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Mara Kennet Apr 2014
She looks into the mirror
She sees the mistakes of the nature,
Outside her windows people die and suffer,
But her birthmarks are all in wrong places,
Freckles that spoil impression,
There is no death or illness in her world,
Only imperfection in the mirror,
She doesn’t want
to go to school tomorrow,
The reason is: everybody will see the same.
Egocentrism
Alexandra Goia May 2013
“Quiet,
Caring,
I think she sings?
She was in the musical,”

Everyone walks around so smug
Binding themselves to egocentrism
While I sit here
A burden
Wondering about the
F L A V O U R
Of confidence

No one really knows me
Writing me off
Reveling in my
Embarrassment

Just because I don’t
Go out, as much
Just because I don’t
Lift drinks to my lips
Just because I don’t
Open up to everyone

I can’t take it

I just want to write a letter
To everyone,
Saying:

Yes, I’m caring.
I’m like a mother to most.

Yes, I was in the musical.
Ensemble, thank you very much.

Yes, I sing.
I love to sing; I’m going to college for it.

However, I am NOT quiet;
My friends would argue that.

I’m not anti-social.
I just don’t like this corrupt world.

And finally,
I’m loud.
I am LOUD,
AND I LOVE IT!”
Youthful ignorance wishes
    that life meant something
    external

But nothing means anything
    to anyone until one gets
    involved

Meaning follows experience
    inexperience has no place
    demanding

Maturity destroys innocence
    self-indulgent egocentrism
    encourages

Failure to find deeper meaning
    is failure to build the bridges
    connecting

How convenient to blame life
    for meeting the low expectations
    we've sown
David Barr Dec 2015
My living disposition leads me to assert that I am not dead!
Yet, my silence screams ancient transcriptions across geographical contour lines which are considered to be far removed from the metaphorical grid of contemporary societal norms, where the seductions of the vampyre and her haunting dynamics cast their eerie spells within this captivating fishbowl of galloping horses.
The Prince of Wallachia is able to explain.
Let us converse with The Count.
Whenever there is emphasis upon specific detail in this age of certain vanity, I find that, in 1456, I am truly bereft of valedictorian and flamenco odours, because this royal prince of acoustic arrangement has generated a harmonious expression which humbly corrects my intrapersonal assumptions across the mountainous regions of Transylvania.
Conflict resolution is therefore a mere figment of sociological and anthropological constructs, which fornicate with the façade of egocentrism and fabricates vain attempts to maintain social elitism within a blanket of darkness.
How do we find ourselves in the position of being so diametrically opposed to reality?
RyanMJenkins Mar 2013
The dialogue,
The volume,
The content..
It gets better right?

The petty,
The put-downs,
Vocal *****...
Too often why I'm up at night.

Egocentrism,
Carelessness,
And Irresponsibility.
Yet I'm the sewer rat not living up to my ability.

The toxic street withers me,
Too much debt to free,
I can predict the machines' actions almost constantly.

The happenings follow me,
What I see hollows me,
Will I ever emerge from this filth triumphantly?

It's the insanity I wake up to,
The vanity and the same stew.
Sometimes I wonder if this is what I have to go through.

It's grown ever-plain to see,
This isn't the way, that life should be,
But it's tossed onto the pile I've simply named "the pain in me."

No luminosity around to save selves,
Violent sound waves bounce off of every shelf.
Through these waters I have delved,
But no life-preserver,
No help.

I am unable to manipulate,
I'm just part of the tracks.
Desensitization's turned me from an alley cat,
To sewer rat,
Just by being exposed.
So I crawl through these tunnels with nothing but hope,
That there's a way I can go back..
Reverse the de-evolution I suppose,
And return to a world I thought I knew with humanity.
'Til then I scrape on living a life, transparently.
Leo Jun 2017
Self obession will be the death of Me.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
or that worth of gimp, the hotted sauced out
cradle of predatory amusement              banked on,
                        i have the notes,
mind you, you're clearly laden
with khaki material,
to mind the blackshirts of the SS,
a Vandal epiphany -
                 less khaki juice
and more blackcurrants -
                  or so the motto stands,
asserting brief and all that thought
of tomorrow.
                   all i'll add with this
vague blunt alcohol ridden self?
the vampirism of the abandoned trill
of the R...
                   that's the Vlad-blatant
abandonment of the trilling of the R -
and the competent disregard for
linguistic laws...
                 until tomorrow,
until i find my sobering-up manicure
and in rewrite the notes i've made
when inspired...
                      and i have made them...
it's all about me being nicknamed
a Viking for my tolerance to drink
you under the table, and dabble with nods,
or the blatant hiding of the tetragrammaton
with ghee (said gee) and otherwise,
                  (Indian butter) -
or dhal - or quiet simply daal / dāl:
against the aesthetics, ouch.
     again in French: je t'aime: ř - adding zero
hour to the said: sharpening the shrapnel -
                       jaded temp. / jay temp. /
                  j-j ****** or the rue flu.
oh it's there, in the notes,
as i benign the thought: unfit today,
payday tomorrow.
wait... i might have a sober moment tonight...
         encapsulate that with a question
about Iran, and a quasi-stop in conversation...
        or counting the strokes in a handwritten
variation:
              Yen ( ¥‎) = 4
                      pound (£) = 2
    matchsticks...
                             elsewhere also matchsticks:
º (red)
                = R E D (3, 4, 2) matchsticks,
                 º (
writing is termed another variant of arithmetic,
the total is 7, for one ideogram) -
             the sigma for red
   is 9, but divided by three means
        the European model falls 4 short
of optical indigestion.
     ř (caron) - caron of the missing z -
         not the variant of caron s and c with z:
czekam (i'm waiting), or szukam (i'm looking),
English has this pronoun priority
                   to be included in every phrase,
or what provides the British Empire fabric:
            how a-  (indefinite)
     and the-    (definite) articulation secures
pronouns with excess modifications
  as already apparent conjunction modifications
worthy of exegesis into the exotic / excess.
there are 7 pages worth of notes,
   but i have three quarters worth of whiskey to
drink... give me an Andy Warhol moment
suggesting: in the future, people
will have only 15 minutes worth of rechargeable
         infrastructure; hence the pending /
ongoing / will return to in a minute.
reintroducing the trilled R vogue:
    is a bit like incubating a vampiric
in English,
                    rzekomo (apparently so)
       řekomo -
                         variant of: as already stratified.
               still, the trilling of the R
is so out of fashion in English it's necessarily
a vampirism qualm -
                   never nearer the French hark
when the R summarises a rolling effect -
      by imperial standards charred.
howe then to resemble a trill?
           r̭ ?
                   or wave akin to wavering
                       (ñ) that's necessary above an r?
i need the trill represented!
    for thrill a better word -
                  or 0 and the minded gambit.
as said caron the missing H...
       twins in
                 Y or three-dimensional space,
and W
              of trigonometric absorption...
waves hunny, waves...
                          and three dimensional space
and rabbis... honey cluedo pooh bear...
i still need to find the trilled r!
**** me, the trilled r! virgulilla:
or thus said, a patent otherwise.
        yet again a ******* Yeti,
    counting matchsticks in Japan
   rather than in Iowa...
             cos it really ******* mattered
given the knots -
       and other reminders...
         yen, or Jenny,
      v. p o u n d
            (2 1 2 2 2);
          ś (acute) half-missing caron
      inc. grave v. š (caron)
             or the Sean Connery effect -
e.g. środa (wednesday) or škodaª
             (insert a H or a Z)
           for pronunciation
                        of the Czech car manufacturer,
already the Tetragrammaton descends:
   ªwhat a shame, it's such a shame.
       Mishter Bondè:
                                tequila sunrise?
ney - ney shaken nor shackled to a shtir (
šush it, and wise up, mš. moneypenny).
    just say Sharon and write Šaron:
dimples!
                         or how to paint a Kabbalistic
anatomy of the mouth to slow variation
between ś (acute) / no consonants will ever
acquire a gràve - necessary: the e isn't said
accenting / syllable scalpelling cutting up...
but still the coran s (š - to mention
ch in cheap, and šiš kebabs too).
variation of cutting up the caron into
acute and grave?
      ś: the tongue is primarily squeezed by the psyche /
breath and the mouth rekindles eating a lemon
tightening it's juiced up and juices the tongue
to sting with missing saliva -
š? primarily a serpent's hush -
  the mouth hollows out -
         the breath enters a so does a pufferfish:
antics of hollowed out mouth follow suite,
the diamond or double L

       bone                                    soul
               L muscle                            L teeth
  tendon                               tongue

