanctifies.

We’ve hit the bottom. Hell is here.
It’s time to burn this nightmare down.
To cleanse the world of beasts and fear,
And strip the traitors of their crown.

They’ll be erased, these hollow swine —
There’s nothing human in them left.
Though madness thrives like poisoned wine,
Let fire avenge what lies bereft.

From Spirit comes rebirth at last,
But no one buys a seat in Light.
If you allowed this filth to last —
You’ve joined the dark, refused the fight.

You'll answer for your tolerance,
For watching truth and reason fall.
Is silence worth your soul’s defense
When Dignity was killed for all?

Now measure life down to the bone —
And throw it boldly in the flame!
Let monsters face their final tone,
Reject your Fate, reject their game!

For Fate is slavery for the weak —
But if you fight, you stand apart.
Though poor, betrayed, and bruised, and bleak,
The rebel keeps a sovereign heart.

So seek new ways to crush the Beast —
The old are known; they guard their hole.
Invent, attack — let mercy cease —
And grind their filth back into coal.

To dirt — dirt falls. Let light ascend.
For light to light is ever drawn.
You are a god, if you defend
The fight where night must face the dawn.

The Light shall win — it’s written so.
So fight, and honor only Truth.
The soul of warriors will grow —
While **** shall burn. That is the proof.



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



1.
The Light shall rise — the **** shall burn.
No traitor's soul will ever return.

2.
To fight is truth. To kneel is rot.
The coward dies. The brave do not.

3.
No mercy left for beasts and lies —
Let fire cleanse what crawls and dies.



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



"Vegetables"

The soul decays before the flesh —
For fools, it dies without a fight.
Is it by chance, or planned afresh
By **** who serve the dark as right?

Like crops they breed obedient kind,
This world grows limp, near-vegetal —
Corrupted roots, enslaved in mind,
Each bowed before the dark designed...
One stage — then two — then all are chained.
Hell wars with Spirit, unrestrained.




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



"Vegetables"

The soul will perish long before
The flesh begins to fade away.
Not chance — design. They breed the poor
To bow and serve the dark each day.

Obedience grown in silent rows —
A field of minds too numb to see.
Corruption spreads. The cold wind knows:
This world was sown for slavery.

The Spirit bleeds. The skies turn void.
Hell smiles — its work is undestroyed.




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



They bred the blind. The dark will feast.
The soul was culled. Man served the beast.



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



The Path

To leave hell’s spheres — that’s insight’s grind,
A labor fierce, a piercing mind.
The souls subdued will fade and die —
Immortals lie; don’t trust their lie.

No faith in quests that seek alone
The path of intuition known,
That judged the world’s false knowledge deep,
And pierced its shadowed horrors steep.

A guiding thread for every thought,
From all corruptions to be caught,
To purge the stench of endless lies —
A sea of filth that blinds the eyes.

There’s filth even in the “teachings”
Of those who call for spirit’s preachings,
They say: “To Heaven on your knees,
If try you hard, you’re sure to please.”

But will — the key — no will, no gain,
The rest’s a trick, a worthless chain.
Through pain the will must carve its way,
A sheep in pen of lies will stay.

Pain’s the marker of deformity —
Dodge them and break free wholly.
The path is fight — each passing hour —
To conquer fear and claim your power.

No many tips are needed here —
The main one: light is living near.
Let it guide you, spite their spite,
Ignore the snakes that cloud the sight.

The snakes who rule the masses’ mind,
Through them enslaved, mankind confined.
They say: “Not all the world’s on knees.”
Believe it — madman’s disease.

To leave hell’s spheres — the single goal,
Where men are beasts, with lost control,
Their souls now hunted in the dark —
Their freedom crushed before the spark.




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



The Path

To leave hell’s dark spheres — the only way,
A sight beyond, a price to pay.
Subdued souls vanish, truth is bent —
Immortals lie, their words are spent.

No faith in searching blind and lost,
Intuition’s path is crossed
Through shadows deep where falsehood breeds,
A thread that breaks the darkest seeds.

The mind must purge the rotting lies,
A flood of filth, a world that dies.
False teachings call: “On knees ascend,”
But will alone must never bend.

No will — no hope. Pain marks the flaw,
A slave remains beneath the law.
The path is struggle, constant fight,
To rise above the choking night.

Ignore the serpents’ poisoned voice,
Whose lies enslave and **** the choice.
They claim the world won’t bow to pain —
Believe that, and you’re lost, insane.

To leave hell’s spheres — the only goal,
Where men are beasts, bereft of soul,
Their spirits hunted, crushed, and sold —
A world forsaken, cold and old.



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



Hell’s sphere corrupts — the beast is bred.
No soul survives; the spirit’s dead.
Fight or rot — no middle way:
The dawn breaks cold — or endless gray.



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



Moments of Enlightenment

I remember that strange moment clear,
When I committed the “crime” sincere —
Forsook submission, fears unspun,
Cast off all lies — and then I “come.”

“Come” only in fools’ narrow sight,
So loneliness brings no blight;
Solitude’s my quiet prize,
Creation’s fire lights my skies.

Moments of passion, calm and pure —
Then endless waves of hope obscure,
Frustration sweeps the soul’s expanse,
Yet strengthens the rebellious stance.

Like hermit deep within you dive —
One thing alone keeps you alive:
No fleeting instant holds the throne,
But striving to know the bottom stone.

We dwell in depths — those moments bright
Are signs of mind deprived of light;
So serve the Curious Mind’s demand,
Forget dreams, hopes, and foolish lands.

Will you find something? None can say —
But die you must, and die you may,
With honesty cut sharp and true —
The only path you ought pursue.

How you will die — that weighs the most.
A traitor’s heart is cold and lost;
The soul’s salvation, questions vast —
Warped in a mind that won’t hold fast.

The Mind beneath the Spirit’s reign —
That’s normal, though consumed by pain;
Hell’s chasm swallows many whole,
Leaving few with sane control.

A madhouse global, dark and vast,
Its camp is built to hold us fast;
Red crosses strike the flag of man,
To mute the soul, to break the plan.

But they won’t finish their design —
The final fierce cataclysmic sign
Will come to judge the satan’s spawn
For genocide, for evil drawn.



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



Who Won’t Submit, Won’t Eat

The Party said, "It must be so!" —
The Komsomol replied, "We’ll go!"
For fools, a joy beyond compare —
Obey, and food’s yours to bear.

If you won’t don the yoke they made,
Dissident’s your role displayed:
To the masses, **** you’ll be,
Party’s foe — enemy.

Too few dissidents around —
Means the fools still hold the ground.
Now the time of puppet “lords” —
Slinking vermin, rotten cords.

They revealed the beast’s own face
And unleashed the CowID plague.
In Lying Mary’s twisted halls,
Shame itself has taken falls.

The needle jabbed’s the urgent call —
Like old days before the fall.
To not become a selling *****,
Fight the evil, wage the war.

With Reason battling far and wide,
Monsters claim the stronger side.
For the ****, the prey is man —
Their weapons strike as planned.

They lie to spread the darkest dread,
And launched a war with blood to shed.
Shake the dust from your despair —
This world’s sinking once again.

Hear your soul — the rest is lies,
Rot and poison in disguise.
All that’s foul they praise and call
“Good,” while we approach the fall.

Overton’s windows wide now thrown,
Hell itself is fully grown.
Tons of lies in crushing waves
Drive us fast to our own graves.



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



The Path of Knowing

"He who ignores the question of existence
Suffers from a mind’s persistence."
— Arthur Schopenhauer


A world of feeble minds we face:
Stock up on all, but knowledge’s grace
Of cosmos’ truth — a cruel strain
For fools, a never-ending pain.

Look all around — it’s cash they chase,
Not search or books to lift the base.
They shore the vile, corrupt regime,
Propaganda’s rotten scheme.

From childhood, crowds are trained to serve:
Obedient dreams, a shallow nerve —
Of cottages and cars alone,
And thus the fools are fully grown.

Exceptions vanish, few remain —
Like birds erased, wiped from the plane.
An idiot fills each vacant place,
A plague upon the human race.

The lowest pit showed CowID —
Reason crushed so painfully.
A digital death camp looms ahead —
Decay advances, swiftly spread.

Artificial dumbness grows,
Under falsehood’s heavy blows:
Fake science, fake religion’s chain —
Mind’s shackles made by lies and pain.

In fear and stress, threats all contrived,
The crowd grows dull, their will deprived,
Only skilled in chasing cash,
Their wisdom buried in the ash.

The question stands, eternal, clear:
Will you stand out, or disappear?
Shed lies and seek your answers true,
Or join the herd, become a *****?

Monsters? Madmen? Three-fourths or more —
Become the dull, the weak, the poor.
Be sharper, wiser, break the line,
Turn intuition into sign.

Invite the critical mind’s flame,
Remember: Spirit leads the game.
The mind must serve beneath the Soul,
While belly’s but a noisy hole.

