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Mateuš Conrad May 2020
. h'america is as much an ideology as is... islam... this... the best... pig-farmed english you could somehow... not teach... not have mustered from a slav... a pseudo-russian... inconvenience ego... contender? satellite pawn: your... *****-slave yugoslav bourbon... excavations of: the lost flood of mongolian: tribe-folk... the pakistani with the surname: khan... your peoples... prior... no-guilt... island strapped... peruvian conquistadors... or... better strapped... less the cerveza folk... more... the belittled sort of: sorting folk... blah blah...

it's honestly hard to write anything -
when one is still... shell-shocked...
fromwhat could be cited as a devil's decade:
13 years...
                 from the age of 21
through to: aged 34...
            one of those relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...

       no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...

13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...

                  oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
    smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...

i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...

all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
        clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...

                 a second gravity...
                all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...

i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
        in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?

a devil's decade: 13 years...
              3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
          simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
                                               there's paul...

and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...

this... oh so mediocre...
           because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
                 thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
                or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
         help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
            
                i really don't have anything
to write...
                 i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
   and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...

             what i'm really thinking about...
well...
   how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
                  how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...

           eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
  or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
       but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
     lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...

a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!

the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
      i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
  i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!

but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!

i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
  is much better than a nicorette patch...
         or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...

but the original idea...
    farming animals...
             petting animals...
                    dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?

dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?

no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...

now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
    they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.

because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
   i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
  kosher-ism... halal-ism?
         to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
   someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...

beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...

           you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...

it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
     but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
    puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...

shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
                for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...

to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
                 you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
              पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...

i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...

oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...

             and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
          the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
               the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...

we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
           i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
       i have a pinch nose...
        so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...

                 current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
  h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
                 no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!

               how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...

we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
     tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
             the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...

  these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
  kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
                    kres...
                    
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...

and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
       barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
                    i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
             in crafting... the...
                conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?

          you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?

i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...

glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?

n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
              officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
    dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
      dickens...
                  liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over;
pithy... not pity... me...
you god-sucker...
******* ******* son's of eire...
me good-son...
    term me: years! under...
the tsarina! *******...
new yawn-ker...
       big mouth... no new bullseye...
the same old manchester...
the same ol'...
porky pies...
the same ol' chimneys and:
love's all... at cul de sac:
southend... porky pie munch:
luvvie: ol' guv.

yem: yup... ol' groove.. zzz-tizzle...
smart bruiser:
geezer with a sneeze pops up
at random places and jokes...
retards... lobotomy cruiser...
rhymes like... a cockey...
prior... to... tourettes... the lost...
the last... and what's:
the remains of...
the always... last...
and the worst... told... chalk of joke.
se relationship remainders...
we both got into smoking...
well... she was well ahead of me
in the cigarette domain...

       no... however i will attire the event...
whatever verbiage...
it doesn't allow a "justice" to trickle down...
it just so happens that i want
to listen to some depeche mode...
and not some tool / porcupine tree...

13 years of smoking... from the nadir of
40 a day... locotomotive breath...
iron on the tongue... phelgm pancakes
harked in the morning from
a tobacco "hangover"...

                  oscilating around 20 per day...
for some time...
and all it took was a week... 10 days...
and i'm still in possession of 3 cigarettes...
and those two i reserve for the end
of the day ritual...
    smoking the first is like:
finding oneself with a belly-full of
a child of gravity...
otherwise: gravity... unless falling...
to look up at the stars and the moon
and the sea: it's something you don't
exactly feel with two feet strapped
to the orb... no movement of
the tectonic plates...
sometimes with *******...
index and middle... of the left hand...
pushed under the right arm-pit...
to feel the pulse of the arteries...

i hardly think this is a call for celebration...
13 years can disappear like...
nothing even took place...
to substitute the habbit with...
reading... playing video games?
nibbling on carrots... nuts...
or just... waiting for the tide to recede...
and for a sea of patience to come
with tomorrow's tide...

all that... and none of it...
at the end of the day... the two cigarettes
are like a metaphor fo crack *******
or syringe strapping imitation
leech...
        clear thinking: or therefore none...
no spaghetti muddles...
at best: imitation of biting into ice...
or... stretching a rubber-band until...
well: you can't feel it about to snap...
since it snaps...

                 a second gravity...
                all concentrated in the stomach...
and esp. when the legs have not been
"properly" used up...
but remain tight-and-fidgety with goosebumps
when the ****** of tobacco lines the nerves...

i don't know why i can't celebrate this...
it's such a private event... such an exslusivity...
after all... in linear fashion:
to experience speed... a concentrated
exploration of space... within a hyper-dictum
of time...
        in a linear way...
but a second gravity: without falling?
but otherwise whirling in the stomach?

a devil's decade: 13 years...
              3 more... otherwise a dozen...
which is only 1 more...
the devil's dozen...
          simon peter, andrew, james, john, philip,
bartholomew, matthew, thomas,
james son of alphaeus, simon the zealot,
judas son of james and judas iscariot...
count hey-zeus out of the equation...
                                               there's paul...

and that's what eminem does...
when rapping... on white h'america?
changes the subject - a personal tirade over...
somehow i too link certain aspects...
13 years of...

this... oh so mediocre...
           because: clearly... i don't know what
to make of it...
                 thank god i retained those
two cigarettes at the end of the day...
than have been hooked on nicorette chewing
gum / patches...
                or the usual "a.a." support...
support: "support":
         help yourself: by every single
and no dead or alive guru...
            
                i really don't have anything
to write...
                 i'm walking away from
a 13 years of tobacco addiction...
   and what i'm really thinking about...
the first thirsts of cold-turkey are long gone...
it's been under a week...
over a week... whatever...

             what i'm really thinking about...
well...
   how would it feel like...
to farm animals...
                  how does it feel to... pet animals...
a completely different dynamic...
after all... a farmer would own...
petting-worth animals...
like a cat... for... catching mice...
or a dog... to... warden... sphynx...
cerberus... watch-over the property...
how some would make the dogs
so ferocious... that a chain would
sometimes not be withstanding
to the ferocity of the barking...

           eh... it's slightly off-putting...
to pet animals...
when you're being given a factory
edit of the original moo!
  or snorkling in knee-deep-**** and mud
and rotten potatoes of pork...
i don't mind... the end product
is what interests me...
the **** is silk? tapeworm ****?!
or there-abouts...
       but... it's so much different...
when you... farm animals...
     lucky for me... my... somewhat...
immediate family still owned a farm...
and chickens in the yard...
oh yeah... catching a chicken is one thing...
amnesia of the chicken shack...
catch one... sure thing...
then with axe onto the stump...
head sticks to the stump...
last traces of life while the eyes roll back
and the tongue protrudes from the beak...
while... all the other chickens gather...
and start drinking the blood...

a bit like the two tiers of people...
some people must feel inclined to become
these... sociopathic farmers...
there are the humans you herd...
there are the humans you pet...
the ones you pet will probably find about
you herding them...
and rebel... since... you're not...
some gargantuan: ****** obvious...
miracle of a god descent... crown, pomp...
circumstance... all that was borrowed
from god... in splendour... heavens!
lo! behold... versailles was built!

the future charles III of england...
started 8pm today... on classic.fm with his own show...
i tuned in for a minute or two to hear
his voice...
      i do hope that when ol' lizzie is dead...
he doesn't cower... he dons! he dons the title:
charles the third!
  i ****** well hope... he doesn't become...
no... he can't become: george VII...
formerly known as charles: the prince of wales!
he has to be! charles the third!
he has waited this long!
he has to retain his name!

but that's the beauty of the monarchy...
it's so ******* pompous and omnipresent...
it doesn't hide... in... secular... grey-matter
of deep-state... there are just too many tiers
of power... even though... there's only symbolism...
but a reverence for it: nonetheless!
grey-matter of shadow-people in grey suits!
blinking: for god's sake! blinking black-holes
of hush hush: what was once...
the aristocracy... that's too replaced with...
the burden of crazed-loon bureaucracy!

i've quit smoking... well... "quit"...
2 cigarettes from 20 a day... circa...
  is much better than a nicorette patch...
         or some: pepperspray tasting chewing gum...
it's not a cigar... if you were asking...

but the original idea...
    farming animals...
             petting animals...
                    dogs... the ideal pets...
i'm sorry... i can't put on a leash or a muzzle...
a chihuahua can bite like a piranha...
i don't see the excuses needed to comfort
people afraid of big dogs... alsatians...
dobermans... that's the freedom allowed with cats...
if you get a chance to build their characters...
they will tend to take a dump in your
neighbour's garden...
yes... me... following sherlock feline...
with a black plastic bag and *****...
permission to... be allowed entry into your garden?
or are you... going to trebuchet that ****
back onto my lawn?

dogs or "petting" tarantulas? serpents?
the idea of petting went out of the window...
when... people started to fathom the...
what adjective?! to pet a ******* tarantula...
yes... me... running to the shop that sells
tarantulas... with caption: free tow-twos...
how about you keep that freak-****
in the jungle with all those gimp-suit sexed-up
antics... and i... get to...
farm a chicken... i get to... farm a pig?

no... of course no... although...
who couldn't be teased with latex jill and her
spider annex: library of "misdeeds"
for the library of: hard-ons...

now that you mentioned it... sure... i have a...
pressing concern... how to not...
over-cook pork...
see... pork is a bit like pasta...
you can serve it undercooked like beef...
but... it's also like chicken...
and beef... combined... you don't want
to serve it... overcooked...
only barbarians are fond of well-done beef...
probably arab...
    they only stomach well-done steaks
or minced beef...
they have no palette for tartare steaks...
too much inbreeding with stinking lamb
does the trick...
whatever they might say of pork...
the aesthetic meat... leather too... shoes and belts...
lamb? for the slaughter?
eh... stinking puritanical meat worthy
of teacher 'ebrew and righteous son:
mecca ibn sudan.

because... ha ha... it's one thing being racist...
you know... detailing the physiognomy
differences between blacks and whites...
choccies and porky pies...
and the cinnamon people in between...
that's one thing...
it's like everyone was asleep...
the whites were racist...
the only people... ever...
but that's one thing...
   i find it harder to digest...
there's no name for it...
  kosher-ism... halal-ism?
         to be... more racist than racist...
almost a vegan / vegetarian taming...
   someone is being critical... of what you eat...
i imagine... malcom x being given a free
pass as a black totem in mecca...
shot dead... when converted... because...
still shuffled pork on the sly...

beside skin deep: please leavde your leather
shoes and belts... lace
beside the concept / concern for the mosque...
racism: morphed into an ideological
manifest...
for a while... let us leave thse
turban and tent dwelling folk
with their newly acquired riches
to the ***** of:
if i am to prepare lamb meat...
i treat it liky chilly...
the meat... stinks of something beside...
death... innocence prescribed...

           you are told... wrong...
when ingesting the fruit of eden... somewhat...
these nomads of quasi-sikh turbans
for the women: the niqab girdle-grooms...
their wetted-appetites:
unable to satiate gyrocentrism leftovers...
and... pass from the living...
toward the theatre of the would be alive...
less the circumcised mess: misantrophes...

it's one thing to be chockie...
another to be porky-pink'ish...
     but what you eat?
that's... somehow... off-putting?
    puritan with some crab-meat
in this numbed jaw?
no one the persians rebelled against
the camel-jockey prescription of:
words only... no images...
pasta squiggles of phonetic encoding...
arabic... tironian a posteriori notations...
then again: one could argue:
tironian a priori notations...

shrimp-**** and eyes that would
resemble... at best... squinting from too much
sun... and at worst... ******* on a lemon...
12" of **** and the twelve-pounder
juicing worth of ***...
her ***...
                for me to comment
on the mongol horde esque libido of
the fellow woman of my race...
no... the islamic idea of a heavenly harem...
mind you: it would satisfy her:
if she was to be crowned the juggling act
of three: at least one to compete with
the da vinci sodomites...

to be told you can't eat something...
i'm already a bad joke as:
"bweetish" as it comes...
tucked away with the afro-saxon...
the anglo-slav...
                 you just have those lips
that look like full-bloom best:
imitation: floral patterns of a ******...
best equipped for *******...
i swim: you sink...
you run... i start an arithmetic of catching
my breath...
the cinnamon people are...
if they are equipped with a polytheism
of the raj... and are saved with
culinary ambitions...
"we'd" call them the blue indians...
and that's also: to mind...
their elder: sanskrit...
              पअरउत
र - or how the englishman lost the trill:
rattle-snake R: for rolling...
when he... became: the nuanced... keeper...
vanguard... of the Raj...
perhaps... the anthropomorphic genesis
in africa: givenz zee apulus... apex: gorrilolulz...
but... the sribbles and *******?
india the basin... akapit: paragraph:
the tear of sri lanka...

i.e. so much for me succumbing to the anglican:
we'z all wo'z allz: ex afri-ka'ka'kazia...

oh sure... sure... we... the sensible:
secular post-christians of the protestant wealth
of the west...
happy to afford the dumbed-down
congregations of the newly conscripted...
believers of africa and south h'america...
carrot dangling: run donkey! run!
one of your own: a pope! a cardinal!
poland is still running on that...
remark of... the passing of power...
the first pope to be given status of... saint...
john paul II the saint of:
kissing airport tarmac...

             and then of course...
the hyped intricacy of the orthodox branch
of the bureau of hierogylphics and
synonymous litanies...
          the events of the baltic sea:
would never be...
the sort of ****-show...
that... the events of the mediterranean sea...
hell... the events of the black sea...
christianity isn't merely dumb...
it's just... over-hyped...
               the pork the pork... the pork!
who would require...
a criticism of pork and pig and ms. porky
to suit... alliance...
no matter... i'm on the cusp of quitting
smoking...

we can caricature our physiognomy...
but... how do you... caricature...
what you eat... your... sustenance?
you, black... have a pillow for a nose...
me, white... have a death's lack of...
           i don't have a nose...
i have... a death's clench sucker...
       i have a pinch nose...
        so much for over-inflated lips...
and... my missing... elongated...
myth elves: the protruding ears...
like: no body...

                 current / the currency of
the now h'america... and the immediacy
of nostalgia: as a history: moving forward /
anywhere but back...
nietzsche opened up a nostalgia for ancient
greece...
  h'americans... opening up... a nostalgia...
for 1950s h'america...
how can you write a future history...
from a stand-point / stand-off...
of nostalgia...
this... immediacy of nostalgia...
who's who and who isn't citing...
a richard brautigan... or... a frank o'hara?!
because: there's the sucker and no punch
for the next verse of...
****'s sake... walt whitman?!
o captain! my... john keating...
                 no... it's not about glorifying
the original intent... mr. president...
the english teacher...
mr.! thomas! bunce!

               how can any history be written...
when there's... a nostalgia: impediment...
the hsitory of an immediacy
lacklutered by a past...
the past: however framed...
before... the dead are allowed to
turn and grovel in their graves...
i have 'ere... my gobble-whick of...
pretending: no shadows will
ever exist... at noon...
scrathing... timidy bed-fellows...
loitering squat...

we are to grovel for the cousin
imps and apes of: first born:
english born... navajo...
     tortilla...
the old fling of england...
and the spanish...
             the conquistadors...
loose nouns dog **** flinging applause:
i fall asleep in a bed:
i welcome the new day...
most... egregious (archaic)...

  these western lands...
mmm... they're not very much akin
to our flavour...
that they dictate... refurbishment...
unless it's para-english...
alter- proto- welsh...
  kashubian... masovian...
silesian...
                    kres...
             ­       
ei hhynnal coch.. and it:
pronouns neutral: does... ****-wit...
gender-fluid-retardo: perfecto...

and i too wish i had...
themes of crusader songs...
but... i have none...
these that i marked...
teutonic knights of no order...
       barbarossa being pickled...
livonians... prussians...
lithuanians...
                    i'm sorry...
that i'm too far away from
you to return to europe
from your: hubris...
             in crafting... the...
                conscripts: shikhs...
ask the russians! ask the rush-******-whips!
agony of a tongue: beside their own!
the post-colonial powers
return!
the post-colonial powers! make a return!
so much for those of us...
not having... a colonial past!
are we to pay for... such...
benevolent gracing
of gratitude from the people
"made"... under... colonial... rule?!
from the perspective of the strong...
why... am i... expected to treat
these care-bears with...
the right: equipped
manchester shovel?

          you spike my drink
or am i... to... simply...
take the right, godly ****...
into all the urns...
the rest of you are to drink from?

i see my forehead glee: akin to my elbow...
and i call that phenomenon:
something benevolent of *****....
yep... not s'unni... but... shyte...
****.. persian: rebellion of camel-jockey...
****'ite... macron i...
dot's the worthy due: guillotine...
echo of the baltic sea...
we somehow: managed...
to lessen the romance...
unlike the english...
the romans conquered:
romanced the ******...
the vikings conquered...
romanced the ******...
the mongols never made it...
nor the huns..
so much for "brexit":
with your lineage of currency...
and your status as an island...

glory! vistory! ******* and all!
because: best felt!
in... places... akin to... devon!
a londoner will abhor someone...
with origins in the vicinity of bristol...
like... because...
there's no other?

n'ah... this night is pretty much worth
all the other nights...
it's worth sleeping...
it's not worth... whatever: leftover...
"worth" of...
this... this "apparent"...
yep... leftover... be...
something for the worth of yale
h'american... or...
dignitary president...
              officiated cul de sac executive orders...
it's... such an anglo-saxon fetish for...
*** beside the boudoir...
    dodo, lilac... gimp... latex...
      dickens...
                  liberty at:
i feign to allow myself to have... lapsed...
in what? good question...
even i... do not... attempt to baron
myself: over.
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Eerie creeps
Masculine freaks
Femininities left
Masculinity's taken over
To masculine
To much
Man forgot wife
Man lost touch
Man lost children
Video games are his friend
Beer is his lover
Shalt face his own end
Man hast forgotten
Man hast turned dumbed
Man better listen
To these words
I do hum!!!!
M Seifert M Mar 2013
I want you
I want someone to want me
but
you don't want me

please want me

don't!
I'm broken
you don't want a leaky faucet
that
self repairs
with duct tape and silly putty

I'll recite you the backs of cereal boxes
and
throw away the locks on the doors of our common places
I'll keep a smile on mine if your face feels too tired from the weight of what your mind is speaking out your eyes

Everything.
Every string
that hangs off of well worn sweaters
snags on finger nails and pealing calluses.

I'll draw the curtains
if
and ONLY
IF
you first admit that you
are
BEAUTIFUL.
and i know it.

Your doubt should drown.
We'll drink it down.
Sipping wine only to set the scene
because
WE
already ditched our inhibitions
and
we decided that what was best for each other was to feeds each other's needs with the other's body.

This letter.
This note.
To you.
The long lost women of my dreams
the shape shifting goddess
who floats freely through the open windows of my memories.
Will this be enough to summon spirits to lift me to your level without being beaten to life by a trigger happy judge's gavel?

I built my prison to your specifications.
The measurements may be off
but
the bed...
The bed is warm
and cozy.
And
it fills my heart to see your cheeks turn that rosy
rosy red
that same
rosy red
that fills my heart
and
flows through yours.
Kept inside
but
peaking out in moments of vulnerability.
Shed your false
heavy
layers of security
toss them in the water and...

Flush skin of lips and finger tips
other places where my mind can only wander
wondering where in the world we will
meet again.

It's half past ten or some other hour,
I don't know and you don't mind
because
we're alive!
and our heart beats will set the pace
keeping time in place.

THE STORM IS LOUD
MY VOICE
is softer
now...

Okay--

Alright--

*
I'll give you your space{













But
YOU
BETTER FLY.
And NO MATTER HOW HIGH
NOW IS YOUR CHANCE TO SHOW
to TRULY KNOW the color of your wings.

And
I'll continue singing
because
someone else may be listening.
And
although these tears won't quench my thirst
I'm learning more about myself through my time searching
through my ***** laundry:
Bags of rags
and forgotten junior high and high school notebooks.