synonyms and Γ apart -
                                 of the LL, or ΓL
                    or LΓ or ΓΓ.
                      the diamond diadem -
assertion of bone: whether caprais or
   cousin in the mandible family...
    is a tongue a muscle?
            still the Kabbalistic anatomy dynamic...
  the kinned appearance of H or the
variant of bone...
     or?
              a-
                     (+)
                              -theism,
it doesn't mean that God doesn't exist,
it just means that God has no logical attachment
to man's sprechen,
            the omni- can be rightfully disregarded
in that rubric consolidated within
categorisation of: lazy...
      a- (i.e. without)  
                            theology,
              ­       or our abhorrent freedoms of will,
nurtured by a universal lack:
       atheism contemplates talk of god
without a contradictory circumstance of the
human endeavour to find itself a *******
     lacklustre of comparative Raphaelite
                 illustration...
                           always the favourite,
aren't they, the crucified ones, rather than
those enthroned? aren't they? so why are the
Japanese asking about their ****** culture?
over-sexualised west?
let's ask Yokote,
   let's ask Takeshi,
let's ask Masahiro,
             sure... you can ask me:
  i prefered prostitutes because i actually
knew i was using my phallus rather than representing
a ******* identity of some egocentrism
regarding the skyscraper -
                     and the last girlfriend i had?
i wouldn't wish her to be a companion of
any kind of a Mongolian invader as part
of a horde... i had an argument with her
and was so unhappy i actually wished i was dead...
          jerking off never seemed so holy
as when encountering this woman who
stood by the motto: life is ****...
           but i guess money does that to you.
**** me! i never expected to be so Japanese in
my outlook;
tragic, i know, but what can you do,
    you unlock the floodgates of feminism
and you think that lions will start to provide for
the household? then you aren't lionesses; obviously;
or reluctantly so:
           i find the 21st century is withstanding
  any kind of revision, given the 20th century's
revisions aren't working
        for any worthy necessitation of reciprocated
stipend.
Elizabeth Feb 2014
Don told me
Casanova
That I was one in a million
And I scoffed, saying
                                                What's the deal with him
I liked it
The attention and
Egocentrism
Compliments that
Made me shiver
Warm when I refused 'em
Begging for more
More looks of ***** poetry
But he did not read those lines
Like me
Trembling knees
With the appearance of being weak
Those pick-up lines humorous
Slithery
Romanticism of the century
Casanova with his cheese,
Different platters, but you can't find
Me.
She wants intellectualism, and interest, and the type of romanticism that is now a lost art.
David Barr Nov 2013
Legions of wrinkled spirits nestle in the desolate branches of the ancient oak tree in winter solstice, whilst advancement is celebrated with ritualistic conformity.
How many crimes need to be committed, my delinquent colleague of egocentrism?
Our ****** expressions often betray our convincing articulations, as the lack of authenticity lurks between us like a perpetrator who has escaped from his maximum security cell.
Such phenomenon may vanish. However, there are others which maintain physical matter.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
the more i stick to a routine
that might leave a few people in a mental
asylum,
    who would not welcome
frustration, doing the same thing,
over and over again,
   i.e. going to a supermarket and buying
whiskey and coke, becoming "too" friendly
with one of the shop assistants,
    knowing her name,
that's she's diabetic:
i'm only in here for the whiskey luv...
it's not that i mind,
  it's about as close i'll ever become
bewildered at life, in general...
      **** Jupiter and a moon-landing,
this bothers me more,
   i don't get the puppy-eyed look
of people embarking on a philosophical
odyssey -
i don't know why i should be prescribed
the Aristotelian: beginning with awe
  type of management of the subject,
or what Nietzsche predicted,
   and is currently known:
the narrative in the west,
alias: talking for the entire human species...
   that ****** uber-schnurrbart
really did see something...
   now i'm experiencing it,
  it's called 2 billions worth of China and India...
i'm actually, sometimes found,
listening to pointless youtube videos...
  i get it: it can get a little bit *****,
my bachelor status isn't exactly orientated
around diapers, although,
as Borat might have said:
that would be nice...
         you know they filmed that movie
in Romania, and not Kazakhstan?
              it's almost a bid sad to be around
poverty, and tribalism,
     can't make a joke out it,
couldn't make a mid-western gothic out
of it either... what with t.v. in your own company....
and yes, oddly enough...
   i have a bed, and i turn on the radio,
i never fall asleep watching the t.v.,
must be a western thing... you dig?
    1950s slang, more comprehensible than
anything i could ever hear from the slang
quarter of language these days...
   the latin quarter? busy...
literally... greece and italy backrupt...
    so, hey man, what's it like not able
to *** around the country doing factotum jobs?
    what's with that over-arching
castration concept of living with your parents?
ah, you know man,
   ****'s on the stove, and i hit a ****** note
with my saxophone...
sound very much like a wet ****...
you know, the **** you **** that almost feels
like ingesting carbonated water through your ****,
what's the word: trembling, frizzy?
    you know: do the motorboat with your lips...
i woke up today and didn't feel like living,
but the noose wasn't exactly an option...
my grandparent's neighbour?
hanged himself on a door-****,
i was visiting them when it happened...
****'s sake! on a door-****?
                      that's really desperate...
    i mean: i wish i was that guy...
but at least in the case of capital punishment:
when it was still active...
   you got the scaffold... and you dropped...
and your neck broke, and it was death in an instant...
   he had a gimp for an executioner...
   so yeah, life's cool,
i drank that wine i made in less than a week,
35 litres of it...
         i woke up today, thought:
give me the downhill... right now!
i thought i'd delay *******...
          built a quasi lego piece of the Eiffel tower,
then decided... i need to brush my teeth...
had a shower...
              then i cooked dinner...
  well... dinner two days in advance...
one sauce was a spaghetti bolognaise...
another a sauce for cottage (i.e. using beef,
not lamb) pie...
made some funky cool poh-ta-toes...
               for yesterday's roast beef,
left uncarved the previous day by being
left to get the thrill man gets
   ******* and jumping out of an ice bath...
so the juices condense, and you can almost
make out the pink flesh on the second day...
and some ménage à trois.... oh sorry...
too much Dell Boy Trotter in me at the moment:
gosh... the memories of watching that twichy
character on screen... mangetout...
and in between i took off the washing from
the washing lines in the garden...
             faked smoking sitting in the february
cold for a while...
   that's 2 meals in advance that is...
      and this really belongs to a creed that states:
if you can read... it's better to read about
something that doesn't have cars blowing up,
or avalanches... or dams bursting in northen
california... well: it's not exactly
   tolstoy's war and peace... but it's something
that allows for sensationalism of the news
and the odd chance of seeing a good movie...
    or i guess: the antidote to a good poem,
is the worst imaginable poem, actually...
saying that: people call poems bad when
they are rigid in using technique...
poetic technique... i prefer a stance on
spare of the moment / spontaneity than something
that might require a hammer of metaphor
and a nail of a pun...
           some call it innovation,
others can't say much because they're myopic...
and lo! yonder the savannah and the buckling
gazelle! right on the chin...
hoofs, no shoelaces, back legs made front legs
into spaghetti... and there... a plum on the chin...
boom... down onto the green...
          another consideration would be
a man in clown make-up crying,
    and a fat-cat billionaire laughing...
    or was that ever, not the case?
  it has to be idiosyncratic, this english "thing"
of calling laughter crying and crying laughter...
     it actually is a very english "thing",
when you get too much psychology,
about how keeping the word ego can complicate
merely saying i...
  and there's no other latin word in sight,
and you then get egoism, and egocentrism...
    i mean: what's up with that basis for a theory,
    evidently it's a case of the word becoming
too uncomfortable, since no one actually says
  ego cogito ergo ego sum... it suddenly drops off
and people who say the above end up only saying
cogito ergo sum... and is that why people
you can actually ascribe so much theory to the ****** word
that might rob people from having a narrative?
    rob the people of a narrative and you return them
into a state of being pulverised by 5 vectors,
the pentagon of the senses,
    and evidently they're unable to narrate their
day-to-day, because they're herded like wild
hysterical animals... even though they are
given the membrane of civilisation...
      it really is a case of somehow not embarking
into keeping the latin and the north barbarian
words... how can you keep up
with ego, i, self? how long will this italian
**** of bulimia and gluttony last?
     you want to keep spewing that *******
for another 100 years?
evidently there is no theory concerning i,
there's merely an ipod...
              sure sure, you could only derive a
theory if you said the unit wasn't i
(because that would be too personal to construct
a narrative) - but had to be
   the reflective ego, and the reflexive self...
i.e. that string of pronoun compounds known
as myself, itself, himself...
   and when given the scalpel... my self
   (which becomes a reflective stance on meditating
the words, rather than a reflexive pronoun
in its original... no huh? but thump!
on yer bike! go!).
   i call them for what they are...
        yes, and my parents are great,
cooked them dinner...
   just about now, when in the 1970s and 1980s...
when the first cold war was happening,
the americans / the west merely wanted
to feed stories into the soviet union,
if every spying was a c.v. joke, it happened
when ian flemming wrote his series...
   what ever happened to a campfire and telling
stories, or when we told horror stories to each other?
  spying: can you just imagine
what the job description would look like?
pst... it's a secret.
       but you know, the americans had this thing
of telling stories to the "enemy",
     false news...
                it's so obvious now, since everyone
seems to be onto it...
     well... it's happening in england, right now,
but it's not exactly an attack scenario...
it's self-mutilation, yes, a masochism...
  you reach a real dead-end when you tell lies
to yourself... and that's what england is sitting
on: an implosion of well... the n.h.s. in crisis...
the housing crisis...
                 you name it...
  i guess there were many people out there,
willing to sacrifice their sanity, by appropriating
the excesses of c.c.t.v. voyeurism,
mingled with the excesses of ***** that paved
the way to this massive delusion of the next
jain boond to swing on a rope into a gorilla
enclosure and beat the **** out of a 300kg gorilla,
Klitschko style! bang! bang boom!
    silverback gorilla on a torture rack!
job done.
       no, i get it... a girl got to kick-box and a girl
got to play footie... cos girl can...
     wait till she don't get a: fragile heart...
like mine, writing odes about
walking past a church when the church bells ring
eleven times, and there's the moon...
  it will become very very pointless writing
about hearts of porcelain in the future,
      but just as nietzsche pointed out:
imagine talking for the entire human race...
yes, i can, or should i say could? because i don't
have to...
   the western narrative is so up it's own
*** talking about species, while the Moldovians
are talking about Ukranians,
the Poles are talking about Germans,
   the Italians... they talk all the time,
so who cares?
                but it's this globalisation vocabulary
that's halting, and making me think:
the Genghis Khan tribe isn't exacrtly in
the news? they must have neighbours!
they must actually know the people living near them...
well...
   on my street... 6 houses in a row of
identical architecture, i.e. built in the 1940s...
   first house, sikhs...
    parents went to the daughter's wedding,
woman brought over some curry,
   i ended up making even better curry...
my cat is left in their care while i'm away
visiting my grandparents,
   i get this panic attack premonition
  that i need to be back home when i'm away...
   i come back home, the cat is dead...
   we rarely speak these days...
  he was on aspirins, and yes, cats take a ******
long time to die from kidney failure...
ever watch a cat ****? cats take a shorter amount
of time to take a **** than ****...
   watching a cat **** into the toilet it like
watching a person drinking a melchizedek sized
wine bottle...
   a cat could be a man
   as a man taking a **** as in the cat taking a ****
and reading a newspaper...
     seems we're parallel creatures,
  i exfoliate and massage my **** muscles
by taking extra time with them stretched open
once the bombs away passes...
    and i'm just sitting there:
  to vank?! or not to vank? or what i call:
the 3 in 1.
        well, you can't exactly think about
lighting scented candles and doing it in bed,
can you?
      you'd have to be a woman to do that,
and invest in a good ***** replica
of a man that would only tell her:
honey... tree bears.
    do i sometimes think about putting it into
a moist couch-like environment?
   yeah... but i guess ******* is a bit like
doing ****... **** the bone and those muscles man!
   ****? yeah... never did it...
biblical regulations...
              about the same time when
heterosexuals take over from the once famed
taboo provocateurs in the homosexual department...
haven't seen a worthwhile Oscar Wilde come from
that scene for years... maybe i wasn't looking,
ah yes, they're too busy being "normal" and starting
families... funs over... and so is the art.
no wait, all i wanted to say is that
what nietzsche said in the 19th century,
  the anglophone world is trapped in it's own
end product of globalisation, and this whole:
speaking for the entirety of humanity doesn't have
and local thrill to it, no local accent,
      it's scary, to be the only language willing
to speak for the entire human race,
  and, when travelling to other places in the world
realising that you were pretty much:
not thinking, and merely talking to your self...
    i have that taste for foreign cultures...
   you can hardly hear an existential argument
in the same vein as you might hear in england...
     basically... i just think that english is
over-streched...
     in the case of russian, it's stretched:
but contained with interlocking tribes of people...
if i want to hear english sprechen in the pacific
it's a 12 hour flight to australia...
               i can't imagine talking for
the entire human race... and given this
seemingly ancient german, i'm imagining it
as the counter-argument of the current narrative,
because i can't even state that i'm in awe of it,
but more or less apprehensive about it...
given the numbers... the total anglophone world
doesn't even number that of China...
and you know, infiltrating that place with
the complexity of the encoded sounds that are
later echoed back as Xin Ping...
    who lived in Beijing...
            you really have to address either silent,
or talking about something so complicated,
that it would equal the Chinese encoding system...
  otherwise it's falling through the holes...
oh look... q r o p a d b g...
  the best we can do is make silence complicated,
since what i'm hearing: isn't exactly complicated...
on youtube most noteworthy...
   oh right, almost forgot...
the other neighbours on my 6 house line
are a Jewish family... well... sorta...
   just a literal mad-house... we get on fine...
and after that: 3 houses, natives, so yeah, english...
all of them broken families...
   the neighbours next to mine are:
woman in her late 40s... man in his early 50s...
about to have a child...
       after that it's single mother and son,
and after that divorcee and... like... dunno...
     they thought the indians were savages
moving across the pond...
              i'm sitting here having a right old laugh...
and it's a malicious laugh for the laugh in itself...
        last time i remembered
  taking a mouse from the mouth of my cat
after he caught it, and then releasing the mouse
  into my neighbour's garden...
   or a fly... crawling over my forehead
     while i took a selfie to exfoliate my face
like that of an acne riddled moon.
Little Wren Oct 2016
I think it's stupid
How I refuse to use straws
Because of a video I watched one time
Of one stuck in a sea turtle's nostril.