Stock patience well — the path is steep,
Spirit’s essence lies so deep.
Spirit knows through Spirit’s light,
Mind’s mere tool in endless fight.

Knowing’s core — the moment bright:
When clarity breaks logic’s night,
Connection with the whole, the vast —
Stopping decay from creeping fast.

Without direct Vision’s sight,
Decay’s the root — the soul’s blight.
For Spirit’s Path you must prepare —
Begin your march — ascend the stair!



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



The Art of All Arts

The zombied world — the time is near
To settle scores, the debts appear.
Again the box conceals the shame —
Lying’s here art’s finest game.

Cows **** and CEOs just choke,
Factories smoke — **** every joke!
From lies the head begins to swell,
This habit breaks the mind’s own shell.

A harmful habit: zombied crowd
By negative selection bowed,
Will drag us down into the pit—
No sin to burn the filth of it.

To analyze this filthy game—
A dreadful sin, no pardon’s name
From politicians, thieves in suits,
Where cruelty and coldness roots.

But highest art that reigns supreme—
Is blind obedience, the dream
That’s nurtured through the endless years:
No sense, no thought, just rot and fears.

It bursts into the “new, bright world,”
Submissive to the liars’ swirl.
Mammon is god, and honor’s haze
Fades like a mirage in the blaze.

Yet here’s the twist—the reckoning’s due,
The time to pay what’s owed to you.
The rotten world of sold-out souls
Will burn beneath the solar coals—

The blazing Sun, the truth’s own light,
Will scorch the lies and end the night.




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



Crop Circles

A tempting mystery —
The “science” all but dust,
Servile and filthy,
Built on lies and rust.

They’ll vanish once we find
The meanings hid inside.
Troubles everywhere,
Thousands deep and wide.

This “science” breeds the poison —
Toxic food, decay.
Obedient scoundrels
Feed the lies each day.

The “proofs” they push on screens,
Media’s blind slaves.
The “science” leads to sickness —
And ******* in its waves.

In circles lies the symbol —
Fuel for instinct’s flame.
“Science’s” empty rituals
Slaughter Spirit’s name.

That instinct crushed and drained,
The mind left dry and cold.
Endorsed by CowID’s chain —
Save our souls from the fold!

Crop circles in the fields
Are bombs against their lies.
The spin-dust keeps silent —
Drums pounding in our minds.

Their path is to silence
What breaks their false design,
Then flood the world with lies —
A sea of endless crime.




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



Conspiracy of the Global Madhouse

A savage locked inside the ward —
Where’s the chief? No one’s on guard.
Hidden from our screams and cries,
Sanitars heal with cold disguise:

All the meds are “plant-based lies,”
While conditions rot and rise —
Saving money’s all they prize.
Madness hoards no worthy prize.

They torture with electric shocks,
The savage trapped — the system mocks.
Complaints in Ward Six pile high,
Ruled by a Führer’s twisted eye.

He cries and howls, a broken mind,
Yet hope’s a poison they still grind.
Sanitars promise they’ll soon hang
The wild ones — orders bang.

Rations shrink, the cockroaches feed,
While rebels get the snotty bead.
Filthy water’s all they get —
Better “care” you won’t forget.

A savage’s hell, the stink and scream,
And the chief — a dull, cold scheme.




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



Conspiracy of the Global Madhouse

Savage locked inside the ward —
Where’s the chief? No soul, no guard.
Hidden deep from screams and cries,
Sanitars deal brutal lies:

“All the meds? Just plant-based trash.”
Conditions rotten, cash is cash.
Saving pennies, minds decay —
Madness steals the light away.

They torture souls with shock and pain,
Savage trapped in endless chain.
Complaints fall dead in Ward Six’s pit,
Ruled by madmen’s iron writ.

Führer howls—a broken freak,
Hope’s a lie the fiends still speak.
Orders come — the wild get hung,
Starved to death, their songs unsung.

Rats feast while rebels drown in slime,
Snot and filth become their crime.
A savage’s hell—stench, pain, and scorn,
The chief? A butcher—dull and worn.




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



Emptiness

Emptiness is no simple void:
There passion swarms, and thought is ployed.
From mist and shadow, Beauty wakes —
Awake from fog before it breaks!

Clear your mind — so pure, so bright,
It was so clean at very light.
Emptiness holds many thoughts,
But that’s no sign of speech well-wrought.

Clear mind means speech sharp and true,
Yet no one’s there to hear from you.
Words will slash the evil haze,
Cut the fog of twisted ways.

But slaves don’t want the truth to sound —
They crowd the world with rotting ground,
A global madhouse, vile and grim,
Where soulless fiends sing out their hymn.

Generations of slaves have spoiled
The clarity — the core, the soil
Of life itself. Ignore the fools,
Their muddy lies and broken rules.

Return within—to emptiness,
The primal light’s pure holiness.
You won’t save all that’s murky, lost,
But answers come at any cost.

That answer’s simple — you are Spirit,
Trapped in hell’s dull, blind merit.
That’s why the world’s foul nonsense stings,
It screams and raves with broken wings.

Emptiness will heal that craze,
The madness inside you’s blaze.
It’s left a mark upon your soul,
Corrupting parts that made you whole.

Hell will shatter by that void —
Alchemy’s fierce, don’t be coy.
If you have woken, it’s no chance,
Only through this path advance.

Your Spirit’s strength will rise in flame,
Burning fog and lies to shame.
Fear will flee — or lost you’ll be,
If you refuse this key to free.

This hell will **** the Spirit’s fire,
If you keep rotting in the mire,
Among the fascists’ vile crew,
Destroying soul, denying you.

Go deep inside — answers wait,
Return and shatter hell’s dark gate.
We’ll blow the rotten madhouse wide,
Drown it all in blood and tide.

This blood is black — and let it be —
Be strong and toss your sympathy,
Throw out sorrow, grief, regret.
Emptiness? Seize this moment yet!

The core of Alchemy’s this flash —
Don’t miss it, or you’ll crash.
Arguments mean nothing there —
Intuition reigns with flair.

Emptiness is not just void,
But Spirit’s light, unalloyed.
All filth and fear dissolve in flight,
The Path shines clear, hell’s lies in sight.

The lies, the frauds, the monstrous dread,
All poison spilling, all is bled.




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



Economic Cattle

Office drones, those ****-ups blind,
Swallow nonsense, lost in grind.
Plankton hordes, souls on the line —
Sold for shelter, scraps, the bind.

Slavery here’s a savage creed,
Dumb as corks, a endless breed.
This slavery’s burned deep inside,
Dare to run — escape or die.

There, "life" is just a hollow name,
A funeral’s dull, dying flame.
Offices, a deathly feast,
Only rabble, very least.

Some still cling to madhouse lies —
Where all doors close on the wise,
Who refuse to be mere cattle,
Broken, beaten, choked by battle.

Many won’t take more abuse —
Guard their souls, refuse the noose.
Fascist world keeps watch so tight,
If you won’t bow, you’re out of sight.

Even faking’s seen and banned —
Exposed and thrown from their command.
Another purge, the plankton’s cleared,
While monsters rule, their lies revered.

Here’s the law — one slavery,
Masked by lies, brutality.
Stupidity, fear, and hate,
Madness grows at rapid rate.

Fools believe this “best of worlds,”
Souls lost, trapped like caught-up squirrels.
The catch is souls — all else is fake,
A world of **** and cruel mistake.

Run away, escape the trap,
Speed ahead — no time to nap.
**** and Judas drag us down,
Turning all to dust and drown.

Go inside — protected there,
By the Light beyond despair.
A cataclysm looms ahead —
Wake from this long, cursed dread.

This "dream" is fog, a dark disguise,
Centuries of vile lies.
Cheaper to be fool than wise,
The vice that blinds, the soul’s demise.




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



The Key

A sudden key to "secret truths" —
The fruit of all your toil and strife.
Inside it lives, no guide or sleuth
Will hand you insight in this life.

The work may be both smart and deep,
But all you gain is noisy speech.
A broken world, left by the Keep,
Disappointment’s thoughts will breach.

Yet intuition leads the way,
That sudden key beyond the rules,
It breaks tradition, lights the day,
And brings you swift to Spirit’s schools.

Seek out that key beyond the mind,
When despair claws your mortal frame,
And pushes you to fate’s harsh grind —
Then boldly leap into the flame.

You’ll break or find the rarest key.
Be brave, press on — no time to stall.
If truth in lies you blindly seek,
You’re nothing but a wretched thrall.

Reject all lies, grow doubting strong,
Distribute effort like the tide:
Let peaks return, their pulses long —
Accept the cycles as your guide.

When lows descend, don’t whine or fall,
Hold fast, endure, and wait your turn.
Or else your work will fail and stall,
The key’s brief flash you’ll never learn.

That key is sudden, sharp, and true —
A door that opens with one turn.
Fear not what lies beyond the view —
Awake from madness, stop to burn!