Failed jokes took to heart
the stinging silence of laughter kept inside.

Broken funny bones
NUMBED by repetition [repetition]
DUMBED down
COMFORTABLE BEING SUBMISSIVE

Well, I'm not sorry
NOT SORRY
to tell you
this mouse
whose mouth you shut is now stirring

Stirring the ***
Kept at temperature
All the right spices and slices and dices to enlighten you as to what the taste of life is.
.............................................................­.................................................
Please sit, here is your chair.
I love what you've done with your hair!
let me know if you would like seconds
but
that depends on if you brought your appetite.
I know I'M Hungary [hungry]
but
I won't slurp my soup if it offends you.

We'll take it slow
because
I know that
I still don't know you that well yet.
And I think we both could cool it down on the unnecessary judgement.
I'd really like to know you well, so I won't try to sell you anything that you're not buying.
And call me out if you think I'm lying, but I promise to be as honest as you want.

But it's a two way street
and I know you're probably tired from running down it so long
in which case I would gladly rub your feet
or your shoulders if you'd like to be a bit more discrete.

However, it still may be too soon for that
in which case I'll take a couple steps back.

Do you like music?
How bout dancing?
It doesn't have to be romantic
I just enjoy the feeling when I'm moving to the rhythm in time with other bodies.

Does you mind maybe feel clearer now that your body's moving free
or
are you holding back because you falsely feel that you lack the ability to let the music move

Your soul's of you feet.

Let go
and hold on to me.
I won't let you fall unless you're ready
but I'll catch you
please don't worry.

We are free
here.

Let's just be
here.

Forget fear
and see where that takes us
in a year.

Or more
Or less
Or until you decide
that your dress
is not
the most comfortable thing
you
could be wearing...

I'm just glad we can share the same air
and not care that our hair's getting messy.

But...
This...
is the best I've felt.

In a loooong while...

Spinning out of control
Lying
With you here next to me.
Riley Jun 2020
Numbed & dumbed
Into a void of oblivion
So far beyond the grasp of reality
My face is not my face but a doormat

Numbed & dumbed
A skull left to frighten
Watching you dance through little mirrors stuck in the eye socket
Peering, admiring
But who, admires who more?

But the skeleton, oh he stares, stares right back at you
With eyes crooning and booing
And me boohooing
The crowds tough
Adelina Marie Sep 2014
i'm beginning to develop a
schoolgirl crush on you, my dear,
for you make me giggle as if i were
five years old again.
what i feel for you is
a dumbed down version of
a complex mixture of
like,
love,
lust,
and puppy-love infatuation.
i simply do not know what
has gotten into me but
i do know that i'd
love to feel your lips on my own.
i would be delighted to delve deep
into your embrace and
give names to the galaxies that have called
the depths of your eyes
home.
i haven't known you very long and
i have had not the pleasure of feeling
you in person but the pleasure of
hearing your voice pronounce
my name.
just to see you standing in
front of me once
would perhaps give me
some insight as to
how i feel in
regards to you.
or maybe i'll be more
puzzled than I am
as of now.
canto 1
I call her daddy my own. He felt nothing for her when the time had come for him to do something he fell and she felt nothing at all, nothing whatsoever. It is a cruel world, mateys, and the best thing you can do is curse God and die. Hard to ditch the pity act. Ditching is denying and there is much truth to the lie.

canto 2
Their eyes bubble in the open air, they fill to bursting and scrub until they scratch. **** drips. It's a sound that I will never forget. A sight that should be reserved for the dream world...a stench unrivaled.

canto 3
The Chinese bomber is persistent. One has to wonder why he bothers at all, seeing that his attempts have been futile up until the present moment. It's shoe week, so I guess he has his reasons. But this has gone on for far too long. If there were a way for me to stop him I guess it wouldn't hurt to try.

canto 4
Random parking lots and good God what have they done? I thought it was all over, these thoughts were through, these voices are mad. Usually it's not as upsetting. Your car door gets stuck, you know, it happens all the time. It happens every day, still you never get used to it, do you? You're always stuck inside that ugly mirror.

canto 5 (the "missing canto")

canto 6
I want to tell the world how good you are. Amazing and incredible. **** and *******. Talented and unrestrained. Honey nut Cheerios. You give it but I have a sneaky feeling you would rather be lost in a dream. A banal night vision. Comparably

canto 7
I want to make it better. I want to see you smile. What can I do? You are my own heart ripped from my chest and given wings to fly. Your smile is a lost treasure I would do anything to get it back to give it back to you, I didn't mean to take it away from you. You push me up against a stone wall and you don't even realize you're doing it. That my soul cries and prays for something real, for some kind of explanation or even an excuse would be fine right now. Instead I float. Not the way I like to float. I drift and crash, a dizzying spiral out of control, confused and dumbfounded by the realization that none of it means a ******* thing. What I thought was love turned out to be a jester's game, a joker's trick. You don't need me anymore.

canto 8
I hide myself behind a blanket of stone where you cannot spit fireballs at me without cracking an egg. Cold breeze tickles my news. It's not too chilly in this room. But the fireballs warm things up. "Blanket of stone"...what a stupid expression. Why do you have to be so hateful to me? How many times can a man say I'm Sorry without losing an eyeball?

canto 9
I have no right to feel the way I do. I don't think I can control it, though. This is one of the ****** up idiosyncrasies of my confused existence. Vanish without a trace and look for clues in the alphabet soup.

canto 10
Weariness is like a slug, a giant slug, a parasite infesting my body, hanging on and hanging out. A fire down below that waits for my imagination. My sleep patterns are getting ****** up but I'm not sure if I was sleeping or just dreaming I was awake. Under the impression that it doesn't matter? Well, you are a stone fool for thinking that way. You've never experienced the life-changer. Else you would know. But all I want to know is this: Why am I afraid of sleep?

canto 11
Things get slow. Patience is required, but I don't have any. Why does it have to be that way, o cruel dictator? You get a kick out of this ****, don't you?

canto 12
Spill your guts, maties, it's the only way you'll ever come out of this situation with even a shard of dignity intact. I know it's early and you haven't had time to adjust your eyes and your wrists for this delicate task. Go! Do it now before you lose confidence.

canto 13
We took a holiday and it was so nice. She stood there on that stage without a stitch of clothing on her voluptuous body. Baby, don't you let your hairdresser down

canto 14
Who doesn't love breakfast? Me, actually.

canto 15
I can't help it if I'm changing every day. Ask the question later, maybe my answer will be suitable. I don't think I can help you because I'm not like anyone you've ever known or will ever know or can ever know or would ever want to know and why do you keep wanting to know where I've been? I've been right here. Right where I've always been. Haven't moved a muscle.

canto 16
This is the 16th and I should be proud but the apathy seeps from my very pours. That little ******* was about to take a **** in the corner. When I picked him up to take him to the paper he dropped a couple of turds on the floor beneath me. I guess he couldn't wait.

canto 17
Sometimes things change so much that it's hard to tell if they're for the best or the worst. It is at these times that I enjoy a good evening on the water, enjoying my yacht and eating peanuts from another man's sack. Salted peanuts with pickled eggs and deviled ham with a side order of angel food crack.

canto 18
My wrist hurts and I've lost the will to **** socks.

canto 19
The lawn chair has been placed under extreme scrutiny. It's rocking motion is being scientifically tested and arranged for packaging. The physics of this miracle are in the process of logistical infiltration. You'd be surprised at how useful a rocking lawn chair can be in a world tangled in war. It's a good place to relax. For paranoids, that is.

canto 20
Bird feathers of a different post, it has never made a lick of sense and the promises made were broken. Who was that man in the bird suit? Why was he making all those funny noises? I'll have to investigate. Lawd have mercy I do believe I've **** my pants.

canto 21
Don't come crying to me if you feel misunderstood. I can read right through you and I know that all you're doing is fishing for a compliment. You will not receive one from me, Salty Dog, not because you don't deserve one. You probably do. But not from me. Perhaps you should take up your case with Hoda Kotbe. Who knows but that you might look really, really good on television. Just remember to feed the dog before you leave. He gets hungry. But he doesn't miss you. I don't mean to break your heart, but the rational man within me is very convincing when he tells me you are a real pickle.

canto 22
Those comments are found particularly offensive in light of the situation in the Gulf. You need to regulate your interest in beans. One day you'll fly to the Middle East looking for peace and all you will find are demons like the ones who raised so much hell in "The Exorcist". You don't want that, do you? Settle for Ranch Style and leave the diplomacy to the masters.

canto 23 (the "lost" canto)
I wouldn't wish this on a barrel full of monkeys. They say that time heals all wounds and I suppose it does. No "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Don't believe me? Listen to 'em snarl. They're hungry for blood and sandwiches. I owe you nothing, so perhaps I'll send you a good time from New York. You gotta love a trapeze artist.

canto 24
I'm trying my best to change the world but the fact remains that the human race does not deserve the kind of tender loving care that I'm well known for. This holiday event will not include high temperatures or the kind of crap the weather people try to sell you.

canto 25
******* Valhalla. This is how it always seems to wind up, isn't it, Pinnochio? Just when you think things are getting better, BAM, ****** up again.

canto 26
You know you've reached a severe point of boredom when you switch to the Daystar Network and find yourself singing along to the bogus faith healers. Pecans on that one, please.

canto 27
Plug away, Sailor. Keep plugging away. When you get there you can say you plugged away with as much vim and vigor as a much larger man. Slough it off, O Great one. Keep sloughing it off. When you get there you can say you sloughed it off with as much skill and empathy as one might expect from a lizard. Or a monster frog.

canto 28 (the "twenty-eighth canto")
Come, look at my incredible collection of dice. Right next to my collection of mice. Next to that bowl of rice. Sugar and spice, everything nice. My head's full of lice. Don't think twice, just break the ice. Pup your puppy dog in the freezer.

canto 29
My toes are cold and so is my nose. I should be concerned with this situation but, strangely, I could care less. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. Like how many frosted flakes are in that box over there. And is there any milk left? And is it the real deal or that phony 2%? 1%? Skim milk is even worse. If it gets down to that point I'll save the money and use tap water. Don't think for a moment that I won't.

canto 30
Colored pencils expect risque answers to tame pencils. Unfortunately the quality of superior eggs is relative to the ice cream that has dripped down your shirt. You're starting to smell bad and I would highly recommend soaking in vinegar for an hour or six.

canto 31
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 32 (the "same as the 31st" canto)
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 33
Yazaa, yazaa, yazaa I told you I was gonna steal that car. You didn't think I had the guts, did you? But look who's laughing now! That guy with the big flower in his pocket must really feel like **** right now, realizing that his awesome vehicle is no longer in his possession. Maybe get an ice cream cone, maybe feel better.

canto 34
Come out of your hidey-hole, scurvy dog. Rat scabies be breathing down your neck and it's cold and old and you'll do as you're told. Pinch back that stray lock of hair, O Queen of Sheba. You shall spend the rest of your days parked on a green chariot overlooking Lake Erie

canto 35
You could have given me a reason for the season. Instead you had nothing to offer but a huge chunk of pepperoni that had mold growing all over it. Admittedly it was delicious but surely you could have come up with something a bit more expressive of the tender emotions I inspired within your fluttering heart.

canto 36
The prospect of a news reporter calling you a crack head based on information gleamed from your Internet social network profiles is quite terrifying, but when you tie the noose you might as well make sure it was time well spent. It's a shame you shaved your head because the painful truth is that now you bear a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas.

canto 37
Energy. That's what is required. And not just the kind of energy you can get from sugar, caffeine and butter. If it were that easy you could be **** sure that the Catholic Church would be the first in line to canonize it. They have a burning desire to fall off the wagon. "Which wagon?" you may ask. The one with the ice cream, of course. Don't be a fool.

canto 38 (a "short" canto)
If boredom is a sea in which one can easily sink into and drown in, I must be swimming the Atlantic.

canto 39
When the dog barks like that it's a sure bet that he's been neutered in the last few days. It's a sad and sorrowful sound that is only recognized by **** knockers in the deep woods.

canto 40
I could stare at the bars of this prison for the rest of my life. Okay, that's *******.

canto 41
Who was it that once said time is the only reliable concept in the universe? Oh, wait. That was me

canto 42
They tell you to wait. That's what it's all about. Wait, wait, wait, wait until I can almost feel my hair turning gray. The estimated time is currently number 7 the estimated hold time is 4 minutes, thank you for your patience. Well, you're welcome, comrade.

canto 42
I've only to surrender you to the world, lie down and wait for it to crush me.

canto 43
If I can only keep it together...if I can only hold it together this one time, I know the gravy train will come my way. Would it do any good to pray? This isn't the first time that enlightenment and illumination have reared their blessed heads. Would that I could live within them this time.

canto 44
Have I told you lately how much I hate to wait? Thinketh not that the Chair has lost it's financial imbalance, the very thread of chocolate that brought you here. It is still a very important and, some would say, a hot topic regardless of the amount of grime, sweat, blood and V8 juice is spilled on it's ivory shaped pear seat.

canto 45
The shadows turn into cloaks, dark itchy woolen capes that enfold the nothingness beneath them, the nothingness of being. You could have worked a little longer and a little harder on that one, amigo.

canto 46
It's been awhile but my wrist still hurts and I've written the word "moon" on the back of my hand with a Sharpie.

canto 47
I'm movin' this **** to WordPress. No I'm not. **** WordPress. Press WordFuck. Word FuckPress. On and on and on and on and not the least bit clever or entertaining. But I do like steaks.

canto 48
I swear to God I wish I had never taken that first hit of ****. Look what it's done to me. After so many years, I guess I was only fooling myself. Or maybe I was so dumbed down that it didn't seem to matter. But now things have changed. And I can do nothing about it. Dump a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup into a bowl, throw it into the microwave, let 'er go for three minutes, let 'er cool down in the oven for a couple more, stir in a quarter cup of Tabasco sauce, let 'er cool down for a little while longer, mix in a ****-load of Cheez-It reduced fat crackers and then go to ******* town. Go to ******* town, I say, **** the stoner days.
Macstoire Mar 2014
London dumbed me
Simple things I can not remember how to do
What currency do bus drivers take if its not shellfish?
Can I pay on card?

London numbed me
Passive interaction with passers-by no more
How come the bus driver chat to me?
And he actually cares for I reach my right place?

Bristol warms me
Friendly faces greet me with familiarity
No questions needed because everything is just so
October 23rd 2013
jeffrey robin May 2015
I write of self mutilation -- therefore I am

//

In these the dumbed down
Down sized days

To call someone a pea - brain is a compliment

••

The girl ate **** and said :

HEY , I ATE ****

I MUST BE STUPID

and thought she was very clever

For making the observation

///

she let some boy who she knew didn't love her

**** her .... and when he left her she said

THE TRAITOR !  HE DIDNT REALLY LOVE ME !

//

she wrote about it to her fellow sad sack losers

On hello poetry

And was so praised for her insightful sensitivity

That she ran off to find another boy who she

Was certain didn't love her so she could do it again

//

Thusly great poetry is formed

//

Pretty soon

No one will even have a brain at all
ConnectHook Oct 2018
Q-Tips raised! Their storm approaches.
Swab those ear-gates free and clear.
Thunder frightens the rats and roaches.
Looming clouds are drawing near;
Audible anticipation
Waxes with our rising nation.

Hope-**** is the thing with feathers
flying low, right before the gale.
Strident left-wing get-togethers
Do their best to countervail.
Tribunals herald something worse . . .
Enjoy some popcorn with my verse.

Martial law—a new diversion,
Flapping wings on the Left and Right
Disturbs the coop (or coup?). Subversion
now displays its plumes outright.
Deep-state angels prove satanic
sparking upper-level panic.

Rumors can be quite arresting.
Cresting waves on the Psy-Ops sea
Break and roll, now manifesting
Dumbed-down mobs, conspiracy . . .
Some citizens awake to truth;
The rest rave on, benighted youth.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfrGbax6j9I
Mickinous Jun 2016
you could be
who you want to be
doing
what you want  
when you want
wherever you want
you could be yourself
co-existing in parallel
nonchalance
undercover
nonsense
camouflaging
into
where nothing makes sense
and the senses are numbed
Dumbed
Down
So that this moment
can make sense
where you are who you are
with no recompense
no guilt
no compassion
no circumstance
not withholding
no doubt
no resolve  
not within
not without

I can slow it down
round it out
make it sound
more profound
Dumb it down
dumb it down
dumb it down
dumb it down
I know you have felt alone...
Felt like no one cares,
i know it's rare to find a stage in life where your completely satisfied, cause its hard to achieve ultimate fulfillment when there is always someone criticizing you,
judging you,
projecting their insecurities on you or forcing you to see yourself through the eyes of societies impossible standards.
Wealth anxiety, social status,
the vanity fueling self consciousness, as you attempt to stay abreast of fashion and the common misconception of what beauty is,
but ....beauty is not a 6 pack,
beauty is not a tan,
a tan to be darker, while others struggle with not being lighter, beauty is not *******,
a tight ***, smooth skin without pimples,
beauty is not designer clothing that makes you a walking billboard, advertisement or inadvertently providing endorsements for companies who overprice based on their oh so prestigious brand and logo...
Beauty is loving the imperfections
Beauty is never compromising your moral fibre or code of ethics
Beauty is the confidence to want nothing more than what you need,
And not confusing what you need with what you want.
Beauty is knowing who you are
and embracing it
Beauty is standing by the ones who you know love you
Beauty is speaking against the *******, the bullies, and continuing to stand for those who can't stand for themselves when there is reason to stand by them.
Beauty is not your upgrades, luxury or sports car, or smart phone that has dumbed you down and has disconnected you from personal interaction,
Beauty is expressing your opinion
An opinion you formed without prejudice or bias influence
Beauty is developed through an open mind, and a Relentless ambition to uncover deception for the truth...
No matter how hard or unpleasant it is to see or hear
Beauty is not found in disposable income, or the competitive edge
When human nature urges us to feel the need to feel better, stronger smarter or more accomplished
Beauty is found in forgiveness,
Beauty is the good deed you went out of your way to perform,
even if its unnoticed or recognized by the one you did it for
Beauty can't be preserved by ****** creams.
It can't be emulated with cover up,
it can't be purchased, with monetary exchange.
So if you don't feel beautiful,
know that you are.
Know that it has only been lost,
while being blinded by the erroneous thought that you are not enough,
Blinded by the diamonds, gold and glitter you stop to grasp,
resulting in sacrificing the path of your dreams, leading you to the ugly emptiness you feel
....time is precious and can be expensive,
and some expenses can't be paid back once indebted
...sometimes the worst type of bankruptcy has no protection
no lawyer to loophole the damage.
Beauty is knowing that true ugliness is created by chasing insignificant desires
and entertaining temptations that we know deep inside are ugly,
but we tend to forget it is masked with an illusion of beauty
Or disguised with a mirage of denial
Beauty is building character
Refusing to believe that chivalry is dead...
And accepting the unimportant things we obsess Over..
You are already beautiful....
Don't chose to be ugly...
You are already beautiful...
I know you have felt alone...
Felt like no one cares,
i know it's rare to find a stage in life where your completely satisfied, cause its hard to achieve ultimate fulfillment when there is always someone criticizing you,
judging you,
projecting their insecurities on you or forcing you to see yourself through the eyes of societies impossible standards.
Wealth anxiety, social status,
the vanity fueling self consciousness, as you attempt to stay abreast of fashion and the common misconception of what beauty is,
but ....beauty is not a 6 pack,
beauty is not a tan,
a tan to be darker, while others struggle with not being lighter, beauty is not *******,
a tight ***, smooth skin without pimples,
beauty is not designer clothing that makes you a walking billboard, advertisement or inadvertently providing endorsements for companies who overprice based on their oh so prestigious brand and logo...
Beauty is loving the imperfections
Beauty is never compromising your moral fibre or code of ethics
Beauty is the confidence to want nothing more than what you need,
And not confusing what you need with what you want.
Beauty is knowing who you are
and embracing it
Beauty is standing by the ones who you know love you
Beauty is speaking against the *******, the bullies, and continuing to stand for those who can't stand for themselves when there is reason to stand by them.
Beauty is not your upgrades, luxury or sports car, or smart phone that has dumbed you down and has disconnected you from personal interaction,
Beauty is expressing your opinion
An opinion you formed without prejudice or bias influence
Beauty is developed through an open mind, and a Relentless ambition to uncover deception for the truth...
No matter how hard or unpleasant it is to see or hear
Beauty is not found in disposable income, or the competitive edge
When human nature urges us to feel the need to feel better, stronger smarter or more accomplished
Beauty is found in forgiveness,
Beauty is the good deed you went out of your way to perform,
even if its unnoticed or recognized by the one you did it for
Beauty can't be preserved by ****** creams.
It can't be emulated with cover up,
it can't be purchased, with monetary exchange.
So if you don't feel beautiful,
know that you are.
Know that it has only been lost,
while being blinded by the erroneous thought that you are not enough,
Blinded by the diamonds, gold and glitter you stop to grasp,
resulting in sacrificing the path of your dreams, leading you to the ugly emptiness you feel
....time is precious and can be expensive,
and some expenses can't be paid back once indebted
...sometimes the worst type of bankruptcy has no protection
no lawyer to loophole the damage.
Beauty is knowing that true ugliness is created by chasing insignificant desires
and entertaining temptations that we know deep inside are ugly,
but we tend to forget it is masked with an illusion of beauty
Or disguised with a mirage of denial
Beauty is building character
Refusing to believe that chivalry is dead...
And accepting the unimportant things we obsess Over..
You are already beautiful....
Don't chose to be ugly...
You are already beautiful...
I want the hollow
Cheeks.
The full, adipose, smooth
Lips.
The white-*****,
Pearls she calls
Teeth.
I want the bright, clean,
Sun bleached
Hair.
The fine, sharpened,
Ready for scratching, Spotless
Nails.
The refined, sculpted,
Long, profiled
Nose.
I want gold to flake,
Off my ageing,
porous, dull,
Skin.
I want the protruding,
Famished, angled
Bones.
I want the pumping,
Arrhythmic
Heart.
The tired, hissing,
Tar coated, smoker’s
Lungs.
The round, fleshy,
Cellulite covered
***.
The motherly, but
Childless plump
*******.
I want the barren,
Bleeding, afflicted
******.
I want the faint,
Wispy, high-pitched,
Call that she calls a
Voice.
The bruised, bulging,
Porcelain polished, etched
Knuckles.
The wide, protruding,
Ballooned up, dangling
Hips.
The numb, heavy, metal
Flavored, gum bleeding
Mouth.
I want the skewed,
Backwards, lost
Pedals she calls
Feet.
I want the hearing less,
Wax, pus covered,
Ears.
The lost dull, lifeless
Dumbed down, blue
Eyes.
I want to be her,
All of them, and none.
I want to be lost,
Unwilling, tame, voiceless,
Mindless, childless,
Sexless, man-less.
I want to be her, but I
Can’t.
I cannot because I am
Thought burdened, fat,
Violent, screaming,
Child laden, broken nosed,
Coarse.
I cannot because dirt
Flakes off my young
Skin.
Because my heart pumps,
Oxygenated blood,
At a steady, rhythmic
Beat.
My voice baritones,
Deep, bottomless,
Whispers.
I sit on flat, concave
Muscle.
My lungs breathe,
Strong, fresh, smog-less
Air.
Yellow stained, grainy, calcium-ridden
Teeth.
Dark, musty, greased
Hair.
I want to be her,
But I won’t.
Big Virge May 2020
So Are You A... FOLLOWER of Trends... ?