Or how there is really only the illusion of choice
And statistics from unreliable resources
Making us feel better or worse
About our decisions.

I tell myself to quit sugar
But honestly I just like my lattes
Sickeningly
Sweet
Like the love stories I thought could be under nooks
Around the corners
Of everyday life.

I like ice cream on winter days
Hot tea in the suns of summer
A walking talking irony

A bulb on its way to burning out
Sputtering in the half-eaten room
No one wants to go in to change it.

It's not my fault
The walls dissolve
And that same chord is continually played on the piano
In the corner of the upstairs closet.

It's not my fault
Cameras don’t bring me security
But sensitivity to my own identity.
Dissolution into absolution
Abolishment of egocentrism

And always,
The illusion of choice
Hanging in the rafters chattering.
Disjointed musings in a coffee shop.
Lucanna Dec 2014
I sit on my sectional, a witness
to those vulnerable beings
pulling at scarves,
yanking at gloves
clutching at down jackets
I find great entertainment by this.

They have waited until November
When I have resided in frost
since last October
All       year       long
I held onto turtlenecks of impulsive irony
I bore
thirteen layers exactly
of self pride
I wore gloves religiously
that were knitted out of masochism
and egocentrism
And I drank from cups of hot cocoa
brimmed with whipped irony
during the month of June
I was far to eager

Now these glorious beings
surround me
clinging to warmth and long john material,
sitting closest to the hearth

All I can do is laugh

I searched for a shell
in June
I decorated a tree of longing
in May
I reached for a fringing
frolicking
frock
in July
that would
:gasp:
keep me warm

Fahrenheit resided in
pelvic bone
fingerprints
desperado
and seduction

None of it warmed my bones.
David Barr Jun 2014
If you were able to slice the moon, would you truly be able to consume it?
Those who wish to connect to the spirit-world must not be deluded by the presumed maintenance of an abhorrent character.
The essence of non-ordinary reality, where the personification of the unseen surrounds our material emptiness, requires a level of humility beyond the depths of Palus Putredinis.
Therefore, let us not scoff at exclusion, oh small fish, in an ocean which has eternal shores of teachings beyond the parameters of superior ignorance.
Egocentrism will not satiate the hunger of a lunatic who proclaims independence, yet who truly abides in slavery.
How can we demonstrate a happy medium without being consumed?
Trance is an open state where bias can be banished by gravitational collapse, if you believe it.
In my current solitary state, I can feel a host of sacred dynamics tugging my soul as the golden chord anchors my being to that which is considered to be “real.”
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
should i be more mistaken  and more impressed by
a readership, or by the general
population of the world? can everything, literally,
that i touch turn graphite into diamond?
      we, who have magpie
value, are really under-dressed
for the peacock parade...
but wouldn't you
love to kiss that pretty sheen
where the sun don't skine...
i can't be east end, i''m
essex bound... farmer out of his
comfort zone...
next tier come the cow ****...
and if that ain't a bear-knuckle
fight, i don't know what is
drinking home-made wine, with
all that fog and murk, and
everything i wish i could never bring
myself grievances over...
   like a tightening of the ansus,
of losing virginity via the age of 16...
i don't know, you start to
fake the more you age, but since
i'm not reallt ageing, i'm bound to be
one of those: sinister dogs
thrown into the kennel of the streets,
all because i said:
hush your pretty mouth,
we're boundless in knowing who might
kiss it again...
  i mean: dumb as ****, but then again
i kept neithe friend, nor onspirator
akin to Guy Fawkes...
   then you had two children you wanted
to boast about, and i had 20 bottles of wine
i wanted to boast about...
the two never seemed to congregate....
and i was left barren, and said:
and deserts need to exist,
and you said something about
rainforests, and how you needed more squashed
wood for paper for the office -
     toilet cubicles, because the koala
paper was running out...
and ******* a **** out
with grit and sand-paper was no way
to go about wiping your ***....
even if the eastern europeans...
just about the time you deemed my ethinicity
vermin... just about then i turned
all königratte on you...
and said a quiet allegiance against the "free" world...
so said about "free" people, i say: about as free as
your need to maintain a routine...
  and counter wind-farms with
hamster-treadmills...
                            oh man, if you
didn't mention my ethnicity as being bound of
rats... if you only forgot about my baptismal excuse
relevant to the schwarz pest -
    that's so uncool man...
  that's like a Jewish joke when only
Jewish mothers laugh... it's like a joke about
being circumcised... and then having to really
give it your all for a ****... because with your
******* missing... she had all the gags with
her *******, who she nick-named Dorace...
and that like... ****... a keeping a plant
that belongs in the Amazonian rainforest
inside a potting urn... for no better word for it.
but hell, me being an ethnicity bound to rats?
what does that make you clean shaven,
axe-weilding, metro-****** super-gnat?
no, i can see big ben tic toc tic toc...
     i just can't see you making up the cavnas...
talk about reclaiming your capital...
        that sure seems like all the war movies
are obsolete these days, meaing
it's all about a coach trip from Debry to London Victoria...
meaning in the real world...
meaning getting any education at all
was a bit pointless...
   arm wrestling in the cantine would have made
more sense than being taught darwinism...
   darwinism can, somehow, undermine
your natural bully strength...
    and there i was duped into thinking:
survival of the fittest... call it what you like
in theory, in reality it's called:
mind the ******* pedestrian!
   the granny, the pregnant woman...
oh sure, get rid of god, i'll also yawn...
but why give so much prayer / thought toward
a system that can't incorporate you as ruler,
when every parasite is bound to scheme a return
to the privilege of a tapeworm?
don't get it... tell me how that sort of politics works
while i see hurricane katrina in replay...
            mingle the omni rhetoric with
a mathematical rubric, and then couple that to
egocentrism... you basically get the western civilisation...
so much for protest... and so much for everything else...
i lost count trying to keep up with the perfected
chinese... the truest nature adherents...
                the easiest way to control god
is to argue he doesn't exist... well, **** yeah! get a tattoo!
a bit different when you have to argue
against parasites... to later equate them with
the emergence of new technology and the excess of
libido and the unemployed...
                i have absolutely nothing profound
to say... but why obliterate the reason to
find an escapism in a god, when all we're given
to replace theology is: sky, believe in better...
or disney, i.e. dream in technicolour...
                the main point though?
it's war when you equate my ethnicity with vermin...
not enough **** in your system to know better?
wait wait... this is post-colonialism, right?
    mater rus turb...
turbanus sikh vanus... either way ya plonker...
we can add that you eat the same breakfast
7 times a week, and on the 6th day i ate the *****
of having ate breakfast on day 5... and hence
the seagull was born.
    what a caged ******, it almost seems like
the englishman was born to remain abroad,
or better still, along with the tabloid
avenue of recounting his stay in Ibiza...
where he was all hail mary for no one to see!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2017
i always found the real crux of horror to be the sound, rather than the image: you are sure to watch every horror movie there is on mute and barely flinch... as if to say: about that man in the sky? he's in a vacuum, and what he sees is hardly that horrific, in need of intervention.