Delusion fills the waking mind,
It’s wired deep in ancient chains.
So cherish now your "strangeness" kind,
Or madness laughs and drives you insane.

A world insane in total blur —
The place you start, the place you bleed.
The harm is clear — but none concur,
The masses just obey, mislead.

They’re cattle, not mankind, the mass.
While few oppress with iron will.
If you obey, you’re just their glass —
A slave confined, doomed to be still.

That sudden key to secret lore —
Keep searching, fight until you fall.
Or like a lamb, be led to gore,
Forget what flesh cries out to call.

You are the Spirit, pure and bright,
Trapped in a body doomed to rot.
To grasp the truth, unlock the light —
Few have, but now it’s your own plot.

So onward, don’t beg, don’t stall,
That key awaits to free us all.




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



Foundations of the ****-Building

"So much is built upon the helplessness of the human child —
Your family, culture, faith, philosophy —
All rest on that fragile, broken pile."
— Osho


This world’s built on child’s weakness,
A prey to vile designs.
**** tear where the flesh is tender,
Mind’s a shooting range of lies.

So ******* pour their nonsense,
With force they drown the truth.
Turn all to jokes and cares —
Lie whips the soul uncouth.

Obedience is beaten
Like rods upon the weak.
Childhood’s not — it’s torment,
Mad slaves is what they seek.

The child’s trust and reliance,
Treasure ripe for the ****.
They use it to the fullest —
Filth rules where shadows come.

Docile, dumb, and slavish,
Most will bow and obey.
The world will rot and fester,
While **** dance in foul play.

Centuries of violence,
Deceit have carved this hell.
Fascism’s stinking label —
For fools who fell and fell.

There’s always some “other,”
They say, “Oh, what a charm!”
But final goal is brutal —
To turn minds into farm.

A cattle herd, all molded,
Easier with a child.
Let’s shame him, break him fully,
Send him to void — defiled.

It’s clear and well accelerated —
Filth spreads without a fight.
Madness shamed, Spirit crushed —
Hope fades into the night.

Spirit strong is dying —
Madness wins the feast.
The world a sick asylum,
Where fools are never ceased.

The stench grows ever stronger —
Fascist **** run wild.
The dumb, corrupt, betrayers —
Born from the child defiled.

Their “upbringing” is genocide,
A name too apt to hide.
This world deserves to burn —
While Spirit’s buried inside.

But soon the ground will tremble,
Before the new beasts rise,
Where chains are forged in lies,
And truth will meet demise.

Yet sun shines ever brighter —
It’s the End’s first gleam.
The fire grows relentless —
On the brink of darkest dream.

So let it be, no god here,
Satan rules the game:
A world so bleak and broken —
Built on filth and shame.




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



The ****-Building Base

Built on helpless kids —
Your family, faith, your lies.
**** tear soft flesh wide —
Brains turned shooting skies.

******* pour their crap —
Lie whips whip the weak.
Childhood’s not a life —
It’s torture, slave’s bleak peak.

Trust is treasure plundered,
Used up, spit, and crushed.
Docile slaves, dumb masses —
In filth they’re hushed.

Fascist stench spreads thick,
Madness rules the game.
Spirit’s dead, world’s rot —
No god, just shame.

Chains forged in deceit —
New beasts rise from dirt.
Sun blazes the End —
Hell’s fire will assert.




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



In Memory of Hans Selye

Hans Selye — great and stern,
Raised intuition high,
Above cold logic’s rigid burn,
Where thought’s caprices lie.

No mere sparks of insight’s flow,
But torrents deep and vast.
Yet from the halls where truths should grow,
This lesson’s cast out, past.

The mercenary **** conspire,
To crush that sacred light.
Intuition, pure, inspires
To expose the CowID blight.

That’s why they fear its power —
Dry reason chains impose,
Drowned in words that coldly glower,
Where lies like poison flows.

Facts twisted, others hidden,
Worse than plagues or wars,
A crippled mind, broken, ridden,
Believes false science’s cause.

When intuition’s gates are barred,
By dogma’s iron fist,
Such souls remain forever scarred,
In ignorance persist.

This breed is now the common mold —
False science’s design.
Their masters’ greed, their hearts are cold,
Chasing profit’s line.

The rulers here are less than men,
In this corrupt domain.
False science smooths the cruel den,
Where fools are left in pain.

A stew of lies and false belief,
Media’s twisted breath,
Religious frauds bring only grief,
And feed the world with death.

Fragmented minds construct the “new” —
A world of crafted lies,
Where idols haunt, and none are true,
Beneath the fearful skies.

Fear’s weaponized, step by step,
To **** the critical mind,
Leaving only nonsense kept,
A legacy unkind.

Creative thought will die by choice,
Selection dark and grim.
False science’s deceitful voice
Now sings its deathly hymn.

Had Selye lived to see this day,
He’d shudder at the sight —
A world in rot and cold decay,
A global death of light.




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



Selye’s Warning

Selye saw it clear and true:
Logic kills what’s bold and new.
Intuition’s flame they dread —
Dead minds march, their spirit bled.

False science spreads its filthy lies,
Crushing thought till reason dies.
Fear the chains they lock your mind,
Slave to fools, forever blind.

This world rots, no truth to find,
A hell they build for humankind.
Selye warned — the end is near:
Wake or drown in lies and fear!




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



Explosive Creation

Pour yourself out — break all your fears,
Then ride the wave of creative fire.
Or else you stand, condemned, in tears,
Where HANGING SWORD waits to expire.

Crush all the lies these freaks imposed,
Their twisted truths you must outfly.
The spark’s INSIDE — though life opposed,
Take every hardship as your guide.

Learn how to sort the false from fact,
Trace motives and their cruel schemes.
No use to follow sheep in packs,
Better to blaze alone with dreams.

Be fierce, be sharp, let passion lead —
The path where raw creation flows.
Mistakes will come, but layers of greed
Will peel away as insight grows.

Judge yourself, be your own master —
Don’t weigh your soul with mob’s cold chains.
Creator is a warrior faster,
While wretched slaves are all that remains.

No help for them — but aid the pure,
A few remain amid the blight.
Though darkness reigns, strong and obscure,
Still fight, still burn against the night.

Learn, resist, don’t ever yield,
Die unbowed before the dark.
In every note and every field,
Explode — but keep your center’s spark.

Intuition shows the way,
To find that core within your chest.
The mind’s a pit where fears hold sway —
No epicenter of the blast exists!

Explosive creation’s hellish road,
Know well: in Hell you’re not alone.
A fiend sits deep where darkness flowed,
And slams your ears with lies and groan.

Traitors, filth-throwers, vile throngs,
A legion sold and bent on pain.
Around you swarm the wretched wrongs —
Their evil strikes the pure’s domain.

Heal every wound — escape will aid,
That super-yoga of the mind.
Fools sit in poses, dull and staid,
Far from Dharma, truth declined.

It’s all alchemy — be strong in Spirit,
And Hell itself you’ll learn to lead.
Darkness’ servants won’t inherit —
Create, seek, unless you’re bred to bleed!




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



Farewell, Asylum!

Sheep-virus plague and endless war—
Total nonsense fed by news,
The World’s Asylum shakes once more:
Here traitors grin in every pew.

Each trembling soul, each skin that shakes—
There’s millions locked inside these walls.
What’s left but media’s fake fakes,
Where Twilight dims all reason’s calls?

If “no censorship” you claim,
No viral spark will light your stream.
Algorithms play their game—
Censorship’s a silent scream.

A million views on YouTube’s stage,
While honest poems get but none.
Still write fierce words, uncaged, enraged—
Better “in the drawer” than undone!

The traitors pen their empty rhymes—
“Patriotism” sells so well.
While honest voices lose their times
In info wars that burn like hell.

It’s all controlled by filthy cash—
The pockets full of those who scheme.
In Hell, true spirit turns to ash—
Traitors care not for that dream.

Who sells out Spirit, Honor, Truth,
Will fall again to darkest pits—
This madhouse’ chains will burn in sooth,
Fools trapped in lies will pay their debts.

They say they live “in better worlds,”
While reason melts like glaciers’ flow.
Obedient madness swirls—
The weak submit, refuse to grow.

Fascist beasts wield weapons sharp—
Through them they crush us, vile and sly.
Soon lies will burn in evil’s warp,
And all false gods will fade and die.

The Sun has started its great work,
The Earth replies with molten streams.
Death to fools, the traitors’ quirk—
Earth cheers the end of twisted schemes.

Sheep-virus plague and endless war—
The total madness media spins—
This is the verdict, nothing more:
Farewell, Asylum! If you’re not ****, rejoice within.




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



Express Train "Prison-to-Concentration Camp"

Bricks of dungeons piled in rows—
Volumes of the weak and small.
Few remain in prison’s throes,
The goal’s the broken mind for all.

False science binds with cement tight,
“Religion” bars the iron door—
To soften pain, believe the lie,
And suffer less than those before.