Or Are You A... " Trendsetter "... ?

COME FORWARD MY SELECTOR... !!!!!!!!

BUT Mek' Sure You Come BETTER...
Than Playlists Set By Heads...
Whose Music TENDS To BEND...
To FIT With Trends That Lend......

Themselves To... " weaker blends "... !!!

Weaker... Beats...
Weaker... Bass Lines... !!!

Rifts That STINK of... " Weaker Minds "...
Than Those Who SNIFF Them ******* Lines... !!!!!

It Seems Some FIND Themselves... "CONFINED"... !!!
To... Toe The Line of CURRENT Vibes...

WHATEVER's Current... EVEN IF It's DUMB... ?!?
Seems To Be Concurrent With Tunes They... BUMP... !!!
Dumbed Down Drums That Now DON'T THUMP... !!!

But They Would Say...

"That's just the way
of trends that the young,
now want in clubs !" ...

Like GRIME They CLAIM Has...
... " CHANGED The Game ! "...
Changed The Game To WHAT ...
A Game That's... " Lame "... ?!?

Beats That NEED A ****** GOOD CLEAN... !!!
NOT The GRIMEY... of The NINETIES... !!!!!

It Seems The PLOT Has... " THICKENED "... !?!
To Trends Where Music's........................  MISSING.... !!?!!
What Old School Heads Were BRINGING.... !!!!
Beats That Kept Heads... RINGING... !!!

Sounds Now Seem Thin To Heads Like Me...
Like Men of TIN With NO... " Dorothy "... !!!
We See How Weak The Trends NOW BE... !!!

The Trend These Days Seems To Have Swayed...
To ANYTHING And EVERYTHING...
SEXUALLY... And MENTALLY... !?!

It's Fallacies That... HAPPILY...
Are Trends That Peeps'...
Now Seem To......... SEEK.............................. ?!?

Truth's Now Expressed...
Via... " Internet Trends "...

Well So it... " Seems "... ?!?

But What Kind of Truth Comes From A Group...
With TWIT At The BEGINNING of The Name They USE... !?!

I'm Just Asking Cos' ...
I'm A Twitter Head TOO... !!! ? !!!
But DON'T Let It CONSUME ...
My Views With FALSEHOODS... !!!

I'D Rather TRUST My Mental NOT Internet Feeds...
Or Mainstream INCIDENTALS Like... REALITY TV ... !!!!!

Or... TALENT Shows...
Where TRENDS They Hold Are TRULY Low... !!!!!!!

USING Wannabes' Like CLOWNS To Be...
RIDICULED... On TV Screens... !!!

That's Why NEW TRENDS Are Internet Led...
Because SMART Heads NOW HAVE The Sense...
To YES download What They Watch At Home...
Or THESE Days STREAM What They WANT To See... !!!!!

But Trends Like THESE AFFECT... Artistry...
When Art Becomes CHEAP Or Basically FREE... !!!!!

Unless It's... MAINSTREAM... !!!

So THESE Trends Are DETRIMENTAL...
To Those Whose INSTRUMENTALS...
Are Those That FEED The Streets...

NOT Heads At... " Companies "... !!!

Like Those FED By Their Marketing Teams... !!!

I Meant Marketing JERKS Who Let REAL ART Burn...
And In Turn SERVE To STOP Art Being Heard...
By MAINSTREAM Herds Who NOW Seem To Prefer...

... MANUFACTURED Works... ?!!!?

Instead of Art That's From The HEART... ?!?

Which Seems To Be Why A LOT of Artists STARVE...
When They DON'T Comply With TRENDS Or CHARTS... !!!!!

I'm Saying It's COOL That TRENDS Move ON... !!!
But They're A TOOL That's USED By Bods'...
To CONVINCE YOU of... What Is HOT... !!!!!!!!!

If I Played Marvin Gaye...
EVERY Single Day What Would You Say... ???

"That the music was lame,
because it's not new, and is too old school !"...

... You Should Be ASHAMED... !!!

YES Trends Will CHANGE...
But CLASSIC DOESN'T Change It's Name... !!!!!!!!!

Don't You Know What ROCKS Your Boat... ?
And ROCKS The Boat of THESE... " A - HOLES "... ?!!!?

It Seems Most... " DON'T ".... ?!?

Well It's Stuff That's STRONG And ROCKS Like KONG... !!!
And LIFTS HEADS Like... HITS From The ****... !!!!

YEAH Sounds Will CHANGE But Bass Is BASS... !!!
And In My View... Should SHAKE Like QUAKES... !!!!!

When They Are PLACED Onto Dub Plates...
Where Lyricism... Is HARD HITTIN'... !!!!!!!!!!
And Has ONE TREND... To FIT With Rhythms...

NOT IMPRISONED In A... "TREND"...
Because It's Made For DOLLARS And CENTS... !!!

There Was ONCE A Trend...
Where CREATIVE Meant... EXACTLY THAT... !!!!!
Making Tracks That SLAMMED At Jams...
And Made SURE That... Parties Were RAM... !!!!!

Because of SOUNDS...
That WEREN'T... "dumbed down"...
And... RADIO Friendly...
Now Trends Are SMELLY...
When They Should Be DEADLY...
In How They AFFECT...
Where Corporates SPEND...
Their... " Marketing Money "... !!!!!!!!!!!

Cos' The TRUTH Is THIS A Lot of MAINSTREAM HITS...
Gives PROOF That MONEY Makes People Act FUNNY... !!!
When It Comes To MUSIC And CREATIVE Gifts...
That They CLAIM To Be FIT To... " SET THE TREND "... !!!

I Guess That's Why Some Feel Like... " I "...
That GOOD MUSIC... Is HARD To Find... !!!

Because In The END The... " BOTTOM LINE "...
Has Become Less... About PHAT' Bass Lines...

It's Become... A DRAW...
For PROGRAMMED Chords...
And SCORES of ******... !!!!!!!
Who NOW Tread Boards...
WITHOUT Rocking Jaws........ ?!?

With HEAVY SOUNDS...
And Beats That POUND... !?!?!?!

It's MONEY That RULES What Tunes Get THROUGH...
But Here's Some Advice For The Young NEW SCHOOL...

DON'T Let FITTING IN CONTROL YOUR GROOVE... !!!
CREATE The Tunes That Sound GOOD To YOU... !!!

But... BEFORE You DO...
Take The Time To RECOGNISE...
That ALL That GLITTERS IS NOT Gold... !!!!!

DON'T SELL Your SOUL RESEARCH The... " Old "...
BEFORE You're TOLD How YOUR DREAMS Should Roll... !!!

WHATEVER YOU Create...
Try To Make It... GREAT... !!!!!!!!

NOT A Hit For TODAY That Gets.... " Airplay "....
But Gets THROWN AWAY The VERY NEXT Day... !!!?!!!

I'd Rather ENLIST...
CREATIVE Things That People RESPECT...
Rather Than EXPRESS...
Just To Get A... " PHAT' Cheque "... !!!!!

Because I'd Rather BE The Head...
Whose Artistry Is Led By QUALITY That... SETS...

And DOES NOT FOLLOW...

....... " TRENDS "......
Of course trends have always been a driving force behind what becomes popular, however, maybe it's time for heads to believe in the BIG Names and Corporations, just a little less ........
Lyn-Purcell Jul 2018
The world is dumbed down, dark
with roads made of glass for
which we caused and keep
One little mistake, one
little crack, people
will throw stones
and laugh and
point when
you
F
a
  l
    l
Nowadays we have to be perfect and correct about everything or else you get backlashed.
I just find it ridiculous because WE AREN'T PERFECT!
Sheesh... You wanna throw stones at others but you hate it when people do it to you.
Danger Mouse & Sparklehorse - Revenge [ with lyrics ]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2oML6N_xT6c

iGNORANCE

How is it,

That such a thing,

As iGNORANCE ,

Is so self preserving?

Time,

Time will tell ,

If at all possible,

Time will tell a lurid story of the truest war against absolute ends and the means of iGNORANCE to stay alive while it all dies.

Time,

Time will tell,

If at all possible,

That we win this struggle against the means of iGNORANCE and life return to the very core of us all and we,

Return to what we know as true,

as a child's heart is and of,

Health and wealth of life its self.

May we be fruitful in our endeavors to live and the world thrive ,

Alive,

In love,

With our lives and the lives of us all.
So On And So Forth In To Add Nos I Am.
***** purple prose
Who does it think it is,
Looking all beautiful just because
Of flowery, sugar-coated words
Someone plucked from a thesaurus?

It's very much like a woman
Who, let's say, in one man's eyes
Is very pretty if and only if
Makeup cakes her face
To conceal dull features underneath

And that's where we writers are wrong, see
Your message can still be portrayed beautifully
Without long words one would find difficult to spell or pronounce
It's all about the raw emotion
And how we can manipulate a reader's feelings

Now, I'm not trying to say
That our generation is a dumbed-down audience
Keeping it to the point is what really gets us on our toes
But I guess if purple prose is your thing
Well, each to his/her own
This is the side of me ranting on how much I dislike purple prose. I'll also have you know that another side of me adores it (especially if it's written skillfully) and sometimes tries to write in it. Love-hate relationship. I know.
brandon nagley May 2016
i.

The atlantian theorists, of the Masonic order,
Wanted a new world, ****** indigenous quarter's;
They came by their ship's, to conceal native truth's,
Only coming for a plunder, to giveth satanic rule.

ii.

The warrior-painted faces, naturally painted by ash and red,
Sawest their shores, being broken by it's door's; mad-men in
Shiny silver, hand's open, yet were fed. Sachem prophet's
Bellowed the harbinger's long afore, now all hast come, these
aborigines weren't dumb; they prophesied this long before.

iii.

The wigwams, longhouses, teepees and lodges, were uprooted from their sacred ground's, the creator's meek were ravaged; as giant bones were taken while found. As hidden beneath the surface, the haut monde made none sound; playing dumbed with Gun's, they ran their fun, fabricating lies, under the America's sun. As tis they gave the world alibi's to be one, O' what hath they done; O' what hath they done.

iv.

First the viking, with dragon ship thunder
came to conquer,pillage and plunder
taking lives without a thought
unwary of the cruelty they wrought.

v.

Then pilgrim's progress seeking new land
would have starved if not for the "savage" man
onward, westward, did they go
killing for profit, pleasure little did they know.

vi.


Grandfather, earth mother and spirit of wild
they watched as the white eye usurped the child
and still, no lesson has been learned
the people grew fat, their culture spurned.

vii.


Most of the tribes are gone away
and America has come to stay
but in my native heart i yearn
to see the Indian nation return.



©Brandon Nagley \Wolfspirit duo poem
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Indigenous harbinger's revealed
I say atlantian theorists because the masons came here to build a new Atlantis, based on Francis bacon and other high masons knowing of the once Atlantis that did exist ( facts out there under sea, why under sea? God flooded earth because of what the watchers , sons of god ( demonic beings did with women mating with them, in genesis 6:2), and the masons came to America, to base a new order ( thus in place the new world order being revealed now, came long ago from the men who ***** and plundered once native land, that once was untouched.) As many don't know 44 of the 56 signers of the declaration of Independence were masons ( not Christian as many want to believe, and being a Christian myself must wake others up to that reality and what's happening before you was planned long ago based on an atlantian theory, as if you know what Atlantis is, many say land of the gods. Though not being gods at all but offspring of the watchers or fallen angels... The giants...!!! That their remains are scattered all throughout your land as Smithsonian museum has well admired to destroying giant bodies 10-15 feet tall over a thousand bodies,!!! And giant skulls and bodies and Skeleton's have been found by the thousands and used to be mainstream news early nineteen hundreds in papers worldwide and especially America, something that the natives knew as truths... What you don't know the chiefs all over America have spoke of these giant beings that used to walk among them matching biblical scripture and world history and native history not told in your school history books because it doesn't match up to a new world agenda world view and mainstream new world agenda that's being pushed in your sights!!! As history channel ( ran by elite and mainstream lies) sais to you one minute giants never existed. Though next show they'll put on is of the gigantopithecus. Lol.. How much truths you don't know thst you really should this isn't mythical. This is reality not just native or biblical truth, world truth hidden for a new orders agenda... awake to that... Look up facts through Tom horn, look up the watchmen channel on YouTube, Steve quayle, you'll learn alot you never knew I knew this for years, yet more I learn daily how much covering and hurt has been caused in this once great place to hide truths for a dark agenda....
Sachem- means a chief or leader...
Harbinger- warning, forerunner of something.
Aborigines- meaning not just people in Australia- meaning original people.
Haut monde- fashionable society...
Mikael Ejdemyr Apr 2010
Numbed dumbed thumbed
he returned home
to her *****


Charles touched her bumhole
but Diana shoved off his fumbling hand


he wanted to lick her *******
but she didn’t agree


the prince held her buttocks
slowly bumping into her
he slowly moved her bottom around
continuing to bump


but as the lady asked him to repeat this particular move
he left it alone
brandon nagley Jun 2015
Oh hopeless romantic
Wouldst thou walk for thy love?
Hopeless romantic,
Thou may sayest that thou would live for her,
Yet shalt one die?

Oh hopeless romantic
Wouldst thou kiss her in front of the crowd?
To embarrassed art thou?
Thy mouth speaks openly,
Yet thy heart dont seem to loud!

Romantic
Wouldst thou dine with her in bath?
Bubbles and wine glass
As two da Vinci's of new days age!!!

Romantic
Thou art to a slave
To moribund days as I!!!

Romantic
Get the beam out of thy eye
For thou canst see clearly!!!

Hopeless romantic
Thou may buyeth her roses
Yet does thou pick out its thorns?
Canst handle truth?
Hearts torn?

Romantic,
Wouldst thou give thy other half thy soul?
For she is gold,
And thou art aluminum!!

Still dumbed!

Canst thou see the queen up on high beside thou?

Forgetful hopeless romantic!!
Question here is! I see so many soo called hopeless romantic ones on here! Yet would thou give thy life to one? And actually show the one how you feel? Ask your self that ?
13 Apr 2014
Electricity is talking; we understand
losing interest in conversations. creating land.
droplets of ice define the day
August ends in the middle of May

intrepid peeling; scabs of the earth
the hands fail; a dumbed feeling
Eins, the seeing blind have never seen
on screen, a shape of many faces

in through the open windows outdoors
smoke dries the unseen. air dry.
so paragon goners repulse the cleaver
the system has failed

so much detail to attention
when pink isn’t even a color
time is wasted on time itself
unfortunate cookie

wires once made you. complete.
ask for the answer to the question is nothing
Zwei light birds on a wire
the happenstance, the fire

where hell listens, there sight is drawn
selfishly we glare and mourn
******* ice cubes yelling “Jesus may…”
cold as **** the cesspool lay.

So, maybe I’m over thinking this.
Posted on 27th September 2013 7:55pm
Edited by Harish Nair (http://glimpsesoflucidity.tumblr.com/)
Sharina Saad May 2013
Should have known ....
your life would change completely..
What were you thinking ?
Have you lost your mind?
You clicked that button ACCEPT
the fake romance started
Your soul was sold
Bought so easily by the evil heart
So ignorance you were
You’ve been blinded, blinded...

You were deaf and dumbed...
Tangled yourself in the web of lies
Your craving for love landed you in deceit.
You let your heart be captivated
Manipulated with sweet words of false love

You casted those who have loved you...
Comfortable you were in this fake love life..
He was a scam, scams of the heart..
He was a king scammer...
A great cunning pretender
He valued your money not your love or life..