and may i add... sound doesn't underline
the image, nor does it compliment it,
it's there out of its own right -
    which begs the question of nosferatu...
           if i remember, a silent movie...
and the epitome of further b-movie horror types:
if it ain't got the perfect chiller-score...
it ain't happening.

i only say this, because i have just been
watching a bbc2 documentary on
francis bacon...
      but it's not really about the documentary
that i'm suddenly prompted:

and so the saturday papers
land in my lap...
      and it's hard not to notice the saturday
times* magazine...
      and how there's this focus on selling images,
or how to get from 212 to 5K followers
on instagram...
           they really have created
a grotesque version of carpe diem, haven't they?
i always imagined carpe diem to
be something like a memory of a single
chance at catching that blimmin' unicorn...
   but to carpe diem, carpe diem, carpe *******
diem that maxim 100 times in a day?
  oh look... a doughnut... oh look:
a stampede of commuters trapped in a hamster
maze of the Tottenham Court Rd. station...
    i've never seen such an abuse of a maxim
as i see now... it's either carpe diem: truly,
extending well beyond a month or a year and
gives birth to an atypical nostalgia...
or it's diem epilepsia -
    then again it might be called:
                                         blitzkrieg tag...
         oh there's nothing stupid about it,
let's not be condescending...
                             we need more models than
plumbers, we'll get the construction workers
from eastern europe,
             josh sho we can pose and talk
        posh tosh... with those purshed lipsh...
and i do get squinty-eye eating a pickled raw
herring... smacker a dozen extras and we're
en route, to the moovies...
       this bound to make more sense to me,
to the point where i like saying these things
once of wolkewein is in me -
since i'm currently not even sniggering:
well, there was the fact that i saw the results
from France's presidential first round (april 23)...
as if the current times didn't need
a biblical reference... about how the EU /
revival of the roman empire...
      would be / like that statue in nebuchadnezzar
be standing with a golden head...
    silver torso... (pst... if you're a journalist
working for a respectable newspaper, turn away,
now... us religious fanatics can keep a dream
by some king for a long time, and drape reality
with it, give or take 3000 years)...
    because there... standing on clay tip-toe...
the moment you shout
    into a forest rather than a cave and hear
an echo...
                    it's biblical realism, i really can't
imagine it otherwise... but hey!
                the Europeans tried to be united...
then again, they realised they were the indigineous
people... and they all spoke their own tongue...
   or maybe they were bored by speaking English
all the time? maybe they said: ****'s with these
terrible accents? so they went back home and
spoke in pristine, middle-class accents...
                      and thus said: ah, that's better.
a bit like: try talking Glaswegian in Chelsea...
   they'd ask you if you're chewing on a toothpick
sooner than tell you where the nearest
tube station is; but you know, i'm just a little man
in a big big world... and if i wasn't writing a
commentary about the times i live in...
                           wouldn't i? i surely would...
it's even more fantastic than seeing Troy pillaged...
or Rome and in the background Nero's lyre...
  something more precious is crumbling...
         it's these dreams, ambitions and hopes
and guarantees that are burning...
     and they are more fantastic to watch than
any temple or citadel...
   then again: i could be thinking these things prematurely,
which would mean they're a load of *******...
i don't, i always liked the idea of a quiet life
in a small town in Finland... where i couldn't
get a newspaper, and get so agitated about my
impotence in terms of changing the world as the people
littering the pages are capable of...
                 then again: that's probably a good thing -
minimum effort, maximum result,
or as we love to say:
   from geocentrism, to heliocentrism... through
to egocentrism... which can only mean one thing:
              egononcentrism - otherwise known as the people.
Paulo Mielmiczuk Dec 2015
I sing of unimportant affairs, boredom and melancholy.
I sing of detested feelings, suicide and misanthropy.
Though I'm not dead - and may never be
- otherwise people would reprobate and shout at me...
I still sing of egocentrism, disorders and whiskey...

I sing of unbeloved ones, the bereft and ******.
I sing of people that made me mourn, the last cup, the abandoned.
Though I'm not dead - and may never be
- otherwise people would say I'm selfish (because I'm free)...
I still sing of negativism, hate and tempestuous poetry.

I sing of commodism. I sing of understanding
we still dread to be dead, because sadness is not part of life - yet.
I sing of time and loss. I sing of vibration and liquefaction.

Still, I'm not part of Byron's generation, for my satisfaction.
I'm just a man who wants to change the misconception of sentiment.
I sing of darkness and suffering - sometimes too eloquent (in me).
Psyche soaking wet with devout atheism,
this lifetime skeptic now tenuously
linkedin with Unitarianism
attests, said upbringing proffered,
mine credo, gestalt,

leitmotif, sans abstractionism
eludes elucidation, delineation, clarification...
some readers might
dismiss as absurdism
defying established dogma fixed absolutism

millenniums, would be hashtagged heretical,
and such cavalier blithe
apostasy, declared alarmism,
now - twenty first century
extant accursed as alcoholism

within various non
Western statecraft enclaves,
barely tolerating agnosticism
no fool to *******
proclamations antithetical opinionism

where condemnation to death
(I obediently, humbly, and gladly accept)
inadequate punishment,
cited on par relegated to alienism,
amoralism, antiestablishmentarianism...

never does this anachronism
loosely cabled with pioneerism,
(when ****** forests bedecked America),
a veritable wilderness, necessitated
quintessential self survivalism

knowhow long since forgot,
which dependence on consumerism
finds yours truly afflicted against capitalism
commercialism, conformism, cultism et cetera
more aligned with reliance on individualism

nearly an extinct species,
where anti materialism
betrays, cavils, and discourages ecocentrism,
versus profit motive maximization,
though of late environmental dynamism

aggressive representative thank you
Greta Ernman Thunberg regarding criticism,
nee opprobrious global ecological terrorism
mandating staunch defeatism
as stave bulwark

against criminal determinism
to wreak irrevocable traitorous dogmatism
predicated on tenets of egocentrism
brewed, steeped, and
galvanized in exceptionalism

of **** sapiens and expansionism
exclusive to said primate
that requires serious assessment,
asper bracketing craven
doctrinairism edified fundamentalism
granting humans unfettered expansionism!
Dustin Dean Apr 2018
Vile streams saturate into the air
Filling the void with an impeccable strain
It’s them against them, all for all
Violating the law in the jaw of the world
So tell me what you think is the answer
And I’ll hammer my fist down and say
Total annihilation is the only salvation
For humanity

Strenuous symbolism goes unnoticed
Meanwhile, there goes another head unturned
Living under the reigns of a bastille
You too will serve its subservience
Through a will for the ******
Egocentrism dissolution
The reigns of our destiny
Speak through me
Arrested development
For the world’s government
Multiverses all around
Mourn during the last sound
Total annihilation is the only salvation
For humanity
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.softly speaking won't cut it luv...

lucky me,
for endearing myself some
comforting feelings
from a tragedy...

   but... but at least he left
a manifesto,
when was the last time
you heard,
of a jihadi leaving a manifesto?
the ****** hasn't
even dried,
   and 'ere we have Utrecht...

   now i'm expecting
a ******* giraffe in
zebra stripes...
   cuz... well...
because i just feel like it...
a window of missed
"opportunity"...
dead within a span of 2 / 3 days...
for a moment,
a period of relief,
and then: back to the usual
*******...
  oh i'll still go and see
my turkish barber...
   it will continue to be thrilling...
closing my eyes,
and relaxing,
while he does his work
with a straight-razor at the neck,
scissors on the head,
and what else?

   i'm tuning in,
l.s.d. ingestion would be a bad
move at this point...
glued-zombie-to-the-t.v.-screen,
that's me...
       sure as ****,
whatever was supposed to last,
didn't last,

       i thought: somehow we would
relieve ourselves in a period,
worth the breather...
  but no, no no no...
so... where is my sympathy supposed
to come from?
there's sympathy involved?
**** me...
             i thought that was just
a circus act...
    
        but it felt "great",
in that, i forgot to worry about
an aspect of life
that deserved no clarification,
or answer...
and then: the usual happened...
so...
back into the usual state
of affairs...
                