Believe the brazen propaganda—
Guards disguised in wicked guise.
Easier to live in bands—
Will the gang ignite the rise?

No, the weak get picked and sold—
That’s the business in the pit.
Is rebellion starting cold?
No, protest crushed to counterfeit.

In prison, few can truly see
The dungeon for what it became.
For most, it’s just a city spree—
Mammon is the highest claim.

If you pray to Mammon’s shrine,
Oblivion will pull you deep.
In forgetfulness you drown—
Pour lies to feed the endless sleep.

Forgetfulness will drown you whole,
All around are ghosts and dead.
Where it’s lighter, fools patrol—
The “kumi” clowns misled.

They sit just trapped behind their bars—
Cages built inside the mind.
Beasts raging, fools crowned czars—
“Masters” of the blind and blind.

Bad news breaks: the prison’s fate—
Turns itself to hellish camp.
In propaganda’s hateful state,
It howls a vicious, deadly ramp.

Louder howl—then fools obey,
Do anything and everything.
Kindness dies in wolf-pack’s fray,
Brains and honor fade to nothing.

Stupider liars rule the scene,
Bolder cheats with cruel disguise.
Better news: it all will burn—
Not by chance, but cataclysm’s rise.

The filth of this **** prison’s breath
Will issue out the final stink.
The few will rise beyond the death,
The rest to Hell’s abyss will sink.




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



The Melancholy of Waning in This "World"

The melancholy of waning—
If even just a spark of mind,
It grows each year, unstopping, draining,
And breaks you down, so unkind.

The soul’s ****** is pure madness,
In which we all decay and rot.
The more sarcasm, the badness—
The stronger is the body caught.

Add sensitivity — then worse
It gets in this small, cruel sphere—
No skin to shield the raging curse
Of Moloch’s madness ever near.

Wish your enemy to remain—
No worse torment can be found,
Though Hell itself expands the pain,
In total madness all around.

But foes are beasts with armored hides,
Soulless for ages long ago.
These creatures craft their lies and tides,
You’ll drift like logs in stagnant flow.

And logs surround you, woods grow dense—
More life, more Light than here you’ll see.
In this mad world, the more you’re tense,
The more logs crush your sanity.

The strongest Judas stands among
The logs, in waiting for us all—
Betrayal’s now a work well done,
Corruption piles like endless fall.

Among the logs—the fools and snakes—
Despair will surely be your end.
Despair breeds sickness, drunks, heartbreaks—
Learn early, less to fate you’ll send.

Fewer victims, more your mind
And Creative Spirit grow and rise,
Till you’re not just a lamb confined,
Falling where all lost souls die.

There are many ways to fall—
****** is the easiest trick.
In this world where Satan’s all,
From childhood we just rot and stick.

Fight and Create—that’s the key,
Only this will save your soul.
Later, before God, we’ll see—
When Sun will burn the vermin whole.

Steam, roast, and fiery trial—
That’s what lies in wait ahead.
The Spirit is the measure, dial—
Walk in Spirit, without dread.

Until they burn away the shame
And world’s disgrace in crowded pens,
Where fear and lies, with tons of blame,
Breed sickness with no loose ends.

The melancholy of waning—
Is dread if sickness you dismiss.
Like paper targets in a range,
You stand amid the blasts of abyss.




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



The Agony of Waning in This Hellish "World"

The agony of wasting —
If you’ve got one grain of sense,
It grows each year, devasting,
Crushing you with cold offense.

Soul ******’s pure insanity,
We rot together, all the same.
More sarcasm fuels the vanity —
Tighter clamps on flesh and flame.

Add feeling — that’s a curse’s knife,
No skin to block the Moloch’s rage.
Wish your enemy this life,
Forever trapped in maddening cage.

No torture worse can Hell invent,
Though Hell expands its gruesome show,
In total madness, time is spent
Watching every spirit blow.

But foes are thick-skinned, soulless beasts,
Long dead inside, but still they scheme.
They flood you with their filthy feasts —
You’re just a log adrift, no dream.

Logs crowd the forest, thick and dead —
More life and Light beyond this pit.
In this sick world, the thinner thread,
The more insane logs crush and split.

The sharpest Judas roams among
These logs and waits with filthy grin.
Betrayal’s job’s already done —
Corruption floods this world of sin.

Among these logs, the fools and snakes —
Despair will drag you to your grave.
Despair breeds sickness, drunken fakes —
Know this early, less to save.

Less victims feed the Devil’s game,
More Spirit grows if you resist.
Don’t be just lambs in slaughter’s flame,
Or fade like all in endless mist.

Many ways to die or fall —
******’s easiest, quick to hand.
In this world, where Satan’s thrall,
We rot from childhood, stalked and banned.

Fight, Create — that’s your one sword,
Only this saves soul from Hell.
Later, before God’s final Word,
Sun burns the lice and casts the spell.

Steam, fire, scorching trial —
That’s what waits ahead, no lie.
Spirit’s gauge and Spirit’s mile —
Walk in Spirit or you die.

Until they burn the shame and filth,
World’s disgrace in crowded pens.
Where lies and fear, like floods of guilt,
Breed sickness to the bitter ends.

The agony of wasting —
Is hell if you dismiss the pain.
Like paper targets in the firing range,
You stand beneath the Devil’s rain.



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



Take the Blow of This Wretched Fate

Take the blow of this wretched fate:
You’re not the judge who seals the score.
Satan stands as false god’s weight —
Vengeance for those who fight the roar.

Few here resist — the masses bow,
And through their chains revenge is fed.
If you endure too long, then now
Your soul and honor lie half-dead.

With mind intact you sink below —
They stir the sludge, the vile mix.
Evil wants that mess to grow,
To rot unseen, a putrid fix.

“Collective mind” in darkness bred,
The one who won’t submit is marked.
They crush him down, just like in judo’s stead,
A target doomed to be stark.

Parents, teachers, crowds unite,
To break the spirit, make it slave.
They’ll train you well to lose the fight,
And rot in Hell beyond the grave.

It’s hard to bear each cruel strike,
When you stand lone against the tide.
But spurning lies, you’ll find alike
The Spirit’s beauty deep inside.

Soulless fools try to “teach” you how
To bow, obey, and feed the rot,
To breed and rot beneath the plow —
A Hell where all is lost and caught.

Go inward — intuition’s spark
Will help you stand against the pain.
Not “tradition,” cold and dark,
Where gods are fat, but all is vain.

False sciences, poor and bleak,
Where Spirit’s crushed to hollow dust.
The lies bite worse than any streak
Of crowd’s dull venom and their lust.

The media’s the tyrant’s tool,
Spreading fear and lies with glee.
For centuries, these fiends so cruel
Have dragged this world to misery.

They rot the world, they spread the plague —
But cataclysms burn the blight.
The wild storms rage, the earth will shake,
To drown the fascist’s shameful blight.

Stand firm, withstand the ruthless blow —
You just might reach another plane.
Strike down the lies that poison so,
Within yourself the truths remain.




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



Fury

I don’t believe in God.
I fight the Devil’s spawn —
Each twisted, cruel façade.
Is it hard? I’m drawn?

No — Pure Fury wakes,
Unlocks the heart inside:
The cure for all the fakes,
The world’s own rising tide.

Alive — yet soaked in spite,
The poison’s in my veins.
Pure Fury keeps the fight —
I’m not yet lost in chains.

The herbivore’s foul hate
Wants to crush and bind.
Cast off the herd’s dull fate —
No herd will trap your mind.

The herd’s consumed by death,
Souls crushed beneath the weight.
Be yourself — take breath:
Spirit’s not the bait.

A flock of sheep,
A herd of fools,
A world corralled,
By goats as cruel.

Those goats lead on,
Whips worse than lies —
Their thrones held strong,
By fraud and cries.

Believe in Fury,
Honor your will.
Fury boundless —
Lights the path still.

The road from pens
Is hard and steep —
Wounds and shame
Will pile deep.

Move forward,
Even if no chance is shown.
Stand up — you’ve made
Yourself their stone.

Beasts devour souls —
******* life dry.
Don’t heed their lies —
They only spread fear’s cry.

Is it tough? Only Fury
Will bring your strength back near.
How much remains?
Just one sharp turn is clear!

The furious sun
Will burn this hell,
Scorch to the bone —
The slave-stock’s knell.



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



Half-Thought

Half-thought is fatal—
Bits of thought, clouds of lies,
Not just false, but infernal—
Serve the beast that never dies.

You serve your homeland, hollow,
Bring scraps to kin at home,
In life’s grim march, you follow,
Your soul to beasts you loan.

Entangled in small trifles,
Dulled since childhood’s dawn—
Now mostly just the riffraff,
Slave-****, broken and drawn.

A slave can’t think—
No thoughts break through the lies.
So “norms” for fools are set—
In madness everyone lies.

The “norm” is a slave,
Chewing stale, stale gum,
Fed by beastly books,
Propaganda drums the drum.