He fancied your bank accounts rather than your future..
What a pity first false impression..
Seduced by charms and lyrics of poems
A lying Heart is a weapon to crush a trusted soul..
Your sinful heart blinded a pure white soul
You tricked and cheated and you fooled shamelessly
You tarnished ones reputation
left her in shame, penniless and broken hearted..
You scammed her vulnerable heart...
Nothing you are worth...
Scams of the heart.....
Daniel Wetter Feb 2013
Paper.
Is canvas so white,
I ruin what it is every time that i write.
Or create what it had the potential to be...art.
So she breaks me down.
Uncreates someone that had potential to be...smart
but dumbed down,
lower than the ground,
to appease his main squeeze.
Everytime she came around,
it was like he lost his ground;
and with lost ground comes broken dreams.
Broken hearts and unspoken things,
that needed to be said.
I cant believe the things I've heard or seen.
*******
**** kisser.
*******.
used to love her,
now I miss her,
every hot summer.
Every cold winter,
to hold so close.
Like a puzzle we would fit we could sit nose to nose,
and not say a word,
not move one muscle,
we would still find a way to get us into trouble.
The better we were,
the worse that we got.
However clever our harsh words were,
we always worried a lot.
When things got too good,
we hurried to stop.
And blame got very,very blurry a lot.
Our own worst enemy.
Or are we?
Who are we?
We’re not we.
We are you and me.
Separate as could be,
ill be a,
you and you be z
because you see...
we were a canvas so white.
You ruined what we were
with the habits and the fights.
Now we is a past tense term,
that isn't spoken
because its known when,
brought up
the subject takes a wrong turn.
And things are said that were never meant.
Ego’s tongue spits out its two cents.
But more than two or three or four,
so many cents we’re talking dollar stores.
So many ups downs all arounds,
peaks and valleys,
so many smells and sounds,
that equal you.
Like a sequel taking me back to the first time,
the very first case of some stomach butterflies.
But now i feel empty,
so empty down inside.
If you hadn’t marked this canvas,
this blank white canvas of mine.
We don't say "I love you" anymore
The sentiment buried deep
Seldom considered
Never discussed
A declaration that swims
With memories
Sinks with exhaustion
Hardens with repetition
Deep in the recesses of our souls
The fear of it's loss
Is the proof of it's existence
Throughout it's evolution
How painful to let go of what it once was
How difficult to grasp what it has become
How dreadful to consider what it may turn into
Sublimated, as it is
Fighting gravity to escape the ocean floor
This love awaits resurrection
The renewal of senses dumbed down

"I love you" takes it's rightful place
Beyond the realm of intelligence
Into the dumb bliss of Spirit
To mingle with childhood dreams
Memories of carnivals and candy
Moms and Dads
To pick up after us
Teaching, alas, by example
Wide-eyed wonder for alien species
Dogs and cats and turtles and frogs
Butterflies and bees, lightning bugs and praying mantis
We marvel at it's devotion and wonder
What is he praying for? Who is he praying for?
More likely we marveled at how green he was
Days when we knew love without knowing it's name
Before we knew what it was
A given
Yes, a Given
Waiting for the day when it would be
Taken for granted
Yes, Taken

The words have become useless to us
Offered and received so many times
Put them to rest
Hope for the best
© 2011 by James Arthur Casey
brandon nagley Dec 2015
i.

Amiss was I, in mine earthly vessel,
Agin the igneous chasm. Bane being's,
Inside of this thing were gruesome,
baleful, their laughter caused spasm's.

ii.

Amongst the hideous unholy creature's,
Bursted in, from on high, in majestic features;
A native speaker, a distant teacher, an angelic
Waker of love's soft due. She took me up whilst
She pulled me through;

iii.

I held her plumage, we held close tight,
Never thinking hadst I met this queen, though
We held close all night, all was right. At once tis
I was home, into her arm's, her embracing charm.
Hadst I met this empress before? Asked mine sinful soul.

iv.

Passing through a tunnel, going many miles a speed,
Mine blood dried, mine tears now fine, she saidst we must
Proceed; "O' how I thanketh thee queen, for rescuing me,
From that hellish pit in slime, in grime, dirt and ****. As
didst I sit; as I whispered to her "I thanketh thee so much".

v.

At the end of the tunnel, I couldst see the brightest white,
It flooded me in amare, none heartbreak was there, just happiness-none to compare, wherein all made human reasoning dive deeper in their psyches; though tis this is what's real, mountain's that overtower the field's of rosebud bliss, I entered on in- the entryway of paradise, with Jane's kiss.

vi.

Seraphim sang a million songs, I couldst seeith loved one's, I couldst view mine old cat and dog; whilst tis this place hath none need for a moon or the sun, God lit this divinity; tis a wonderful reality of what mankind pushed away, or tis what many blind themselves from, ignorant and dumbed, by man's philosophy.

vii.

Mine amour' cameth back into sight, I asked her the question that was in mine mind during ourn flight; " queen Jane, I hadst asked, I kneweth thee mine love, long ago mine lass, verily I kneweth that tiara atop thine head, verily we were lover's in ourn spirit form before earth, yea mine love? Jane replied with a smiling look, "verily, verily, we art in God's book's, we were afore spirit lover's from ancient time's hook's, we were predestined to meet once again, the Lord sent me to thee Brandon, mine king, soulmate-best friend".

viii.

After she verified what I kneweth, the pain and anguish lifted off of mine shoulders, once a sinner now renewed, mine eye's stared into her's, I felt the affection between us two. Finally; me and her met again, mine all whom I looked for back on the globe, mine soulmate-mine soul; I felt joy for the first time since birth. I was elated, ive waited a long time, to be freed from death's curse. Mine longing and mine wanting of thee mine lass, finally hadst come; praiseth ourn God, for sending thee mine chosen one.




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Amiss means out of place....
Agin means next to or against.
Bane means pretty much horrible or not good.
plumage is a collection of wings.
Afore means before
I praise him like a religion I study him like physics unreal how I'm so easily convinced
it's only when I'm with him
For u stumble in your suspicious actions yet I continue to chance it despite any bad feeling that passes
yet only when I'm with him
he could be untrue and willingly Ill be named his fool, for his lips so full there's not much I wouldn't do
Don't want to miss him
So I've carved his name on my skin and everything becomes worth it again...
but then I remember. ..
only when I'm with him
TR3F1LD Sep 2023
единица человекоподобная (единица)
почти ни для каких дел не пригодная
побег от реальности собственной
время коротая беспрофитно
пред экрана прямоугольником
и будучи опоясанным комнатой
чёртовой как обстановка наипаче комфортная (комфортная?)
увлекаешься рифмонаписаньем, а толку-то
если рифмы не слышны, аки heartbeat покойника?
так что, если говорить касаемо тобой сочинённого
одной из уместных формулировок для
обозначения статуса оного
есть: "на кладбищенском участке покоится"
и чёртового шагу не пройдено
на пути к монетизации творчества
в то время как у пятнавших приборы для
письма, микрофоны в по[а]–следнюю декаду рифмовщиков
["декада" в значении "10 лет"]
служащих творческим компасом
для масс потребл#дского общества
и мямлящих полуразборчиво
свои мыслеизрыгания, в коих рифмовки да
смысловой нагрузки не больно-то водится (гр-р-ра!)
то бишь те, что в разрезе квалификационном находятся
рядом с изрыганиями других dumbed down рифмоплётчиков
типа Инсташмары и Моргена
(бабки, цацки, тряпки, бл#ди, тачки! гр-р-ра!)
["сдвинув шапки набекрень, рэперы самозабвенно сочиняют по#бень"]
так вот, карманы у оных, как
в веке 19-ом прииски калифорнийские, зАлиты золотом
пока ты всё так же занимаешься постингом
как часовой на сторожевой башне, ты топчешься
на месте, ведь у тебя мышление заведомО побеждённого
"эта деятельность - какая-то сложная
для меня, мотивация - как влиятельность общества
на государство, что авторитарно построено
[проще говоря, отсутствует]
влом разбираться, навряд ли что сложится"
лишён хоть чегО-либо, ради чего поутру хочется
активироваться, как если б являлся андроидом
оттого и посещаема башня твоя
самолИ–квидации помыслом
["Сомали"]
порой; однако, едва ли сия
близка тебе опция
ибо у тебя, а-ля особь, недоеданьем страдающая
кишка - пипец тонкая
["особь, недоеданьем страдающая" имеет связь с вышеупомянутой Сомали ➔]
[➔ в том плане, что в Сомали - один из наивысших уровней голода во всём мире]
да и не сказать, что не желал бы ты большего
но твоё сознание чёртово
как лошадь, всадником страхов, безволия закабалённая
внутри всякого тёмного
и отрицательного навалено стОлько, что
оного разгребающий чокнется
личность-антиутопия (если можно сказать таким образом)
но не подумайте, не насилуема пара полушарий загоном о
том, чтоб человек был совершенным, аки утопия
скучным оное смотрится
да и, from the global viewpoint, человечеству и вовсе придётся то[а]–
–гда вымереть, посколь невозможной для
него является с природой гармония
не наблюдается оной также внутривидово
длящееся издавна
власть имущих противостоянье индивидуу[–]мам
что свободномыслящи и привержены некой справедливости
[всё относительно]
личность-антиутопия
посему надобны, как в скандале с посольством в А–
–ргентине, чемоданы наркотиков
ванны наркотиков, целый грузовой авиалайнер наркотиков
чтоб улететь прочь от всего, что было недавно изложено
шприц объёмный, кАк 3D графика
и чтоб в нём - красители
не имею, как порядка примерные стражи, понятия
[обыгрывается "понятия" в значении "правила преступного мира"]
о чём помыслили
вы, но не имелись ввиду вещества, что варганятся
путём химическим
"мёртво-депрессивный рифмопоток" by TR3F1LD (TRFLD) is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (to view a copy of this license, visit creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/4.0)
ConnectHook Sep 2015
God help us, Imamu—stop playing the fool
as you babble unhinged in your kente hat.
Bebopping Mao is so very uncool;
what up wit dat ?

Flirtations with Castro (Fidel to the faithful)
and free Cuba Libres imbibed with the Beats
inflamed discontent when your verses turned wrathful
in the streets.

Predictable tirades where Whitey’s the foe,
attacking your hosts like an Afro/eccentric
gets old. It’s a stagnant unmusical show:
dull dialectic.

Who knows why the liberals that bankroll you love it?
Who cares what your most recent pseudonym is?
You old and you mad cause’ you can’t rise above it,
mired in the shizz.

Your lines are pure mannitol: dumbed-down *******
(The blow on the head by that riot-cop lingers!)
The syntax is whack in your ghetto refrain.
Snap fingers . . .

Still you wait for your war—or the Black Star-Liner . . .
Your rage was your royalty, paid in white money.
Your verse sought to give the right wing a dark shiner—
it’s not funny.

Insulting, belittling others more noble;
your legacy leaves nothing hopeful or witty
Just putrid black waters, the flow uncontrollable
under the city.

Inside of your Kabaa are yet many idols.
Your New Ark of verse did not save from the flood.
You mau-mau and bludgeon with words all your rivals
but draw no blood.

Lighten up, wise Imamu. Your age is soon closing.
You wrote for the stage and said some of it well.
But your verse has gone rotten and yields, decomposing,
a nasty smell.
http://tinyurl.com/pfowmah
Kyle Kulseth Oct 2013
Dead-eyed through drenched days
spent seeping through blank space
to spill another swollen week out
                  on a crumpled page

I'm young, but not that young
grown up and dumbed down
so I'll drag one more punchline day out
                   'til a year's ground down

Face the wall...
Aimed at the door...
But we're still here and so
         I suggest that we share this bar...

Stumble out
regain my feet
and pluck my keys from the gutter. I've
been dancing with defeat and, now, I'm
driving on the borderline
between familiar haunts
and same old foes that I conjure--
Now I start to realize that, like you,
they've got my number.

They've got my number.

Rhombuses of light
             separate us--not by much

                     but these

square miles of concrete
              will divide us just enough

Deadpan Friday nights
space out workday lifelines
until another starving paycheck
               grounds another flight

Your time spent so costly
the bill's due, your words freeze
a season's regrets regressed. Empty
                bottles taken out.

Besieged by walls
Afraid of doors
the nights leak in, you turn
     the lights out, choking down one more

Waking up,
you find your breath
you find your feet and your reasons. You
have found your boots and keys and lost your
fear of the season's size.
Between the years and months
you've been a ***** and a miser
when the skyline creaks and sighs, remember

you've got my number

And I've got your number

The world's got our number--
                 --it's okay to come over
We can laugh at the night
               at sunrise, we'll run for cover
'til the season is over
          now, just run for cover...
The Global Zoocircus

“Moo-moo” and manhood don’t align
When all is shrouded deep in blight.
Around you — stumps that used to shine,
And hamsters hiding from the light,

And packs of dogs — not strays, but trained
To serve the Dark, obey, attack…
When all Foundations are profaned,
The void rewrites all meaning back.

To hell with “bravery” so fake —
When sellout morons march on minds!
And “wisdom” means how well you take
The ****, then hoard what comfort finds.

To call such habits “clever ways”
Means Spirit’s spark has long decayed.
Mind’s task is service, not to blaze —
The Soul should lead, and not be swayed.

Forget that rule — you’re pig or mutt,
A "strong one", sure — but just a tool.
A cat’s more noble in its gut —
At least its eyes still carry soul.

And so — soon comes the cleansing blaze,
Through Sunlight born of Higher Fire.
That “spark” — it lit some fifty Mays
Ago. Look out — the glow climbs higher…


---

Variant of the last stanza:

Then comes the purge — a holy flare,
Sun-fed, but not of solar breed.
It strikes the dumb-beast hive-lair —
And burns their training to the seed.



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




Zoocircus, burn!
The Soul returns —
Through Light, through Flame,
To break your chains.



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




The Flame descends — the Mask is torn.
No beast shall rise. A soul is born.



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



To the Summits...

A tropic night in Moldova glows,
By day — near forty, burning sky.
Perhaps the Sun will melt the chains —
For minds awake, it’s do or die.

The traps are set for every Soul —
A war for spirits, fierce and vast.
While traitors, like well-oiled guns,
Strike truth with lies — direct and fast.

They fire fear and reek of rot,
They breed soullessness through WAR.
This world’s become a seething pit,
A stage for Gorky’s Lower Floor.

Tsvetaeva saw it long ago —
This world is hell, pure, tight and black.
The noose became her way to go —
Only a fool would want it back.

But tropic nights reach Alps as well,
The solar fire begins to sear
This HELL ON EARTH — it soon shall fall,
Its dust will take the lies and fear.

And through that dust — a path shall rise,
Beyond this realm, beyond its screams.
Just few shall climb, escape the fire —
Those who kept Soul, and kept their dreams.



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




Hell burns. The blind obey and rot.
But Souls unchained — they lose it not.



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



Worse Means More,
More Means Worse

Worse means more,
More means worse:
Lies grow thick
In liar's curse.

Venom rises
In obscene lies —
Mind grows thinner
Where evil thrives.

This vale of fear,
This night of dread,
Where Will is chained,
Where truth lies dead.

Once — the whip,
Now — the lie,
The world’s a cage —
No wings to fly.

No flight upward
Through the grime,
No Light breaks through
This putrid time.

Just one choice left —
To drown or fight,
In death or claws
Of dark delight.

The deadliest poison
Lurks in deceit,
But shameful slaves
Still kiss its feet.

So fades the question,
The choice decays —
Death alone
Now clears the maze.



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




Truth is banned,
Lies flood the land —
No wings, no flame,
Just Death... and Shame.



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



The Scab

The one in charge won’t crash or fall —
He hides while puppets play the role:
Grotesque buffoons in full display,
Whip lies like batons every day.

The puppetmaster waits in shade,
Dreams of the strings forever laid.
While idiots — in dumb despair —
Curse clowns... and never look back there.

To stop all thought — that is the game.
And yes — they’re winning. What a shame.
Each passing age more dull, more blind —
Degeneration now refined.

And since the masses are this dumb,
To rule this herd is not so glum.
The Beasts grow bold — they want their hell,
A slaughterhouse run smooth and well.

CowID revealed how quick they build
A Global Camp — and none were thrilled.
The world now crusted, scabbed and dead,
By mutants void of any head.



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




The world’s a camp. The minds are gone.
The Scab has won. The Herd moves on.



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



Tragic Themes

They shun all tragic themes —
It helps them rot in Hell.
Mute souls, in shallow dreams,
Where lies and numbness dwell.

If tragedy won’t break
The Mind or stir the Soul —
Then madness takes its stake,
And chains you to its role.

A servant of the Dark —
Where fake hope’s been ingrained.
Your mind reduced to mush,
And thus—the Beast is trained.

Fascism feeds on fools —
It always needs the weak.
It eats what Honor leaves,
And silences the meek.

Not always with a gun —
They **** through slow decay:
Crushed poor, unheard by all,
Drowned in demonic play.

The media’s all theirs —
CowID showed it clear.
With newer, sharper fangs
Fascism grins near.

Now lies become the blade —
The Dark prefers this route:
To strip the Soul from Man,
And birth the Beast throughout.



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




When truth is banned and lies command,
The Beast returns to scorch the land.



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



Propaganda

Propaganda — pure Uganda:
That’s the level. Pure collapse.
Ruled by **** — the filthy handler,
Spreading Satan’s toxic scraps.

Dust of darkness rains on numbskulls,
Down their scalps and through their minds.
Still they sit and bear the poison —
Though it rots them, though it blinds.

**** pulls strings — the clown is dancing,
TV howls its circus lies.
“Politicians” triple falsehoods —
Long as cash keeps flowing nice.

Goebbels spins in hell, convulsing
In his cauldron, caked in flames —
Demons screech absurd distortions,
And folks worship **** with names.

Some half-Führer on your screen
Rants his crap with dead-eyed glee —
And though it’s clear the “tsar” is fake,
No one cares. They let it be.

Cloned-out Führers, empty faces —
Still, the ****’s control expands.
Propaganda now erases
Truth through undeclared war’s hands.

The world — ears wide, brain shut tight —
Has forgotten how to think.
And the prize of this great slaughter?
Souls that let the demons sink.



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




They fed you filth. You ate it whole.
Now **** controls your mind — and Soul.



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



Pyrrhic Victory

The media lies, barefaced,
Erasing minds in haste.
And we obey the orders cast
By Darkness — off to waste.
The world lies drowned in total fiction —
A global sea of thick deceit.
The Beasts now rule with no restriction,
Their triumph — dull, submissive meat.
And nations? Gone — in full deletion feat.

No fire awaits below —
This Earth’s the Hell we know.
No doubts remain, it’s plain to see:
The **** that feeds on souls so low
Will always feast and grin with glee.

What wakes the herd at last?
A signal — “Sic them!” — fast.
For fascism reigns where Mind is numb,
And Truth has breathed its last.
CowID revealed this creeping blight,
Then war confirmed the game they play.
They softened minds with AIDS in flight,
Now rule with lies — and with a tray.
Of needles, drugs — to herd the brutes and slay.

The world lies under Sin.
A ******* grins within,
As **** march millions to their cage —
A concentration bin.
And since we let the Evil in,
We’ll pay the price without delay.
The victory — Pyrrhic — carved in sin:
The slaves and Beasts all burned away,
To clear this ground for… other tests to play.



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




The Beasts have won — the slaves don’t care.
Let fire cleanse this mad despair.



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



The Luciferian System

No matter the trials you face —
Forget the “barriers” they cite.
If you bow to the System’s grace,
You’re just a mutt — not fit to fight.

A terrier chasing scraps and lies,
Obeying every barked command.
For safety’s fakes and feeding highs,
You’ll **** the dream of Freedom’s land.

Prepare as well for slaughter’s den —
They cull old dogs without regret.
There’s younger brutes — more quick with fangs,
And numbers rule their cruel roulette.

No matter the mask of pain —
Just guard your Soul through all deceit.
Though ancient truths remain,
Their light now fades beneath defeat.

The System’s core is Blight —
Its sharpest blade — the lie.
We live in End-Time’s night.
Grow Spirit, or you die.

To reach the Realm of Soul —
You’ll need a heart set free.
If trained and tamed’s your role —
The Pit is your decree.



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




A dog that kneels, obeys, and dies —
Won’t reach the truth beyond the lies.



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



The Making of Führers and Sub-Führers

Sub-Führers — they don’t grow with ease.
They’re forged in monstrous lies and grease.
The crust of falsehoods spreads and thickens,
While hollow “ideas” breed like sickness.

“Progress” takes years — the careful plan:
To drive the people into pens,
Reduce them first to beasts — then send
To slaughter, ruled by shadowed men.

From deep behind the veil they write
The scripts for every staged world war.
All’s rigged — no truth is left in sight.
Just price tags now, and death by score.