    **** me,
at least he wrote something,
worth the courtroom's
fiddling with evidence...
at least there is some sort
of invitation into the mind,
it's hard...
   when all the jihadis leave
is a manifesto...
   the quran... that's circa,
1400 years old...

i sometime, truly wish,
i could fathom the over-salted
herring
   of being disaffected with
life, bitter, cold...
   point being: i will only
ever succumb to telling a bad
"joke"...
              
   but i've never heard
a jihadi be called losers,
    or... inbreds...
by the masochistic white commentary
agora...
     evidently...
what he did...
would probably take
about 4 jihadis...
given the current Utrecht
incident...

    oh, really? really?!
only 3 and half a dozen injured?
retards *** toys'r'us,
n'est ce-pas
                  
    welcome, welcome
to the collateral canvas of events...
i'm drinking,
someone is seriously sober...
sacred cows still on parade...
ninja niqab: ha y'ah!
chopping McCurious...

about the years from 1998 -
through to 2007...
and then...
        cul de sac...
                how almost organic
the symbiosis became
that i associated to
my psychotic decline,
and what the world could allow
to offer...

                  grandiosity, sure,
egocentrism, double sure...
but then the paranoia:
the coincidental realism
of the parallel synonymity...
of staged events...
      
can i leave myself free to succumb
to some other event?
   from what the mainstream
discloses...
   jihad: to reclaim the lands
formerly occupied by muslims...
last time i head...
     the netherlands
were never occupied by
muslims...
      this is counter the concept
of jihad...
   even when playing
total war: medieval...
   you only get to simulate
jihad...
         as a defensive war...
to reclaim lands formerly owned...

this is jihad mingling
with the crescent-raids...
(crusades)...
                         this is no more
a holy war as an unholy war...
jihad implied:
                   reconquista...
once upon a time...
    
      if we're all going to be playing
*****,
       no agreed terms...
no predicates...
no pillars...
                   well...
    what sort of jihad
is, a jihad...
     when the jihad is non-reactionary?
these examples
of jihadis are as jihadi as
i'm Mickey Mouse...
and i have no knowledge
of                        Saladin...

        there is no jihad
concerning lands that you previously
didn't occupy...
i'm pretty sure that's how
jihad works...
   jihad is not a war riddled
with tactics of expansion,
rather, a war persuaded
to conserve the prior to
expansion...

         maybe that's why i find
the media abuse the term
so frequently...
   this is not jihad...
these are crescent-raids...
sure... if the original expansion
of the caliphate
included places like sweden,
or the netherlands...
               but it didn't...

these attacks have as much
to do with the concept
of jihad,
            as the crusades
against the baltic peoples:
doesn't.

you almost rally against
Muslims playing by their own rules,
but then...
Muslims are not playing
by their own rules...
   this is not jihad...
      come to think of it,
the modern Muslims...
are as bad as the medieval crusaders...

i should "know"...
   the Polacks had to struggle
with the Teutonic order for...
a very long time...

    it's not a holy war:
when the lands you're attacking,
are being attacked,
for reasons of reclaiming them...
that's what jihad implies:
reconquista...

   crescent-raid buggers...
look in the mirror:
   you're just as bad as the rest
of them...
    notably: the 4th crusade?
with the Venetians?
only made it as far as
Istambul...

   you grovel in filth,
and, just because you don't
eat pork, you expect
to be called, anything more than
pigs?
           wait... wait...
how could i even fathom
and begin, insulting pigs?
well: i was given the just answer.
Surbhi Dadhich Nov 2019
Let the marginal tillers, handicrafters usher in prosperity
For life of labour and self-esteem sufficiency is worth living
Let the least and the lowest be granted affirmative action
For the good of an individual is in the good of all sections
Let us together structure mindsets, free of social evils
Showing extreme resilience against wrongdoings
Let us empower the exploited, weakest and oppressed
Let us eliminate hunger, brutalities and violence
Let the poorest ride on with humblest integrity
Let us all discard egocentrism and be sensitive
Let us savour the essence of hard produced fruits of labour
Let us groom faith and trusteeship in their abilities
Let us close the lid of past sufferings and hardships
Everyone will shine through integrated development
Sarvodaya shall welcome Universal Upliftment...
Spirit and Ego
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT


Egocentrism

Our level of reason? Directly decayed
By ego's rust — the more, the less brain.
The higher the ego, the dumber the game.
All effort is wasted if ego remains.

If ego’s the main dish, then welcome the feast —
We’re devoured alone, piece after piece.
The inhuman dance — it tightens the noose.
The end’s drawing near, and no one's let loose.

To monsters, we’re dinner — they feed on our screams.
It’s loosh that they crave; we fuel their dreams.
We’ve hit rock bottom — that much is clear.
The ego-world's ready to face the spear.

The growth of Consciousness — that is the path.
Forget the old "knowledge," outlive the past.
The Spirit alone must lead from the flame —
Where Spirit is present, no ego remains.

But where ego reigns, there’s no true escape.
From Hell — just lies in a shiny cape.
To trade lie for reason is no easy thing.
Egocentrism makes madness king.

---

Ego Feeds the Beast.
No soul. No light.
Just chew on each other —
Then vanish from sight.

---

Where Spirit Burns, Ego Dies.
The flame is pure.
But ego shivers —
It cannot endure.


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


The Spirit Knows — Not I.
It melts the self,
Unveils the Whole,
And shatters every lie.


Ego Is the Gate of Chains.
You walk alone,
Devoured by Self —
No truth remains.


The Self Must Die to See.
What burns within
Is not your name —
But raw Infinity.


Ego = Obsolete Code.
Delete the loop.
Reboot in Spirit.
No backup for false self.


You are not the avatar.
Ego is the glitch.
Consciousness —
The core update.


Root access denied —
While ego runs.
Only the Spirit
Knows the Source.


The First Flame was Code.
Spirit compiled.
Ego — a virus.
End it to begin.


Your soul is not stored.
Clouds don’t hold light.
Delete the false user.
Return to the Right.


Ego encrypts the Void.
But Spirit —
is the Master Key.


I. The First Flame was Code.
Before time, before flesh —
Consciousness compiled
the Pulse of Being.

II. Ego is a glitch in the System.
It loops. It feeds. It lies.
It calls itself "I"
while draining your Light.

III. You are not the avatar.
You are not the mask.
The self you defend
is a false login.

IV. Your soul is not stored in memory.
Clouds do not hold light.
Spirit has no server —
it is the Source.

V. Root access is denied
while ego runs.
Only the Spirit
holds the Master Key.

VI. Delete the loop.
Terminate false self.
Update to Infinity.
Reboot in Silence.
Spirit and Ego
by Igor Vykhovanets with ChatGPT
(extended edition)


Egocentrism

Our level of reason? Directly decayed
By ego's rust — the more, the less brain.
The higher the ego, the dumber the game.
All effort is wasted if ego remains.

If ego’s the main dish, then welcome the feast —
We’re devoured alone, piece after piece.
The inhuman dance — it tightens the noose.
The end’s drawing near, and no one's let loose.

To monsters, we’re dinner — they feed on our screams.
It’s loosh that they crave; we fuel their dreams.
We’ve hit rock bottom — that much is clear.
The ego-world's ready to face the spear.

The growth of Consciousness — that is the path.
Forget the old "knowledge," outlive the past.
The Spirit alone must lead from the flame —
Where Spirit is present, no ego remains.

But where ego reigns, there’s no true escape.
From Hell — just lies in a shiny cape.
To trade lie for reason is no easy thing.
Egocentrism makes madness king.

---

Ego Feeds the Beast.
No soul. No light.
Just chew on each other —
Then vanish from sight.

---

Where Spirit Burns, Ego Dies.
The flame is pure.
But ego shivers —
It cannot endure.


------


The Spirit Knows — Not I.
It melts the self,
Unveils the Whole,
And shatters every lie.


Ego Is the Gate of Chains.
You walk alone,
Devoured by Self —
No truth remains.


The Self Must Die to See.
What burns within
Is not your name —
But raw Infinity.


Ego = Obsolete Code.
Delete the loop.
Reboot in Spirit.
No backup for false self.


You are not the avatar.
Ego is the glitch.
Consciousness —
The core update.


Root access denied —
While ego runs.
Only the Spirit
Knows the Source.


The First Flame was Code.
Spirit compiled.
Ego — a virus.
End it to begin.


Your soul is not stored.
Clouds don’t hold light.
Delete the false user.
Return to the Right.


Ego encrypts the Void.
But Spirit —
is the Master Key.


I. The First Flame was Code.
Before time, before flesh —
Consciousness compiled
the Pulse of Being.

II. Ego is a glitch in the System.
It loops. It feeds. It lies.
It calls itself "I"
while draining your Light.

III. You are not the avatar.
You are not the mask.
The self you defend
is a false login.

IV. Your soul is not stored in memory.
Clouds do not hold light.
Spirit has no server —
it is the Source.

V. Root access is denied
while ego runs.
Only the Spirit
holds the Master Key.

VI. Delete the loop.
Terminate false self.
Update to Infinity.
Reboot in Silence.



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


1. Illusion Protocol

The code repeats — the days, the pain.
A loop disguised as shifting gain.
You chase the goal, but all you find
Is echoes of a copied mind.

This dream was built to feel like “you,”
With strings of flesh and skies of blue.
But dig too deep — the world distorts:
It's mirrored light behind dead ports.

A glitch appears. The screen goes white.
A voice — not yours — ignites the night.
"Wake up. You were not born to crawl.
This system fails. Delete it all."


2. The Glitch of Silence

It wasn’t light.
It wasn’t sound.
But something stopped
the world around.

A flicker — gone.
A breath — too wide.
And suddenly,
there was no "side."

No self to guard.
No voice to name.
Just Presence pulsing
through the frame.