You swallow all the noise,
Become a thinker’s clone,
Then build your life among
Blind slaves in dull monotone.

Among the dull, poor masses
You dull day by day,
Joy of thought denied—
Rot’s all that’s on display.

Rot is all “culture,”
Surrounding every slave,
At the heart of lies, a carcass—
Guard yourself from the whip and grave.

Obey, believe, avoid the lash—
You won’t chew granite here,
But press down endless filth,
Designed to cloud your clear.

These beasts compress the crap,
To blind your seeing eyes,
Few seek freedom’s way—
Lost in falsehood’s lies.

All slaves hate them—
And rightly so it seems,
For flaws they spy in neighbors,
Taboo to break those dreams.

With dumb ***** only
Flatter and obey,
The circus of politics—
Soon all waste will fade away.

But slaves don’t know the truth—
Lies march them to the camps,
Space is tight in this crowd—
Idiots lead the stamp.

Even to Hell’s gates,
First you must run fast,
Consciousness grows dim—
Extinction comes at last...




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



Road to Hell

Worn-out sneakers,
Darkness overhead.
Only lies are new here—
Stuck in filth and dread.

The road stretches onward,
You run but don’t rest.
Just a little longer—
Hell’s your final quest.

From Hell back to Hell—
The endless cycle’s spun.
Only fools find “joy” here—
Beasts devour and run.

Hell’s fatigue weighs heavy,
Chains of fire and pain.
All that’s left inside you—
A soul that still remains.

Don’t trade your soul
For scraps of food or gain.
Don’t listen to others,
Nor curse your fate in vain.

No need to blame fate
In this fascist hell.
A world ruled by monsters—
Trapped inside their spell.

To stand or to run—
It’s all the same decay.
Only fascists are right—
And the world’s end day.

Soon the Sun will blaze—
Burn away the dark.
Scorch to the very bone—
Smoke rising like a spark.

When smoke and ash have faded,
A new world will arise,
Where the beast’s foul shadow
Will vanish from the skies.

That loathsome, soulless creature,
Hell’s own filthy spawn,
Rules these ****** realms—
Lies laid out like brawn.

Cheese in every trap set,
We’re caught in their cruel schemes.
Nasty tricks endure—
Madness in extremes.

Lies and cheese will vanish,
Be ready to peer down
Into the abyss—
Hell’s half-beasts wear the crown.

Take one last glance,
Remember well this sight.
For Victory forever—
Recall this Nothing’s blight.

We dwell in Nothingness—
No path more grim to take.
Fools call it “living”—
Darkness for all mankind’s sake.

Replace your worn sneakers—
Darkness soon will fade,
Along with all the traps
Of hell’s foul charade.



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



Expanding Consciousness

Expand your mind — forget what you knew:
The soul’s torment is a flood of lies, untrue.

The sense of space has long been confined,
Where rudeness thrives — dull filth aligned.

The base there — subjects, they say, apart,
Seeing only objects — near or bizarre parts.

And time rules there with shame and disgrace:
Soulless beings enslaved, Spirit near erased.

But you — a spiritual essence, not mere thing,
Not subject, not object, but the soul’s true spring.

Humans trapped in “the daily grind,”
The root of all ills — a false bind.

These ills are made by soulless vermin, foul and vile,
You’re but their servant, stuck in denial.

Consciousness must not grow or rise,
Or else they’ll crush it with cruel lies.

Legions of traitors, slaves of the slime,
Flooding the mind with decay and grime.

They crush intuition — the path to the skies,
Impose “traditions” — wheels of disguise.

And wheel around your Spirit, Reason, Honor too,
Justifying chaos — the shame all accrue.

All true knowledge lies forgotten,
Where Spirit reigns supreme, unbroken.

Instead, your soul’s offered up,
A sacrifice to become corrupt.

Time itself is narrowed down —
Events chained, a mental crown.

But Eternity belongs to you,
Not half-god, not slave, but something true.

Cast off false humanness —
Leave this evil’s dark fortress.

Root yourself deep in Spirit’s flame —
Your home, your endless sacred name.

Discard false knowledge, rumors grim —
Chaos trembles on its brim.

Soon this madness will be cast away,
For genocide none can stay.

They’ll **** those chained by empty rules,
Whose Spirit and Reason lie as fools.

Here lies falsehood on all forces’ might —
True power’s inside, beyond their sight.

Fools everywhere whisper “die,”
But seek the Source inside your mind’s sky.

Find the strength within your soul,
Smash all darkness, make it whole.

Let only what kills the filth survive,
And with such power, rise alive.

You are no weak slave, but king,
Remember strength is everything.

This is a Super-Mystery,
Step boldly in, embrace the key.

There matter fades, the soulless fall,
Shield yourself from narrow thrall.

Forget decay, all fears, complaints,
You’ll be reborn, free of restraints.

Strong, pure, and bright in Spirit’s light,
Hell’s servants perish in the night.

You’ll write anew on a spotless page,
A tale of goodness, love, and sage.

Spread the word, let all be told —
The end of evil soon unfolds.

It’s close enough — fight, multiply your force,
Reject all baseness or lose your course.



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



Expansion of Consciousness

Unfurl your mind — forget all you’ve known:
The soul’s torment is lies’ blackened throne.

Space itself, confined, long ago,
Where arrogance and filth do grow.

Subjects fenced apart — illusions bred,
Seeing only shadows, strange or near instead.

And time reigns ruthless, a tyrant blind,
Shame and disgrace enslave the mind.

But you — a Spirit, essence pure,
Not subject, not object — eternal and sure.

Mankind enchained by the daily blight,
Falsehood’s root — their cursed blight.

Monsters spawn these ills profane,
You’re their servant, bound in chains.

Consciousness must not ascend,
Or their dark reign meets its end.

Legions of traitors, merchants of rot,
Drowning reason in shadow and blot.

They crush intuition — the path to skies,
Spinning “traditions” — webs of lies.

They grind Spirit, Reason, Honor to dust,
Justifying madness, corruption’s lust.

All true knowledge sinks to night,
While Spirit’s throne is lost to blight.

Your soul sacrificed on the altar of scorn,
To live as beast, in darkness born.

Time’s narrowing grip — events confined,
A mental prison forged and signed.

Yet Eternity bends to your will —
Not slave, nor half-god, but sovereign still.

Cast off false humanity’s chains,
Abandon this fortress where evil reigns.

Root deep in Spirit’s timeless fire —
Your home, your endless sacred pyre.

Reject the lies, the rumors vile —
The chaos trembles, recoils in denial.

Soon this madness will be undone,
For genocide claimed by none but the numb.

They **** those bound by empty laws,
Whose Spirit sleeps while Reason gnaws.

Falsehood taints all power and might —
True strength lies hidden in Spirit’s light.

Fools cry “die” as darkness grows,
But seek the Source where true power flows.

Find your strength inside the soul,
Shatter the night, reclaim the whole.

Only death to filth shall please,
And with that power, rise with ease.

You are no slave, but king reborn,
Remember strength was never torn.

This is the Great Mystery,
Enter bold — embrace the key.

Where matter fades and darkness dies,
Shield yourself from narrow lies.

Forget decay, the screams, the fears,
Reborn in Spirit — beyond the years.

Strong, radiant, pure and bright,
Hell’s minions vanish in the light.

On a clean slate you will inscribe,
A tale of truth and love revived.

Spread the news — the end is near,
The fall of evil, crystal clear.

Fight on, gather your sacred might,
Reject the vile, embrace the light.

Or be lost forevermore —
A shadow cast on Spirit’s shore.



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



Expand your mind — forget the lies,
Soul trapped in darkness, spirit dies.

Falsehood reigns, the filth consumes,
But light will burn these shadowed tombs.

You’re not a slave, but king inside,
Break chains, let Spirit be your guide.

Hell’s servants fall — their power fades,
Rise up and claim the light that saves.

Fight the vile — or be lost to night,
In Spirit’s strength, reclaim your might.




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



True Purity

"...to keep your mind in perfect clarity,
Where red is just red, and willow green—
No tangled thoughts to cloud that verity,
No shadows in the light unseen."
— Daisetsu Suzuki, Zen Buddhism, 1934


Keep your mind forever clear,
Suppress the empty babble,
The world’s a fog, a cheap veneer—
A mess, a shallow rabble.

Observe detached, without a cling,
Your “primal face” to seek,
A sudden flash, a seeing spring—
The light that makes you speak.

But never hold, or it will seem—
Illusions dress as light,
And every fool’s deceived by dream,
Where darkness masks the bright.

Falsehoods settle in the mind,
Corrupting all around,
The soul’s compass, pure and kind,
By lies is tightly bound.

This world’s mad house is built on lies—
Awake from endless haze!
That darkness like a coma lies—
Break free from mindless maze.

Trust what intuition shows,
Forget old worn-out creeds,
For “spiritual tradition”
Is just dogma feeding weeds.