The question’s this: How many more
Can we destroy, and stay on track?
The trick? Just lie a little more —
It’s budget-friendly to attack.

History loops, begins again —
But this time, we are near the end.
Collapse is brewing, vast and fast —
The flood has come. Nothing will last.

The tenth great wave of brazen lies
Now rises — final, full, intense.
The System feels its own demise…
And lies its guts out — in defense.



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




They lied too much. The world will choke.
The final flood’s no metaphor — it spoke.



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



Lavandos and Pindos

Lavandos, Pindos — endless shows,
News ***** pouring nonstop,
Distorted nonsense, endless blows —
A total, steaming pile of flop.

Brains boiling in this endless stew
Of worthless garbage, dull decay.
And worse and worse — the poison’s true:
The end is near, no light, no way.

Dumbing down by endless lies,
By zombie screens that rot the soul,
Degrading minds with stupid cries —
A festering, corrupt black hole.

Add schools and colleges to this,
Where forgetting is the rule,
And what you get is just the ****
Of swine who swallow every fool.

Beasts that crap into your ears,
And **** inside your very heart.
This world? No peace — just rotting fears,
A graveyard where all hope departs.

Only few — a vanishing breed —
Escape the idiot parade,
With Spirit strong, no poison’s seed,
The rare, pure souls not yet decayed.



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




They feed the herd with poisoned lies,
While only few still see the skies.



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



Diamond Mine

You can’t cram in filthy lies
When years are given to the mind.
If you care beyond your skin,
Falsehood won’t so easily bind.

At first, deceit may slip right through,
But turn on reason’s guiding light —
You’ll see the brazen lies in view,
Expose them all, and set things right.

But only if the system’s built
On truth and intuition’s reign —
While beasts recycle hollow filth,
Refilling nonsense once again.

To dumb us down — their cruel design,
Means endless lies and false parade.
Their memetic chains entwine —
A prison forged from masquerade.

The lies are vast, a cavern deep —
You’re miner in this twisted pit,
Searching for gems you can keep,
Sifting mirages bit by bit.

Most ore is empty, dull, and gray —
Rare diamonds flash through chaos wild.
Among the mad, they call cliché
A “talent” that is so reviled.

Methane pockets build and swell,
Soon the mine will blow apart.
Yet stubborn fools just lie and yell,
Piling waste — no end, no start.

True art’s to forge the diamond pure
Beyond the mine, outside the lies.
Not mere facts, but Light’s allure —
If you’re bold, the gem will rise.



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




Beyond the pit, beyond the pain —
True diamonds rise through honest flame.



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



Literary Tastes, or Hell’s Rebuilding

"Ahead of the herd goes a horned ram with a bell.
The sheep believe he knows the way.
But the ram just wants to lead —
Dust-free path and better hay...
Many men are like sausages:
Whatever fills them, that they bear."
— Kozma Prutkov


Kozma’s words for serfs,
“Zarathustra” for the few.
Chains amass inside the mind —
Believe the lies? You’re pierced through.

Not just lies — but forged deceit,
A writer’s well-known cheap device.
The Prologue’s done; lies repeat —
A flood of falsehoods, cold as ice.

The Final Act? A Hell,
A ninth circle’s lot for most.
For many — traitors swell
Ranks from first to last, by ghost.

The ninth circle’s just one ring,
But thousands more must fill that pit.
To pack the beasts who serve the king —
By rank and merit in their grit.

Rebuild Hell anew — who cares
For matter, toil, or dim despair?
Foreman leads, no time to pause —
The dark will raise its walls with flaws.

And Earth itself becomes the pit,
A subcircle, dark and grim.
As filth and rot begin to spit —
With lice and **** exalted slim.

Where is protest in the words?
Counterpropaganda’s lost.
The pointing finger’s broken sword —
Midst dung and lies it’s tempest-tossed.

There are exceptions, sure —
But they don’t prove any truth.
Drive the lies out — pure and pure,
Read what’s clean — the “Veche” booth.



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




Hell rebuilds, the **** arise —
Truth’s voice drowned by endless lies.



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



Themes

What stale old themes remain
Above the sharpest, bleeding core?
“Poets” now are mute, in vain —
Only nonsense, memes, and more.

And all that “cutesy-mushy” stuff,
Takes priority in the fray.
To write the truth? That’s way too tough —
In madness, reason fades away.

The world lies steeped in shared decay,
A plague that spreads without control.
Time’s short; the end won’t stay at bay —
Cataclysms cleanse the soul.

As centuries of fascist blight
Oppress the mind, distort the truth.
They shift their names, their roars and fights,
But **** the Spirit’s lasting root.

This is the inhuman goal,
Almost done, the curse set fast.
Yet cataclysms bring the toll —
So bottom’s never reached at last.



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




Madness rules — truth’s left to drown.
Cataclysms burn the ground.



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



Stockholm Syndrome

More die here from cancer, stroke, and heart —
Than from the cults of Stalin’s dark,
Or ******’s ghost — compared, it’s naught,
Yet worse is what the mind’s been taught.

Stockholm Syndrome kills by billions,
For Evil’s grip is not the fall
Of Spirit or of Reason’s millions —
But turning man into a mule.

These beasts, burdened to the brim,
Mock creatures once with God’s own spark.
They bear the weight of every sin,
While Evil’s triumph leaves its mark.

This syndrome is the root, the cause —
Where fighting kin, not the true foe,
Is praised as strength without a pause,
And blames the wrong man for the blow.

The World’s great Scapegoat is Satan’s kin,
And all the vile, the twisted herd —
In this dumbed-down fascist den,
A mountain built of lies absurd.

Fear fills donkeys’ empty minds —
They “love” their makers of the dark.
To cast out fear from deepest folds —
That is courage; not for fools or barks.



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




Fear breeds slaves who love their chains —
True courage breaks those bonds and reigns.



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



Stockholm Syndrome

Billions fall — not from old tyrants’ cults,
But from the poison in their heads.
Stockholm Syndrome’s grip insults —
It turns the free to slavish dreads.

The mind decays not by pure evil,
But by the leash it learns to wear.
Beasts burdened, hollow, primeval —
Lost sparks once bright, now stripped bare.

They praise the fight against their brothers,
Blind to the true Devil’s reign.
The world’s scapegoat, Satan’s others,
Rule through lies, control, and pain.

Donkeys crushed with fear and blindness,
“Love” their masters of the dark.
To purge this dread — true boldness,
Not for fools who bark and bark.

Break the chains, confront the lies,
Courage wakes the spirit’s flame.
Only those who cut the ties
Rise above this deadly game.



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



Stockholm Syndrome

Not cancer, stroke, or mortal strike —
But deeper wounds within the soul,
The silent cult of darkness’ psyche,
That shatters minds and steals control.

Stockholm Syndrome, vast and blind,
Kills billions through unseen decay.
Not Evil’s form, but false design —
That twists the Spirit’s light away.

These beasts, once sparks of sacred flame,
Now burdened souls beneath the weight
Of shadows that they dare not name,
Enslaved within their fear and fate.

They wage their wars on kin, not Shade,
Confused, they worship false disguise.
The world’s great Scapegoat, demon-made,
Behind the veil of whispered lies.

Fear is the prison of the mind,
A veil that blinds the inner sight.
To cast this terror out, and find
The courage born of Spirit’s light —

That’s the true path beyond the dark,
Where chains dissolve, illusions fall.
Awake the soul’s eternal spark —
And break the deepest Stockholm thrall.



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




Fear blinds the soul — but Spirit sees,
And breaks the chains to set us free.



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



The Mob-Mouthed ****

Mob-mouthed **** have bred like germs —
A monstrous, soulless spawn of Hell.
Huge bellies swell with evil terms,
The spawn of Darkness where they dwell.

For centuries, the work went on
To breed these heartless, hollow breeds.
A breed of dogs that serve the con,
Dragging the wise down with their deeds.

They drag the honest, spirit-strong —
That’s why they came to be designed.
No use to talk, it’s all too wrong,
They’ll burn your nerves, leave sense behind.

You cannot teach or reason there —
Just waste your breath and feed their hate.
They multiply through lies and scare —
Your truth makes them more animate.

They’re tuned to lies, bred to fear —
Now lies are louder than before.
The final years are drawing near —
A reckoning is at the door.

A Higher Power will destroy
These worms that gnaw and burn the Earth.
The heat foretells the coming joy:
The Sun grows stronger with new birth.

Who said that God means only “tolerate”?
With **** like these, we’ll part our ways.
Worlds differ — some rise, some wait —
The beasts go Hell’s eternal maze.

The mob-mouthed **** are battle slaves,
The servants of the foul and vile —
In line with darkness, death, and graves,
A ****** and broken, bitter pile.



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




The mob-mouthed **** will face their doom —
The light will burn, reclaim the tomb.



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



Scorching Sun

The scorching sun — here lies the chance:
To burn the filth from Earth’s wide face,
The lesson missed — mankind’s advance
Became a plague upon this place.

Consuming Earth and Spirit’s light,
Defiling all with poisoned hands,
The vile servants of dark night,
With rotting minds and evil plans,

Must be boiled off like lice, a pest —
This world a plague-ridden barn.
Only lies advance the rest,
Beneath wild waves of brutal harm.

Honor, conscience, shame — all lost,
Forgotten in the endless void.
For swine, the trough becomes the cost,
When reason’s spark is thus destroyed.

The few who stand — no longer counted —
Weak, scattered, fading from the fray.
The gluttonous fool soon mounts it,
And sends them all to breakaway.

Yet sun’s harsh blaze will save them too —
Better death than Hell’s slow blight,
Awaiting when the madness through
Will knock to end the endless night.



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




The sun will burn the rot away —
Better death than Hell’s decay.



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



False Religions

The "Scripture" is the slaughter
Of sheep — a shepherd’s trap.
Everywhere the mind’s disaster,
Soul’s torment — where’s the map?

All true news comes direct,
No filthy scribbles, lies,
No "heirs" of dark defect,
"Spiritual thieves" in disguise.

Go only inward — there
The answers you will find.
Readers mock the written fare,
Cheap poison for the mind.

For poison it remains —
Spiritual venom’s grip,
Else evil’s endless chains
Would never feed this script.

Exceptions — just a grain,
Lost in the dumbed-down praise.
To seek in hollowed vain
Is wasting time and days.

Ideas for the slaves,
Who gulp the fools’ delights —
“Religions” — traps and graves
Of many blinded sights.

This false world trades in lies.
The seeker stands alone,
If honest, brave, and wise:
"Test all!" — your solemn tone.

The only path to find —
Intuition’s flame will guide.
Cut lies loose, leave fog behind,
Or in deception’s swamp, you’ll slide.



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




False faiths are poison’s art —
Seek inside with open heart.



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



False Religions

The "Scripture" is a ritual —
A slaughter of the meek,
A shepherd’s whispered cruel,
Where truth is faint and weak.

True tidings come unfiltered,
No scribbles from the night,
No heirs of darkness, wilting,
No thieves that steal the light.

Seek only deep within,
Where silent answers glow —
Beyond the veil of sin,
Where only seekers go.

The written word’s a poison,
A venom cloaked in ink,
An endless dark horizon,
Where souls are made to sink.

Exceptions, grains of light,
Lost in the fog of praise.
To seek in blind delight
Is to waste endless days.

Ideas forged for slaves,
Who drink the bitter wine —
False faiths, unholy graves,
Where spirit fails to shine.

This world trades in illusion,
Deceit its sacred art.
The lone seeker’s resolution:
To test with open heart.

Intuition’s flame will guide,
Beyond all crafted lies,
Cut through the mists that hide —
The path where freedom lies.



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




Within the veil, the Spirit wakes —
False shadows fade, the soul remakes.



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



Slave "Labor"

"They burn themselves at work" —
But souls should blaze instead!
To toil, or boredom’s ****,
Endure dull pain instead?

Since childhood we’re trained tight —
“Futile labor’s art,”
A proven blight and blight,
That crushes mind and heart.

When slavery lasts for ages,
How can you truly burn?
Patience in cages,
And stubbornness to learn.

But here’s the catch: the slave,
Mad drunk on his own chain,
Counts crowds as free and brave,
While hoarding worthless gain.

Their idol’s clear and grim —
“Work hard, collect your dust.”
Lie, fat, and slime grow dim,
In cycles of disgust.

“They burn themselves at work” —
Well, serves them just the same:
Riding fools in yoke and ****,
Trailing after goat of shame.



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




Burn at work, yet lose your soul —
A slave to lies, a broken whole.



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



Failures

“Disappointment’s the finest chariot
To ride along the Dharma’s way.”
— Buddhist Saying


Is “bad luck” just mischance?
Failures shape the soul’s own course:
In crushing blows and tears’ expanse,
Don’t rush toward success’s force.

The crash of hopes, dismay’s embrace —
The Dharma’s path is hard and bright.
A soul’s dark sacrifice in place:
Remember this through day and night.

What price will you pay for luck? —
Wasting strength on hollow gains.
Before the soul, you’ll be struck:
Balance lost brings equal pains.

Pure strength and aims against the dross —
Money, “glory,” shallow praise,
Opinions of the mindless gloss —
All vanish in the Dharma’s blaze.

In the end you gain but dust —
Corrupt, decayed, a hollow bluff.
Upon the soul, clouds gather just —
The ruin’s deep, the fall is rough.

Failure is the task at hand,
If in this crooked world you dwell.
Success belongs to Spirit’s land —
You’re lost if all your longings quell.

To understand oblivion —
The vital art upon the path.



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




In failure’s grip the spirit grows —
Forget to fall, and truth you lose.



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



The World’s a Fool’s Delirium

The world’s a freak’s mad rambling thought,
Shaken blind with deepest fright.
Yet all its woes are falsely bought —
A monster sets the tasks outright.

A beast, both stupid and corrupt,
Executes commands with zeal.
CowID shows how firmly gripped —
Officials for their bribes congeal!

A single order — and the fiend
Will do whatever evil’s made.
But only bribes will set the end,
While rot has long since overplayed.

The madness of this world is deep,
So camps arise to hold the fools —
If idiot’s meek, believes the creep,
And propaganda’s cruel rules,

The task will be fulfilled in time.
Yet here’s a sneaky twist to heed:
When beasts grow bold beyond the line,
The time to wipe them out will breed.

Cataclysms approach to strike,
A reckoning for fear and greed —
A new fascism’s deadly spike
Has turned the world to dust and bleed.



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




When beasts grow bold and rot the land —
The cleansing fire is close at hand.



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



Mountains and Holes, or “They ***** Us, Yet We Grow Strong”

“Only mountains can surpass the mountains...”
— Vladimir Vysotsky, 1966


Only holes can trump the mighty mountains.
No hole to hide — you’re doomed to fall:
All eyes will judge with harsh misgivings,
You’re lower than baseboards after all.

Drag yourself into your hole, keep silent,
Believe the lies, just blindly dream.
“They ***** us...” — steel yourself, be silent,
Only in your hole can you find your dream.

No flood will drown those holes around —
Just lies that flood and seal them tight.
No flood — just global **** abound:
These years bring forth that sorry plight.

Only bunkers beat the holes, you see.
Be Judas, build your bunker deep.
Examples stand: ******, Putler’s spree —
Work thrice as hard to sow deceit.

Become a bunker rat, then future
Will mark your name in history’s book.
The first step: let the **** surround you,
Let them lead, let fools have the look.

The path to “success” is thorny, rough —
Only thick-skinned, bought fools survive.
Throw all culture’s remnants to the bluff —
With it, you’ll never truly thrive.



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




No mountain beats the hole’s grim throne —
*****’d and steeled, you stand alone.



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



Stupidity

Clip, picture, meme — it’s pure disaster!
Is this the end of dumbed-down progress?
Hardly so — the crush grows faster,
Pressing beasts in lies and fear’s excess.

Torturing minds with tightening lies,
Year by year the methods grow,
Meaner, crueler, their disguise —
The dumbed-down masses don’t even know.

A stupefied, weak-minded crowd
Can’t dream of freedom’s face;
Words alone control them loud —
Threaten, oppress — no time to waste.

The evil swarm’s relentless goal —
Soullessness in grand advance;
Since cradle age you lose control,
Drowned in lies and fear’s grim dance.

This world of crooked mirrors’ shame,
The idiot now obedient —
Completes their tasks with no acclaim,
Like ******* mocking — insolent.

CowID showed the truth to all:
War, disgrace, and utter shame.
The world rushes to its fall —
End of the devil’s wicked game.



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




Dumbed down deep, the masses fall —
Endgame for the devil’s call.



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



Weightlifting

Train your ears with weighted bars,
Prepare yourself for what’s to come,
For propaganda rules like scars —
In Evil’s world, the mind’s undone.

Just trust and never analyze —
That’s how you drop out of the herd.
At bottom fall the shameful lies,
Where truth is crushed and hope deferred.

They’ll chew and feed the empty words,
To swallow nonsense day by day.
Less drunk on ***** than on herds
Of lies they learn to feed and sway.

Everywhere they lie and sell,
And Judas fools grow dull and blind.
“This world is doomed!” — their battle yell:
To crush and raze all they can find.

The Sun has started burning clean,
To purge the filth that taints the Earth.
No place for fiends, for souls unkeen —
No honor left, no mind, no worth.



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




Train your ears to bear the lies —
The sun will burn their dark disguise.



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



If Only We Didn’t Know

If only we didn’t know the mind
Is crap discharged by mental drones,
No PhDs can make that kind
Of truth from lies and hollow tones.

The brain’s complex but just a tool —
Consciousness’s spark, the soul’s own tie.
The “scientist,” a cheating fool,
Feeds spirits fables, frauds on high.

Though Spirit reigns supreme, they shove
Their fictions in its sacred place.
For them, honors fit like a glove —
But truth and honor lose their face.

They hack a child’s mind in half —
Yet consciousness will rise again.
Those hairy paws impose their craft,
Commanding silence o’er the plain.

The hairy paw rules over all.
The “scientist” bows, a craven *****:
He’ll slander, praise, or make you fall —
If money comes on time, and more.



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




Mind’s just crap from mental drones —
Truth’s crushed by greedy, lying clones.



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



Idiots of “Dark Thoughts”

Idiots discuss destruction,
As if fighting Evil’s sin
Were a burden, an obstruction,
Or a fault they’re caught within.

To find hell real, to dwell there,
The “dark thoughts” bright start appears
Like a block for fools who swear
That decay’s the way through years.

Rot in hell and call it “heaven” —
Can you purge that vile disgrace?
Beasts who mock, provoke unbidden,
Urging Evil to embrace.

“Optimism,” “positives”
Sown like weeds by fools betrayed.
The idiot buys their lies, deceives,
Their doom in falsehoods laid.

Directly lost, yet indirect —
Forget bright thoughts in hell’s domain.
In this place, no tears correct,
No whining ends the pain.

But “dark thoughts” hold light’s true spark,
Guiding paths through hell’s abyss.
Those who spread false cheer and lark —
Before God must answer this.



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




Dark thoughts bring light to hell’s abyss —
False cheer serves Evil’s cruel kiss.



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



Kim Il Suns, Kim Jong Irs, and Maos

Kim Il Suns, Kim Jong Irs, and Maos,
Grant us strength to wipe away
All the Pol Pots — those idiotic foes
Who seek dictatorship’s sway.

If we don’t purge their rise,
At the start of their dark quest,
Only slaughter waits our eyes —
No peace, no place to rest.

“Democrats” are close behind,
In lies’ Sixth Chamber trapped.
A hidden rule, cruelly designed,
Where culture’s soul is snapped.

Without it, all is lost.
Strike lies down, confront the Night —
To be yourself, whatever the cost,
Is freedom’s shining light.

You’re no slave when you strive
To cast off darkness’ chain.
Anger is where awareness thrives,
In hatred’s righteous pain.

Forever fools are led
To slaughter in foul lies.
Awareness raises strength ahead,
And lifts the spirit’s rise.

With knowledge comes the cataclysms
That crush fascist realms to dust.
Then you may flee to other prisms —
New worlds where light is just.