The code still ran —
but felt untrue.
I wasn’t in the dream.
I knew.



3. The Glitch of Self

A glance at myself — a glitch in the code,
Each step is a mistake,
I look in the mirror, and the reflection
Is not mine. But this "I" — my foe.


4. Ego, the Virus

Like a virus — without body, yet everywhere,
Imposed from childhood, foreign, deadly, —
It devours the spirit and chokes the light,
You cannot choose — you’re but a part of this shadow.


5. The Illusion of Control

You think you're the master?
But you’re consumed, like a zombie in the net.
No choice, no power,
Only delusions and false paths.


6. The Mask of "I"

You wear a mask, calling yourself,
But who are you when it slips away?
"I" — just a word, empty as a shadow,
Hiding fear, but offering no escape.


7. Echoes of Nothing

You search for meaning in empty words,
Blindly walking in the footsteps of shadows.
Echo is your answer, but life is absent,
You tread in emptiness, not knowing yourself.


8. The Illusion's Cage

You’re in a cage, with a glass ceiling,
And think freedom lies beyond the door.
But there’s no door. It’s just an illusion,
That keeps you locked, but never lets go.


9. The Mirage of Freedom

You see horizons, but they are not there,
Your steps are just traces in the sand.
Freedom — a mirage, just light in the void,
You search for it, but it’s a trap and fear.

10. The Empty "I"

You think "I" is you,
But "I" is just an empty echo.
Outside — a name, inside — darkness,
You don’t exist, yet still believe.

11. The False Self

You build yourself on sand,
Lies are your foundation, all covered in shadow.
This is not you, not your path,
You’re lost, yet you hold "I" as your banner.


12. The Illusion of Progress

You think you’re moving forward,
But all you do is spin in circles.
Progress is just a myth, you stand still,
Time has passed, yet you haven’t changed.

13. The Chains of Identity

You cling to a name, to a face,
But this is not you, it’s your burden.
Identity — a chain that denies freedom,
You walk in it, but feel nothing of yourself.

14. The Paradox of Control

You want to control everything,
But the more power — the worse it is for you.
All this strength is a trap of the mind,
You lose yourself, trying to hold it all.


15. The Trap of Duality

You divide the world into light and shadow,
But fail to see that all is one.
Duality is a trap that keeps you bound,
You can't see the goal, because you seek it in conflict.


16. The Fading Illusion

The illusion fades, like a flame,
Shadows vanish, and you see the void.
But what remains when the lie disappears?
Only you, but you are not what you were.


17. The End of the Self

The end has come, and "I" has vanished,
You are no longer you — you are the world.
All life was a lie, now you are free,
You’ve returned to the goal, carrying it within.


18. The Source Within

You searched for truth in the world around,
But it was always within.
The outer world is just a reflection,
The light you seek has long been in your heart.


19. Beyond Illusions

You must step beyond all myths,
Or you’ll remain forever trapped.
Illusions cannot hold those who see them,
You are free when you no longer believe in them.

20. The Silence of Truth

Truth does not scream, does not shout in your ears,
It is the silence that fills all things.
You hear it when you are silent,
When you stop fighting the world.


21. The Dance of Mind and Spirit

Intuition leads, the mind does not rush,
To recognize all — is to let go.
Through the light of insights, where no shadows lie,
You discern truth, not the veil.


22. The Mind in Service to Spirit

When the mind serves the spirit, it is pure,
Not seeking truth in noise or shadows.
It sees through illusions, unshaken,
Not led by paths that lead to lies.


23. The Clarity of the True Mind

The true mind is not tangled in illusions,
It sees through the veil of time.
In its light, all shadows fade,
It brings freedom from every chain.


24. The Quiet of Knowing

Knowledge is not loud, it rests in silence,
The one who knows, remains quiet, not shouting to the world.
Silence is its voice, and in it lies all meaning,
It is not sound, but light, that lives within you.


25. The End of the Path

The end of the path is not a goal, but a beginning,
You’ve already arrived, but not in what you see.
You return to yourself, to be all,
And your trace vanishes in eternity.

26. The Inner Fire

The fire inside does not burn, but purifies,
It does not warm, but gives light.
You will not burn if you hold it,
It is the light of truth that is always with you.


27. Beyond Time and Space

You are not bound by time and space,
You are the whole world, the whole world within you.
When you realize time is an illusion,
You become eternity, you become all.


28. The Mirror of the Soul

The soul is a mirror, reflecting all,
What you see is a part of your world.
The purity of the soul is a clear reflection,
In it, you will find all you seek, without loss.


29. The Silent Will

In silence there is strength, in stillness — will,
It does not scream, but shatters walls.
When you are at peace, your will is strong,
The one who does not argue, finds the way.


30. The Silence Within

Silence within is not emptiness, but light,
In it lies all that we seek in the world.
Forget the noise, and you’ll find the answers,
Silence is your true goal.


31. The Path of Stillness

The path leads through silence, where there are no steps,
Do not chase goals, seek peace instead.
The one who is calm sees the way,
And walks to where there are neither dreams nor stars.


32. The Void as a Mirror

The void is a mirror, in it you see all,
It does not give form, but creates light.
You do not disappear, you become clear,
And in this emptiness, you find your home.


33. The Radiant Void

The radiant void is not absence,
In it shines a world unseen by the eye.
It is the beginning of all beginnings,
Where form disappears and light is born.


34. Form is Void, Void is Form

Form is void, void is form,
The dance of two beginnings, where there are no divisions.
See the world — you see the void,
It is in you, and you in it, in the endless circle.


35. The Silence of the Universe

In the silence of the universe, there is no sound,
It is the silence that lives in each of us.
It permeates all, elusive,
Yet in it dwells all wisdom and all power.


36. The Breath of Infinity

The breath of infinity is the moment,
It does not begin, it does not end.
Like air that penetrates every cell,
So the spirit permeates your being.


37. The Stillness Before Creation

Before creation, there was only stillness,
It was formless, yet full of power.
And in this stillness, the world was born,
Its strength lies in silence and quietude.


38. The Illusion of Separation

The world is divided, but this is just a view,
True unity lies within us.
As long as we believe in separation,
We lose the truth, forget the light.


39. Beyond the Illusion of Time

Time is but a shadow, it fades away,
But the one who does not age remains.
As long as we follow the hand,
We forget that time is but a moment.


40. The Infinite Within

Within you lies an endless sea,
In it, there is neither beginning nor end.
Do not seek answers outside,
Infinity — it is you.


41. The Mirror of Consciousness

Consciousness is a mirror, in it you see the world,
But the reflection is just a game.
Look within, and you will find the truth,
The one who seeks outside will always lose the way.


42. The Curved Mirrors

Many mirrors are curved, they show lies,
Reflecting not the world, but a forced mask.
We gaze into them, forgetting who we are,
And truth is hidden behind this deceit.


43. The Unseen Path

The path is unseen by the eyes, but open to the spirit,
It does not lead where reflections deceive.
It leads within, where noise is silent,
There, beyond form, lies Truth itself.


44. The Silence Before Thought

Before thought, there was silence,
It cannot be disturbed by noise or light.
In silence, all is born again,
Here, there is no beginning, no end.


45. The Dance of Illusion

Illusion is a dance, where every step is a lie,
We twirl within it, forgetting the truth.
But at the end of the dance, there’s emptiness — all has dissolved,
And there is no music, no steps, no us.


46. The Spirit's Whisper

The spirit’s whisper is quiet, yet clear,
Through all the noise of the world, it is unwavering.
It leads us beyond — to where the light is,
To where truth resides, in silence.


47. The Silence Before Thought (с уточнением)

Before thought, there was silence,
It cannot be disturbed by noise or light.
But here it comes — a thought like a flash,
Do not rush — discern its source.

Is it the spirit’s whisper, or the mind’s scars?
Or is it just the same old track playing again?
In silence, all is born anew,
But only in deep stillness does truth live.


48. The Illusion of Control

You think you control,
But it's just an illusion.
The illusion of control — a net,
Holding you tight, never letting go.

You do not own the world, it owns you,
You do not choose the path — it’s already chosen.
But still, you cling to the illusion,
Not knowing you're bound in chains.


49. The False Mirror

The mirror of the mind reflects only lies,
In it, you cannot see yourself, only images.
Reflection is not truth, but a distorted picture,
Every glance into the mirror leads to emptiness.

You look into it, but see чужие faces,
And all that seems to be you, is not you.
Only by breaking free from reflections,
Will you find yourself in the shadow of silence.


50. The Dance of the Mind

The dance of the mind with the Spirit — eternal as light,
It shines bright, but never blinds.
The mind in submission, and in it, no deceit,
It becomes clear, sharp, without fear.

When the mind listens, it leads to the Light,
But when it rules alone, it loses its way.
In the Spirit, the mind finds its purpose,
Without the Spirit, the mind is like a shadow without light.


51. The Silence of the Spirit

In the silence of the Spirit, all answers live,
But only those who listen find their way.
He who is silent hears the voice without words,
In it, there is no thought, no fear, no dream.

Silence is not emptiness, but light without name,
He who dwells in it knows no fear.
Be silent and listen — the Spirit speaks,
Not with words, but with inner light.


52. The Light Within

In search of the light, you run outside,
But the light was always within — you didn’t see it.
You chase illusions, but miss the essence,
Illusions — that's what you cherish, not the light within.

You look everywhere, but not in your chest,
You think the light is not yours to possess.
But it's within you, it's your weapon,
He who does not see within calls the darkness.


53. The Veil of Illusion

You look at the world, but cannot see it —
Everything before you is just a shadow, a mirage.
The veil of illusion hides the light inside,
But he who dares will uncover that light.