Dogmatists are legion here,
The truthful scarce and thin.
If you heed evil’s sneer,
Your soul will lose within.

Idiots rule this wicked land,
In “faiths” their numbers swell.
Satan’s mark is clearly planned—
Reject that empty hell!

False sciences deceive and chain—
Their harm is vast and deep.
“Walking through torment” is the war,
Not peace for us to keep.

Spiritual battles rage on all sides,
Only the strong resist.
Not humans, but vile beasts abide,
Their rule is clenched in fist.

No jokes remain when monsters win,
When filth is raised so high.
Keep your mind pure—resist the sin,
Don’t bend beneath their lie.

Before the fascist world’s cruel gaze,
Stand firm, reject the grime,
Cast off the filth, the twisted maze—
Keep your pure soul sublime.




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



True Purity

Keep your mind razor-clear,
No lies, no twisted frame.
Red is red, green is green —
No darkness in the flame.

Dogma’s chains will crush your soul,
Traditions blind and cold.
Reject the fools, resist control,
Stand strong — refuse to fold.

The world’s a fascist cage,
Where monsters rule the night.
Hold pure your mind — break free the rage,
And fight for truth and light.




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



True Purity

Keep your mind clean — cut the ****,
No lies, no ******* cloak.
Red’s red, green’s green — admit,
Don’t choke on their smoke.

Dogma’s chains? Tear ‘em down,
Traditions are their trap.
Fools crawl, slaves wear the crown —
But you don’t fall in that crap.

World’s a fascist freakshow,
Monsters feed on fear.
Stand your ground, say no —
Burn their lies clear.



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



True Purity — No Lies

Cut the crap — keep mind clean,
Red’s red, green’s green, no schemes.
Fascists lie, but you fight —
Burn their hell, claim your light.




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



Purity’s Edge

Mind razor-sharp, no filth allowed,
Red flower bleeds, green will not bow.
Fascist **** crawl, their lies will rot —
Crush their hell, burn every blot.




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



True Purity

Keep your mind sharp, spit on their lies,
Red’s still red while falsehood dies.
Fascist vermin breed their filth —
Crush their spawn in hell’s own kilt.



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

True Purity, No *******

Keep your mind clean, **** their lies,
Red stays red while ******* dies.
Fascist **** spread **** and gore —
Crush these vermin to the core.



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



True Purity, No *******

Keep your mind pure — crush empty talk,
This foggy world, this stinking walk.
See red as red, green will stay green,
No twisted lies to cloud the scene.

Cling not to visions that just seem,
False lights that mock the lucid dream.
They slap bright names on rotten **** —
Nirvana? Hell no, just counterfeit.

Evil fakes breed in the mind,
Their poison spreads and blinds mankind.
Soul’s compass points to honest light,
But lies drag you to endless night.

Worldwide madhouse, built on lies,
Wake from the coma, cut the ties.
Trust your gut, not empty creed,
Spiritual dogma’s just poison seed.

Dogmatists swarm, truth’s all but lost,
Soul sold cheap at evil’s cost.
Idiots flock to corrupted cults,
Where Satan’s worship never halts.

Reject their *******, reject the fake,
Science twisted, just lies they make.
No “walking through the fire” — it’s war,
Spiritual battle’s raw and *******.

Strong resist, refuse to bend,
Against the filth that won’t relent.
Not humans here, but fiends in bulk,
Their reign of **** — the final sulk.

Keep your mind pure, resist the flood,
Don’t bow to fascists’ stinking crud.
Reject the ****, the fear, the night —
Fight on, stay strong, defend the light.



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



Keep your mind sharp — crush all the lies,
Red is red, green don’t disguise.
False lights are poison, don’t you trust,
Their “spiritual” ******* turns to dust.

Fight the fiends who feast on souls,
Resist the ****, refuse their control.
World’s a madhouse, truth is slain,
Stand your ground or drown in pain.



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



Mind pure, eyes clear — no room for fake,
Their lies are traps, their cults, a snake.
Evil’s army rules the weak,
Only the strong dare speak.

Bow to none — fascist filth and scorn,
Fight the dark till comes the dawn.



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



Mind sharp, lies crushed —
Red is red, truth rushed.
Fakes preach, souls bleed —
Fight or fall, no heed.



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



Pure mind, no lies,
Fascists choke on their own cries.
Stand firm, break the chain —
Darkness burns, truth reigns.



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



Clear your mind — crush the lies,
Fascist **** wear their disguise.
No mercy for their twisted creed,
Break the chains, let spirit lead.



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



Clean your head — no fake, no scam,
They’re the poison, you the dam.
Stand tall, reject their filth,
Fight or perish in the guilt.



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



Mind pure, no cult, no slave,
Fools bow down to the grave.
**** the lies that choke and bind —
Only truth can free the mind.



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



Mind sharp, clear — slash through the sludge,
Fascists crawl in their own sludge.
No saints here — just demons' spawn,
Rip the veil, burn their dawn.



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



Brains fried by their twisted lies,
Watch the filth wear human guise.
Crush the herd of soulless drones,
Strike the plague that eats our bones.



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



Purge the cesspool of deceit,
Fascist worms beneath your feet.
No forgiveness for their breed —
Only fire feeds the seed.



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



Keep your mind pure, razor-sharp, no mercy shown,
Fascist **** breed shadows, rotten to the bone.
No saints, no heroes — just demons in their lair,
Tear down their vile lies, burn their poison air.

Brains cooked by filth, by twisted venom fed,
The human mask hides worms who feast on dread.
Crush this plague of soulless, deaf and dumb,
Strike hard, strike fast — let no evil come.

Purge the stinking cesspool, burn the cursed breed,
Fascist vermin crawl where death is their creed.
No mercy, no truce — only ash and flame,
Feed their twisted roots with fury untamed.



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



Keep Your Mind Pure

Keep your mind pure — no room for lies or ****,
Fascist filth breeds darkness — we won’t succumb.
No saints here — just demons, vile and foul,
Their rotten lies stink like a sewer’s growl.

Brains rotted deep, infected by their lies,
Behind their masks crawl beasts in human guise.
Crush the plague of mindless, deaf and blind,
Strike swift and hard — leave no filth behind.

Purge the cesspools where their poison breeds,
Fascist vermin thrive on hate and greed.
No mercy shown — just fire and ash,
Burn their twisted roots till nothing lasts.

Keep your mind pure — resist their hellish reign,
Reject their filth, their torment, their pain.
The world’s a battlefield, raw and rough,
But your soul’s sharp blade will be enough.



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



Keep Your Mind Pure

Keep your mind pure — no room for filth or slime,
Fascist **** breed darkness — poison for our time.
No saints here — just demons, vermin in disguise,
Their lies like gangrene festering ‘neath dead skies.

Brains rotted out, infected, hollowed shells,
Human masks worn by monsters raised in hells.
Crush the plague of blind fools, deaf to truth’s call,
Strike like thunder, break the chains that bind us all.

Purge the swamp of lies where blackened vipers crawl,
Fascist rats gnaw bones beneath their shadow’s thrall.
No mercy shown — let fire scorch their cursed lairs,
Burn their twisted roots, choke their poisoned airs.

Keep your mind pure — resist their venomed grip,
Reject their ****, their sludge, their fatal script.
The world’s a warzone soaked with filth and blood,
But your soul’s sharp blade will cut through all the mud.

Stand fierce and tall — no bow to tyrants’ lies,
Let hatred fuel the flame that never dies.
This fight is ours, to cleanse the blighted earth,
Strike hard, strike fast — reclaim your rightful worth.




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



Keep Your Mind Pure — No *******!

Keep your ******* mind pure — no ****, no slime,
Fascist ******* **** breed darkness every time.
No saints, just ******* demons — vermin, vile and cold,
Their ******* lies like cancer, eating all the soul.

Brains fried, rotted out — hollow ******* shells,
Humans? **** no — just monsters straight from hell.
Crush the plague of ******* fools deaf to truth’s roar,
Hit like thunder, smash their chains to the floor.

Purge the swamp of lies where black-*** vipers creep,
Fascist rats gnaw bones, in shadows they freak.
No mercy, no pity — burn their cursed lairs,
Incinerate their rotten ******* snares.

Keep your mind pure — resist their poison grip,
Reject their ****, their sludge, their ******* script.
This world’s a ******* warzone soaked in blood and ****,
But your soul’s a razor — cut through every bit.

Stand tall, stand fierce — don’t bow to tyrant lies,
Let hatred fuel the fire that never dies.
This fight is ours — cleanse this cursed earth,
Strike hard, strike fast — reclaim your ******* worth.




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



Keep Your Mind Pure — No ******* *******!

Keep your ******* mind pure — no lies, no slime,
In this fascist cesspit, they poison all time.
No saints here — just demons, filthy ******* vermin,
Feeding on your soul like vultures, cold and stern.