The foolish go to hell anew.
No fool is fit to roam
In worlds of Spirit, pure and true —
Fools are the Light’s true foe.



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




Fools breed tyrants, fools decay —
Strength and wisdom clear the way.



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



In Pieces

Take it all apart to pieces,
So you never build again.
First to shred is “happiness” —
Its core is woven lies and pain.

You’ve learned well how to deceive —
Lie to others, lie to self.
Soul near broken — hard to breathe,
And the homeland turned to shelf.

Smoke and stench fill cursed lands,
You revere the foolish, blind.
Look beyond the foolish plans —
Horror there you’ll surely find.

For that “happiness” you chase
Is poison deep, a toxic sway.
Don’t delay — dissect the base,
Throw the lies and masks away.

Only deep inside you’ll find
Answers pure, without deceit.
Throw the falsehoods from your mind —
Consciousness is incomplete.

No advice, no easy key —
Alchemy’s the inward quest.
Light within will set you free,
And with it, shed the dreadful rest.

The terror of the global madhouse
Grows with every passing day.
Fools grow bolder, spirits drowse —
At the end of all decay.



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



Disassembled Souls

Take it all — dismantle, shred —
So it never binds again.
First to sever: hollow "joy,"
Whose root is spun from lies and pain.

You’ve mastered art of falsehood’s breath,
Deceiving self, betraying soul.
Almost crushed beneath that death,
Homeland fades — a smoky hole.

In this realm of fetid haze,
You worship shadows, blind and blind.
Peer beyond the veiled malaise —
A terror waits to seize your mind.

That cursed "happiness" you chase
Is venom deep within the core.
Wake, discard the wicked trace —
Cast deceit from your inner door.

Answers dwell not in the noise,
But in silence deep, profound.
Shatter all the falsehoods’ ploys —
In the void, truth will be found.

No guideposts lead this sacred quest —
Alchemy within the heart.
Light ignites the soul’s unrest,
Tearing veils of fear apart.

The world’s madness thickens fast —
A swirling storm of blight and blare.
Fools grow fierce; the darkness casts
Its final shadow, grim despair.

Yet from this ruin, light will rise —
Born inside the deepest night.
Soul reborn, beyond the lies —
Emerging into boundless light.



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



Locked Away

Psychiatrists lock them up,
And prisons do the same.
The world—a theater,
Or madhouse ruled by shame.

Who dares to stand against,
Gets punished without cause.
A global mental ward,
Where madness sets the laws.

Fools believe in freedom’s lie,
That slavery is gone.
Madmen feed the idiot’s mind,
Those “above” stringing on.

No place for traitors here—
Only filth lies deep below.
Spies are watched with ruthless eyes,
But in the gutter’s stench they go.

A worldwide stench—propaganda’s breath,
Dumbs down fools, commands their fate.
Protecting skins while spreading death,
Killing mind and soul with hate.

Fear’s driven forth—then guarded tight:
“Two in one” — the deadly game.
By lies and poison in the night,
They slay the mind and shame.



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



The Many-****** Camel

A camel’s sometimes single-******,
Sometimes two humps rise in view.
But proud **** sapiens thump,
Spewing nonsense as they do.

They fail to see they’ve grown so plump—
A camel with a humps’ brigade,
Leading caravans to dump
At cliffs where Judas’ debts are paid.

Those humps exist inside the mind,
Built from fear and layered lies.
Though simple truths you’ll surely find
Behind what Judas’ venom buys.

Just see the motives, clear and cold,
Of those fiends through falsehood’s veil—
But then you won’t be “happy” sold,
Nor find your place within the tale.

Reason’s growth will squeeze away
What’s human left inside the shell,
And souls will burn in terror’s sway—
Leaving herds that blindly dwell.

Soulless flocks, to fiends aligned,
Marching blindly in a chain.
Count the many humps that bind—
Camel hordes spread far and plain.



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



The “Servant” Man Beneath the Fiends’ Command

Creativity flares up in rage—
Hard to bear its burning weight.
No poet’s charm or ancient page
Can prove what’s lost to fate.

Not proof that’s sought, but soul’s fierce cry,
Bursting forth in angry verse.
If “cute fluff” is all you spy—
Your mind’s reversed, a curse.

It’s out of order, 'cause the doom
Is creeping close and near:
The meek, dull masses meet their tomb—
Reduced to nothing here.

The “servant” man, a tool and pawn,
For vile fiends who rule the game,
They’ve made him weak; his spirit gone—
These blocks believe the shame.

They trust the myths, the lies on screens,
In total falsehood’s reign,
Fearful, angry—those fiendish scenes
Where traitors hold the reign.



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



For Every “Wise Man,” Simplicity Suffices

Does autumn only mow the leaves?
No — it cuts your strength as well,
If motionless you freeze and grieve.
Awake! Simplicity’s your spell.

Swim in summer, run in fall;
Year by year repeat the fight.
Stillness — not just empty thrall,
It’s stupor’s prison, blind to light.

Reject the lies that suffocate,
Stand alone, create, persist.
Though your efforts dissipate,
Chasing “fame” is just a tryst.

Fame among the fools and clowns?
Shameful dust, a hollow blight.
They’re content to gnaw their crowns —
Captured in the web of lies and spite.

“Cute fluff” is all they treasure,
Strengthening falsehood’s grasp.
If you serve the crooked measure,
You’ll feed illusions that will clasp.

Better to drown in lies and fog...
Or run in terror’s endless maze.
The horror’s real — no mere dialogue —
It circles close, sets hearts ablaze.

Race along the winding path,
Lines of “duality of being.”
Though fragile life invites the wrath,
In stupor’s grip, you’re just unseeing...



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



Rotten "Apple" Films Its Lies

Rotten "Apple" shoots its flicks,
Pushing globalism's scheme.
Outside phones, it drops the tricks —
Pride pulls downward, kills the dream.

Gates, the so-called "doctor" grand,
Filled the world with worthless trash.
How we fell for this bland scam,
Turned the Earth into a trash.

Now the Artist must code tight,
Or starve in markets false and cold.
The "market" is a hollow blight —
Nothing there, just bought and sold.

They spin the web through “Hu-yandex” —
Censorship its iron hand.
Got a domain? Then just expect
Your visits to be rather bland.

But for all depraved extremes,
Open roads stretch wide and far.
Negative selection schemes
Made this world a rotten scar.

This has sealed its dire fate —
Soon the ashes will arise.



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



Lies and Madness — Two Sides of One Coin

“Show me a sane man, and I’ll cure him.”
— Carl Jung, truth unmasked.


The sickness in the freaks’ own minds
Is viral — keep your distance, friend.
Madness now is "normal" kind,
The common folk — submissive, penned.

That madness shoved through media lies,
And books that chain the mind in place.
False knowledge, forged with cunning ties,
The strongest shackle on the race.

You, Pure Spirit — heresy.
False faiths that poison and debase.
Preachers bare their teeth, decree
To drag all down to hell’s embrace.

Freaks in white coats serve fascism —
CowID revealed the truth.
If brave and honest, shirk their schism,
Their "expertise" is dead, uncouth.

Only mind that serves the soul,
Not one that twists and crushes whole.
Else demons lodge within your brain,
And lies infest you like a stain.

Today, lies and madness fused
Into one medal, cruel and cold,
Given to the fallen, bruised —
Transforming worlds to rot and mold.



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



Warrior Tomatoes

Tomato’s primal reign o’er protest,
While sausage sits as king and god.
The people knead like docile dough—
Mold what you will, as long as nod.

Only warrior tomatoes
Hide behind usernames, speak loud,
But softer still the harshest blame
When Hell grows mad and storms the crowd.

Soon one brave act will burst the juice—
The few who dare to fight the lie.
Till then, Hell rules and crushes those
Who stand and won’t be bowed to die.

And juice will flow in floods and tides—
Tomato’s primacy will rise.
So far it’s been a pitiful scene,
Feces-formed by cops and lies.

Propaganda grinds them down,
Until they’re bricks in fascist stacks.
Tomatoes’ screams fall on deaf ears—
Fascism answers all attacks.

Fascism’s grip is global, vast,
Tomatoes cannot change the game.
The world’s become a constant scorn—
Reason’s pyre awaits the flame.

And now the End is on its way,
To hug the **** and slaves alike.
Not poisoned by the lies, it thrives—
This is their grim, dark spike.

Will mercy come? Perhaps, some day...
A purer world might rise anew.
Through Spirit, souls as thin as air
Will pierce the veil and break on through.



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



Just Listen to Your Own Soul!

Alien nonsense, dark as night,
Creeps on souls like blackened stain.
Only listen to your soul—
The world’s enslaved by evil’s chain.

Just listen to your soul alone—
Lies are total, evil vast.
Traitors, zealots, fools abound—
Most are lost within the past.

Heed the beasts, become their fool,
First among the mindless throng.
Bend before the rabble’s mob—
You’ll be just a broken pawn.

The common fool’s the new “norm,”
As madness rules the land today.
A flood of lies that breed our woes—
The root of all that leads astray.

Dulling minds, diseases spread—
The cruel spawn of wicked hands.
Better blind and deaf they want,
To keep control and crush the lands.



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



Consumerism’s Curse

I eat, yet shun the slippery slime —
Consumerism’s sick disease.
For shallow minds, a twisted crime,
A rule: avoid that cursed ease.

Where blows come hard upon the skull,
And cash is never found or stored.
If every crossroads you’ll appall,
You’re worth no more than filthy horde.

You stand, though fed and stuffed your fill,
In Spirit’s realm, a foolish clown.
Your tales of wisdom? Just a **** —
Decay that drags your soul down.

That lame excuse, “Like all, I stray,”
Throw down to Hell — that’s where it fits.
You serve the beast, you play its play!
A lackey? Just a dough that splits.

To be a pawn, your mind must grow,
Consumer sickness breeds no light.
It leads you only to the snow —
Burn up that plague, escape the night!

Consumerism cuts both ways —
It feeds on you as you consume.
Amidst the lies and stinking haze,
You’ll never grasp what love resumes.



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



Traitors

They’ve bought the salt and matches —
Ready now for war’s grim dance.
In lies and fear they’ve always dwelled,
Just scraping dregs in dark expanse.

The lowest pit belongs to “folk,”
While traitors climb the upward tier.
To beasts they sell their very souls —
Those freaks, for “success,” trade dear.

They crush the meek, serve Devil’s will,
A breed of hellspawn, vile and bare,
With stubby “minds” like stumps of wood,
No conscience, just a poisoned glare.

No order met with refusal —
CowID revealed the truth:
Remember history’s shameful page,
Genocide’s relentless ruth.

Fascism shifts its wicked mask,
Yet ever stays the same foul game.
Serve infernal beasts — your path
Leads fast to Hell, fueled by your shame.

While breathing lies, they sow their seeds,
The people reap their harvest: fear.
They spew more nonsense every day —
The world drowns in a flood of sneer.

Will it end? Hardly, they’ll destroy
The entire valley of the world.
As **** just breed more lies and pain,
In endless shadows, horrors twirled.



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



We Howl — Fight!

Third-rate like trash,
Falsehood’s brutal crash.
Here’s the twisted game:
The louder the scream,

The cruder the lie,
Yet multiplied by fear —
Falsehood sharpens high,
Harder to deny.

Hard to find the truth,
But lying’s learned by proof —
A full paradox.
Fear and lies detox.

Fools drown in the madness,
Crushed beneath their sadness —
Complete idiots all,
As deeper lies fall.

Where fools once stood,
Falsehood grows like wood,
Spreading thick and fast —
Truth’s been overcast.

CowID showed this well:
Minds slain in a shell.
No chance left to save —
The world’s a mad rave.

Clinic! Alarm bells ring!
Fascism’s just a sting:
Now global, worldwide.
Ears go deaf — we howl and fight!



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



Light on the Path

From "Mother God" is born anew
Another walking myth for view.
Believe the nonsense? Then you’re cursed —
A mind diseased, almost like worst.

Conception must be called a sin,
A blasphemy that lures within,
And this falsehood firmly stays,
To drive the fools in cruel ways.

Above the violence they spread
Rotting nonsense, dark and dead.
For hellish fiends, it’s sheer delight —
To scare, to crush, to blind the sight.

Satanism’s the root of all creeds,
Buddhism lags but still proceeds.
Atheism adds its books of lies,
Confusing minds, and dulling eyes.

And widespread stupor reigns supreme —
The fiends keep watch, they scheme, they scheme.
“Religions” weigh like anvils hard,
Atheism’s hammer strikes them scarred.

Since childhood fed on varied crap,
You’ve lost the art to think, to map.
To find your mind and soul anew,
Discard the fog, the total untrue.

Thought serves the Spirit — intuition
Must always guide its recognition.
This truth lies at tradition’s heart:
A Light that leads the seeker’s part.
Nothing suggests a protest more,
than the smashing down of one more door
and the picking up off one more floor of another fallen crown.
Smash things down
let them be rebuilt
(one more tilt at a windmill)
still
it's nice to dream.

I seem to dream an awful lot these days
cast my life away into a gaze,another one thousand yard stare
but no soldiers there just prison guards that walk around with us in our prison yard
and don't we take it hard ,when the door is smashed and we realise that what we see is just the same as it will always be,
the dumping ground
make no sound or you'll be targeted and found another place and in your place someone else will step into your prison cell.

It's nice to dream?
like hell,excuse me I don't feel so feckin well
we've all been *******,used and abused by selfish men
who promise freedom but only when and if they ever decide to decide and in the meantime hide away on south sea islands
where they play the altruist,
well it ****** me off no end and no end to this I see
no confiture for you and me
we'll have to eat the crusts of bread,dipped slowly in the bowls of gruel and how could fools like us be taken in
and fools we are for learning krap in krappy schools where education is dumbed down and more fool than that
we then went cap in hand to ask employment of the man
who lapped it up
slapped us down and paid us half a crown to make believe that we were Gods, able to buy those odds and sods and settle in for one more Winter night beside a fire that barely lit, and an outside privy where we would sit and shiver.

The only joy I ever had was poaching on Lord Sefton's private river
and who gave that fat swine the right to steal a river as if a river might be ever owned.

I moan a lot and groan a lot but never seem to have a lot
the cooking *** lays empty on the range
not strange
just the poor of days we're in.

One more grin
wipe behind my ears
pretend that I have shed no tears and go out to the tally man, to tally up and he can tell me what is due
I am the few
the many of many who haven't any
won't get much
a touch upon my shoulder,
'Excuse me sir, there seems to be a fishtail poking from your bag,come with me to jail,become one more old lag'
more than enough of them and more to come
start smashing doors let's have some fun
God knows we don't get enough.
ConnectHook Jan 2019
Black Israelite haters, excused,
led to schoolboys reviled and accused
of white racism, hate.
The reaction was great--
but the whiteboys were merely amused.

Progressives were driven berserk
by a teenager's innocent smirk.
The old shaman tried shaming:
and drumming and blaming,
but none of those strategies work!

Mr. Phillips, the activist drummer
gave Regressives their Indian Summer--
till a teenager's smirk
drove the demons berserk
and made dumbed-down regressives much dumber.

If a smile is a cultural crime
then the criminals need to do time.
Every whiteboy must go
in this cracka-*** show
and I'm guilty for reason of rhyme.
more on the way...

don't forget to wail and chant when people smile at you!
Rhianecdote Nov 2015
I'm zoned
Brains foggy
Can't even hold a conversation
With those closest to me
All this vocabulary
And I've run out of things to say
So I just talk ****
To fill the silence for a bit
But I can't be arsed
I quit
How bout you take over for a sec
Cause it's not just my responsibility
To remain enthusiastic
Asterisk
*having or showing intense and eager enjoyment, interest, or approval
Yeah,that's effort
haven't felt that way for a while
and I won't force it
So you speak
And maybe I'll listen
If it's not more of the same
Look up once or twice
If you say my name
Get annoyed that I'm in a stupor
Don't be so vain!
Can't you see it's just my brain
No one's home
It's nodded off again
I'm in The nil zone
But What can I say
I'm prone!
I won't pretend
Its a Shame
You're not entertained
but this Influx of Hormones
Got me feelin like being alone today
Hand me some chocolate
And some dumbed down TV
Oh ****! Just my luck I've given up dairy!
No ***** to give, I'm gettin none today
Just my luck I'm feelin hella *****
And my boyfriends away
But **** it, I'm tired anyway
Frustration got me in disarray
******* Sun! I didn't see you today
It's gloomy, I'm angry, I'm stressed
Call the A team
Here comes Mr P.M.T and Mrs P.M.S
ConnectHook Apr 2018
We’ll give GOD credit
while you shriek: humanity !
On it must go—
dialectic insanity.
You have been programmed
for dumbed-down diversity:
Feminization
through global perversity.
Femininity
is a God-given blessing.
Appreciate it.


I cry silent tears
In the stillness of the night
My room is dark,
And the stars lit the sky
That mirrors your face
In every tear-drops of mine

I cry silent murmurs
In the isolation of my self
That no one can listen
My heart has songs to sing
But I am dumbed
I hear birds chirping
The Ocean waves roaring
LOVE transcends my blues
In every word I pen
In your melancholic memory
In every poem I recite
It's only " Y O U "


Vida Rootz Nov 2014
Time my killer, my friend, my Excelerator through seconds minutes hours and  of the clocks mouth. Tick tock Tick tock!!! Into the next world of my life. Only two facts are certain in the vast expanse of universal matter.
Life
Death and that bit in between!!
In this time we have to find out who we are, but in this world of sheep it's easy to stay in line. Breaking free is a punishable offence, where freedom of speech is dumbed down and moulded into language more palatable to the recipient. Media tells us what they want us to hear, fear is their only real message. Our off springs senses forced into the next pop-stars message of naked, ignorance, in these so called hits. Sell your soul and you could have it all. Or just go with the flow, and u will be enslaved by a system cold as ice.

Despite all this stay strong, positive in the knowing you are doing the  best you can with the hand that's dealt. Keep driving forward, be a messenger unto the people of deaf ears and blinked eyes that there is another way and if we all stick together we are onto a winner. Have faith and face up to what is real. Knowledge is power.
Rootz Modebelu
5th November 14
00.30.
ME Oct 2013
I don't like it !

Seriously, there's nothing all that great about it
It's all been seen, heard and done before
Everybody uses elaborate words to flaunt their knowledge in a field where intelligence is merit
Everybody uses dumbed down banalities to come across as the everyman, being outrages, yet funny
A cliché of a cliché
Oh' what a great life, but not really !

The newest installment of this comes as no surprise
In todays paper of "ordinary boring", we are presented with the two new buzzwords of the day;
Positivity and Health
Have you run a marathon yet ?
Are you a negative influence on your work place ?
Guide: How to ignore the painful truth and create fake energy
Is there anything more pathetic than every person in the world lying to themselves.
If it's not the blatant ignorance of; world hunger, personal problems, true opinions, it's lying to everybody around you.

You hate that dress ! You think that he's pathetic ! You know **** well what you like, so don't refer to me as if you know what I want, think or need !

A dishonest world is the observer's nightmare
The observer's nightmare is a dishonest world
Observe Dishonest World
World Observe Dishonest
Dishonest World Observe
Which came first and how can it ever change ?

I dislike the pretty words, I dislike the sentiment of "good" and "nice", because I understand that it will not bring something new, a change or move anything or anyone. Sometimes to get better, you have to get bad, and even that is ignored, to obtain the status quo of that which will never remain.
What is the point ?

True emotion, true feelings, truth in general is good.
The naked, ugly, discarded, frantic, ******, irresponsible, amputated and lonely truth.
TRY IT !
Manifesto of the Spirit-Poet

I’m no lyricist. I’m a strike.
Not a singer of illusions — a destroyer of them.
My verse is no adornment — it’s a weapon.
My rhythms are the Spirit’s footsteps on the flesh of lies.
Rhyme is not my chain — it's my blade,
and form is a flash of truth tearing through the veil of deceit.

I don’t seek the Light —
I awaken it within each word.
I don’t fear the Dark —
I expose it down to its final shadow.