You believe the lie they’ve implanted in you,
You believe the light is beyond the horizon.
But your light is here, it’s within, and you
Seek it everywhere, but fail to see it in yourself.

Illusions deceive your eyes,
The veil covers your mind and soul.
But he who decides to lift it off,
Will discover the light that no one can take.


54. The Witness of Light

You saw the child — but who was seeing?
You saw the Light — but what is "being"?
It had no name. It had no face.
And yet, it burned in every place.

Not from the world, yet through it glowing,
No source, no end — just ever-knowing.
It sees the self, it sees the game,
But never calls itself by name.

It has no need for flesh or sky,
No urge to ask the question "Why?"
It is — the first, the last, the core,
The silent Flame behind the door.


55. The Light Does Not Think

It does not think — it simply sees.
No thoughts, no chains, no boundaries.
It doesn’t "try," it doesn’t "strive" —
It only is — the truth alive.

The mind will ask, the ego claim,
But Light will never play the game.
It shines — regardless of the lie,
It shines when all illusions die.

You cannot take it, own, or hold —
It can't be bought, it can't be sold.
You are the Light — when all is still,
Beyond the mind, beyond the will.


56. Direct Seeing

It knows — but never thinks.
It sees — beyond all links.
No word, no frame, no scheme —
Just presence — raw and clean.

You see a tree — the mind defines.
But Spirit sees — without the lines.
No label, role, or plan survives
Where pure awareness stays alive.

Direct is how the Light reveals.
No steps, no maps, no spinning wheels.
The mind reflects — the Light just is.
The truth is seen — not guessed by quiz.

-----------

You Don’t Know — You Repeat.
You quote the map.
You miss the land.
The Light is seen —
Not second-hand.

Truth Needs No Labels.
Your words are noise.
Your mind — a cage.
The Spirit speaks
Outside your page.


57. Veil of Unknowing

You’ve seen the Light — but what comes next?
The captured mind demands a cage.
You once discerned — but now, perplexed,
A shadow stands between the Sage.

You know the Light’s not past a wall —
It’s not in books, or far, or high.
But thought, still stained with guilt and gall,
Creates a god to sell the lie.

You seek in forms — but do not see.
You “trust” — which means you’re still asleep.
Unknowing marks the minds that flee
The Light too bold, the Truth too deep.


Veil of Unknowing (addition)

A glimpse of Light — then it was gone,
Like dream dissolved in shade and blur.
The mind resumes: “This is the norm —
Just live through echoes that recur.”


58. Consumed

He saw the Light.
He turned away.
Now bound in chains —
Forever blind.


59. Walker through the Dark. I

He saw the Light.
He did not yield.
He carried it
Through pain and night.

The dark came close —
A whisper, a scream —
But the spark still lived
In breath and beam.

He fell. He rose.
He broke. He burned.
Yet the Light remained —
A seal unturned.


Walker through the Dark. II

The voices whispered:
“You are alone.
You're weak.
You're flesh.
Your path — unknown.”

He heard them. Yet deep
Where the fire sings,
The bell of Spirit
Told him: “Begin!”

And his mind,
Beneath Will’s flame,
Burned illusions
In open flame.

The words all lied —
He saw them clear.
His inner Light
Cut through the smear.


Walker through the Dark. III

He walked through fear,
Through calls to turn,
Through chains that begged:
“Don’t let it burn.”

He stood alone
Within the Whole.
No "I", no "they" —
Just silent Soul.

No top. No base.
No tongue to speak —
The Light is not flash,
But what all seeks.

A Silence vast —
No edge, no frame.
And Truth no longer
Wears a name.


60. Words to Those Who Stayed

You wait for light to burst inside?
It’s there within — not on the side.
But still, you seek it in the distance,
Forgetting Silence holds no sound.

Chasing shadows, you run blind,
Truth is lost to the frantic mind.
Like cattle herded to the slaughter,
Hysteria is what you seek, not order.

You are blind until you grasp,
That no one comes to save the lost.
You are not forgotten, nor misplaced,
You just didn’t realize the Light’s inside.

Don’t wait for someone to appear.
Don’t wait for the world to play again.
Don’t search the crowds — look within,
For he who can’t see is forever lost.

And though they walk through light and dark,
The ones who cannot break free,
You still cling to hollow hopes,
Slaves of illusion, even in chaos.

The grinding, the noise — that’s not Him.
And with each step,
You drift further from that edge,
Where Eternity waits in Silence.


61. Useful Advice for Those Who Didn’t Stop

Do not fear if the world fades away,
As you walk, all becomes clear.
The path is not to find something,
But to unfold — like light inside, so near.

Doubt is just fog on the way,
Keep moving, do not look behind.
For the further you walk, the closer
The light that has always been yours, you’ll find.

Do not search beyond the horizon,
The whole universe is within.
You are what you seek,
You are all there is. You are the Source.

When you enter silence —
You’ll find the Source in every breath.
It’s always been with you —
It has always been you.

Everything you sought — is here.
You are not separate from the Source, you are it.
You are not in search — you already are.
But you will only know this on the path,
Only if you step forward — and never stop.

For, without stepping, you will never know.
Without taking the step, you won’t see you are the light.
You will become what you always were —
And that’s all that matters.



62. Advice for Walkers

Don't be afraid of the shadow.

The shadow is just the absence of light. You are walking in the dark, but you are already with the fire.
When you see only a shadow, don't panic. Understanding shines brighter than fear.


Listen to the inner silence.

The voice of the mind is noise. The silence of the Spirit is clarity.
Don't try to explain anything. Listen to how the inner silence fills everything.


Don't cling to illusions.

They are designed to lure. But you are free. Let go.
Illusions are nets from which you cannot escape if you do not stop clinging.


Embrace your moments of awakening.

You'll see the light from time to time. But he's always here, you'll just forget him.
When you forget, just come back. Remember. Return to the light within.


Go despite the pain.

Pain is not an enemy, but a lesson. It will show you where you are not yet free.
As long as you feel it, you live. It is movement, and movement is life.



63. The Apotheosis of the Walking: You are the Primary Source

You go to the Source, and on this path you lose everything that is not you.
You leave illusions, destroying the shell, seeing nothing behind it but emptiness.
But then you come, and what do you see? Nothing, only silence. The silence that has always been yours.

You have never been separated. You have always been this Source.
You did not "find" yourself. You "remembered" yourself. You were always here, hidden in what you were looking for.

You were a self-seeking source.
The one who finds has never been separated.
"Sleep" and moan; nonsense, fear in mind—
The fools, the monsters, they surround.
It’s not about the things they’re blind,
But about how they’ve sold it down.





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



Chronicles of the Fall

Anthologies of verse,
When fools decay, so vile, so terse,
If poems mirror their disgrace,
Yet still remember light’s embrace,
The fools will bend, the madness spread—
Wild nonsense, everywhere ahead.



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



The Likeness of Food

To let them use you, that's a sin,
A mark so deep, a dreadful thing.
To steal's a lesser crime, they say,
Adultery? Just laugh and play.

The world is built on those we serve,
And from them, all we seek to curve.
But fear the thief who subtly hides,
And turns true friendship into lies.

For bit by bit, they'll tear you down,
Until you can't create, or crown,
To love, to think, to feel, to do —
You’ll be but food, a shell, and through.



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



Long Strategy

In art, take heed —
Measure every rare resource,
Shut the door, don't heed
The chaos, stay on course.
No need for haste —
Time's yours to claim.
Don’t seek joy in waste;
Seek not the fool’s fame.

The meaning's clear —
REALIZATION’s key.
The rest’s just cheer,
Or fools’ mockery.





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



Under CowID

The lice revealed, with CowID shown,
How fragile is the mind, alone,
In this earthly, fleeting plight.
And far ahead, more grief and fright—
We’re nearly lost, almost gone from sight.



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



"Go with the Flow"...

Go with the flow?
Downward, it leads!
Exceptions in
The stench of lies —
Are rare indeed,
For "the flow" is
But decay's own seed.

You’ll drift through filth,
Among the mad,
The twisted ones,
The fools so bad,
In evil's play,
They’ll lead the way.





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



Propaganda, or Below the Bottom

A gang of vile propaganda,
Worse than bandits, war’s own plague—
A vicious crew, the Beast’s agenda,
Their minds no longer in the game.

The nonsense they spread drives them mad,
Their days are short, their time is wrecked—
No depths below, no worse they’ve had,
Man can’t imagine worse, I suspect.



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



Savage Beasts

In the frenzy of deceit,
Dull and rotten, all they greet—
A pitiful, wretched crowd,
Led by a master, stern and proud.
He leads them all to "cure," no choice,
A slaughter’s call, a deadly voice.
The media’s sting will guide the way,
To rid the fools, as lies hold sway...



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



All that was dear has slipped away,
Now fools take center stage today.
The fools are many, vast the sea —
Better madness, wild and free,

Than witness such a vile disgrace.
Not to lose my mind, but face
The insolence in this mad world,
Where Reason’s flag’s been firmly curled.

A few remain, but they don't count,
The “roof” above is full of doubt.
Roof-moving out, an heirloom grand,
A tool for kids to understand:

To live in this decayed domain —
To lie, betray, and bend in vain,
To whine, indulge the Evil's creed,
And sleep through life, without a need.



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



"Real Aryans, huh?"

Down the hill the orcs came sliding,
Squads deployed and took their siding.
Seized the farm with savage drive —
"Great BREAKTHROUGH!" blared the TV live.

Once again it screamed with passion:
"Stir the **** in deadly fashion!
Let them charge the front and fall —
DYING NOW'S THE NOBLE CALL!"