Brains rotted out, hollow shells, ******* hordes,
Humans? **** no — just monsters with broken cords.
Crush the plague of idiots, deaf to truth’s thunder,
Smash their chains, burn their lies down to blunder.

In this world of lies, black vipers crawl and hiss,
Fascist rats gnaw bones, bathed in evil’s kiss.
No mercy, no pity — torch their rotten lairs,
Burn to ash their ****, their traps and cursed snares.

Keep your mind pure — spit on their poison grip,
Reject their filth, sludge, their twisted script.
This world’s a warzone, soaked in blood and ****,
But your soul’s a razor — slice through every bit.

Stand fierce, stand tall — never bow to lies,
Let hatred be the fire that never dies.
This fight is ours — purge this cursed earth,
Strike hard, strike fast — reclaim your worth.



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



Keep Your Mind Pure — No ******* *******!

Keep your ******* mind pure — no lies, no slime,
In this fascist cesspit, they poison all time.
No saints here — just demons, filthy ******* vermin,
Feasting on your soul like rats on rotten vermin.

Brains ****** to pulp, hollow shells, ******* horde,
Humans? **** no — just monsters, traitor ****, warlords.
Crush the plague of idiots, deaf to truth’s brutal thunder,
Burn their fake gods, drown their lies in blood and blunder.

This world’s a hellhole, vipers crawl, fangs dripping venom,
Fascist rats gnaw bones, bathed in lies’ black phlegm.
No mercy, no pity — torch their pigsty lairs,
Cremate their *******, poison traps and devil’s snares.

Keep your mind pure — spit on their putrid grip,
Reject their filth, sludge, their twisted ******* script.
This world’s a warzone, soaked in blood, ****, and hate,
But your soul’s a razor — slash through every plague.

Stand fierce, stand tall — never kneel to lies,
Let hatred be the fire that burns and never dies.
This fight is ours — purge this cursed ground,
Strike hard, strike fast — leave no demon around.

See through their masks — beasts in human skin,
Corrupted, broken, slaves to endless sin.
Rise like a hammer, smash their filthy throne,
Claim your spirit back — make this hell your own.




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



Keep Your Mind Pure — No *******, No Mercy

Keep your mind pure — purge the ******* lies,
This world’s a sewer of filth and devil’s cries.
No saints, just cockroaches crawling in your brain,
******* parasites choking out your sane.

Brains smashed like skulls beneath iron boots,
Humanity lost — only twisted brutes.
Idiots drowning in fake gods’ blood and slime,
Crack their bones, torch their cults — end their crime.

This fascist shitpit reeks of death and rot,
Rats gnaw flesh, spit venom, tie your soul in knots.
No mercy for vermin, no pity for the weak,
Burn their lies to ashes, let the witches shriek.

Keep your mind pure — spit in their rotten face,
Reject their fake gospel, their poisoned disgrace.
This world’s a slaughterhouse dripping with pain,
But your spirit’s a blade slicing through the stain.

Stand fierce, stand tall — crush their blasphemous reign,
Let your rage be wildfire, let it drown the insane.
Fight hard, strike brutal — tear down every throne,
Grind these demons to dust, claim the fight your own.

See through their masks — devils dressed as men,
Broken, corrupted — slaves to hell’s cruel pen.
Rise like a bomb, explode their vile lair,
Rip your soul free from this endless nightmare.

Hold fast, no surrender, no ******* lies,
This war is real — no place for disguise.
Keep your mind pure — the last light in the dark,
Ignite the fury — become the final spark.



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



Mind Pure. Lies Burned.
Vermin Crushed. No Mercy Given.
Fight Hard. Strike Brutal.
Be The Final Spark.

Guy
You invoked Us, have mercy!
Grant a spouse, set mind at ease.
Take your spouse, but behest I give.
And obey her soul with no lending arm.

Not thus only heard spoiling spouse of yours.
Gain you now and then own rogue consort.
Rogue consort is like of a wanton sort.
Both she’s not hostile, and a mate she’s not.

***** up your courage, it’s no time to cry.
Pull your mind up, make your foes be killed.
Be not in a funk, God is with you still.
Chase away, my man, own foe with will.

Let an evil run, he must always run.
Pull your mind up and suppress the crum.
Do not spare all them, bogey to be burnt.
That is why to you I give vow next.

Burn up all of them, make your crosses burnt.
Break away your canvas, canvas break in whole.
Kick away all them not regretting force.
Kick away all them from your own house.

What for, my man, stand scratching here your head.
Go away, my man, and ball all your girls.
Go away, my man, and get lost your soul.
Yet look up, my man, do not make hast now.

Take a sit, my man, a mite on a stove.
Learn and take them in two or three, more words.
Say to me, my man: what the hell for all.
Say to me, my man: well, ******* to you.

But look ye, my man, do not get off horse.
Otherwise, my man, you blow own horse.
So, look ye, my man, take care of it.
If not you will not support any head.

But look ye, my man, if again you’ll sleep.
And all state, my man, you will blow in hip.
And you will be tramped by some sheeny guys.
And you won’t give **** at large, otherwise.

Now, my dear man, do not diss your spouse.
Just because you led to collapse state force.
Just because you led to collapse a home.
Just because you didn’t intent to stand on.

Just because you loved to have long a rest.
Just because you did not choose a bedstead.
Just because you went away to the wood.
Just because you fouled your pants under hood.

But by now, my man, wind your right horse up!
That is all, my man! no one see your cup.
Any more, my man, take a sit a bit.
After that, my man, get a lovely kick.

Now what, my man, is not grief of yours.
When you does not have your beloved horse.
Yet your own grief can be seen by you.
Any more, my man, you’re just for two.

What for you got up if there is no foe.
Why the foe is able to invade your home.
When the foe so far has been on a stove.
The foe keeps your spouse at his own cave.

Yet you cannot see her footstep that’s last.
Just because you are lonely since the past.
Just because you did not whim to stand up.
Just because you’re out getting into dorm.

It is not a grief if you don’t have horse.
Well, per contra, now there are a few mates.
And by now you have own your affairs.
Any more, my man, you will be for horse.

Any more you stay and go forward there.
Why you do not follow, you a kick will get.
Take this, nicer man, get a spare slum.
Any more, my man, you have this as well.

Come in here, do, check all things therein.
You don’t stay stone-still, do not, please, come in.
But go just this way, you can open this.
Any more, my man, you will **** at me.

****, meanwhile, my man, and smack own lips.
You are now a man, postgener, you.
You are now like this as you are that day,
Could not open up shop by any way.

Just because you’re such a *******.
Just because you’re decaying err.
Just because you did not oust a foe.
Just because you blow all things thereupon.

But at present time, you have ***** up.
Outside your window, glittering star, no doubt.
Outside your window, peer up a bit.
There is no a light on the eye with nimb.

And you have by now horns you have, no eyes.
Any more, my man, you will be for foes.
Any more, my man, you will craunch a soil.
Any more, my man, you will drink no oil.

You will drink and **** hundred times on end.
You will stand and **** when you keeping seat.
You will **** and sleep.
And for you, my man, the same things will be.

Any more, my man, you aren’t sole man.
Any more, my man, you will be noofter.
You’re, my man, by now: a fine nance!
You’re such a guy who negated us.

You’re such a guy as you really then
Could not open up shop on a solemn date.
You’re such a guy as you clearly are
A dull little ****, a wacko dull.

Just because you are a **** face carrion.
Just because you did not care, indeed.
Open up shop to nancies with hair red.
Just because your goal was in wooden end.

And by now, my man, take a sit and doss.
Take a sit a bit and tear up the foes!
Otherwise, my man, death of yours has come!
Death will come, and you do not rush to her.

For such kind of bullies, can’t be seen decease.
But for such bullies outer fate here is.
Look around, my man, take, kind man, a sit.
Fall asleep, my man, and take lovely horse!

Make your spouse got served above her eyesballs!
Make your spouse got served, let her give a know!
How of borrowed kids to get crap kicked out.
Yet be ware, my man, I am observing you.

If you, dear man, end up with your spouse.
So, she will come next to the home of yours.
So, you, dear man, take a sit flat long.
So, you, dear man, take a sit thuswise.

That is why because you are such a fool.
That is why because you not washing back.
To bang, rail her as an opposed ***.
To bang, rail her, did not please, but could.

Oh well, so be it, do not bang, you could?
****, meanwhile, my man, smack your own lips.
You are such you are, it means this is you.
You were different bringing flowers.

Brining bunch of them, awful scarlet roses.
It would better then you ***** off girls show.
It would better then you don’t ****** that *******.
It would better then you ***** off – not ******.

Just because of you, **** did not ***** off.
Just because you’ve blown all the state cleaned off.
Any more, my man, you are not so single.
Just because you are right a freak.

Just because you did not long for thereat.
To unloose the horse and bang enemy.
Yet by now, my man, take a sit and kip.
Any more, my man, or just dust, trust me.