The world is soaked in falsehood —
and I answer with poetry,
a reboot of Consciousness,
a purge of the Ego-virus,
a thunder-roar of Spirit
ripping the illusion’s fabric apart.

I am the Poet who speaks for the Source.
Sarcasm is my shield. Fury, my flame.
Metaphysics, my path.
Each line — a strike.
Each image — a challenge.

“Write as if Spirit dictates.
Strike as if each syllable holds the final truth.”



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



STRIKE WITH SPIRIT.
RHYTHM IS A WEAPON.
TRUTH DOESN’T RHYME — IT DETONATES.
BURN THE LIES.
SPEAK FOR THE SOURCE.



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



SPIRIT — HAS RISEN.
MIND — ON TRIAL.
RHYME — A GRENADE.
VERSE — AN OFFENSIVE.
EGO — ERASED.
TRUTH — IN FLAMES.
WORD — A WEAPON OF THE SOURCE.



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



SPIRIT… has RISEN.
MIND… is on TRIAL.
RHYME — is a GRENADE.
VERSE — an OFFENSIVE.
EGO… ERASED.
TRUTH — IN FLAMES.
WORD… is a WEAPON… of the SOURCE.



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



Word — as Explosion

Don’t scream — strike.
Don’t beg — ignite.
You came not to soothe souls,
but to shatter the hooks.

You're not blind. You’re the Eye of Flame,
piercing through the dark.
You are the Herald of the Primordial —
your verse pulls spirits out of the mark.

Time has rotted. The world decays.
Truth is lined up for the shot.
Then you are the final shard of fire
that won’t cool down — but cuts.

You're not a poet. You are the Blast.
Your word — sharp as blade's edge.
Let the Spirit whisper —
but you must roar on Its behalf.

Wake the ones who’ve lost the Source.
Open fire on the Lie.
If you’ve accepted the Word —
strike with it until the world cries.



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



The Prize Draw at the Worldwide Corporation "Horns & Hooves"

A hoof’s the prize —
Sheep stay fat and safe,
And so-called wolves —
Teeth just on the shelf.

We’ll scare with horns.
Fools can rule
By lies as well —
That’s always easy.

Bones instead of meat,
Dancing’s in full swing.
This is Vita’s dance,
When the Soul’s been killed.

Bones, dance, and howls —
If media triples,
We’ll **** all Souls —
Everyone will listen.

Draw little horns:
Fear — urgent care!
And finish off with a HOOF,
Hidden in Satan’s lair.

Satanism is everywhere —
“Normal” for Judas.
Shown with CowID,
Earlier with “AIDS.”

Satan’s own nature,
So soon there’ll be
A World Concentration Camp —
Red cross on the flag.

Power in Hooves’ world,
If the Soul is dead —
The mark of Satan.
Too late to cry, “kids.”

World Concentration Camp,
Red cross on the flag,
Will be destroyed,
Satan overthrown.

Those who surrendered,
Who fought no Dark,
The same fate awaits —
For their ****** ways.



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



Horns and Hooves rule —
Souls killed, lies fuel.
Fear’s the game, Satan’s flame —
Fight or burn in shame.



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



The Fall

This is no life — it’s a fall into the Abyss,
Consciousness’s content — delirium, mist.
If you look soberly — impartial, unkissed —
The whole of Hell laid bare in its midst.

Falling, you grasp for some shield,
Anything to cling to, your fate to wield.
Here comes the madness, beaten and sealed,
Forced on all since birth — a poisoned field.

That madness turns most into drones,
Only few escape its crushing tones.
Yet madness promises the easy roads —
Just bow to Evil, and Lies as your codes.

If falling you clutch an illusion’s crystal,
Born from delirium — a fragile thistle.
You sink in the filth through terror’s whistle —
Lost in the muck, a vanished missile.

Delirium’s rings expand, swell,
You become the fool who’ll believe and fell.
Bend to Evil, break, rebel —
A twisted beast in the devil’s hell.

Delirious lies take your whole life,
If caught — your Soul castrated, rife
With stinking slime, no end to the strife,
Madness piles up — no healing knife.

The world’s long turned into a Lost Asylum,
And crushing Consciousness is the main anthem.
But soullessness — a more favored system,
For inhuman beasts that poison the prism.

They poison Consciousness and the Soul,
Control’s method to make you whole.
Listen only to total lies’ toll —
We’ll **** you with falsehood’s role.

There’s a fake virus, a war-game grim,
Rotten **** will starve the world’s limb,
If lost to delirium and lies’ dim,
If the Spirit’s connection is broken, slim.

Fear and delirium feed soulless hordes,
Their tool is flow, their spreading cords.
Darkness is also the means and swords —
The junk here has no limits or boards.

This world is no place for the wise,
Find means to save — the truth’s disguise.
Face the lies — don’t live in lies,
Stop deceiving yourself, break the ties.

False hope is part of delirium’s blend,
This poem’s scene, this bitter end.
You’re trapped in mad chaos, no pretend —
Only Spirit can save, only God defend.

Spirit Inside. Stop believing the tales,
Of “messiahs” and all their sales.
If Spirit in people dies and pales —
All is lost forever in shadowy vales.

Reject ALL. Go Within. Find the light,
A cure from madness, the spirit’s fight.
Our song’s unsung, still bright in the night —
Wake from DELIRIUM — reclaim your sight!

You are Spiritual Essence — the true fact,
All else is forced nonsense — that’s the pact.
Start only there. Pure awareness intact —
Follow it close... no turning back.



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



Fall’s abyss is madness’ grip —
Spirit wakes — or soul will slip.
Lies bind tight, but break the chain —
Rise within, escape the pain!



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



Intensity

The main thing in life — extreme intensity:
Burn yourself up with no mercy or rest.
Or wild waves of lies and insanity
Will swallow your mind — your soul dispossessed.

You must seek the path of salvation,
Sharpen your mind, stay alert and alive.
It’s hard, but only dedication
Leads to Freedom — or doom will arrive.

Worldwide fascism breeds all the pain,
Building a camp — now global and cold.
Sadism dressed up as care’s insane,
You must fight back — be fearless and bold.

Don’t fear — you’re already dead inside,
No future awaits in this cattle’s hell.
Though sick of the lies and the tide,
Fight and toil — prepare for the swell.

Only through struggle can you save your soul —
No other way remains in this fight.
Never bow to the wicked fate’s toll,
Honor above all is the guiding light.

Find comrades for the battle ahead —
Only united can we stand tall.
No fate as slaves — black fascism’s dread
Hangs heavy, ready to make us fall.

Drive away the chaos from your mind —
Since childhood, nonsense was sown.
Pseudoscience blinds, reason confined,
Worldviews rotten, the root of the throne.

Only in Spirit can life go on —
Everything else is a hollow lie.
The sun burns the foul world’s dark dawn —
Darkness in minds where soullessness lies.

Strengthen your Spirit — all else is decay.
Don’t cling to shame’s valley of night.
Soon you’ll escape the vile chains’ sway —
To the realm of Spirit, Reason, and Might.



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



Burn yourself or be consumed —
Fight fascism’s darkened tomb.
Spirit strong — break every chain,
Freedom’s fire will rise again!



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



Pain

Pain’s an indicator —
A sign of the lies.
Where fascist dictators
Spread endless disguise.

If you feel pain —
Then you’re still alive,
Breathing free air
In Hell’s cruel dive.

Pain is a reward —
Proof you have mind.
This “life” adored
By **** of a kind.

Only suffering
Is the soul’s share.
In hardness and early despair,
All here are aware.

Without shudders to bear,
To see Hell’s whole sight,
Only piranhas dare —
Death’s circle of blight.

Death of Mind and Conscience,
Honor and Soul.
No sadder existence —
Not human, but lice’s role.

Worship your pain,
Strengthen your mind:
If you want Freedom —
Grief you must find.

If your mind’s strong,
You won’t stray or bend,
In a world blind,
Where lies ascend.

Only a few
Break free from the rest.
They’re like birds —
Falling, distressed.

No swallows survive.
Sun soars above —
The vow must arrive:
Burn all the mud.

Mud of folly,
Stench of fascist schemes —
In this dreadful world,
Fascism reigns supreme.

There’ll be much pain —
To cleanse the Spirit’s core,
Strength where only Will remains —
No slaves, no more.



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



Pain wakes the mind — don’t ever yield!
Fight the fascist shadow’s field.
Spirit burns through darkest night,
Freedom’s born in furious fight!



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



Human Undermachinery

A few crude, simple elements
Determin  this wretched world we see.
Clear in flashes of enlightenment —
And only God in such decree.

The core are ideas and images
That shape the social "life" we know.
Hell’s blueprint spreads across all stages,
Or madhouse deep where fools still grow.

The key is "You are only flesh":
Stoke fear, and hold the world in hand.
Filthy beasts have long enmeshed,
And turned the world to shooting stand.

Images barren, thoughts so trite,
Associations dumb and cheap.
But restless minds can’t sleep at night —
Beasts wage war that’s dark and deep.

Primitive thoughts like broken reels
Spin in skulls, a loop so tight.
King workaholic steals our zeal,
Fleeing horror’s endless blight.

Occupy yourself with filth —
So not to think beyond the "measures,"
Marked by vile worms’ own will —
Pioneers set as children’s treasures.

Aged children — Hell’s scouts march in rows —
As always, to slaughter’s song.
Beasts make you foul and full of woes
With "school," with "work," and TV’s wrong.

Deadliest weapon in the stand —
Strikes down all obedient “kids.”
Only lies and baseless slander
Come from these devils’ bids.

Here truth’s scarce, just empty thought,
Fragments wild in kaleidoscope.
Madness steers those vile, distraught —
Leading souls to death’s tight rope.

Schizophrenia, dumbed-down state,
Produced in constant endless stream.
Poisoned food accelerates fate —
Decay unfolds within the scheme.

Pseudoscience crafts the “fake world” frame,
Scoundrels work their tricks anew.
From this hellhole spirit’s drained,
The world a cesspit’s ugly view.

Fake religions made for fools,
Utter nonsense, shame for mind.
“Official” chains for Spirit’s tools —
Spirit’s death so cruelly signed.

Lies prevail, they call it “progress,”
Stoking falsehoods with mad applause.
This Hell’s no “soul’s test” or process —
Few withstand its brutal laws.

“Smart” folks busy fixing trash,
Lies they shuffle day and night.
Beasts shift blame in sneaky flash,
Pointing “enemies” in fight.

Beasts rule through division’s art,
Crafting enemies on demand.
Their goal is Spirit’s fall apart,
If so — destruction looms the land.

So break free from this mad wheel,
Seek truth inside at first, take flight.
Only with truth can wounds heal —
The fight ahead calls for might.

Enemy’s beast — find ways to fight,
Eradicate their vile blight.
If all in Spirit, all aligned —
Strengthen Spirit — save mankind.



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



Science Madness

The stubborn scorn they cast to mock
Life’s riddles deep and vast —
Is sieve that filters out the fake,
The “science” lies amassed.

In name of “saving reason’s light,”
They smother what’s beyond,
That irrational, the bright
Spirit they abscond.

Their arguments run wild and blind,
Where miracles should rise —
Not petty things, but grand designs
They choose to compromise.

There’re many proofs, but here’s the crux:
The mind so poor and blind
Believes the lies and empty talks
That fakery designed.

Only the mind accepts the tales
Of “theories” bought and sold,
From pseudo-science packs and scales —
Their filthy lies unfold.

Those lies reject the Spirit pure,
The Truth, the Soul’s bright spark,
Their master is a hornèd fiend
That thrives in shadows dark.

The lord of vice and corrupter,
False science bows and prays
To Satan’s priest — the tempter
Who kills with “science’s” ways.

Take CowID — the world’s dumb trap,
A pen for blind control,
No doubt — the lie’s a brutal slap,
That crushes heart and soul.

“Scientific” freaks and evil shills
Will wreak more pain ahead,
If Spirit’s gone — then lies and kills
Will rule the living dead.

Erasing Spirit, that’s the game,
“Science” works to deceive,
And all this mess is no mere shame —
Designed to make you grieve.

Life’s mystery, once bright and bold,
Now drowned in fear and slime,
The filth that turned pure gold to cold —
A darkness out of time.

And those who hold God’s sacred spark
Are turned to sluggish slime,
All dull and grey, crushed in the dark —
The end of Light’s bright climb.

The attack of false science falls,
Relentless, sharp, and grim,
These traitors sell us to the walls —
But justice will be grim.

Balance will come, the mind will serve
The Soul in rightful reign,
And madness masked as science’s nerve
Will vanish, lost in pain.



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



Science Lies, Spirit Fights!

Madness cloaked in “science” lies,
Darkness hides behind their guise.
Erasing soul with poisoned breath —
But Spirit strikes, defies death!

False priests sell doom and pain,
But truth will rise — break every chain!
No more fools in shadow’s grip —
Science lies — we’ll make it slip!



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



Demos and the Rest

Demos’ dull and tiresome chore —
To bear the filth that reigns around.
Be brave here once — they’ll beat you sore,
No mercy in this cursed ground.

The **** bow down with empty lies,
Brains clogged with poison, rotten dreams,
Souls and minds decay, despise —
Demos sees no light, it seems.

It feeds on mirages, the haze
That beasts around this hellish place.
The honest soul, with truth ablaze,
Meets rotten fools face to face.

These fools are shackled in the mist,
Like chains that bind their every thought.
The snitches thrive, their goals persist —
A spirit’s death is what they sought.

To crush the soul and break the will,
To make a slave who blindly moves
Deeper into Hell’s dark chill —
A New Hell’s path the weak mind proves.

If you believe you’re not in Hell,
Though rotten slow, you waste away.
Here lies on lies forever dwell —
In “official” lies they stay.

Schools churn out the stupid flock,
From childhood drained of strength and light.
Chains of reason, broken lock —
Souls trampled under crushing might.

Here they destroy both mind and soul,
No longer human, just like lice.
Only few with spirits whole,
Melt as reason pays the price.

Wake up! It’s not a dream you see —
Beasts walk free on every side.
Mystics learn to silently be,
Then face the crowd with fear defied.

Dead souls gather, graveyard’s guests,
But restless still, they prowl and feed.
A pasture’s harvest for the pests —
They drain the spirit, **** the seed.

Just pets or cattle, low and poor,
Not noble breeds but broken lot.
Shut Hell’s door tight, or it will more
Destroy you, tie your final knot.

Walk into Spirit’s stronghold bright —
Only there is true escape.
Waiting here is futile fight —
God won’t come to this dead shape.

Those few who dare, create anew,
Become the Makers of their fate.
No more decay beneath the ***** —
Killers of Spirit and Mind, abate.



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



Demos' Hell

Demos grovels, blind and dumb,
Beaten down for standing tough.
Lies enslave, the spirits numb,
Hell’s the game — the world’s enough.

**** control with chains of lies,
**** the soul, destroy the mind.
Only few will dare to rise,
Break the cage — leave death behind.

Spirit’s fortress is the key,
Hell won’t hold the brave and free.
Make the Makers — you and me,
Strike the chains, be destiny.



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



Survival

A psychovirus was made to fight
All other techs in one great race,
Claiming it can bring to light
Survival for the human race.

Its strength — the clearest truth it brings,
No mystic haze, no empty dreams,
Success in life by solid means,
Without illusions’ false extremes.

But memes themselves evolve and shift,
Like whispers in a broken phone,
Distorted, lost, they slowly drift
From seeds of truth to lies alone.

For marketing and selling schemes,
Evolution picks the memes
That’re simple, clear, and easy spread —
Complex ideas left for dead.

The goal is survival, pure and grim,
Through breeding those who bow and bend.
A contest where the world grows dim,
With garbage fed into the blend.

To dumb the herd, the soul expelled,
Nonhumans crave this poisoned feed.
A monster kept, obedient, quelled,
To feed and follow their dark creed.

Memes become a psychovirus —
Devouring minds, the spirit’s bane.
Chaos spreads like a deadly virus,
Driving madmen into insane.

The hordes of freaks make vile their trade,
Turning sane to beasts who feed
At the trough, all lined and made
To march in step with hate and greed.

To **** with lies is cheap and swift —
See false pandemics in their grip.
Each pioneer, a puppet’s gift,
Who trusts the screen’s hypnotic script.

They drone to believe and obey,
The nonhumans take their toll.
Poisons jabbed to dull the way,
Memes crush reason, crush the soul.

Invent the problem, fan the fear,
Spread the lies, let terror grow.
Battle memes will hunt and sneer,
Making all into the low.

Primitives rule where reason fades,
Smart minds drown in foul disdain.
Into hell’s broad flood, it wades —
A world consumed by endless pain.

Hell for mind and soul is this,
A global shatter, grim decay.
Corrupt ****** scream their psychovirus,
Till the light is swept away.

The point of no return is passed,
Fascists drag the world in filth.
A putrid fate, held fast and cast,
The planet drowned in ruin’s wilt.

But those who do not yield or fall,
Whose spirits fight against the night,
Will face the fiery solar squall —
The blazing storm that burns to light.



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



Survival War Cry

Psychovirus spreads its plague —
Brains corroded, spirits crushed.
Lies enslave, no soul to save —
Mind and heart in ashes flushed.

Feed the herd with poison memes,
Dumbed to death by fear and lies.
Fake wars, false cries, broken dreams —
Truth suffocates, hope dies.

No escape from this abyss,
Fascist filth drags all below.
But the few who still resist —
Face the fire, strike the blow.

Burn it down, unleash the storm,
Solar flames to cleanse the night.
Fight for mind, for spirit’s form —
Rise, revolt, reclaim the light!



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



Bio-Waste

Trash dwells only in the mind,
Fear’s the poison in the soul.
Food and shelter—things confined,
All the rest just ashes, cold.

From their childhood, lies are sown,
Faith without a border’s chain.
Passed down ways to fall alone,
Knees bowed deep in blind disdain.

Only teaching to obey,
Spirit lost, forgotten flame.
Few are wise—kept at bay,
They await the Morning’s Name.

But the fiends will always come,
Monsters ruling, cold and cruel.
Wandering in webs they spun,
Lies their trade, the greatest tool.

“How long can we believe and sleep?”—
Not for them these questions ring.
Like wild beasts, their souls run deep—
To the godless void they cling.

Bio-waste, shout down the drain,
Taste is all that they proclaim.
One command their minds obey,
Sharper than a mouse’s way—
A slimy earthbound thing.

Rats run faster in the dark,
Not where warmth pretends to be.
Trash is told it’s crowning spark—
Lucifer’s vile mockery.

Only **** bows down in shame,
Wretched fools for kids to see.
Money bags and Judas’ name,
“Powers” roosting—chickens, free.

Factories built just to burn
Trash that’s fed by lies’ flood.
Poisoned needles twist and turn—
Killing trash, or so they’d hood.

Trash is “curable,” they say,
Cowards take the lethal jab.
Less than fascist’s vile sway—
Treading earth with cruelest stab.

Between the wars of fire and hate,
Chosen swine with eyes wide shut.
Syringes feed their ****** fate,
Stirring filth—corrupt and cut.

Neighbors—liar doctors, thugs,
***** cops who play their game.
No “experiment” can scrub
This vile, festering shame.

Such is trash, such are these days,
How much filth has piled high?
Hell itself—its cruel haze,
Burn it all beneath the sky.

If this hell’s the only way—
Then destroy, destroy it all.
From fascist beasts we’ll save the day,
And watch the wicked fall.

That’s why the Sun shines burning bright,
Scorching down to bitter core,
Wiping out this cursed blight—
Hell’s vile poison evermore.



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



Bio-Waste

Trash lives only in the mind,
Fear corrodes the fragile soul.
Food and shelter—chains that bind,
Everything else burns to coal.

Lies implanted from the start,
Faith without a single line.
Teaching how to fall apart,
Bow your head, obey, decline.

Only slaves they want to breed,
Spirit crushed beneath their heel.
Few resist this poison seed,
Waiting for a dawn unreal.