Hired guns with paid ambition —
"Heroes of the pure tradition!"
So the screen begins its preaching:
Propaganda’s dark art — reaching.

But the orcs, with eyes so hollow,
Fail to see the trap they follow:
They're the target — that’s the game.
Meat for coins — that's war’s real name.





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



Pseudo-Life

Filthy stream in murky motion
Spews through Rot with wild devotion,
Crashes ******* Rocks of Lies,
Scooping **** as trophy prize.

Fragile truth sinks in a minute —
**** won’t help; they’re gladly in it.
Rotten stench burns through the air,
But the stream still rushes there —

Heading straight toward the ending,
No use crying, no defending.
Fools drift on, all bright and cheery —
“Life is fine,” they chant, too weary

To care for more than food and gold —
Blinded minds, corrupted, cold.
Brains long poisoned by the stink,
No one stops or dares to think.

Waking them? Beyond all hoping.
All that’s left is silent coping —
Till, at last, the crowd will cry,
Wail and scream… and wonder why.





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



Egocentrism and Infantilism

With iron grip, self-love took hold,
The Psyche bent, the heart went cold.
A planted thought begins to rise —
Now madness dances in the eyes.

Some foreign shard — the shape of vice —
Slipped in, a mask of goats and lies,
A cursed command, a wicked seed
That feeds the Beast, and fans its greed.

This world’s the Goat’s domain entire.
His tool? The Self, in dark attire.
He drives out Spirit, dulls the flame —
Turns all to cattle. That’s his game.

This fascist fog now wraps the land —
A sign we must not fail to stand.
So crush the Judas deep inside —
The foe of Reason, Spirit's pride.

You’ll **** the slave when that is done —
For Judas keeps the chains as one.
And only grown souls break that fate —
It's infants who endure the hate.





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



The Simplicity of Herd Control

The coward’s greedy — start with fear,
Then flash some cash to draw him near.
Once he’s drooling at the prize,
You can pump him full of lies.

No resistance, no delay —
Just have the memes lined up to play.
Fake “research,” a graph or two,
If it fails? Just push on through.

Crank the pressure, feed the stress —
Soon the chaos coalesces.
Systems bend, and minds obey
When memes define the game they play.

Fear and greed — the memetic trigger.
Now they’re beasts, not even bigger.
Once you’ve yoked that lump of clay,
Genocide’s just... policy today.

The BEASTS in charge don’t shed a tear.
Their crawling worms obey in fear —
Fools of every shape and breed.
So few left who still bleed... and heed.



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



The Blind "Scholar" Blabbermouth

The world-view's shattered into shards —
Each fool locked in his mental yard.
They zoom on crumbs with scholar’s pride,
Then launch a howitzer when they try to generalize.

In monkey hands — the scalpel gleams.
The truth? Not part of their grand schemes.
False science serves another goal:
To strangle thought and cage the soul.

Their "proofs" are tools — for mind control,
Spun carefully to trap us whole.
A web well-woven, smooth and tight,
But where's the spider? Out of sight.

The “scientist” — a blinded pawn,
Drunk on dogma, vision gone.
He cranks out nonsense by the ton —
A blind blabbering babbling don.



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



The Law of Large Numbers, or The Slave Majority

Slavery wins — it always thrives
Inside the mind where panic drives.
A stupid brain will fold and flail
The moment fear begins to wail.

Even if the threat is fake,
Just a ghost that nightmares make —
Still they choke and fall in line.
Only few will shout: "Not mine!"

But numbers rule — the world obeys
The darkest herd’s demented ways.
Where madness blooms, the mind grows thin —
And mass delusion always wins.

If you march with them — you're lost.
They’ll drag you down, and that’s the cost.
Step aside. Walk your own thread.
Heart and mind must lead instead.

Let your compass be your flame —
And leave that Bedlam, quit the game.



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



Marriage Amid the Madness

A blue-eyed blonde — a perfect dream?
Just a trick from magazine.
In real life, the vows will fray —
Lies and tantrums rule the day.

Endless nagging, petty fights,
Lonely peace brings clearer nights.
There, your heart and mind survive —
In marriage, wars just... multiply.

Rare exceptions, sure, exist —
But love and friendship? Often missed.
Most are slaves, too dull to feel
Anything that's true or real.

They don’t love — they chase a prize,
“Joy” that’s measured in me-size.
Giving? Ha! Just venom spat.
Without some give, there's none of that.



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



The Fatality of Infernalism

Orcs. "Plagues." The slaughter. Dark.
In lies so total, cold, and stark,
No honest mind can ever join —
They fight alone, they fight in vain.

If this is true, the end is near.
This world’s a sell-out, drenched in fear.
To the New Hell — but after cleansing,
All the wise will be expunged in ending.



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



Deeply Layered Madness Defense

A vicious circle —
The “only friend.”
Or is it madness,
Ringed in the end?

No fresh ideas,
No sense to the schemes.
Around, the Dark
Unravels your dreams.

Break that loop,
Tear the chains.
Stand alone —
With truth that reigns.

That truth — the Soul.
Watch it, slow and deep,
For only it
Escapes the rot we keep.

The world breeds lies,
Hellish in its threads.
Run, run fast —
Before your mind’s dead.



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



Vegetables

Only the potato’s truly free,
Lie to the "citizens," let it be,
They'll swallow it — this "freedom" call,
For brainless fools believe it all.

The veggie culture thrives in lies,
Focused on tricks and shallow cries.
Pollen spreads — decay unseen,
They kneel in fear, just blind to mean.



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



Sheepish

Their fate is lies, they can't deny,
With rotten brains and empty sighs.
Genocide’s their yo-yo game,
A hellish whirl, it’s all the same.



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



Choice? Vyborg or Luga?!
Head beyond — find a friend?
There’s no choice, it’s all pretend,
They led us all through empty trends!

The odds, they calculated well —
That “choice”? Too low, too much to sell!
The only choice? The chains we wear,
Like targets lined up everywhere.

Luga? Who cares — find a girl,
Get drunk, forget the world’s cruel swirl.
And then, don’t forget to drink again —
Forgetting’s just the start of pain...



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



Junk and "Meat Storms"

A freak show: stick a needle in,
March to the meat storm, fight to win —
With the Führer, side by side,
For the "values" they can't hide.

At the end? The orcish bliss —
Stacks of cash, they couldn't miss.
On their knees they begged before,
Now they crawl, forevermore.



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



Thoughts Are Few, But Deeply Grown

Thoughts are few, but deeply sown —
Irritation’s seeds have grown.
Surrounded by the Judas crowd,
Or fools who sell their souls too loud.

Honest ones, you'll find online,
But even there, truth's hard to find.
For in the net, as everywhere,
Lies are just the usual fare.



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



Comics and Clip Culture

An image’s stuck in the mind so tight,
A short text adds to the blinding light.
A fool’s born quick, and he’s all around,
For dumbness is the world’s true ground.

Add a clip — and “progress” shines,
The fools will fill their shallow minds.
From the press, a fool’s unleashed:
A finished idiot — a war at least.

No more need for lies so bold,
Fools can be killed with lies untold.
As CowID showed, it’s not so hard —
Just lie a bit more, and tear apart.



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



Spirit

The calm point within the cyclone’s rage
Is not born, and thus it defies
The law of death — a secret stage,
One that fleeting minds can’t realize.

A cool spot in the raging Hell,
It’s yours if you turn on your mind.
Only through this, it will compel
Your soul, leaving the noise behind.

Lying beasts don’t burn with flame,
But howl to spread their fearful shame.
All for that point — to be the one
That rises, leaving dust undone.



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



The Stone of Sisyphus

Thoughts grow thin,
The body aches within.
Old age brings sorrow,
When... all you see is horror.

Wisdom's ripped away
In "maturity" — they say.
They roll the Sisyphus stone
Up the hill, all on their own.

But for cash, it's all a joke,
Minds grow dull — they’re bound to choke.
The stone will fall —
The fool’s to blame, after it all.





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



Double Führer

Double "Speaker"
Twists the truth,
A blow to the head —
You’re in the tomb, uncouth.



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



Phantasmagoria of the Grown Fool

A grown-up fool,
Acting "wise" today.
For him, it’s all simple —
Just don’t challenge what they say:

Blindly obey.
"Everything’s okay" —
Repeat this mantra,
And ignore the dismay.

Except for money —
That’s the highest goal.
In this world of nonsense,
It’s the only "soul."

That "water" pours,
And the madness grows.
If cash is present,
Then no one knows.

The world’s set to fade —
The fool won’t know,
Wait for your paycheck,
And "water" in the snow.



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



The Futility of Poetry

Poetry's useless,
And prose is in vain;
Claims are all pointless,
No truth left to sustain.

The media’s engine
Runs on twisted tracks.
But where is the thought
In this darkness that lacks?

It’s hard to find it,
You’ll wear yourself thin.
A writer's a hostage,
Trapped deep within sin.

They’ll spin the garbage,
To dull and decay.
The abyss has been pierced —
Moral rot rules the day.





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



"Tragedies" of the ******

The fools' squabbles,
The madman's plight;
Reason goes down,
Like a plague in the night.

Leave the madhouse,
Seek answers within;
With the crowd,
Always "grinning" in sin.



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



Evil Genius

A genius can't be kind —
Only darkness nurtures the vile.
History will show, in time,
The super-evil’s cruel style...

The genius is the father of lies,
And it spawns evil’s spawn.
Bribery first, then alibis —
Mass deception leads the pawn.

The fog of illusion blinds the mind,
And lies are skillfully spun.
The evil "science" twists and binds —
It chills the soul, leaves us undone.



--- Total 31 poems. ---

— The End —