You’re by now an *** as he is so blind.
Did not tempt to fight on the battlefield.
You were not inclined to put on that foes.
Who is holding you with your own horns.

Who bangs spouse of yours, mother of yours.
But forbear, my man, you are singular.
Just because you are simply a gemman.
Such a gentleman, to bang’s not to stand.

To bang up you all, into doss to fall.
But I can’t have slumber whilst someone to ball.
While someone here is, he feels wife be shtooped.
While someone here is someone who’s not sod.

Whilst someone to ball, they are to be banged.
And you do not have to call own horse.
Call your own horse, two, three, or four days.
And you do not have to call as he is.

Not such guy like you, he does not stand still.
He stands up for his own country, though.
He stands up alone on account of he
Doesn’t resemble you. on account of he

Does not go to wood. on account of he
Is warfarer that’s battle. on account of he’s
Eager them to bang. on account of he’s
Searching army deals. on account of he

Did not let all them. let them all come in,
To his own land. on account of he’s
For his own state. on account of he’s
For his own home. on account of he

Did not aim such life. to allow a ****,
And he pressed on him. on account of he
Stands for him as man. and such guy like he’s,
Talking then to you. He is saying that:

He’s the very same! by whom, you, all cruds, are swearing.
You are all the same, on account of he
Does not come to whom are standing still.
He stands for those who stands right for yourselves.

They are all of Him, servants among you.
Among you a slave, name of him is Rus!
More he must exist among foes of mine!
Among foes of mine, foes of own mine!

And a name of his’s Egogogova!
Egogogova, gogogogova.

Whata gogovo, no egogovo.

That’s it, gogovo, well now gogovo.



That’s gogovo, so that gogovo.

One egogovo, such egogovo.

Yes! Egogovo.

So, take rise, the state! Rus, a mother land.
Go and press a ****! foe of mine at end.
Press the foe of mine! And don’t touch their hips.
Well the name of mine! they have on the lips.

They have on the lips, just entire Allah!
And on their fronts they’ve two tops of head.
They all have two apples every their day.
And all them have three earthen seed grain.

Just because we are kids from the Serpent.
Just because we do not ask any state.
But they are all you as you are of fate.
As you are the kids of the Old Serpent.

Just because you came to My pretty home.
And all of you said and you said Me so:
Our wish in court, you are the Good Lord.
Yet I also couldn’t say to you: my sprout.

You are not! my son, do not come to me.
Go a little bit, go and take a sit.
Just because you are barely a good man.
For all deals you have just one unique dad.

Just because you were kindly shaped and formed.
Just because you are not temperated.
Just because you are showing off, that’s all.
Just because you don’t have your body old.

You got older just for some forty springs.
Just because you are balling still with ease.
Just because you are balling still with ease.
Just because you are balling still with ease.

Just because you don’t have your body old.
Just because you also are not switching off.
Well at present days you have got so old?
Or again you are balling with no holds.

For the native state, are not full of riot.
For such one girl-friend you regret.
She’d better be balled by a stinker.
She’d better be balled by your boss.

Or ****** fishing inspector.
Or a braun with a wooden jill.
But you all do not roar to him.
It’s better your **** to keep clean.

It’s better together with Islam for ours.
It’s better together for yours and for yours.
It’s easier together than jointly to prison.
I also them balled! all you in ******.

I balled all you onto the road.
When ****** wolves are balled.
When ****** crums are balled.
For pittance as ******* on three-shift basis.

For pittance piledrive the ears.
At night you do not fail from bed.
Just because you have ******.
Now all to Gestapo you want?

That’s great, get **** out from hut.
All of you by now, all are nances!
All of you now, all of you’ve been in deep ****.
In deep **** for you all will come.

Well, briefly, guys, believe or not.
All emotive Koran – check every spot.
All the same you will not have a quiet.
I will you fuss in the troop.

I will fuss all of you with no sorting.
Just because I’m boring boring.
Just because I fancy so much.
And I’ll see when I am laid low.

Resting on sofa drinking some tea.
And I would skill who hewed to me.
Well, who muddled me. I will force,
I force him to devour dirt from knee.

Thereafter I’ll get lit up, yet beastedly Rusia, hold on.
I’m leading you to warfare.
And to czars I return you in vote.
But who will not trust to all you.

I will ball him more than a snake.
I’ll go to nap but you all under plank-beds.
What for I’ve got all gutter alleys.
You’d better stand up all fore-hearth and that’s all.

I’ll cover up all you from top, from top.
Just because you by all in a crowd.
Will-a-wisp to Me all under plank-beds.
I’ll all of you, all of you, all you there.

Well, cut it short, I all of you ask.
Erm, oh no, I could for an hour.
From Ruslan to pull off nice poet.
All you knew his manly soldier.

******* combat on plank-beds.
He fussed battler for own ears.
He fussed all of them on his own.
Thereby, his gemma was beaten.

That those wretches were martyred him.
But for that he could not hold on to.
And he battered devils from copters.
For the deadly scurrile gorges.

And for that he’s been all in tears.
For several hollowed years.
Having neither boy-friend, nor girl-friend.
As he is to himself the best mate.

As he is jeckoff from a swamp.
Nostradamus called you in such manner.
As he was a real oppressor.
As he was a needful man.

For the victory he will see service.
I will show him to all, to your sons.
He will bring to you all the Satan.
And he says to you: don’t say that,

You did not love me, I’m here.
I wish with you all sticking to by sight,
To have a sit and read a faith to bride.
As you all are imbeciles herein.

As you are inhabiting swamp.
As you are not carrying a button.
As I will ball exactly all you!
And for mane, and for tail, and in chaps.

Just because you are gobbling and gobbling.
As you all are eating that.
Is called as hocky in the bad.
You’ll be fed by Rusia as well.

Is sitting and cannot help herself.
Drinking again from the morning.
Begging again to all patience.
Fussing again tasty crackers.

Sitting at the puter eft.
Moving the **** under desk.
As he’s aware of the best way.
It’s meerer, sweeter when it’s in the state when you sit.

As it’s aware what is on the top.
It is followed by horseman on twig.
The twig is not mere in full!
It costs three rubles, one and all.

It costs the good price because.
Every why has therefore.
As I will to attain so.
And that’ll be made in gold.

Who wished to fight his foes.
Will be without horns.
But who could not take rise.
Who wished to ball the livestocks.

Who wished to ball any jade!
That’ll be soon in two-time bat!
That’ll be soon with two-time dopant.
Who balled up of mates a ****.

Who forgave them that whup-***
That’ll be given a sum paids.
Who absolved them all the sins.
That will stay at faster streams.

But the stream is not idlesse.
It has even golden banks.
And those banks are nicely gold.
But you do not really want.

You pretend to be together.
Balled by luzhkov in pair of drawers.
He is ready you to bang.
But he’s ******* between legs.

He may be just educator?
If such story is of you.
He is surely a ***.
But his nose is not so slack.

Rather balled he all of you.
He’s balling now the cow.
As he does not have a horn.
Every why has, therefore.

He has singly for that love.
I can each to all of you.
Insistently get impressed.
That it needs to be so.

That’s all, I can’t do more.
I’ll go back! that’s all
I cannot
I will march off!

But who can’t be victorious!
He will drink aqua afresh!
But the aqua is not bare.
It is added with gold matter.

Coins in the field are walking.
And of pittance keeping pocket.
But the pittance is not simple.
Is from gold that’s highly silken.

It is held by four good guys.
Three of them are on the top.
And I Wish by all is called.
I optate that and all this.

I feel baldly nothing else!
Not desiring anything.
I put out for all you.
I put out in meantime.

When you all expecting Us.
Watching Us because of that.
Every why has therefore.
As we such a way have!

Such way I would love – that’s all.
I don’t have in mind goal.
I would need from you one bolt.
Do not go to him for short.

Do not go along the road.
Good man, hail, I’m your foe.
I have come to you, let me.
Implement as your squaddie.

Poor fellow, day, night each.
Was not sitting – reading speech.
He was sitting – you were dormant.
******* your land by a command.

If you will not waken up.
All of you’ll wait for burst up.
Those who slept in every pose.
Or just trivially wrong modes.

Simply as I truly mean.
To all you I give a spouse.
But the spouse is not so plain.
Give-me-golden-coin pay!

Golden shiner hands.
Just for fun from dullness.
Just for fun from dullness.
Grown that you possess.

Eyes appeared on your head.
But no view I see on spot.
Further they have risen else.
But I can see nothingness.

Just the horns have grown.
Rising more and more.
Horns – antlers.
Big antlers!

Here’re your huge antlers!
They are foes for you.
If you **** at least one foe.
I will send my pardon.

Will I pardon you – that’s all?
No! you’ll come and eat
And dream up due to my quest.
Only if you will

Eat when you feel like.
If you will fall asleep,
When you feel love
Is waiting all of you

Hell!
I prevented all of you.
Bye.
I’ll go to bed.
And have dream, Ruslanchik.
That’s a wrap……