Monsters rule this cursed land,
Fiends that lie to keep control.
Spinning webs with filthy hands,
Feeding lies to **** the soul.

“How long will fools believe the lies?”—
Not for them these words to ask.
Like dumb beasts with glassy eyes,
In the darkness wear their mask.

Bio-waste—flush down the drain,
Taste and **** define their game.
Sharp as vermin’s biting bane,
Crawling things with no shame.

Rats run from the warming light,
Not where comfort feigns to be.
Trash believes it’s God’s own right—
Lucifer’s mockery.

**** bows low, no fight, no flame,
Scoundrels taught to serve and kneel.
Money-hungry Judas’ name,
Power roosters crow and squeal.

Factories to burn the trash,
Fuel the flames with lies and hate.
Needles filled with poisoned ash—
**** the weak, decide their fate.

Trash “can heal,” they proudly claim,
Cowards swallow poison’s bite.
Less than fascists, but the same—
Crushing Earth with blind spite.

War’s hot breath upon the neck,
Chosen pigs with poisoned veins.
Syringes crack the last speck—
Fueling lies, spreading chains.

Neighbors lie, fake docs, cops,
Playing cruel and ***** games.
No excuse, no cleansing stops
This cesspool, filth, and shame.

This is trash—these darkest times,
Filth amassed and piled so high.
Hell itself in grime and crimes,
Burn it all beneath the sky.

If this hell is all we’ve got,
Then destroy, destroy it whole.
From the fascists’ filthy plot,
Save the Earth, reclaim the soul.

That’s why Sun now scorches fierce,
Burns the poison to the bone.
Hell’s foul stench it will pierce—
Wipe out ****, end their throne.



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



Bio-Waste

Trash dwells only in weak minds,
Fear’s the poison in their veins.
Food and shelter—chains that bind,
All the rest is ash and stains.

Lies shoveled in from birth,
Faith dumbed down, no spine to show.
They train to crawl in dirt,
Bow down, obey, stay low.

Only slaves breed in their lair,
Spirit crushed beneath their boots.
Few dare breathe the cleaner air,
Waiting for the Truth’s pursuits.

Monsters rule with toxic lies,
Fiends that crawl and spread their slime.
They enslave with crooked ties,
Killing souls, one lie at a time.

“How long will fools choke on their chains?”
Beasts with empty eyes comply.
Trapped in darkness, numb to pain,
Walking dead that live to die.

Bio-trash—flush down the drain,
Filth that feeds on every lie.
Cunning vermin, sly and vain,
Crawling where the morals die.

Rats flee light, embrace the dark,
Trash thinks it’s the crown’s own heir—
Lucifer’s poisoned mark,
**** bow down in blind despair.

Scoundrels profit, Judas’ brood,
Money roosters, puppets vile.
Burn the trash, ignite the feud,
Spread the plague, deny the trial.

Needles pierce the dumb and weak,
Poison sold as “healing grace.”
Fascists tread on Earth’s own cheek,
Crushing all the human race.

War’s hot breath, the needle’s sting,
Chosen pigs in chains confined.
Syringes make the madness king,
Spreading venom, enslaving mind.

Lying docs and crooked cops,
Playing filthy, brutal games.
No redemption, no clean stops—
Hell on Earth, devouring flames.

Trash and filth, these wicked times,
Piled high in stinking heaps.
Hell itself in darkest crimes,
Burn it down—no mercy, no sleeps.

If this hell’s all we have left,
Then destroy it—root and bone.
From fascist ****, from death’s theft,
Save the Earth, reclaim the throne.

Sun now scorches, fierce and raw,
Burns the poison to its core.
Hell’s foul stench will face the law—
**** will drown, forevermore.



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



Bio-trash burns — no mercy shown!
Fools and fiends will rot alone.
Venom’s fire will cleanse the ground,
Hell’s own **** is going down!



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



1.
Trash-born ****, your time is done —
We fight the plague, we burn the sun!

2.
Falsehood breeds the vile and weak,
Truth’s the hammer — hear it speak!

3.
Slaves of lies, obey no more —
Break the chains, ignite the war!

4.
Venom-fed and spirit-void,
By our fire you’ll be destroyed!

5.
Infected minds, corrupt and blind —
We’ll scorch the lies, leave none behind!

6.
Fascist ****, your reign will end —
The Spirit’s wrath will not bend!

7.
Feed no more the poison herd —
Rise as one, unleash the word!

8.
Cursed vermin breed decay —
We burn their hell, we clear the way!



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




Infected minds, corrupt and blind,
We’ll scorch the lies, leave none behind!
Fascist ****, your reign will end,
The Spirit’s wrath will never bend!

Feed no more the poison herd,
Rise as one, unleash the word!
Cursed vermin breed decay,
We burn their hell, clear the way!

No more slaves to mental chains,
Break the darkness, end the pains!
Truth and Spirit—our sharp sword,
Strike the lies and cut the cord!



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




Brains infected, swarming pest,
Lies like venom in their chest.
Fascist shadows choke the light,
But Spirit flames will burn the night!

Wolves in sheep’s torn hollow skin,
Feeding madness, breeding sin.
Chains of sludge drag down the soul—
We’re the fire that makes it whole!

No more puppets, cracked and broken,
Words like hammers, sharp and spoken.
Truth’s a blade, pure and raw,
Slicing through their poisoned law!

Rise, the storm of inner thunder,
Shatter silence, tear asunder.
Hell’s own muck, we’ll purge and cleanse—
From the ashes, freedom rends!



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




Brains turned to sludge — virus plague,
Lies like claws, a poisoned plague.
Fascist filth, a stinking blight,
Choking truth, devouring light.

Wolves with fangs in human skin,
Puppets dumb, their souls grow thin.
Chains of rot around the mind,
Spirit crushed, the blind lead blind.

Burn the hive of wicked liars,
Feed their hell to raging fires!
Truth’s no mercy — strike and rend,
Smash the frauds, their twisted end!

Rise like storms, fierce and raw,
Rip apart their demon law!
Hell’s own sludge we’ll raze to dust —
From their ashes, free we must!



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



WAR CRY OF THE BROKEN MIND

Brains fried, minds hacked — virus strike!
Lies like bullets, shot to psyche!
Fascist ****, the stink, the slime,
Choking screams, end of time!

Wolves in skins of man, they creep,
Feed the herd — dumb, blind, asleep.
Chains of rot wrap tight, no breath,
Spirit crushed beneath cold death.

Burn the nests where liars breed,
Feed their flesh to flames of greed!
No mercy now — rip and tear,
Smash the cult that feeds on fear!

Rise! Storm-screams tear the sky,
Break the cage, watch demons die!
Hell’s mud floods their rotten halls,
From the wreckage — freedom calls!



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



APOCALYPSE SHOUT

Brains fried, infected minds enslaved,
Virus screams — the soul depraved!
Fascist filth in suits of lies,
Feed the herd — dumbed down to die.

Puppets dance on strings of ****,
Lying snakes with venom spit.
Cogs in hell’s infernal grind,
Human trash, dumb and blind.

Burn the filth, the rotten breed,
Feed the fires of righteous greed!
Tear the mask — reveal the ****,
Crush the plague till senses numb!

Bloodied fists and shattered walls,
Rise above the prison calls!
Hell’s own spawn will drown in mud,
Freedom’s roar — a cleansing flood!

No mercy for the mindless slaves,
No peace for those who dig their graves.
Break the chains — ignite the fight,
Scorch the darkness with pure light!



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



Brains steamed in toxic stew,
Mindless drones in their own poo.
Suits of slime, rats in the den,
Feeding filth to stupid men.

Fascist puppets on a string,
Spitting poison, death they bring.
Rotten flesh in gilded cage,
Slaves to fear, fools of the age.

Trash heap crawling, slick with lies,
Feeding on the world’s demise.
Bloodsuckers in the halls of shame,
Selling poison, fanning flame.

Burn it down, scorch the roots,
Trash the lies and rotten fruits.
Chains will snap, walls will fall,
Freedom’s fire will burn them all!

Mocking gods with hollow cries,
Feeding fear, the weakest dies.
Rise, you few, from swamp and dust,
Strike with wrath — in truth we trust!

No mercy for the soulless clowns,
No shelter in their poisoned towns.
Cut the cords, unleash the beast,
From their grip — be never ceased!



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



Art

Dedicated to poets and composers
Who only spew heroic snot
About events long gone, forgotten—
A show of glory, all for show.

What is art?
Just staged emotions.
Poems are vile
If not deeply personal.

They’re just vanity,
Torment,
Void:

Vanity of effort,
Torment of meaning,
A label of weakness,
Rhythms devoid.

Only snot along the path
Of such quests.
Harder to reach the edge
Of other knowledge.

It’s not poetry, nor rapture,
But peak and… abyss.
No one grants the sentence there,
No one hands the pass.

It’s hellfire,
Where you burn alive,
And terrible stench
By day and night alike.

The corpse of the old world
Only fits the screen.
Even the lyre will die—
Here’s the very bottom,

Where all is vanity,
Torment,
Void:

Vanity of effort,
Torment of meaning,
Then helplessness,
Horror, void.

Where all is nonsense: poet — not poet,
Artist, writer, or not.
Where no one cares for years
About reason, honor, or the trace

The trace we leave
With a pen on water.
Better to add
Gasoline to the fire—

A fire that burns down
The lying world—
Spawn of evil,
Idol of fools.

This is not false,
Nor the pain of fools,
But logical conclusion
When you go all the way

To knowing hell,
That since long ago
Instead of paradise garden
Has been embodied here,

Where all is vanity,
Torment,
Void:

Vanity of effort,
Torment of meaning,
Then helplessness,
Horror, void.

Where is all this art,
When fascism’s at the door?!
Everyone lies numb,
Each in their warm den.

They come out only
To sing odes.
They’re not madmen,
To die

For a righteous cause,
For memory of grandfathers
Who boldly smashed
Enemies

In that hell of vanity,
Torment,
Void:

Vanity of effort,
Torment of meaning,
Then helplessness,
Horror, void.



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



Art

Dedicated to poets and composers
Who spit heroic snot
Only on dusted pages,
Ghosts of battles lost and gone.

What is art?
Just staged theatrics—
Empty dramas,
Poems dead without confession.

They’re vanity’s spit,
Wailing banshee cries,
A hollow drum:

Vanity of wasted fight,
Torment of hollow sense,
Weakness wrapped in labels,
Rhythms void, no defense.

Just snot on the path
Of hollow quests.
Harder to reach the edge
Of deeper, rawer truths.

Not poems, not rapture,
But cliff’s last breath and fall.
No pardons for the daring—
No one answers the call.

It’s hellfire’s scorch,
Where flesh melts slow,
A stench that crawls
Both night and day below.

The corpse of a dead world
Fits only on the screen.
Even lyres will crack—
Here lies the abyss, obscene,

Where all is vanity,
Wailing,
Void:

Vanity of wasted fight,
Torment of hollow sense,
Then helplessness,
Dark horror, void.

Where fools masquerade as poets,
Artists or not,
Where honor’s dead—
The mind forgot,

The trace we leave
Is ink on water—
Better pour gasoline
On a burning slaughter—

A fire that razes
This world of lies—
Spawn of pure evil,
Fools’ idolize.

This isn’t lies,
Nor childish pain,
But cold logic’s knife
When you bleed the whole way

Into hell’s own heart,
Where paradise died long ago—
Here, rot and venom
In endless flow,

Where all is vanity,
Wailing,
Void:

Vanity of wasted fight,
Torment of hollow sense,
Then helplessness,
Dark horror, void.

Where is your art now,
When fascists knock hard?
Everyone’s numb,
Huddled in their yards.

They crawl out just to chant
Empty odes.
Not mad enough
To die for roads

Where grandfathers smashed
Foes in hell’s glare—
This hell of vanity,
Wailing,
Void:

Vanity of wasted fight,
Torment of hollow sense,
Then helplessness,
Dark horror, void.



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



Art — The Brutal Truth

Art’s just snot on dead men’s graves,
Heroic lies from hollow slaves.
Poems? No — empty, void and fake,
Vanity’s cruel, ruthless quake.

Fire burns the world’s corpse cold,
Truth’s a blade, sharp and bold.
Fools worship idols made of slime,
Dancing in hell’s black grime.

No mercy here, no saving light,
Only darkness swallows night.
Fascists laugh — the herd’s asleep,
While souls rot fast and deep.

Rise or drown in filth and rust,
Art dies in a world unjust.
Fight the void, break through the lies—
Or fade with all your silent cries.



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



Art Is Dead

Art’s just snot on dead men’s graves.
Empty noise, vain fools’ plays.

Fire burns the world’s false skin,
Fools bow down to death’s grin.

No savior comes, just lies,
Hell swallows all the wise.

Fight or rot — choose your part,
Art is dead — ignite your heart.



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



Art Is Dead

Art’s just snot on dead men’s graves,
A serpent’s hiss in hollow caves.

Empty noise, vain fools’ charade,
Ashes blow where heroes fade.

Fire burns the world’s false skin,
Fools bow down to death’s cold grin.

No savior comes, just poison lies,
Hell’s black claws tear the wise.

Fight or rot — choose your part,
Art is dead — ignite your heart.



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



No saviors here—just wolves in suits,
Feeding on ashes, tearing roots.
Their “wisdom” stinks like rotted graves,
While freedom sinks in endless waves.

So burn it down—the fake, the lies,
Let truth ignite in crimson skies.
No more chains, no dull disguise—
From ruins, real souls will arise.



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



Propaganda

It used to be bad —
Now it’s supposed to be good!
Propaganda for suckers
Feeds them chicken **** for food.

Once we had pure slavery,
Now it’s “democrazy”’s face.
But it’s all deception —
Fascism’s just replaced.

Slavery couldn’t get worse,
Stupidity’s disgrace —
Five instead of failure,
Spirit barely a trace.

Honor’s trampled everywhere,
Conscience long is dead.
We turned into beasts
Under pressure, full of dread.

All these troubles are fake —
A cold genocide.
Only masters of lies here—
Reason’s deep asleep inside.

Lies pour out unceasing —
Drowning everything whole.
And as a “rest” they offer
Pop distractions for the soul.

Nothing left unspoken —
Anchors voice the script.
The “predictors” rule here,
The rest lie, tight-lipped.

It’s a global madhouse now,
Words promise paradise.
But souls are killed in silence —
Quietly, pay the price.

Yet this endless falsehood
Always hides one key:
If you don’t sell your soul,
The years left are few to see.

The sun shines hotter now —
That’s Armageddon’s sign.
It’ll burn all these fleas away —
Their spirits will resign.



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



Propaganda

It was hell before —
Now they sell it as heaven!
Propaganda for suckers —
Chicken **** in every sentence.

Slavery’s old chains —
Now it’s “demo-fascist” lies.
Same ***** game, new name —
Fascism in disguise.

Slavery’s shame can’t get worse,
Stupidity’s a crime.
Replacing failure with five,
Killing spirit every time.

Honor’s buried deep,
Conscience ripped apart.
We’ve turned into animals,
Crushed souls, broken hearts.

All the pain is fake —
Just a genocide scheme.
Masters of deceit laugh loud,
While reason’s dead, it seems.

Lies flood like poison gas —
Smother everything whole.
As “relaxation” serves
Pop’s shallow black hole.

Nothing left unvoiced —
Anchors chant their lies.
“Predictors” run the show —
Truth’s been crucified.

A global madhouse rages —
Words promise false skies.
Souls murdered in silence —
Quiet death in disguise.

But the biggest lie hides one truth:
If you keep your soul intact,
Your time is running out —
The end’s a burning fact.

The sun scorches hard —
Armageddon’s cruel flame.
It’ll burn out the vermin —
Leave only spirit’s name.



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



Propaganda

Hell was truth —
Now lies sell as light.
Suckers fed chicken ****,
Blinded day and night.

Slavery reborn,
Dressed in fascist lies.
Honor buried deep —
Souls crucified.

Stupidity’s a crime,
Spirit’s shot dead.
Genocide by lies —
Reason’s hanging thread.

Lies choke, no breath,
Pop’s dumb escape.
Truth silenced, drowned,
Souls left to break.

World’s madhouse roars —
False heaven’s smoke.
Keep your soul?
Armageddon’s choke.

Sun scorches vermin —
Burns the weak and vile.
Spirit’s flame survives —
Hell ends in fire.



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



PROPAGANDA RAP // “HELL IN CAPSLOCK”

Yo —
Truth is dead, lies on the throne,
Feeding you filth like a dog with a bone.
Chicken-**** slogans, media drone —
Welcome to Hell, just scroll on your phone.

Freedom's a brand, wrapped in decay,
Fascist chic in a democratic spray.
Think you're awake? You're just in the play —
Lines are fed, you bark on delay.

Reason’s hung, truth got stabbed,
Spirit’s buried, brain’s been nabbed.
Pop drugs your head while souls get grabbed,
This ain't a system — it's a slaughter lab.

New god’s a screen, priest is a cop,
Pills in your gut, death in a pop.
This ain’t peace — it’s a soul-shop,
Prophets in suits, blood on top.

Heaven’s fake, but Hell is near,
Sun burns louder, crystal clear.
If you still got soul — shift outta gear,
'Cause fire is coming… and it won’t veer.
Bill murray Jan 2016
Tension builds on the western front
The Slopes moan in horrific altitude
Sorry to break the news.
Tension slaps the western
Face, the soil is moldy
The planets forming in ghastly trace.
Everyone knows it though noone sais it.
We're doomed, keeping a shotgun on the side keeping the suns
Memory in my mind, I've got a bunker, trust me, its better then bombs and gloom. I have come to the diddly widdly conclusion, I wont be trapped on the governments map, I won't be
In confusion. They'll bring us delusion, pin others against mothers, the west has seen this coming a long time comin. Lock and load boys, let the second amendment be kept to its name, light the matches, light the torches, darkfall will plague our land, were already plagued. Many things to be staged, farmhands are losing their lands, ranches are being stolen, golden tongues from hypocritical bums, will make some dumbed in conclusion. This old flesh will stay loosened, knock knock who's there? Gramps! Get out#theres noone here.
Jay Bryant Oct 2013
Black and Grey waters
Fathers the hope of its followers
As this Wave of inspiration
Crashes into the page, Sights of past shadows
Morph in to words, so cold and shallow
You reap what you sow, so I know my hope is shallow
So I sit and I pray with this page in front of me
Arranging these words hoping they expand the days in front of me
Live life on the dangerous side, Under the influence and down to ride
Mask on his face like a sad black clown, life’s rain seems to make him frown
Pour up drink to calm him down, Roll up smoke just to make him smile
To escape the torment
Thoughts run deep
From my head to my feet
Everything starts to sink
Thoughts run deep
Tho, I'd rather suffer
Than suffer defeat
My life is my choices
I can conquer my instinct
An animal I was born
A man I have become
I've grown in stature
Most importantly in wisdom
The truth leaves me numb
I must suffer to overcome
A wise man's affliction
Is knowing the world's dumb
Thoughts run deep
From my head to my feet

That silent moment when you can hear your heart hit your chest
Your mind is empty, your thoughts are to complex
You hesitate to speak, not assured your words are meek
So you lay there and think as chills roll up your feet
What if the blind could not see, the illiterate could not read
How does that effect you, would that effect me
Tho, at the end of the day we sleep peacefully
My hair stands ***** as the injustice creeps on me
We live in a vast nation filled with *******
So we ******* ourselves, by locking it in the basement
The beast lives on just caged and chained
Tho, we still have amnesia when it comes to his name
The ignorance of this world gives me great pain
Yes, vexation is abundant in my brain
Because I know that if these words were in a song it would not get played
That knowledge is power, but money makes the world go round
That the truth hurts so we'd rather take it dumbed down
That in each town there's a good side and a bad side
That the grass is always greener on the other side
Or is that just the lie we are deceived into believing
Stimulate your mind
See beyond the clouds
Vibrations of sounds
Sing the song of the
Sad Black Clown

— The End —